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Best Poems Written by Tamra Amato

Below are the all-time best Tamra Amato poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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My View of You

Your arm wraps 
around her shoulder.
She slips in—wears you
easily and steps in the place
that was our embrace 
for eighteen years.
This looks so effortless for you.

Out of breath—
my life crosses the finish line
of a marathon-marriage to this 
slow-motion, surreal, stream of  pain.
Unsteady on my feet like a nervous bride,
my forevers and until death vows
unceremoniously fade..

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Dinosaurs Are Not Extinct, One Lives In My House (For Colin)

A contemporary creature,
this Tyrannosaurus Rex is not a carnivore.
He delights in gnashing peanut butter sandwiches
and his habitat is lush
with rocks and bugs and toys
And if I dare suggest he is a little boy--
his mighty roar is deafening.
Its echo captures ancient pains
that live in mother's heart
And for a moment
renders them extinct,
as joy tears them apart.

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Midwest Memory

perfect rows of corn
thoughts are evenly complete
dreams flirt in green skirts

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Sestina of Self

I am the center of raw and wild feelings.
Born from an ancient spirit of infant and child.
Falling back in a womb of darkness, myself I discover.
Hiding in an egg, I hear a whisper.
My shell is touched by a promise in the wind's soughing.
Infinite breath of wind caresses, I, who am little.

I am conscious of little.
A time before definition or feelings.
Warm, wild wind soughs.
Motion stirs the blueprint of a child.
God in every breath, every whisper.
Take form and discover.

A bud must open in order to discover.
Hesitation and fear cry out from a bud so little.
Inside a chameleon wears it's feelings.
Fright filters through the pores of a child.
Leaf and skin shiver in a dark wind's soughing.

The angelic songs of a river soughs.
Life's song for us to discover.
Along the riverbank runs the child.
Of the future she knows little.
Reflecting in water a spectrum of feelings.
Their sound is a scream, a laugh, a cry and a whisper.

As I grow the acceptable sound is a whisper.
My tears often mix with a shower's soughing.
Bodies aren't meant to cover feelings.
They should be naked dancers that discover.
Their steps are big and little.
Dance with the flow trusting child.

As I grow older, in my soul lives the child.
My heart is the room where she shouts and whispers.
It's a never-land where she will always be little.
Hope sings in a tear-river's soughing
With care and love we'll learn to discover.
We are courageous explorers of feelings.

The child, her voice a prayerful wind's soughing.
A soft reminding whisper not to fear discovery.
Oh little love I am with you always, experiencing together our feelings.

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Sky

I want to evaporate
into the balmy sky.
Embrace songs and
taste feathered energy.
I want to be gray and
float heavily to you--
Pregnant with rain
and colors of light.

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In Memory of Ancestors, Family and Friends

You never write.

You never phone.

And there are strangers

Living in your home.

Where are you Loves?

 You’ve disappeared----

Then come unannounced,

Dressed in memory,

And I, clothed in tears.

Immense Light 

too huge to hold

Where I wait

Each day, blessed time grows old.

Without end

Flame cradles 

All, I see

Add my Loves’

Beginnings and Forever

Be…

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Wish To Be

Prayer choice or not
Miscarriage, abort heartbreak
wish-to-be babies

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On Grandma Thora's Farm

I hide in Grandma Thora's room.
A velvet and wood reserve,
forbidden to children.
Grandma's heavy, hunting feet
thunder over hardwood floors toward me.
Curled up tight- like a snake.,
praying my thumping chest doesn't climb
over her huge scolding voice,
and betray my hiding place.
Grandma Thora is in cahoots with God-
She is as scary as His commanding bible.
The book, that I didn't ask for, is my birthday gift.
I'm ashamed of my disappointment
that stepped into me when 
I tore off the wrapping paper
and found only God's word.
King James in leather is not what I want.
I carve into the skin-thin title page
with a sharp tipped pen,
“Damn you! Go to Hell!”

God, I'm dead now for sure.

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Christmas Season

Santa Claus is a scary dude. 
Right up there with God. 
He watches our every move
and keeps score with a list
that he checks twice to 
prepare for judgement day 
and what might lay 
under the Christmas tree 
if you're not found naughty. 

I love that little baby in a manger 
and angels, shepherds, lambs , 
a bright star to follow. 
But the wise mens' gifts are suspect. 
Smart shoppers would bring
a rattle, toys, maybe a lullaby.

Santa, Jesus,  Christmas,
a season of light, anticipation and anxiety.
The big question pressing hard 
like steel on ice. 
Skating around sacrifice and salvation. 
For God sake who could ever hope to be that nice? 

Santa is not around after he delivers,
thankfully he leaves town and 
God sleeps like new parents do,
catching some Z's
after an evening of childbirth,
well wishers, three kings.

Christmas morning.
Hurry! Bring your best intention.
Escape! Wake up before anyone.
Open your present moment.

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Gossip

deaf woman watching
many motions of their mouths
hurricane's eye words

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