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Best Poems Written by Amy Michelle Mosier

Below are the all-time best Amy Michelle Mosier poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Stare Stabbed Me -

A stare stabbed me –
My eyes darted – a presence
Loomed large, electrically.
A horned owl was my assailant.
A rest in a mesquite tree
Made a meeting of chance.

Through the glass door –
The dividing line of succession –
We wondered about the other
Who should have dominion.
By the talons I could discern
‘Twas the owl that won.

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I Heard My Name Called In the Wind -

I heard my name called in the wind –
Stirring up in my heart a thrill. 
Neither a person at the trail bend 
Nor stationed upon the hill
Did this phenomenon portend. 

A second stronger wind waxed –
Rushing through the valley. 
Hearing my name again, I was vexed. 
By the rattling of bursage leaves –
The calling out was masked. 
As the wind came, it hushed as quickly. 
It waited for what I’d do next. 

I listened – the valley was still. 
Spirit of goodness –
I whispered – or of evil – 
I bid, let me pass
If that be your will.

Details | Amy Michelle Mosier Poem

Two Streams that Converge

Two streams that converge
   And flow inextricably
Are like two lovers
   Meandering about who meet -

Not knowing anything of what
   They were missing before
But now having full sight
   Each of the other -

Who rejoice at the freshet
   And meld and flow as one
Assured of their fate
   And their refreshing love.

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The Garden of Eden

Desert Botanical Garden - Phoenix, AZ

Come and find me in this garden;
   I know not where the hours go.
Palm fronds brush against my cheek –
   Lone toadstool, blush of mallow.

They say this is the Garden of Eden –
   Rocks of lichen, red yucca.
But I think this is probably heaven –
   Birds-of-paradise and vinca.

You will find here a green shelter;
   Shade fills the inner sanctuary.
Canaries whistle o'er yonder –
   Dew drops on a banana leaf.

Let's be as kids like we once were;
   Take my hand, let's go find its end.
Make a wish on a four-leaf clover –
   White passion vine, black-eyed Susan.

Heaven can wait if we persevere.
   Let my bosom be your headrest.
Morning glories open to the day;
   Sure feels like we're heaven-blessed.

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As Empty As the Future

As empty as the future
So is a soaked page
Whose ink has run off.
I hope to be the author;
A new and boundless decade
Awaits my pen's touch.

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What A Brutal Sun That Assaults The Cliffs

What a brutal sun that assaults the cliffs
   Where cacti and mescals dare to abide!
Here and there, dozens of petroglyphs
   Decorating the canyon may be espied.

In large nesting circles neatly drawn
   In evaporating wisps and bold squares
In a sun giving thanks for every dawn
   In little starbursts and stick figures

In a deer, in an eagle looking strong
   In a war scene foretold by prophets
It remains unsaid – time is not long
   But to the same end, everything drifts.

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The Ballad of Red Feather

Pretty like the crystalline canyon rocks -
   Fair like a deer wandering in the morn' -
With the Great Spirit as a faithful witness
   A baby girl named Red Feather was born 
And for her onyx eyes and ruddy cheeks
   An angel was sent with kisses to adorn. 

Her misery began with John Martin -
   A white trader of uncouth demeanor
Who took one day a Navajo woman
   As payment for whiskey and gunpowder
And soon his bride realized an inheritance
   But in so doing died young in labor. 

Red Feather lived - lived with a cruel father
   Who cursed her and of her did not boast -
Withholding not his friends who laughed at her
   And was ignored by passersby the most -
Irretrievably lost between two worlds
   That scorned red highlights and native clothes

Until one day when grief overwhelmed her -
   She ran away - against the blinding tears -
Where else but to the village of her mother
   But discovered that they too made jeers
At the sight of her and there enslaved her
   And instead of love - realized her worst fears. 

But solace found Red Feather at moments
   When she'd steal away to Spirit Canyon
To gaze upon the weathered petroglyphs. 
   Silence touched her heart every now and then
As she'd sit among the lonely rifts
   And consider the Earth with the heavens. 

There among them was one where an artist
   Told of the wish of an ancient warrior
To jump the cliff and join the gentle spirits
   That captured Red Feather's awe in particular
And since the life ahead held not her interest
   She soon desired him and her mother

So it happened during one nice spring day: 
   The wildflowers breezed as she took the path -
Eagles circled above her at midday
   And Red Feather stood on the edge with wrath -
Embraced the sky and Sun and leapt away -
   Seeking what the next world might have. 

Since that time many a wayward Navajo
   And traveler alike claim to have seen
Red Feather come to them - white with glow -
   And swear wholly it was not of a dream 
But that she lives - she lives as a ghost 
   Wandering along the cliffs and beneath. 

So should you come to Navajo Country 
   Look sharp - Red Feather's spirit takes flight. 
She may run silently with a clan of coyotes 
   Or dance in the shadows of your firelight. 
She may be the breeze that blows softly
   Or the silver mist that rises at night.

Details | Amy Michelle Mosier Poem

Earth Surely Is The Place Of Purgatory

Earth surely is the place of purgatory
Where “homeowners” are bolstered up -
Are thrilled by and thrive in lies and slavery
And would sooner scoff at desert encampments
But I think it should be most savory
To call a canyon pathway a sidewalk
And a gnarled ironwood a canopy
And afford a mountain cave to a vagrant.

Details | Amy Michelle Mosier Poem

Villanelle No 1

In my youth, I remember an innocent time
When I dreamt that big dreams would come true
But all those dreams have since been stolen. 

Fate is made hard by the evil thoughts of men. 
Tho' I strove for good, ill luck accrued. 
In my youth, I remember an innocent time

When life was unscripted, the future was golden. 
Dreams burned as bright as the morning sun's hue
But all those dreams have since been stolen. 

Power is the motive behind the heart's assassin. 
Thus, life hurts like a sword turned in the wound. 
In my youth, I remember an innocent time

When I sought in vain the faith of a paladin
Who'd champion my cause, to be approved
But all those dreams have since been stolen. 

God curses both the righteous and the wicked
But punishment without fault seems cruel. 
In my youth, I remember an innocent time
But all those dreams have since been stolen.

Details | Amy Michelle Mosier Poem

Like the Sphinx

Like the Sphinx
Igor lies regally
With eyes closed off
To the world.
He finds his zen 
And feels the breeze
But knows not how much 
He is revered.