Amy Bengtson
Amy Bengtson Poems
Mistakes happen. A lot. Endlessly.
We scowl at their insistence. Their existence.
Why is perfection far from us
When it is in every model, every character,
...
Children of Palm Sunday
What sweet faces, the children waving branches!
We honor their clumsy parade.
...
In the hospital, a mother cries feebly, dreamless.
The son holding his mother for the last time
Joins the hymn.
The refrain tastes like aspirin
...
I am no artist, but
In a frame on my wall,
In blue paint with smeary edges,
Are your tiny hand prints
...
Spring isn't yet.
Only one robin has been seen
Boldly claiming his old perch.
Winter is over.
...
I will love you if.
I will give to you if.
I will honor you if.
I will kiss you if.
...
It was not good for the tree
Whose only guilt was to grow tall,
To grow strong, To grow straight.
...
The Best Poem Of Amy Bengtson
Our Failure Is In Aspiration
Mistakes happen. A lot. Endlessly.
We scowl at their insistence. Their existence.
Why is perfection far from us
When it is in every model, every character,
Every God-fearing preacher on TV?
Perhaps our failure reeks of stale hope
Or blown trust, or even some of pixie dust.
Were our perceived successes too cheap
Or the mountain of our abilities too steep?
Definitely, without a doubt, probably,
Maybe perhaps there is a slight chance, no.
We failed not because the task was too much
But because our aspirations were just not
Based enough on the last attempt.
Our over-aspiration has caused asphyxiation.
Next time, breathe.
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4/25/2024 7:55:27 PM # 1.0.0.1119
