This post was originally sent from my Substack, where you can subscribe to get regular updates on my writing.
Last week was the debut episode of my new show for Marfa Public Radio called The Wind & Water Poetry Hour. It aired live on the radio, and is now available on MixCloud for you to listen to as you please.
The theme for this show was/is: time. I interview poet Frank Rubino about his latest book Frank’s Lunch Service. My friend and fellow poet Danika Stegeman reads from her forthcoming book Wheel of Fortune. I read from the Baghavad Gita and a poem of my own (see below). And so much more!
You, too, can have a poem featured on the show. December’s theme will be: Desire. If you have a poem of your own or one you love on the theme of Desire, email me a recording of you reading it to: Amanda.holstien@gmail.com.
Once again, you can listen to a recording of the show here. See below for the poem I read.
xo,
A
“Full Moon in Libra”
Amanda Holstien, 2022
Be careful what you
speak or write.
Be watchful you restless sleepers.
I had a brief moment of inspiration
underneath
the Libra full moon.
The scales do show the imbalance
secret enemies and solutions underneath
restraint.
That I could write a love poem about you
restraining me
as if I were a writer
my tongue ready
to cut and solve
my saliva a salve,
a Bible underneath my pillow,
and no amount of looking backward cold fix
me trying to fix you
as if there were anything wrong,
and therein lies the paradox:
What is wrong
if the house is messy,
or is this too a reflection of my mind?
A projection, reflection of solitude,
how truly I couldn’t wait to die.
How beautiful is the rose of Mary
Magdalene or even the first.
I search for a pen frantically
and forgot what I wanted to write.
Something about repetition,
something about Jacob
or the prophet Elijah:
I call forth.
Every question I could ask
in a poetic stanza,
but the truth is buried underneath.
There’s a crick in my neck,
and something so eerie
about not seeing even one moth;
but with so many candles blazing,
my heart blazing
while I long for crack
cocaine,
an image of you
when I remember I have a problem.
How easily I forget
to apologize
and get back on track.
How refreshing to drink a glass of cool water
to say a prayer
with the scent of roses
contemplating the mystery of
Gethsimini
or betrayal in the Garden.
One question I’lll ask,
if I have Your permission:
Why are there so many betrayals in gardens?
They say that garden snakes won’t hurt you
as I offer an apple to my lover and spouse.
Laughter, reverberation
and no one could satisfy
what it is I’m afraid to say.
Be not afraid
of slithering serpents.
Be not afraid to try again.
Be not afraid of repetition,
trusting in love with all its pain,
thorns and thistles,
political agendas
and cruel as the grave
is her sister jealousy.
Be not afraid to speak in silence,
to wait, if you can, just one more day.
He is who he says he is,
and She, Our Mother, hides in plain sight.
She is everywhere
and everyone,
invisible and fully formed,
so hold back your tears while in ritual
unless She requires you to remember Her song.
Yes, that lullaby that She sang you
that soothed your crying when you were all alone,
swaying there in a basket by the river
forming the land
in the midst of the reeds
that you shall have departed,
red as blood
and deep as the sea.
A bread making humble mistress
Mary Magdaline with slaves of three,
or is that me once again projecting
fear of death or some made-up story
about why anything is happening
everything at once or not at all.
I’d orgasm over and over
or say that I love you
if you would only pay the fee
to enter these mysteries
with your very life force,
and I’d save your cum that you’d ever be mine
as if we were separate,
as if forty years and 10 plagues
could ever separate us
if only I’d get out of my own way.
Creator, why do You create
a reality which does not serve?
But does not it all work in service,
even Satan?
There I said his name.
There in the courtyard
from the East he accuses,
but those who live by the sword
so too shall die from it.
But me, I’d rather drown in Your cup
in full surrender
my mouth as a cave craving sugar,
spending my time
Time
Time
Time
Time
Time
Time
Time
in a saloon
or getting my hair done
judging others for the things that I’ve done,
so then I do grovel
low to the ground
aren’t I so humble,
fumbling around
with mycelium tears
bile and hard water.
If I had known you before
it would have been torture,
but isn’t it fun to have a little restraint,
and now I remember!
Something I thought about sharpening a knife
sparks flying
yeah and also the land.
Release expectations
about solid substance
making money or pentagrams
reading tarot
and working with the dead.
She walks along the graveyard
collecting dust with a shovel and pan
A necromancer courting her ancestors
and smoking datura.
The only thing that keeps me sober
is the remembrance of phantom pain,
some bloodsucking vampire;
but for now I sleep with a stake in my heart
yea, my very own heart.
I once waited with baited breath
for a Pisces
swimming this way or even that,
and yet I did love him
as much or more than I’d love anyone but You.
Would that I could say Your name
written on every wall, entry and doorway;
even the mirror reminds me of You when I remember
once again what I was about to say
about sparks flying,
fires blazing,
but I’ve written plenty of poems about Lucifer,
Leviathan
yet not Belial.
Why do You stay hidden
like the very Earth from which You came,
shifting and changing
like a brick not yet laid?
Ah yes and that cornerstone
seeming so solid,
rejected yet key to it all.
In Solomon’s temple
a palanquin
inlaid with gold
paved with love
His banner hangs over me,
and there I beheld
none who was righteous,
no not one,
so then I surrendered my craving
to know anything sure as the sun,
except to remember
the only thing that is anything is
something that they call love,
and I adore her.