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 Sep 2013 Clare
Jonathan Noble
(Inspired by the 56th Psalm of David)

They laugh and they chase ~
Hot on the heel ~
And I'm tired and weary;
In pity I kneel.

My blood has been spilled;
The battle is lost,
And the fighting is fierce,
My soul tempest-tossed.

So put my tears in your bottle
And write me a song;
Count every tossing and turning
And right every wrong.

          My God, whom I trust;
          My God, whom I praise;
          I shall not be afraid.

Do you hear when I call?
I know that you do;
Then stand me right strong,
Or else I shall fall.

I am a poor boy, forlorn,
And gripped in fear;
Screaming in the night,
Hoping you hear.

So put my tears in your bottle
And write me a song;
Count every tossing and turning
And right every wrong

          My God, whom I trust;
          My God, whom I praise;
          I shall not be afraid.
 Sep 2013 Clare
Neo Madime
It all started with a passionate touch which
aroused the adrenaline rush
We lose all sense of our bodies
Of our minds,
as we grind with passion
forgetting all our hurt
like we have no worries,
Until we reach a place with
no pain or regret.

Like lighting, a feeling of euphoria
Curses through our bodies
leaving us in ecstasy
as we forget about everything.

Our bodies, packed like human sardines
Gleam under the moonlight glare...
Heartbeats chasing…
Breathless we collide
and together we are one,
as we fade…
I even forgot my name!
 Aug 2013 Clare
ankz
IF
 Aug 2013 Clare
ankz
IF
If you ask
I will say no,
If you say
I will say yes.
If you smile
I will make you laugh,
If you cry
I will make you smile again.
If you go away
I will bring you back,
If you return
I will make love.
If you care
I will give love in return,
If you don’t
I will give you more.
 Jul 2013 Clare
A Haseley
Come closer my child,
do mind the fire.
and I’ll tell you the tale of
Wayne, the Good Squire.
It was once, long ago,
in the kingdom of Kam,
that a cruel, recreant knight
controlled the whole land.
He had taken the kingdom
through fiery force,
And though many had died,
he showed no remorse.
He captured the castle with
hatred and slaughter.
No one remained, except the
king’s daughter.
For she was the picture of
beauty and grace.
The cruel knight fell in love
when he looked at her face.
And so there they remained,
the princess and her captor.
The kingdom was silent,
devoid of all laughter.
In a neighboring kingdom there
lived a knight.
With his armor all shined he
was a formidable sight.
He had heard of the story with a
mixture of glee,
for he needed to prove himself
to the community.
But he was young and stupid,
as most of them are.
He had not the brains,
he was only good for a spar.
So his kind, caring father
sent him off with a squire.
His name was Wayne,
and his wits were much higher.
The knight went for glory and
the love of a girl,
while the squire went for money
from the hand of an earl.
And so off they set, our
squire and knight.
They were well prepared for all
but a difficult fight.
They travelled for days without
sign of the castle,
Din the knight began to
complain, cursing such hassle.
He wanted the glory
but none of the trouble.
And while he was toiling
his anger did double.
He wanted to turn back, to
give it all up.
To go home and sleep with
ale in his cup.
But Wayne the Good Squire
convinced him to stay,
promising his fame in just one
more day.
This promise was good for on
the next night,
a castle loomed just ahead:
the cause of their plight.
The knight rode ahead,
ready for battle.
But Wayne followed slowly,
wary even of cattle.
Our Din was too loud,
too sure of himself.
He would soon be a trophy  
above the castle shelf.
The Lord of the castle,
the cruel knight named Lor,
knew he was there before
he came to the door.
His armor was on,
his sword by his side
he planned to be done with it
before he even stepped outside.
But Wayne had been watching
him prepare for the fight.
He rushed down the hill to warn
his burdensome knight.
He had concocted a plan above
either knights’ thinking.
He would switch places with
Din, faster than blinking.
He would go to the door
in place of the knight,
and when the door opened,
Din would give Lor a fight!
So Din went to hide in a bush
near the door,
while Wayne rode up proudly,
looking ready for war.
But when the doors opened,
there stood a man.
He was so large and monstrous,
Din forgot the whole plan.
He sat frozen in fear,
hidden in the bush,
not even brave enough to give
Wayne’s horse a push.
And so Wayne was left alone to
face the giant knight.
Lor looked upon him with a
laugh of delight.
But the brazen, young squire
refused to run back.
He charged without thinking,
his sword ready to attack.
Lor was astonished,
the squire caught him off guard.
The sword hit its target,
whacking Lor hard.
Dazed from the blow, the cruel
knight fell to the ground.
Wayne struck him once more,
and Lor died with no sound.
Gasping for breath after his
arduous fight,
Wayne fell out of the saddle
still dressed as a knight.
He stumbled into the castle to
make himself known,
but all he could manage was a
soft, feeble moan.
He fell to his knees and
curled into a heap.
Unable to stay awake,
he gave into sleep.
He awoke to find himself in
a soft bed,
he was so warm and content
he thought himself dead.
But then he saw a figure
slouched in a chair,
he saw it was Din, but he
could do nothing but stare.
Din saw him looking and
quickly sat straight,
his eyes were angry, his face
contorted with hate.
He accused Wayne of stealing
his glory and good name;
out from the beginning to
capture his fame.
Din got up from the chair and
moved with a knife,
and so Wayne was in yet
another struggle for life.
The fight was short-lived
for when Din stood he swayed.
And when he went to attack,
he fell onto his blade.
Wayne was astonished, it just
couldn’t be;
the knight that lay dead was the
one that started this spree.
He had planned to **** him
for fake lies and deceit.
So Wayne felt no remorse for
the man at his feet.
He left his room, in search of
the princess,
in hopes that he would return
with reward for his success.
He needn’t go far for outside of
his door,
there stood a woman whom
he couldn’t love more.
She too was taken by Wayne’s
good looks and charm.
She apologized for being
the cause of his harm.
He couldn’t hear more so he
got on his knee,
asking her to let him help
rule the country.
She accepted this offer with
happy tears.
For he was the knight that had
destroyed all her fears.
They embraced and as she
looked past his shoulder,
she received a scare from a man
that lay still as a boulder.
“My sweet who is that man that
hast scared me so?
He looks to be stabbed,
was he your foe?”
“My dear, don’t take fright of
such gruesome a sight.
That is only the once grand,
Cowardly Knight.”
Wayne and his love were
soon wed for life,
and never were their lives again
full of such strife.
And so it was that many
came to admire
and listen to the tale of Wayne,
the Good Squire.
In all honesty, this isn't well-written. I did it for a school assignment. But I'm putting it up here as a result of boredom and the fact that I am currently upset. Who says teenagers need sleep?
A tired looking lady
With eyebags
Crumpled, wrinkled clothes
That are too big for her
Disguise whatever
Little curves remain
Her eyes
Dull
Black

