I spend too many nights thinking
Wondering, writing, dreaming
Of someone who doesn't even think of me

As it is brought towards completion
the boat, through my interaction
with it,  out on the lake
will then make possible  the access
to fish that I,  up till now
have only dreamt of

The fish  are the fire..   descended
down  from the heavenlies--
made available  solely
through the fineries..   restored
back in to  wholeness  in part
through the value I first saw in it
when in its primitive, used and
unfairly treated and uncared for, form..

But it was the deep love for that form
that helped give the vessel its access
back into the restoration  of its
own,  true glory..

And now,  all alone--  
out on the lake with it
it brings me access  in to
places and magical depths  until now
only thought of  and dreamt about
as that which exists  only, in heaven..

It is the vessel's motor,  now fully restored
that brings the boat and I  together
out on to the lake
but it is the boat's very  uniqueness
within it's own  natural state of beauty
that helps to give me access  into the magic
that lay currently undisturbed
deep in that glorious lake's depths

The boat has always carried within it
the rarest of gifts
and somewhere buried in my   deep
love for it..  those gifts, while out on
the lake  with it, will make themselves  known
to me  as we together find those fish
that so beautifully represent,  this..

the Holiest of all fires.

Those trophy fish are the magical moments
that up until now, lay dormant,
swimming far away from current distractions  
of the every day, mundane
accessible only  through the restorative process
and one's love of it's rare and magical beauty

It sometimes feels as if all of heaven is
waiting. (I know I am insane to talk this way..)

I truly do love that boat.

When I am out on the lake with it,
every difficult moment will be so very
worth it all to me. That is the joy I get
from the giving of myself into it's
much needed and fully deserved, restoration.

.  .  .  .

You will not sit out there,
  so all alone--
weathering, out there  somewhere
in the corner of the shipyard.  If that is
the case, and that is your current fear..
I know that you will find a way to
make yourself find-able by me. The
greatest tragedy of all would be for a
vessel of your unique and rare beauty,
to die off..  all alone,  unloved,  

scuttled, by the wind.

The energy that was meant for you  is
now,  going into the boat.

  
    --tho I can certainly do both.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

i still
do not know
the poem i've been trying to write
and maybe
that's because
i haven't been
writing one at all
or maybe it's because
the poem i've been trying to write
is not ready for paper
and maybe
i'm the paper
that's not ready for it

Kita tidak pernah bertemu sebelumnya.
Sebelumnya aku tidak mengatakannya kurasa, aku menyukai mu.
Aku tidak akan pernah mengatakannya langsung padamu.
Karena, kita tidak akan pernah bertemu.
Kamu mungkin akan melupakanku suatu hari, disaat kamu sudah menemukan kebebasan yang kamu cari selama ini.
Tapi, tidak masalah. Saat hari itu datang, aku berharap kamu bahagia.

I am one with sensibilities of an adagio. There are few things
I cannot describe with words. A beautiful adagio, I think, is one
of them. Its beauty is ineffable. All are musical poems, but one
is tinged with sorrow. I am thinking of Barber's ADAGIO FOR
STRINGS. PACHELBEL'S CANON, on the other hand,
is gentle and evocative, as is Albioni's adagio. You're sitting on
the sofa holding your sweetheart in your arms listening to
Bach's AIR ON THE G STRING as you give her a sweet kiss
on her neck. You dim the lights. Vivaldi's GUITAR CONCERTO
begins to play followed by Marcello's ADAGIO IN D MINOR
and then you give her another kiss, this one on her lips. It's
getting late, but there's still time to absorb the exquisite PAS DE
DEUX by Tchaikovsky from the NUTCRACKER. Now she
kisses you, not once, but many times. You slip in Beethoven's
MOONLIGHT SONATA, Debussy's CLAIR DE LUNE, Satie's
elegant TROIS GYMNOPEDIES, and Chopin's PRELUDE,
OP. 28, even though they are not adagios, but because they are
etheral. And before you and she go to bed to make love, you listen
to Rodrigo's CONCIERTO DE ARANJUEZ FOR GUITAR AND ORCHESTRA. No better foreplay exists.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Tremors all around
Huge cracks open everywhere
Landscapes change again

I am
Casting down imaginations
To the pulling down of strong-holds
Gearing up for the long term
But from the outside looking in?
May seem bold
or quite
MAD
( Well )
Just referring to the thoughts
that I have
that are really not that far off
while dreaming of  REVELATION
No fabrication on my part
As I try to separate the Light
from the Dark
with high hopes and
Aspirations
Which is.. a sen-sational sensation of flying high.. being.. elevated
High on  Elevation
Or something like a planned
Evo-lu-tion so
True
Staying true to my elevation in 2020
leading into 2020 one
Now seeing  Double
Vision
Here to fix it?
Well, I beg to differ
Cause it takes.. Twice.. the listen
Care to listen?
Just to see things
Different
And at the same time?
Shuning the carnal mind's version
of seeing  Double
Vision
May call it.. Twinning
Which is the true definition
of being  Double
Minded
So to combat this?
I just never
Mind it ( meaning )
There's no rules or
bars of
Confinement
For no 20 or Eye is missing
from my
INTUITION
Raised suspicions?
Well., Just hoping that you will
tread.. carefully
And stay
Centered
As you enter my center of words
and.. penning
As I write the vision
I'll make it plain and simple
No Subliminals
Or either I'll keep it at minimal
While maintaining the
Visuals
As usual
As I keep on gaining in
WISDOM

In the sea of people,
I will find for you,
Battles I've aced, and;
Yet at the end, you're my race.

