Ali Al Ameri- Jordan

Ali Al Ameri- Jordan


Jordanian poet and painter of Palestinian origin. Born in a village called Waqqas; lived his childhood in a neighboring village called Qulaiat in Jordan Valley. He watched the mountains of Palestine from his land of birth, as his family was deported from the city of Beisan in the historical northern Palestine in 1948 by the Israeli occupation.

He studied journalism and Arabic Literature. Recently he is the Editorial Manager of Publisher Weekly Arabic magazine, published by Sharjah Book Authority in UAE. He was the head of the cultural section at “Al Arab Al Youm” Jordanian newspaper, and then moved to the “AlKhaleej” daily newspaper in Sharjah, UAE. He was the head of the culture and arts section at “Emarat Al Youm” daily newspaper in Dubai for 11 years.

He Participated at poetry festivals in Palestine, Jordan, United Arab Emirates, Yemen, Iraq, Syria, France, Spain, Costa Rica and Tunisia.

He took part in founding the “Ajras Poetic Group” in Jordan in 1992 along with four other poets

Ali Al Ameri comes from a creative family of poets and artists, “a family possessed with arts” as he likes to define it.

He published three poetry books:

“These are my Intuitions..  This is my Vague Hand”, “White Eclipse”, and

“Enchanted Thread” (Two Arabic editions).

Many of his poems have been translated into English, German, Italian, Spanish, Macedonian and French. Some of these poems tackle the anthology of the Palestinian poetry. His poetry book “Enchanted Thread” has been translated into Spanish, and published in Costa Rica.

He is a member of the Jordanian Writers’ Association, Arab Writers’ Union, Jordanian Press Association.

He participated in several group art exhibitions, since 1985 in UAE, Kuwait, Egypt, Macedonia, Palestine, Romania and U.S.A. His first art exhibition was in Amman, Jordan 2015. The Palestinian artist Ismail Shammout Mentioned to Al Ameri in his book “Art in Palestine”, Kuwait 1989.  He participated at international art symposiums in Greece, Macedonia, Georgia, Romania, Jordan, UAE and Egypt.

He was the founder and Art Director of Dubai International Art Symposium (DIAS).

The Bow

To the forest


a rainbow

from above the branches.

It winds shadows around its hands.

It hangs lovers’ names

on the nail of the past,

where clouds drop a stony title,

from the top of the blue to Friday.

I saw and so did the lilac.

I saw a shepherdess pouring

into the lyre a day

and a silvered paradise and singing.

But darkness remained in the bird’s neck,

like the necklace of a widow

At the farthest end of the world.

Enchanted Thread

In Love

the obscure shines

and flint melts.

In Love

the river comes to the mountain, and blue stays.

In Love

sleep speeds away

and the eye of the door weeps.

In Love

the soul of basalt gleams

and in the morning trees walk

towards mirrors of water.

In Love

the madman in the shadow croons

the book of the heart;

pours the spirit of names into roses. 

In Love

darkness sings under trees,

lightning dances on water       

and clothes are in confusion.

In Love

the heart is lit

though not touched by fire.

The Milky Way

Do the stars sleep like letters in time’s box? 

Do they slide in the evening?

like silk on lovely shoulders?

Do they open like lovers’ words in the house’s shade?

Do the stars meet like the lines of palms?

Do they embrace quickly:

two rivers after a long voyage?

And do they change places, as spirits between night and clouds? Do they compete up there, as pupils compete to draw their teacher’s face? And do the stars gaze at their faces in mirrors of mist, as women in love stand before mirrors drawing kohl for their rendezvous?

I have seen the Milky Way

guarded by lightning

and I have seen

the songs rise

at the curve

and I saw

Eden above the bed.

My Heart Hosts You

My heart hosts you,

you bring enchantment to the stone of oblivion;

spread a turquoise carpet between my instincts.

My heart hosts tremors.

Your voice is sweet basil’s fragrance on my bed,

the hearth is to my west

and lightning continues its high song.

You are here

so clouds are joyful on the terrace;

the line of love is dazzled by your light.

My heart hosts Eden, blooming melodies

and butterflies.

And I embrace you until

your silver necklace flowers.

I embrace you until water trembles.

My heart hosts your secret crescents

And I embrace you until

The etching on your silver necklace flowers

I embrace you until the water shakes.


A Woman from east of the heart,

grinding wheat on a stone,

singing for a lightning flowing between the music.


A Woman in a lunar house,

embossing lines of henna in the door,

igniting a wood of incense under the unseen,

and opens the secret of meaning.


A Woman swaying in front of the mirror.

At midnight, traveling to her first paradise.

Over the silk of the fire, butterflies hovering.

The woman pouring a light into the clay,

and drawing two lines on the path.


A Woman from east of the spirit,

fluttering like a morning on the hilltop,

anointing a blue pebble with oblivion,

and walking towards the remembrance.


A Woman from the heart of east,

lighting love before the arches.

 In her ring the sapphire stone blossoms.

And when the shadow bends over a language,

the meaning of the meaning glows in her eyes.

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