She is drenched
Striding inside
Without a care
Like she belongs
In her shabby, shabby clothes
With her hair
A complete mess

She is soaked through and through
The thunder roars again
Muted due to the glass and steel walls
She walks in
A tiny spark
A flash of something
In her dull, dull eyes

People gossip
About perhaps an affair
A failed marriage
A mental breakdown
For one of those reasons
Maybe all of them

Generally, she comes
In the subway
Very particular
About umbrellas too
Today, she carries none
Little Miss Particular

She walks into
The manager's office
A letter neatly typed out
Black and white
Shielded by her brown
Worn coat
Three sizes too big

She has been working
For seven years at the firm
She puts it on the table
Says a polite, 'Thank you,
But I cannot do this anymore.'

And, she is out
Onto the streets
Her eyes
Still dull
A lady with crazy hair
The rain pelts down
As she disappears
Into the fog
I hope she found
What she was looking for
 May 2013 Clare
NJ McGourty
It sat upon Virginia’s shore
stalked by the sea,
it’s lichen pale with salt
bark that broke the sand,
a haggard frame stark against
the last horizon land.

The butchered stumps contaminate
a hacked and broken field,
their sapwood leaking silence,
the birds atop them mute,
crowned with their annual rings
of righteous guilt and root.

But there it waits branded by
the blight of unknown fear,
a desolation beacon
when the other trees were cleared,

by then it was decided
what pilgrim eyes would see
CROATOAN
scratched into the tree.
 May 2013 Clare
Arturo Hernandez
It's funny,
I haven't even met your mother,
And I already think of you.
I think of the times we'll spend together
And the times we'll play together.
I already know what I'm gonna get you
On your first birthday
And what you'll be wearing on your second.

Honestly though,
I don't know how, when, or with who I'm gonna get there,
I just know that one day you'll be there
And I'll be here waiting
For the day in which I will hold you
And your little hands will move from here to there -
So wait for me,
I will get there.

I'm picking things up along the way
That I wanna teach you when I can.
I hope that you're not overwhelmed
When you try to hold your football,
Soccer ball or baseball.
(Volleyball is a lot of fun too!)
We'll play catch, and we will run,
I will catch you, and you'll have fun - I promise.

I hope you forgive me though,
As I don't know your mom.
I don't know if I have or haven't
Already set our course.
But you know what,
I bet she's beautiful
And the most caring person in the world.
I want to make sure she takes care of you,
After all.

It's hard to think of you,
As I hope I can make it through to you,
And tell you that all I'm doing today is because of you.
I want you to learn how run, how to play sports, how to jump,
And I want to be there to help you when you fall.
I want to teach you how to play guitar
And some magic tricks with cards,
I want to teach you to write some poetry
And play some music to make songs.

I want to make you proud,
As I hope you'll make me proud.
Even if you don't want to learn any of these things,
Or follow in my footsteps in any way
I want you to know that I've thought of you
Ever since today,
And that I can't wait to meet you,
Or your mother,
On the day in which you're born.
 May 2013 Clare
Leonard Sine
i like it when we talk.
but i like it more when we're totally silent.
listening to what the tapping rain
is trying to tell us.

i like when you wear dresses.
but i like it more when you wear sweatshirts
with stretched-out necks.
one shoulder struggling to keep you covered,
the other threatening to reveal more.

i like your smooth hands.
but i like your callused fingers more.
they remind me of how much
I love you
strumming a guitar.

the smallest things about you
take up the the largest place in my mind.
 May 2013 Clare
Nizar Qabbani
Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.
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