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Best Poems Written by Amelie Ison

Below are the all-time best Amelie Ison poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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the flowers that grow within

Let the ground have my body
So I can play hide and seek one last time.
Let the worms eat my flesh
So my death brings about something good.
Bury me where you’ll remember me;
Where I can be happy again:
Where I can still climb the highest trees
And roll down hills—
I’ll be friends with the breeze,
And let the bugs crawl over my hands
So I can feel their tiny footsteps,
Like I used to feel your hand on mine.
Where my body lies,
The earth is freshly disturbed
For a meadow to flourish:
So when flowers grow through my bones,
I will finally be beautiful.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

Echoes for a War Requiem

I think sometimes of the life there once was:
Of a time when birds sang throughout the woods
And insects flitted between the flowers.

But when greedy hands infected the land,
The beauty was ruined; life lost its home— 
And the gentle calls of sparrows and swifts
Were quickly replaced with thundering guns

Foxes found their homes within dead bodies,
And owls on the hunt flew above shellfire;

Butterflies drank from the growing poppies,
Tainted by the blood of the innocent,
That grew like a plague sent to cleanse the land.

In some places, only the dead remained,
Strewn about randomly and carelessly— 
Lying like dolls on a child’s playroom floor;

Never even given a proper grave.

With patience, they wait to be discovered— 
To be welcomed home by beloved arms;

But, within all their rosy dreams of home,
Hides the truth they have known for far too long:
They remained forgotten; their names are dead.

Out of anguish for all those who were killed,
Nature returned to reclaim its power.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

'All You Left Me Was A Feather'

All you left me was a feather—
The greatest goodbye I could ever receive.
And, hidden somewhere within its delicate intricacies, in every fibre;
Buried beneath the tiny atoms that make up who you are:
Are written the words "I love you".

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What do you think of the sunset

You ask me what I think of the sunset:
“What do you think?”
Nothing.
I only see you,
And you are more perfect than any sunset on this earth.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

World's Most Wanted

If someone spoke a different language to you,
Would you kill them?
If somebody worshipped a different god than you,
Would you kill them?
You, personally, would you kill them?
How much hatred could you be filled with
All because someone lives a different life to you?
Why are we, as people, so averse to the unknown;
So desperate to destroy what we don’t understand?
What happens if we find aliens— 
Something we’ve talked about for so long— 
And they have a different way of life than we do?
Would we tear them apart 
Just because, in our eyes, their culture is “wrong”,
Even after being so desperate to meet them?
Yes, this world we live in has a painful history of destruction;
Of wanting everyone in one box; all the same;
Everyone like this one “perfect” example of how we should be.
But why do such obscene things
Just because something is new and strange
And is therefore labelled evil?
We can’t live sheltered lives forever:
There will always be so many things we don’t know;
Something we haven’t encountered before.
Yet thousands have been killed—probably more— 
And why? We are all humans. Yet, somehow,
We have made each other our greatest enemies.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

Dear Thylacine

-Written for the Thylacine, and all the other animals that have been made extinct. You will be loved. You will be remembered

Dear thylacine,
you died alone:
the last of your kind.

How were you to know
that, with your death,
an entire species would end?

The peculiar mammal-marsupial
that looked like a tiger
crossed with a wolf,

Unable to compete with modern dogs;
wiped out by the diseases we introduced;
and killed in their masses
simply because they were in our way.

You became the last of your kind,
living within the walls of a zoo— 

yet safer than being wild and free;
only ever seen down the barrel of a gun. 

Dear Thylacine,
with your death came sorrow— 
but you were the last to live and breathe,
and you will always be remembered.

I will see you tomorrow, Thylacine,
because you live 
in my head.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

a wolf will never be a pet

Stuff me in dresses all that you want— 
the same way you’d put a collar on a wolf, and tighten it like a noose,
then drag it around while it tries to escape: an object for your admiration.

Make the bear dance and the tiger jump through hoops of fire— 
their dulled, broken minds don’t know what to do if not your bidding.
And if they decide (even once) to think freely, you give them incentive,
expecting them to be happy in this ‘compromise’ you gave them.

Obviously, the wolf could be a dog if you just raised it like one— 
if they’re all so similar, why couldn’t it just act like a dog?
Take it for walks; throw a ball for it to chase; let it sleep in your bed… 
One day the ‘dog’ will show its teeth and become a wolf yet again.

Wolves are not dogs, just like bears aren’t meant to dance— 
you can dress them up any way that you like; parade them around;
show off your darling prized possession. Oh, what a good little pet.
But only when blood is drawn, do you finally learn your lesson:

deep down the animal will always be an animal; what it truly is.
A wolf is a wolf—it will never be a pet— 
and, despite all your wishful thinking, I will never be who you want me to be:

just like the wolf that howls from the jungle with its pack, wild and free,
I do not belong to you. I only belong to me.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

Memory in Solace

There is a grave with no name
That stands lonelier still.
It has no flowers nor despairing mourners
And the grass grows thick and bushy,
For this grave is left to rot.

Abandoned is this grave—
No one knows if a funeral was ever held.
The vicar says he knows all faces,
Yet this one, he cannot place.
Ostracised even by the other dead,

This grave stands alone.
Who could tell who was laid here to rest?
Not you, nor I,
Though I knew him once.
He was a good man. But, now, he rots.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

your kind of rain

You know that rain
that just feels like it’s never gonna end— 
that rain,
where the clouds seem angry
so they shower us with the torrential rain
of their never ending tears.
The kind of rain that causes rivers
to burst their banks and flood
because they cannot bear the same burden 
that the clouds were forced to carry.
A kind of rain
that revives entire deserts 
and brings life to even the most desolate of places—
that refreshes the elephant
who's been waiting for a storm.
Here, it is not barren,
so the rain is just spiteful— 
it will never end as I hear it land on the ground
like nails;
you know that kind of rain.

Details | Amelie Ison Poem

From the Bones of the Dead

The poppies grow where the bodies lie.
They grow out of their skulls;
Out of bullet holes and discarded limbs—
Anything is their home.
And in this brutal massacre,
A young poppy seed finds solace:
Somewhere to grow old.
The poppies reach upward,
Each like a spindly, quivering finger
Pointing to the heavens—
Come rain; come shine.
They are an unwavering beauty
On such a deadened and weary land:
Flattened and trampled by the lost souls,
Still searching for their justice
And for their lives back.

Best Poems Written by Amelie Ison

the flowers that grow within

Echoes for a War Requiem

'All You Left Me Was A Feather'

What do you think of the sunset

World's Most Wanted

Dear Thylacine

a wolf will never be a pet

Memory in Solace

your kind of rain

From the Bones of the Dead

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