SurVision Magazine / John Amen

Ode to Mythology

In the morning, I find a piano dumped in my front lawn.
No one saw the snake in the clover?
The U-Haul idling in front of the mailbox?
How about those smiles in the street,
mouths that move but make
no sound? This is when
a large prosthetic hand starts waving in the dark.

Every boy throws away his father's wings,
certain he'll find a better set. Years later,
he returns to the dumpsite,
but of course they're gone.
He busies himself, feather by pawnshop feather.
He'll fly, by Jesus, if it's the death of him.

I wait for instructions from the skybox,
can I make Disneytown by nightfall? Someone
lights a fire & tunes his guitar. Someone polishes a badge.

Ode to Country Music

after Sparklehorse

I come from men who shoveled silence for a living.
Who needs the wings of communion?
The bloodletting of forgiveness?
Last night, my drowned brother paused at the fence,
parted his blue lips to sing, then vanished
like a shy oracle, leaving a trail of mud
in the yellow leaves. The world
has always been broken or breaking,
& who can say whether loss or contentment
is the heart's lifeblood? Who can say
whether time is bored or ambitious? Who's
beyond reloading, firing a prayer into the long night?

Ode to Country Music 2

The man I fought with,
whose shattered limbs I left by the river,
was gone in the morning.
I saw his face on billboards & wanted posters,
scanned for him as I passed through taped-off fields.
I read about him in newspapers, bibles, the ancient encyclopedia.

I found a map to Graceland,
kids were shooting bottles
behind the guardhouse,
staring as if they'd
known me in another life.

Those days I slept in dangerous beds,
waiting for the knife in the pillow,
before the waters receded & my cousins reclaimed their land,
before I invented the airplane
& soared west to begin again.

John Amen is the author of five collections of poetry, including Illusion of an Overwhelm, a finalist for the 2018 Brockman-Campbell Award. His poems and prose have appeared recently, or are forthcoming, in American Literary Review, Colorado Review, Tupelo Quarterly, RHINO, and Prairie Schooner, among other publications. He founded and is the managing editor of Pedestal Magazine.

SurVision Magazine
About Us Archive Submissions Contributors Books Links Home Page
An international online magazine that publishes Surrealist poetry in English. Issue Eleven JOHN AMEN Ode to Mythology In the morning, I find a piano dumped in my front lawn. No one saw the snake in the clover? The U-Haul idling in front of the mailbox? How about those smiles in the street, mouths that move but make no sound? This is when a large prosthetic hand starts waving in the dark. Every boy throws away his father's wings, certain he'll find a better set. Years later, he returns to the dumpsite, but of course they're gone. He busies himself, feather by pawnshop feather. He'll fly, by Jesus, if it's the death of him. I wait for instructions from the skybox, can I make Disneytown by nightfall? Someone lights a fire & tunes his guitar. Someone polishes a badge. Ode to Country Music after Sparklehorse I come from men who shoveled silence for a living. Who needs the wings of communion? The bloodletting of forgiveness? Last night, my drowned brother paused at the fence, parted his blue lips to sing, then vanished like a shy oracle, leaving a trail of mud in the yellow leaves. The world has always been broken or breaking, & who can say whether loss or contentment is the heart's lifeblood? Who can say whether time is bored or ambitious? Who's beyond reloading, firing a prayer into the long night? Ode to Country Music 2 The man I fought with, whose shattered limbs I left by the river, was gone in the morning. I saw his face on billboards & wanted posters, scanned for him as I passed through taped-off fields. I read about him in newspapers, bibles, the ancient encyclopedia. I found a map to Graceland, kids were shooting bottles behind the guardhouse, staring as if they'd known me in another life. Those days I slept in dangerous beds, waiting for the knife in the pillow, before the waters receded & my cousins reclaimed their land, before I invented the airplane & soared west to begin again. John Amen is the author of five collections of poetry, including Illusion of an Overwhelm, a finalist for the 2018 Brockman-Campbell Award. His poems and prose have appeared recently, or are forthcoming, in American Literary Review, Colorado Review, Tupelo Quarterly, RHINO, and Prairie Schooner, among other publications. He founded and is the managing editor of Pedestal Magazine.
Copyright © 2022 SurVision Magazine