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Amy Wallace Poem
'Hello Bob', I self-spoke
Inside my head.
That's what I'd say if my name was Bob.
But it's not,
My name is not Bob.
Bob would not wear dare
Nor would Bob dare wear a cloak
With lipstick in the chest pocket
And a memory-tied locket
Swimming in a fancy fruit perfume.
Bob would not hide away behind the scent of summer apples linking hands with
Warm maple syrup jaffles.
Bob's time is scarce because
This ego-notion's motion was simply a passing thought
To create an unpredictable commotion.
'What if my name were Bob?'.
It's not,
Bob is my middle name.
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2019
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Amy Wallace Poem
Autumn steals the long days from Spring,
The dawn sunrise turns pinker in the reflection of water
And the morning air is crisper.
Was it Autumn that stole your daughter too?
The season turns, the season flees.
In the way the oak tree clings to its leaves,
You take caution in letting go of the last
Like the carefulness in letting go of your daughter,
You tried your hardest, but you never caught her
And as the new season arrives, you unpack
Your heavy coats.
You learn to get used to missing the warm sunshine
And on the days where the Autumn leaves fall harder,
You crave to listen to the sound of your daughter’s laughter
Mingle with the sound of rustling leaves.
As Autumn deepens, your loss deepens,
Your grief deepens and
The colder days creep in.
Old oak now as naked as the nursery
Without your daughter sleeping
And Autumn winds howl, weeping,
Crying for relief from Fall’s feelings
The way your daughter cried for healing.
Was it Autumn that freed her too?
The season stirs, the season goes.
In the way the oak tree regrows
You open your heart just as the clouds open
To let through the warm sunshine.
You see her in the playfulness of the world’s colours,
You see her eyes in the shape of your mother’s
Do you feel her in the Autumn too?
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2022
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Amy Wallace Poem
“Gertrude please, I require your help,
I seem to be a little stuck!”
With whine and twine, Ben yelped.
“Get me out of this pickle, quick. It is a must!”
“What is it Ben, what can I do!?”
Gertrude could see Ben was tangled and mangled,
He was stuck and could not move,
He was stuck and sitting at a funny angle.
Gertrude could see his arms were crossed and so were his legs,
“I would love to get you out of this mess, it’s dreadful.”
“Please. Please. Please!” Ben begged.
“I would you see, but Ben, you are a pretzel!”
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2020
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Amy Wallace Poem
The weary and gloomy moon
Droops alongside confident mountains,
Tries to stay until noon.
Clings to the boundary, slipping down
Being hidden but not wanting to hide.
To time, old moon is bound.
A longing, endless.
Sad moon surrenders to the horizon, daylight lessens.
Less ends of light to grip; reject regress.
Dull moon falls west, sun rises east.
A longing, a chase endless.
The pursuit is a beast.
For the moon craves to collide
With the eternal flame it is infatuated with,
That’s why we see high tides.
The moon’s heart lies in the sea
Becoming swollen
Wanting the sun to see.
The moon, lonely,
Is in love with the sun.
Always has been, always will be.
06 March 2020
Title Chosen: A Lull
Contest: Pick-A-Title, Vol 14-Tristich
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2020
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Amy Wallace Poem
I did a dodgy job of mending
The backyard gate.
Mellow memories still feel like gaping gallows,
They perch like birds do on the fence
And eat all the seasoned grapes.
I thought reminiscing
About tort predecisions
Was an act that had distanced itself
From my street.
But those aches
Of the past still hang around
My back gate
Like dog s**t on the lawn,
Where's that darn rake?
The grass hasn't been mowed in weeks
And those nosy neighbors pretend
To know me or what type of fertilizer I use
Or what flowers are in bloom
On my porch.
Fake talk.
Maybe it's time I picked up some nails
From the hardware store and
Mend those hinges.
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2019
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Amy Wallace Poem
Wild lavender
Swaying
Vertigo
From being rooted
On the mountain's tip
Mild dark thunder
Greying
Approaching
The lavender
Near the mountain's tip
Tired lavender
Staying
Serenity
As the storm is muted
Passed the mountain's tip
Water files under
Lavender
Replenish
Sounds of the valley echo
Into the mountain's dips
Wild lavender
Swaying
Bewildered
From being rooted
To the mountain’s tip
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2023
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Amy Wallace Poem
Lick
The ocean
Candlewick
Dusk in mauve
Inhale salty coasts
Lined deep in indigo blue
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2023
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Amy Wallace Poem
I do not love you as deep as the ocean.
It has walls and floors.
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2019
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Amy Wallace Poem
Red dirt chases the single-laned tarred roads,
For kilometres past the horizon.
Wrapped in endless yellow canola fields
With lapping barbed wire fences.
Authentic, wise eucalypt giants stand guard-
They have lived
And will always live in the years of the forgotten lands,
They define terra-nullius.
They lean over, offering shade from brazen suns.
Oh, how the creeks know the Australian sun,
Their beds have slept
And will always dream of the time before the stolen lands.
The land owns terra-nullius.
The kookaburra calls to the morning,
With all its glory,
Sings the song of ancestors
To city buildings
That will never live to care about
The roots of the Narraburra Hills,
That wear olden-day graffiti rock art.
Those hills whisper in their valleys
Of the way they’ve lived
And will always live overseeing
The overtaking of terra-nullius.
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2020
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Amy Wallace Poem
She wrung away ache
With meteor rains;
Threw flare coloured stains
Into tomorrow's
Skies, hoping to flee.
She followed star's
Patterns too far
Into the night.
Too far to see.
Galaxies help
Aid her deep
Repair. To
Tell her
She's not
Lone.
12/12/2019
A Ramshackle Faith
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Copyright © Amy Wallace | Year Posted 2019
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