quiet men until they drink,
hard lives need hard liquor,
forget the ice,
it is cold enough,
liquid burning taste
is fire in the mouth
warms the belly,
pinpoint of heat
expands to fill the void
not the empty stomach,
but the empty heart
the empty bed,
the empty nights
filled with only
male voices on
a remote island
of metal, talk of
families, wives and
lovers and we
are only the few
the forgotten
the repair crew.
Mornings come
day goes filled
with work
but we start
by picking up
all that was empty
from the night
before, strangers
no more, and none
can find the one
satellite phone.


©ClemC102013

wheels turning
miles burning
sun is moving
music is grooving
clouds dancing
music balancing
the drive.

Oh it is good to be alive!

Mountains rolling
bridges tolling
water is lapping
earth is mapping
man's changes
to rearrange
geography.

Living in these times, these places needs drive!


©ClemC092013

Crystals huddled together in the cold,
don't they gather,
insisting that together they are bold.

The secret of how they hold together is
in their salt-less tears
no regret at losing individuals you quiz?

One crystal, one snowflake, is insignificant
but a billion, billion, billion,
that might make a freshwater lake, to decant.

En Masse if, voices fell like hail or snowflakes,
on the ears of those who hear,
and can do, there would be change in the stakes.

One crystal clear thought, choice
one human beautiful snowflake,
one can become the voice, wrought
                                            that rings of common sense, decency and love.

En Masse.


©ClemC092013

In my dreams
the swell of the next wave,
was felt before it did pave,
a hard road on the sea,
that jolted me off my feet,

my sea legs left me,

just like when my last girl-
friend who kicked my
feet from under me,
landing on my grass of the
front lawn,
at dawn and my head
bounced and went off
then I saw a firing
squad of the sunrise.

She was one tough
day, that one but back
to the wave that lifted
our boat,
took the feet,
the rudder,
out from under us,
without a fuss,
and we landed,
and even the metal
rivets and joints
let out a hollow scream,

that haunts me till this day.

In my dreams,
so I still go back to
the ocean and open
bodies of water,
hoping to say sorry,
for what ever it was
we did, to deserve
the wrath and curl
of the ocean sneer,
and disinterest
in my sanity.

I still go back,
even though I see
that ocean wave,
like my ex-girl
friend standing
over me, waiting
to deliver the final
blow, that never
came...

and was no dream.


©ClemC092013

I toss,

I turn,

Spirits lift,

only to crash and burn,

I would change

to de-spare

if I had any,

more than none.

Why are there people
who get angry and
foist a will,
an unkind will
on others till
they break and break
like fine china on a porcelain tile floor?

drama and conflict are enough and
of this world,
blood stained words
are hurled,
I hope they never make it to my place
of fantasy, where I write in peace holding still
like a manatee in the sea,
thank you, hello poetry.

If someone needs this time and space,
to unload the life that weighs them
down or drags them into the streets,
kicking and screaming as the part
that goes streaming by is the very
reason they hide their eyes in public
or slump into their seat as the verbal
or text abuse, puts nails in the hope
which waits in escape, just beyond
their fingertips and barbed wire voices...

but as for me, so isolated

I may not always rhyme
I may not have the right prose,
my surreal images might raise
an eyebrow, and my as
and like may need a metamorphoses,
to even be a metaphor,
but through all of you here
I get to visit a different shore
each time I open up a poem,
even if I don't know your name,
or maybe even who you really are.

I am glad you let me care.



©ClemC092013

I knew.

You did not,
                     how could you?
So close.
To grabbing hold, but
                                     there was
no hold, that small.


©ClemC092013

She sell fish
He sell fish
buy what they sell, buy the sea shore
big ocean-side dreams, on an old planing hull
they adore their dory
so,
She sell fish
He sell fish
until they can be
sell fish
no more,
until no one buys that they
sell - fish, by the sea shore.

©ClemC082013