My dreams are like the dried up stalks
and stems in my Garden,
I have not watered them except with
my tears, the dirt is so porous,
what is against us is not for us,
I mean...me and me.

The container Garden has holes drilled
for purposes (use them for what they were intended)
for greater good (hold on, did you say you were offended?)
why let your mood spoil a sunny cloudy freezing windy wet day,
why do you brood??

Question is can you stop,
and do you, know IT when you are,
and is the Garden only the sum of its fruits
Labour on,
Labour long,
Do you need or want to leave anything behind,
for to be remembered, you know Life the Grind
by ME, or do you want to go out like the hikers
walk in the park, and leave no trace.

Get me out of this place,
the four walls have mirrors,
I am sick of looking at
my face, do it for ME.
I can't break though
or breakout, 7 years of bad luck
may be all that I have left,
unless I cut myself on exiting,
like a bird with a useless wing,
flightless, and bleeding tears.

Pulling at my hair like they are weeds
rooted, like pins to grenades going off
in a worn out hollowed stump that
once held a brain.

©ClemC072013

we used to be able to look around and fit in,
we did it to survive, yeah it kept us alive,
not wanting to be absorbed,
we did not or lose our identity,
we did not adopt the patterns,
of the religious or prestigious,
adaptation to a certain degree,
if we could not win it,
if we did not conquer it,
if we traveled, as was our nature,
we were reserved unless in the
heat of battle or DUI,
desiring* under* the influence,
we were womanizers and drunks,
unless we were sailing or battling,
eyes on the horizon and swords rattling,
but don't lose sleep,
we aren't cheap, no one
can afford an army like
ours nowadays, and
truly we were more than
an unruly mob, with helmets
axes, swords and a thirst for pointed
play, sharp wit and a bit of
****** and mayhem while
we slay the hours, so...
hand over your treasure,
or your life we rob and
drop it off before we get to
Valhalla, you are not invited.


©ClemC072013

does the ground freeze,
           in the winter,
does the ground drink
            all the snow,
as it cries, that winter
                     is over.

The sunlight does not
                   tell me
winter is fleeing swiftly,
         nor the moonlight,
just the tears of every
                    snowflake.

Mother Earth catches
            those drops
and keeps them as
              memories,
              precious to,
deep in her heart she
           holds each drop
until
the sky longs to whistle
a sad song and drink anything
that will become cloud tears,
dropping by the millions,
to
free fall
their way
to where
they began the journey, how
old is the oldest drop of moisture...
possibly as old as your first tear.
Mother...


©ClemC072013

In the whole sky as night comes,
It is half-lit, and it was nights
like this that we would sit around
a campfire, with park rangers
nearby, saying if it got any
drier or hotter we would
not be allowed a camp fire,
but we'd have our bucket of water
and our bucket of sand,
oak handled fire ax with in reach
First we would
chase down every spark,
that silhouetted against
the light blue night sky,
just after the sun had set,
wherever they would land,
and footprint them, into
oblivion.

That half-lit moon moved
further and further away
as the sparks we watched
closely, begin to show their
red embers, and we chase
them and stop them where
they would land, we would
brush them off our tent trailer
suddenly
then a log would heat up
let go with a volume of
noisy sparks from a
pocket of sap from
some overheated pit
deep inside and all
four of us would chase
them down, and those
would never come back
cause ours shoes showed
them the route to oblivion.

The camp would get quieter
as less people had fires or less
sparks that needing chasing
and across the glow we
would be facing each other
and know that this would
not last forever and we
would not know when we
would share our last fire
together, and it would and
did happen sooner than any
of us knew, it is the passage
of time and
oh beyond
oblivion there is an Eternity,
maybe we will gather
the four of us around a fire again.
Watching
sparks and not having
to chase them.


©ClemC072013

I thought it was knives or guns with bullets or bombs,
that injure, or maim or ****,
I have no ill will,
but somewhere,
across the ocean,
there is word,
I heard,
that a law,
killed someone
at the hands of a man,
tell me it isn't so,
as that is a place,
I will never go,
won't you join me?


©ClemC072013

Punched in plexus of the sun,
No wind in these sails inside me,
Wooden hull dashed against
heartless rocks,
No battle left, no where to run.

So I lie here.

So I lay down.

If, when I again raise my head,
Expression of pain,
Will it be judged by dread,
See me fetal, futile, trying
to  grasp the emptiness
that was
My next breath.

Black falling, as I fade,
who will take my place!
I will be replaced
I will be...
I will...

I will just start over
further behind with
further to go,

No kicking, I am still down.


©ClemC072013

No more safety,
breathing toxicity,
don't be hasty,
to live/love the city,
surround
yourself
with people
not relics,
surround
your
friends
with caring,
not social
media
or sharing,
stop liking
start loving,
we may not
be in a war
zone or may
be you need
to open your
eyes, depends
what you
recognize
as a casualty.

Too much rage,
that ain't sage,
too much hate,
won't dissipate,
too much crime,
happens all the time,
               all the time,
use your
arms to surround
a friend with hugs,
adios to the thugs,
say no to the d   s
not preaching
not teaching
just
reaching out
to all that is
human.

©ClemC072013