Mike Amado
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Mike Amado is a performance poet, a percussionist and drummer who does lyrical, rhythm-based tomes attuned to the social and semi-political. His first book is entitled: "Poems: Unearthed from Ashes" (2006). He is the host and co-founder of POETRY: THE ART OF WORDS, a poetry venue in Plymouth, MA. Amado is currently working on two chapbooks. One, "Stunted Inner-child Shot the TV" (Cervena Barva Press) are spokenword pieces of self actualization and pop culture "player-hating". The second entitled, "Rebuilding the Pyramids" (Ibbetson Street Press)are medically-inspired poems, rants and healing poems. He has been published in the Wilderness House Literary Review, the Bagelbard's anthology 1,2 & 3 Apt magazine #12, Down in the Dirt and elsewhere. To quote the author:
"I don’t Slam, I rock!"
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"JUST WAITING"
Waiting for the Doctor
Waiting for the pills
Waiting for the scalpel
Waiting to heal
Waiting for treatment to begin
Waiting for treatment to end
Waiting to feel better
Waiting to feel worse
Waiting for an organ
Waiting for the worst
Waiting for the ambulance
Waiting for the hearse
"ANGELINA JOLIE REINCARNATED"
There is a dealer
that sells lives
like pre-owned cars.
I’m gonna trade in Angelina Jolie.
Like a rusted up Chevy Sloper
she needs her soul rebuilt.
The mystic mechanics,
employing gnostic diagnostics
will reincarnate her into an
Inner-city youth .. . .
born to a fifteen year old,
a doomed kid
on the block
dodging bullets and rocks
and a life of Government checks.
No Kabbala, exclusive day spa or
starvation diets for the red carpet.
Just Mickey D’s and KFC, enough
to choke the arteries,
and Hennessy ads
with the face of Marvin Gaye.
Ad reads: Never Blend in.
Li’l Angelina will learn this . . .
You never blend in when you’re poor,
you get screwed . . .
In a world where billions are spent
on war, not education,
Five-0 on every corner
still feeling unsafe.
And while mom’s at night school
or working 40 hours for minimum wage,
she got to cook for her brothers and sisters,
and heat the apartment with the oven.
Then . .. . when no
Hollywood harlot,
A-list mother-wannabe comes to buy her,
she’d better learn fast . . .
to keep your hands filled in life
means you got to strain
playing the game.
It’s all you, no one
can save you. So
Don’t let the world
get your soul down,
get you so down that you
let yourself down and
dissolve in the ground.
99 ways to die, don’t got to pick one;
everyone got a life to live,
some get a sick one.
No one’s lucky, even adopted
exotic celebrity babies.
And if Li’l Angelina
can’t grasp that fact,
better luck next time.