I loved you more than I hated myself

I have words

I need to say and

I feel the need to speak but

I can’t quite get it out of my heart because

You’ve been gone so long and you’re so far away and

No matter what I say it doesn’t really matter anyway since

Whatever I say or you say or we say we’re still here and never move so

I’ll just keep it inside and not let it out and keep thinking about it and tearing me apart but

I don’t think I can do this much longer, I mean, I have so much on my mind to think and say and feel but

Do you even care?

i spend my days
pouring myself into the cups of others

only to find that
when it’s time for myself
to take a sip

all that’s left
in my cup
is the remainder of a girl
who gave too much

People ask me why I smile
Why I stick right through it all
Why I walk another mile
Instead of slowing to a crawl

I look up to them and smile
A soft billow in the day
I whisper after a small while
“Because I don’t have much to say.”

They look down and smile too
And I know they understand
They know what I always knew
Why I smile secondhand.

So we go our separate ways
I wander and wait, versatile
For another soul to cross my days
To ask me why I smile.

I traced the texture of your words
Like my heart was blind
And your voice was braille

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

My entire life,
I have been waiting.
For years,
Almost two decades now
I have been waiting.
Waiting,
For the better parts.
Waiting,
For the “soon”.
Waiting,
For my life to begin.
Because,
I don’t feel like I have lived.
In the nearly twenty years
I have been alive
And breathing
I do not feel
In any of those years
That I have been alive.
I don’t feel like a single breath
That I have taken
Has been real.
I feel as if
All these years
I’ve been stuck
Behind a window
Watching as my life unfolds
Before me.
I feel that
I have had
Zero control.
That I am in the backseat
Letting someone else drive.
That someone else,
Is writing on the pages
Of MY life.
But no more.
I will break that window,
I will take that wheel,
And I will write
My own pages.
My life has begun,
And now -
I’m in control.

My hands are tied.

She was a thrifted sweater and denim and jersey knit sheets
Pizza breath and red wine and toothpaste
Alabaster skin and knotted hair and freckled shoulders
A tangible dream and my favorite good morning
She agreed to let me kiss her and I agreed to let her slip my shirt over my head before she became
Blood and tears
"I trusted you" and "I’m sorry"
Midnight poems and a drunk "I need you"
I’m afraid I loved you like the way I wrote

The rat-terrier
that I’d loved for
over a decade
has been dead for
awhile now.


Sometimes I miss that dog.
Sometimes I miss cigarettes.

My America is now
the go-to destination
for the suicide-bomber
or
The Mass-Shooting Machine


All of this national abomination
has become all too normal.
&
why is any of this
at all attached,
in any way,
to our
Easter-Sunday-Church-Going
morals?

Tragedy,
a travesty,
trustworthy humans.
-untrue-
mistrustful,
unworthy misogynist,
malcontents
lacking empathy.

Unpaid checks,
no gravity -
a lacking of grateful
hearts.


Our ears destined,
designed, dedicated to hearing
only the hurtful,
instead of the healing.

On the take -
take or be taken
fake or be faking-
make or be made-
scapegoated,
goaded into submission
leaving
us wondering
just what,
exactly is so bad
about hate.

I mean everyone’s doing it these days;
and no one seems to be doing it wrong.

Maybe that’ll change
once we’re on our
deathbeds.

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2021

They burst upwards

All around this evening

There and there and there

Trees, Trees, Trees

Smashing through soil

To a darkening sky

Limbs and fingers and hands

Trunk and twig

Coiling coronaries

Pressed to the sky’s last

Etchings

Monoliths

Earths loud art

Not solemn

Not peace filled

This evening

Trees , Trees, Trees

Explode from the earth

Like Kraken from the ocean

Belittling

Reminding us

Trees Trees Trees

Four hundred million years

Before you breathed

Trees Trees Trees

I'm sinking farther into the sea
Air cut off, unable to breathe

But it's not all too bad
The water's warm
and the fish look nice

It's a shame I can only see this
By myself
at the end.

Even if the closest I can get to you right now
Is just the subtle scent of you on my sheets
I’ll fall asleep with this piece of you wrapped around me
It calms me faster than counting sheep

A white man is running from his white teenage daughter and her brown boyfriend and I'll tell you why;
The white teenage girl and her brown boyfriend are trying to stab and ****** her father and that's no lie.

When the martial arts Muslim sees what's happening while hiking, he knows what he has to do;
He has to save the father, which is true.

The martial arts Muslim takes out his wooden darts and throws one of them into the teenage girl's arm, as you can see;
He throws his second dart into the arm of the teenage girl's boyfriend immediately.

When the teenage girl and her boyfriend drop their knives, the martial arts Muslim runs towards the creeps;
He kicks and knocks out the evil girl and her boyfriend, which is deep.

The father thanks the martial arts Muslim for saving him, which is polite;
The martial arts Muslim calls the police and what I'm saying is right.

The police arrive and arrest the evil girl and her boyfriend, which is swell;
The martial arts Muslim hikes away and that's all that I'll tell.

I donned you like a warm coat on a winter’s day  and I got lost as I zipped myself within
The chill couldn’t penetrate the thick down of your sleeves and I felt safe, if only for a moment
Then the material began to wear and run at the seams
And I held fast, not because I was scared of losing you completely, but because I could never wear just pieces of you
Through the holes came the wind
And with the wind came the change of the seasons
Then, as the frost faded and the warmth came, I began to wonder why I  had even needed a coat at all
And I’d nearly forgotten the sting of the cold by the time it had returned

You can only distract yourself so many times
before it catches up with you

You.
Are.
A.
Walking.
Masterpiece.

Isn't it odd
That a man named Jobs,
Created so many.

I moved on..

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you