Meet, Amanda Hall, and enjoy her poetry...

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I am pleased to welcome my friend, Amanda Hall. Writing is Amanda's life, though she says she has a hard time admitting that out loud. Regardless, there is no denying her talent!  I love  the intensity and honesty of Amanda's poetry. She is a gifted author who also writes short stories and novels. Though her work is as yet  unpublished, we encourage her not to give up.  It is simply a matter of time, and finding the right agent. Get to know Amanda Hall by stopping in and joining in the dialogue on her blogs.

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Thunder

Thunder

Standing in a never-ending aisle

 pulling things out of boxes

red, white, blue

robotically piling them into

neat rows in

neat shelves

the floor rumbles and I

nearly tip over at the sound

of a hundred elephants

 trampling the roof tiles

and the ceiling almost crashes

down on me

thrust into shadow

 I look around, panicked

 but there is nowhere to hide

 people rush by

 and I am frozen

someone calls my name

 but it’s not who I’m looking for

 I follow because

 she’s scared too

ushering people out

people who are not scared

who would laugh at us

if they knew the truth

she finds a comfort, but

 I am alone

 again

I sprint

rush

until I’m in the place

with all the windows

lightning cracks the sky

three

four times

and I take out my

 box cutter and

 sink like jeans

 that slowly go down

 in the water

when they get wet

until I’m leaning

 against the register

holding me up

a hand on my back

guiding me in the

dim light

until I open my eyes

and see that

     

no one is with me

© Amanda Hall

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A.R.R.H.

A.R.R.H.

twisting
turning

pulling

excruciating in my gut

resists the want of food

or not want

the thick, luscious

velvet buttercup

but not for me

instead a crushing titanium

 the pressure burning

into my temples

my vision is like

I don’t have

my glasses on

tearing resumes,

wrenching every part of me

swimming in heat

and I sit

with my head between

my knees

lungs empty of breath

like two flat

paper bags

moments

seconds

years pass

and I breathe deeply

flat dry air as the

pressure ebbs

and I lie in the haze

and close my eyes

© Amanda Hall

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Remember

Remember

I remember when I

saw you for the first time

and a smile lit up your face

You kissed your mom

on the cheek before we

left, and you said goodbye

to your dad

And we went and got

shakes in my car

with the other two who

we sometimes forgot were

with us. You laughed

so much that night

and I did too

more than ever before

I could not believe how

perfect you were.

I remember the first time

I saw you when

we were in bed together

and how perfect you

were and how

beautiful it was.

and still is.

© Amanda Hall

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Summer

Summer

Not a swirling cold

Or a silent night

But an open window

Staring into lemon light

And charcoal beetle wings

Against the cook-an-egg

Cement.

Not a bitter white touch

Or chattering bone

But an oven in your car

Lying next to the roaring

River that threatens

To take you away

And a heat soaking

Through your lace shirt

And into your

Skin.

© Amanda Hall

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Swollen

Swollen

Shut partway

liquid dams up and spills over the bridge

the pressure too great

for the wall to withstand

and it crumbled

piece by piece into the

icy river below

it rose up over the tired banks

and into worn houses

asking for strength

for determination

but emptiness greeted it,

vast and unforgiving

creeping coldly into the corners

to find strays

that did not

belong.

The dam now burns

the wall fallen

dry and hot in the bleeding sun

death and fire approach

life has moved to another home

one that does not keep it quiet

or shut it away

but sets it free, flowing

swiftly into the streets,

and slowly under mossy carpets

to gain

life

of its own.
 © Amanda Hall

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Red Lights

Red Lights

Red Lights

sea of crimson

glaring

burning into my retinas

into my cerebrum

banshee-screeching

finger-flipping

calf-cramping

pedal-pushing

through the muck and mire

beneath an anvil that

constantly sways

and sags with

gravity

madness keeps my

eyelids pried in the

two-ton molded-metal pile

it finally moves again

brings me to the

spacious

deserted

place where I

sit in the one

recliner

and eat my ramen

alone

with my

tv.

 © Amanda Hall

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