Letters to Amelie
Writing by Amelie:
September
The wind, it reminded me of her. Harsh, exciting, wild and spontaneous, ripping your heart out, and blowing it away with the leaves. The fall day was a model of her mind. Colorful, yet messy, constantly confused on whether it wanted to be summer or winter. She was just like that, beautiful, yet her mind was like an unsolvable riddle, forever confused, and never understood, even by herself. She liked it that way, for it made her a mystery, a graceful killer, an enigma, unsolvable, and irresistible to the human species. Sometimes, I think she grew tired of acting like she did not try, she tried very hard to paint the perfect picture of herself. She was forever getting disappointed by her own era, and constantly in love with those that had passed, yet unforgiving of the mistakes that humans had made. She searched for perfection in the world, trying to mimic it in herself, and like a good lie planting perfect imperfections. Yet you do not understand, in my eyes, she was perfect. Her mind a beautiful storm, her eyes like cold grey skies, full of emotions, about to burst and rain, yet strong enough to hold it all in. Her hair fit her every mood, and her mood never fit the occasion, yet was never out of place. She was never out of place. She was cold, grey, and stormy, yet she lit up any room. All eyes on her! She would never fit any label, constantly defying the boundaries of human comfort.
She made her way into your life, into mine. She was my closest and forever friend. The one you imagine getting old and lonely with, drinking wine on the hood of your old Mercedes, watching the sun set and being thankful you’ve had them till 81, and until you die. That’s who she was to me.
But this would never happen. She left. Like the wind, she blew away. Packed a small bag and took the soonest flight to Florida. Yet the worst part, the part where she ripped my heart out, packing it away in that small bag and dropping it from the sky at the highest elevation, was the way she said goodbye. She didn’t.
(March 2018)
The Story of Grendel the Gentle Soul
His big clunky body swayed in the wind as he made his way down the steep rocky hill. The fog slowly enveloped him and then released him, wisps clinging to his hard metal exterior. The body that kept him safe, his shell and the one who made all the decisions for him: 12 year war, death, distraction. The real him a small kind soul; nevertheless because his family was cursed to wear these suits, he could only watch as he was punished for mistakes he fought so hard to stop. They were in essence small people, kind and well mannered but when an ancestor, Kade, killed his brother the whole family line was cursed with being violent relentless monsters. With each birth a new monster released, each kind soul smothered by pure evil intent. And Grendel was tired, so tired of watching people die at his feet that when Beowulf signed his death sentence by ripping his shells arm off he was relieved. Able to finally leave a life he never had control over.
(November 2018)
The Sea
I felt the earth under my feet,
The mixture of sand and salty water found every crevice of my foot,
It scraped my skin,
it hurt
especially where i had been kissed by the sun
But as i stepped into the water the coolness engulfed my body.
It swallowed the warmth, easing the gentle stinging of my reddish tan,
I looked into the sea, the salt creeped under my eyelids
But i held them open until i could make out blurry shapes floating all around me
Bubbles floating to the surface, pressing gently against my hair when they’d get stuck
Even in my partial blindness i saw a glowing orb in the corner of my sight
I turned to face it as it glided further
I followed
Sinking
Sinkin
Deeper
As it gracefully danced
I dragged my body through the wate
Forcing the air to leave its home from inside me
I love the seas and the sea loves me
(January 2019)
Hibiscus Flower
Her voice is like milk delicate and soft,
she is lucid, not scared to show her soul.
Generous, she is revered like a mosque,
bringing sweet gifts to the world makes her whole.
Blooming in summer she reveals her colors,
glowing a mellow yellow, spreading vanilla
through dewy air, you have to love-her.
She thrives in warmth, in places like Castilla.
Her scent, so sweet, she attracts all the bees,
she gives so much, but nothing in return.
Stealing her life, as she sways in the breeze,
she fades over time, it's not her concern.
And in this reviving, calming hour
she sways, she is the hibiscus flower.
(Shakespearean Sonnet, January 2019)
Meditative Speeches
A Place Like This
Once it was in my dreams, a place that could home angels. Their spirits and beauty captured in a moment, so pure and white.
A building, surrounded by draping plants and rolling slopes, covered by small olive trees and lavender bushes.
A building stretched, touching the sky, not reaching the clouds, yet they leaned over, rolling down the slopes enveloping the worshipped state of mind.
Drinking its sweet milk, admiring its white columns, watching the love angels dance, while bathing in the sun's gaze.
