clem-c
Norwegian
Not sure, who am I? / / Gone for a few months hopefully only two, go where the work is... I can't even find it / on a map.. / / Sometimes when you know you are going somewhere, / and it is desolate, and you are alone, even in a small group / of your peers, He is with me and too, may Gud være med deg. / / My last post will not be my next post, as I don't know when / my next post will be.
Wet pavement slaps, at the feet
that step in puddles repeatedly
under a childs' booted thunder clap,
the lightening dazzle
strikes from a bright
flash of smiling teeth,
the cloud of hair
blowing in the wind
gives no hint of letting up.
Listen...more raucous rolling laughter, coming nearer.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 11:10 PM UTC
the sky danced green with envy, to the warm glow from the cottage
still half buried under snow
voices sing and a line goes through the heart of each note,
call it perfections song, to the sky
eyes see through all obstacles in the way to get to a place,
call it a sense of direction, on the earth
heart beating as you lay waking from the dead of night,
call it you are alive, flesh
and for a change you are not alone, to flesh
music playing on the your iPod, in the dock in the living room
you left on all night, as you two took everything off to go to,
it wasn't bed,
the music was wrong,
but all else was oh so right, on a cold and frozen night,
at least one heart was thawed,
and one voice hit perfect pitch,
funny you don't remember that part, being in any of those songs
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:30 PM UTC
If you were the ocean,
what body of water that
would be, but only salty
from the tears you have
cried missing me...
If I were sky, it would be the colour
of my eyes, yet cloudy with age,
and the tears would not fail, to fall
like hail from my cold and ***
tant shaped heart.
There is one place I promise we can meet,
despite the gaps between us seeming, ever
grand and global,
keep your eyes on the horizon, run to meet me
there, as I fall from the heights for you...
yet I understand, if there is no softness in the catch...
again and again...I will fall.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:13 AM UTC
in no sense, don't make dollars to donuts, for what
you be, causation of grief, and grieving, of parents dis-
believing, of siblings, now lonelier or only children, the list goes
on
and on,
to my horror, that you make war, taking away child-
like play times, balling up the air from lungs and replacing it with fire,
so much ire
so much more ire, in
self-appointed masters of a three ring circus,
poison seeds always find fertile ground, as that
is what dirt does,
seeds and dirt, with your toxic oil-less spill, you pack up your
tents and take it to where the people are, living their lives, too
intent on making ends
meet, that they don't see the clouds of dark-
ness, like some mythical monster which is only
talked about when there is a death toll,
tower bells toll,
that they could be ringing forever in your ears,
(until they and you both melt in hell)
and your ears hear the sound of children's voices,
laughing loudly at play forever clearly.
(read screaming for their parents,
through pain,
their tears and heartbreak)
surely you lit your own fires flames, using Newspapers
with stories covering your infamy,
too bad there can't be a media ban on the ( )
there is no honour in this fully your shame.
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC
It has been awhile
but not a millennia
where it is sterile...as
time has a style.
and a way with the heart
wears it out for any of 'ya
cannot refresh or restart
melded flesh and metal parts.
the grains of sand, one by one
leave the shattered hour-glassy-
eyed reflection of a fallen son
if a grain gets stuck he is done.
go to the well of tear ducts,
falling on knees so weary,
curled in a ball, knees tucked,
the peace built now . . . . e d.
fill all you own with the saline water,
having no answers not one theory,
as why all that was done like it otta,
eyes will dry, despise me, for all
time,
as leaving,
is grieving,
with out saying goodbye,
it will be said instead,
after all it was his own fault,
that swallowed him whole.
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Growing up was not in the spoken word of the country of origin,
parental choice was the language of the country of birth,
lost were the years when learned idiomatic expressions would
now be automatic,
as growing would have it,
one language was enough,
and was lavished,
while the parents,
moved and moved,
to a hockey town,
with a mountain named,
after the color of blood,
and another mountain,
like Granite.
All that has been lost,
drags behind, pulling
toward home,
tongues and time,
both lost on this life,
cities and memories
out of reach, the pity.
travelling home alone,
with only strangers to
greet you,
treating you,
like a visitor,
who knows better,
once you say your
last name,
flames of memory
lit and rekindled,
the smile
either stays
or vanishes
as they embrace
or banish,
who your Ancestors
were to them,
lost on the city history,
tongue spoken a foreign exchange,
eyes down cast
never focussing,
like you did locusts bring
and they carried a little of
the past, each one a story
with as many exaggerated,
laughs as honest chuckles,
and your will buckles and
you admit, this place is my home
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 4:08 PM UTC
An act of an adrenaline *****
Who climbs like a monkey,
Unencumbered by fear,
he is a seer of distances,
and close to the sky.
A bit of a fish or something that
covers fish flesh or over my eyes,
to see the truth not conspiracy ruse,
oh Lord, drop the scales from my eyes,
fill me not with hate, distrust or to despise,
others who breed trust, in them with lies.
Found standing on a rock formation, high above a body
liquid green and cool blue, dark mysterious plays with light,
seeing feeling the movement sounds of syncopation, the wind
carries a rhythm, which grounds my life and
in the large and the small,
lets me know I am not alone after all.
Not connected to some guy in Conneticut who has a theory,
Not applauding an NYC teen for going where no one is allowed to go,
Knowing that I am able to rest at His behest, as He was able
to invest, His son.
In every life, for every generation, for every day is a trial,
and for every trial there is God. And the world
measures with scales of injustice, you can't climb out of whole,
you can't protect yourself, from the ways that drag and
sway your soul. Away.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
marks and bruises
job descriptions confused,
understanding
with the commonest of senses,
no boundaries
no fences
no one in sight,
PLANES!
Fly overhead,
jet stream, feather light,
is the vapor trail visible at night?,
none can see our vessel
our oars, our trail, ... of gas on the wake forms a rainbow on the waves,
even when we are on land,
standing water to our knees, thick soft moss hides sharp rock edges
under our feet,
HEY!
we get a three day break,
no where to go,
to spend nothing,
to actually sleep,
to catch our breath,
to take another shower,
the job, has power.
work is the master,
the *******
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 11:23 PM UTC
who she is to me,
she is butterfly, rare and free,
landing on flowers and weaving paths,
only she can see.
what she is to me,
she is a Spanish guitar,
tuned and played perfectly.
when she is to me,
available, even for a few seconds
each day I hold them in my heart,
in my mind, looking for the soil,
and willing to toil, to let that time
grow on me.
where she is to me,
she is nearly so far away,
that even in my dreams, she is a blur.
why she is to me,
so important see, it is like this,
she is the image of poetry in
motion as she danced,
across the tips of waves on the ocean.
how she will meet me,
I don't know, it is not with regret,
but a peaceful place in my chaotic
life that I hold the thought of her,
for I have not met her yet,
but one day I will,
if she wills it so.
©ClemC032014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
Read
read,
seed your mind,
see,
see,
observe and refine,
writing
wording,
sounds and pitch,
work calls me away
the *****
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 10:44 PM UTC