An Ode to Poem-A-Day

i leave already read poems
in my inbox. eye them as
treasures, Jacks-in-the-box I know
will tickle the child
inside that cries. how they
stay there, dusty with neglect,
and how they glow
with the quality to hold on hand
a magick continuously unknown to me,
like the nuance contained
in the way she wrote the words
“apple tree” I may not have picked
up on yet, or how the next time I
get to the end, I may not think of
my friend, discontinued by anger,
how I wish he would talk to me,
and tell me something
different.

-Stephanie Ambroise

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Sophrosyne: A Shroud of Poetry

My book, Sophrosyne: A Shroud of Poetry, is now available for purchase on Amazon Kindle!

I hope that you all enjoy it!

Warm regards,

Steph Ambroise

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“I don’t know”

I know the truth, on the hazy summer days
when heat squeezes the odour out of breeze
caught flowers, sweaty inner thighs, and chlorine pools.
I know the truth of the sky in mid-turn, mid-hack
in a cloudless space, dazed by the shimmer
of sunlight that dresses it blue even if it’s
colorblind and won’t see it, I know

the truth when brownish-red popsicle syrup drips
onto a favorite white shirt, and the young girl
catches a wagged finger from the corner of her
eye, and raises the corner of her lips in glee, because
symbols can sometimes happen in pieces.
Bad, don’t, you should have known better,
look what you’ve done now, and the pleasure
of a life lived up to expectations,
I.
know.
The.
Truth.

The wagged tail of a dog up and down, off beat
with the tennis ball, and the desire to catch it sonically,
woof woof woof, the comfortable swoof of the
pads of feet pushed off concrete and the clap
of baby hands whose fingers tasted green felt last,
caught in her own wave of giggles, certain it can ride
it uninjured to a comfortable adult livelihood.
I know the truth.

The echoed screech of pain as bullets penetrate brown skin, off
key to the abrupt baritone of gunshots, sonically measured to
match the abrupt stop of a heart. I know the truth of green bills
corners lifted in glee, given to colorblind white murderers
with the pleasure of a life lived up to expectations. I
know the truth of a pointless chase, of justice ripped from
the bloody teeth of brown bodies hungry for a simple taste,
always told to drop it. The truth of a summer sun-pushed scent
of death from body like the odour of dying grass, a soundless
avatar of a scream, and responsible onlookers who fail to gather
I.
know.
The.
Truth.

Of a collected gathering of grief, hard at work to stand unshaken
in a crowd ringed by chaos, yet always named as such.

-Stephanie Ambroise

Posted in poetry, revolution, black art, affirmation, observance, politics, black lives matter | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happiness and some other buuuhhlllshyyeeet

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emotions as they sea(m)

before writing, the heart must
bear the slowness of a wave’s crest
as it laps the grainy shore, a confident
arrival to the uncertainty of myriad
minute minerals who’ve built homes
on top around beneath behind each other,
prepared to burst at any minute
with an infallible sense of trust
only to fall away at the first,
wet touch.

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Metamorphosis

When dawn breaks
over the horizon
of your body’s surface,

let your soul succumb
to music
played by pleasured souls.

Give cold away to age
old warmths
and for once
take in and trust
whispered promises
and when

midnight
settles on you once again,
to cover remaining
thoughts,

the heart will burst
into molten lava to flow
from your mouth,
and cool as your
new skin.

-Stephanie Ambroise

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Written Approval

you can use my body
as an Etch-a-Sketch
and draw
unto me
your beliefs
in
black and white

your marvelous frown of
concentration
moves me
and I
swear, I
could drown
in the crease of your brow

and although this work
is agonizing,

isn’t it good of me to make it
so
whatever

projection of the self
you imprint on me,

if you don’t like it,
you can just shake me,
and it vanishes?

-Stephanie Ambroise

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