In my dreams I am always taken back to a place like this,
my hopes end here, peace, love and hope fill my heart.
I am the clouds, I watch and admire, I see the angels, I see the rolling slopes covered in fragrant flowers,
I run down the hill,
I watch the people living simple colorful lives.
Every upcoming step is a mystery,
they do not seek to satisfy their needs by traveling to achieve it somewhere else but mold what they have, carving their lives out in the hills surrounding them.
Feeling the safety of the tall revered temple that stands on the hill, hold them, embracing them, filling the empty holes they once felt inside when they questioned the great meanings.
Their loved ones living close, down the street in that slender Italian stone house they spoke their first words in.
In their arms the light of their life gurgles, a halved toothed mouth smiling up at their gleaming faces.
This bundle of joy,
part of a new generation of beautiful souls.
As you walk through the stony streets, towards the mountain top the smell of cigarette and coffee dwindles, pushed away by the vibrant notes of geranium and lavender.
These paths hold generations of memories, and memories yet to come.
Some day when I return, i'll walk these streets listening to the stories held by the rocks
Their emotions, the happy and melancholy
Maybe one day it will no longer be a dream.
(January 2019)
Political Poem
Problems, they fill my dreams, just like they fill the world around me.
Denying, when it seem too terrible to be true.
Hope, can only take us until hope is scientifically proven not available.
Defiance, it comes next refusing to let go grasping onto threads of air.
Falling, as you you realize hope, then defiance have disappeared.
Lost, how you feel when your soul breaks
and there’s nothing left.
We are not lost we are not falling, we are not even defiant,
We stand in hope We stand on a ledge watching as things change at lightning speeds,
There is no time to spare if we seek to keep hoping, continue facing our problems tackling each
one we must act now.
The whole world holds their breath, tense, waiting to see where history leads us next.
Let’s defy fate and create our own path, let’s save our earth and the creatures that have roamed our earth for thousands of years.
Cleaning up the mess we’ve made, working to expand equality, and spreading peace and love.
(January 2019)
ODE to sleep
Sleep
We’d die without it
Going insane, our world turning into a dream
Falling asleep falling through air
You lose yourself in land so fair
The sky turns to flowers as you look up in
(January 2019)
Ode to Living
I write this ode to the life I live
To the beauties and woes
Some small some big
To animals and plants
The big sky above, reflecting the ocean
We all know and love
To the colors so bright,
the music so rich
May you carry me away to dance adrift,
Wrapping me
in your warm embrace
Not letting the evils come to face,
cause though there are many
I’d rather find light
in the things I love than grieve in spite
(January 2019)
Breath
Captured-candles strung up on the walls, glittering with the sun’s-last-breath whispering through the tall somber windows, whom are wood bordered and aching with age and knowledge.
The smell of sweet tobacco and fresh bread entangled through the small familiar cooking-place. A weathered wood table sits in the middle of the room: water and coffee stains cover its surface and small but fragrant butterfly-feeders sit happily in a jar that once used to be her favorite candle. The room feels sticky, humid and warm, angel’s-breath cradling gentle-content.
In tall brown heels and dripping silk dress, she slips into the room. Sophistication. Angel’s-breath drags, rippling through the rooms atmosphere as soft-static drips from her spirit. Between her index and pointer lies a cigarette, she watches as devil's-breath swirls from its’ fiery-lips. She sways her body as she makes her way to the window, the music is sweet but nostalgic and her eyes sink to memories. Closing them she brings herself back to reality's-dream, a place in her childhood where she felt immense freedom. Those feelings spread through her body like opaque paint in water. She lives her life wielding that feeling grasping onto it with her strong slim piano-instrumentalists. As she opens her elegant, whirlpool eyes she sees the thin streets of Milan: paved with stone, cradled by tall historic buildings, and draping flowers spouting from their windows. She leans against the rim of the window as the soft-warm breeze catches her thin, liquid hair.
A gentle little hand tugs at the rim of her dress, fingertips softly clutching the fabric. A little girl stands beneath her, curly dark brown hair frame her smiling, giggly face.
The little-one looks up at her mom: she sees beauty and mellow confidence, smells cigarette twisted with her gentle rose perfume, and feels genuine love hugged by safe comfort.
Sophistication looks down and sees a big lipped but shy girl, smells basil clashing with puff pastry, and feels: unconditional love, light and true beauty.
(October 2019)
