Biography of Amy Jones
I took an introductory poetry writing course last semester and this is what I came up with
Amy Jones's Works:
Amy Jones Poems
“I’m so sorry, ” he says again and again The desperate crease across his eyebrows tells her he means it She can tell he hasn’t eaten for a while
A Blues Poem
Seems all my days of late Are spent in doubt Regrettin’ what I done Wonderin’ how to get out
A Gastown Bum
I held her close to my side as we walked out of the restaurant. The way she bounced when she stepped reminded me of a high-strung child That I needed to keep a close watch on. She hummed as she bounced.
Doggy-Style Behind The Octopus
I went to play mini golf with this guy I met. I chose the Coral Sea course. I thought the dark and the black lights might be romantic. After a few holes, it seemed to be working.
Tink. Tink. Tink. Tink. I could never sleep at our house when it rained. The bedroom I shared with my sister was near the front door where an undersized tin roof was all that offered cover from the rain.
Dear spiritual overseer, I do not now what will happen when if I die. I do not know if I’ve been good. Church is crap.
A Child Of
Freud’s theory that every boy wants to marry his mother and that every girl wants to be sexually possessed by her father scares me. Whether it’s the power of suggestion or whether grossly enough Freud was really onto something, I’m occasionally afraid that he’s right.
She was the youngest of 8 kids in a German Mennonite family. She went to UBC and she teaches grade 4. We don’t like to talk.
White eyes wide as we walk down Hastings. A crowded community completely crazy. One street houses one city’s wastings. Here where they’re labelled unlawful or lazy.
I heard Newfie got shot. And now he’s dead. I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel bad.
I heard Newfie got shot.
And now he’s dead.
I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel bad.
No one found him for a couple days.
I don’t know who found him,
But I know he got it in the face
With a shot gun,