Scenes the Writer Shows | Trafford Publishing

Scenes the Writer Shows goes on journeys with the author. Trafford Publishing Author MB Moshe (Michael P Amram) attempts to bring the exact experience to the reader. Mr. Amram relates his own experiences in this book of forty-one poems. All share a common bond of location. Either real or embellished by his own imagination, each of Amram's poems creates a sense of tangibility for the reader. Mr. Amram acquired a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Minnesota–Duluth in 1989. Since then he has been writing fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. His fiction often draws from personal experiences. Many of these have been published in small, online publications. In 2006 the Loft Press published his book Would God Move a Ping-Pong Table? A cumulative Analysis of Faith and Religion. In January of 2013, he published The Orthodoxy of Arrogance with Trafford. He and his wife live near Minneapolis. They enjoy biking through the many trails in Hennepin County. He is an avid blogger and posts new writing daily. His blog is viewed by an international audience. Mr. Amram regularly attends the Loft Literary Center. He participates in a writers group known as "Open Voices." The Loft is the subject of the poem "Boondoggle Sounds."

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Waxing on Flames We were young and at the mercy Of our means and we flung ourselves Down upon the flames for what We knew felt right; I bridled from Those heated pains that boiled And tested me; and knelt down to Pray upon the iron grate while Moonlight splintered trees to shake Ripe, fierce winds I’d learned to hate; And as we breathed the nourished breeze Meager food would meet its fate. And smoke then filled those hated Winds and our eyes would tear to glow, we could see; they let us be Emboldened by the fire’s grow. For what we’d come to be; to swig Watery beer that was purged to slake flames that kept us free. Styrofoam cups melted slowly. Kaleidoscope colors seared Sticks pronged for pubescent boys. In our fledgling dreams the hairless Orbs and scepters waved and taught Us to be free; Elders chewed their fatted calves grown for kings to be; While drying socks and soiled Pants would tongue the sapling trees. There in our night’s starry folds we Held our child’s grips; to clean our pans as rivers swiftly Fed the sand- coursed veins that slowed Watered beer our nibs would feel. Bark revealed the night’s Holy seal And how tall a shadow can see; In moonlight melting like foam Imploding cups we could feel. And spew fire aimlessly to Taunt stars we knew we’d be; if Circus mimes would eat bright flames so painted faces would know to Hide the flies our Lords could see; They would trace constellations where Orion’s belt hung free; so Grassy darkness let me see: We were young and safe in swaddling, birthy flames, our dreams had wings that melted by sun’s mercy. So tender were our feet that brought Our paths to be; turning slow At stakes to burn the lessons our Elders had lost from ageing minds; And learn from ember’s glowing the fears growing boys could show.



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