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.

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.

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

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.

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 *******.

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

Read
read,
seed your mind,
see,
see,
observe and refine,
writing
wording,
sounds and pitch,
work calls me away
the *****

mirrors,
marble floors,
windshields,
ice,
metal and painted surfaces.
                                                       ­       comments, hockey pucks, bullets
                                                         ­       and tossed horseshoes
                                                      ­          that changed direction.
                    
                                 ­                                                                 ­              need to know, blackout
                                                                ­                                censorship, who you know and what  
                                                          ­                                       you said to whom.

could be logic, could be pay,
could be power, could be it ends this way



                                                          ­            light or images
veering and twisting                                                         ­               please redact me and let me go
                                                                ­                                            for I don't want to be in the
                                                                ­                                                dark and treated like a
                                                                ­                                                      mushroom anymore.
from the gross
left with a net
and you have earned your trap.
                                                         on reflection, deflection
                                                      ­        redacting, deductions

a quiet pool of still water will give you
a clearer image and rocks won't shatter the water,
they make waves and rings and distortion but ... watch and learn and return to the truth about


you!


©ClemC012014

if ever there was a day, to ball up and throw away this is it,
   ever had one of those times, when all intentions cause a fit,
           had a choice cigar, that crumbled when I opened it,
                  a good thing I gave up smoking, yup I did quit,
                     good things happen to everyone else a bit,
                              things happy, more than me, don't fit
                                         happy go lucky me, into a widget,
                                                    got to make them job, I'd quit,
                                                          to taste the air free and clean,
                                                               taste the wine, white and lean,
                                                                        the day was rotten,
                                                                              day best forgotten,
                                                                                     best of me was
                                                                                            of course emptied
                                                                                                coarsely on to the street
                                                                                                              on the ice sheet,
                                                                                                                    the road rash will heal
                                                                                                                          road salt in a wound
                                                                                                                                 assaulted by a road.

is available,
                       to most,
which causes a host,
                               of
                           problems.

If it wasn't for
"the text"or a phone, a call
some wouldn't communicate at all,

other than selfie-
                     emulation
your life in the palm
                              of your
                              hand
taking the world out of His,

palm,
His care,
                His love,
don't worry though He isn't
           going anywhere
for He put the power in words
                          His spoken word.

So close as to hear,
           you whisper, "mercy"
for the power of words
is not in the loudness,
but in word choice,
spoken poetic voice,
in any lanuage, "Hallelujah"

    
ClemC012014

One clove a day
health eternal I pray
that it is not true,
for I am well short
of the twenty two thousand
to have been eaten
by this date

one plant if it were new to enter
anywhere, would not pass inspection
as a common garden vegetable,
it would take decades and investigation,
to give the nod to forty garlic chicken
or even to transport one clove.

some say it is the taste,
to others it is the waft,
of air in advance of the consumer,
knowing it does the body good,
but if one eats garlic and your mate
must too, or there may be a break in that allure

each cluster
is a toxin buster,
if you can muster
the appetite.

each group
can raise a whoop,
from a troop
of the healthy.

eat it raw to digest
your will to resist,
that all will cease
and desist, to disagree.

eat it cooked,
make it good,
that it would
deliver
all the benefits
          your friends
will understand


even
from
across
the room

I think I might move to Phoenix,
Will they let me on the plane
with feet in blocks of ice, the pain!
Will they let me in the aircraft,
my icy hands, blue, cause a draft,
                     when I would wave,
                        my boarding card.

I think I might move to Phoenix,
I hear they have a hockey team,
to watch them, it would be a dream,
come true, I would find comfort and care,
for my cold extremities at the arena there,
                         for my heart is always beating
                         time as I am running hard.

Moving is so strange from the free range I live on now,
             but I know when I retire it will not be to Oslo.
And you where would you move, you concrete block?



©ClemC012014

Feel the cold crystals in your fingertips,
feel the change,
feel the water,
feel the warmth,
as your body gives, and once what was snow, takes.

Feel the cold ball as you compress it in the palm of your hand,
feel the change,
feel it harden,
feel the cold grow as
the snowball compacts and becomes icy hard.

Feel your heart beating
put your coldest hand
on your skin and chest,
feel the change in heart rate,
your skin fights the temperature,
and your body and heart give, and what was once cold to you, warmth.


©ClemC122013

I glide only so well, work too hard,
telemark, get set, go,
it all has to be a race, I disregard,
the full moon light,
the sun went away,
I still play at my pace,
frosted beard whitens my face,
years and years of going down hill,
something I do on skis as well, beyond my fill,
beyond my years, with only so much skill
I see the sweeping curves and shift of weight,
bend my knee and play with the balance or fate,
trace my fingers in the snow, such powder is
rare, like the air up where there is room to spare,
I hope that when I am gone one day,
some how these many tracks will
stay and I can see them from Valhalla,
Heaven for the Norse,
"Warrior" of course, off course,
I will continue to work (myself) away,
then play all day, when the moon lights
the way and stay longer than is right
for the weekend is the weak end of my
strength, to tear myself back to my home,
                                                         I alone.


©ClemC122013

Parts, of the body,
Start, with faces, the
Heart ↗↘↗↘beats,
A part that holds it together.

Mirrors have I
Lining walls of
Every surface,
Of every empty
Moment,
Arrogance, no,
Need to see my
Emotions,
Need to be able to not hide,
For when I am alone,
I can dance all the time,
While seeing my eyes, move
Reading my lips, out loud,
Throwing myself with regret
A Cross, the rooms, where,
All the doors have been removed,
And if,
I fall,
I get up,
To dance,
Kicking clear
Signs of boxing day numbers,
Until they shatter on each,
Like my dreams, my mirrors.

Parts of a body
Depart with feet,
Smart ❇⭐↪✴moves,
Carte Blanche without shoes.


©ClemC122013

A month has gone by, gone,
I have been busy, what have I done,
I smile at the faces in the market,
they smile back, there are no strangers
here,
no one knows me, well not really,
it is just not done or right, where we live,
I ride my bike weighted down with goods,
the wheels turn, but always come back to the same spot,
just like I do, where
I live on the edge of the wild woods,
as we called to each other
as children, "never go there alone",
like I do, like I live, like I love
to spend time, like it is the only currency that counts,
walk and run among the trees and fall of leaves,
as a child I did so in fear,
and the fear of being caught,
as an adult
there is no fear,
except
one day it will stop.
I will stop.
But not, at least, this month.



©ClemC112013

any open surface
become
tiny crevices
eroded by
round rolled
objets
add water
down a *****
add gravity,
speeds the process
aging the
outer me



©ClemC102013

Bricks! Mortar!
feathers. more tar.
to hold it together, too hold it together
without using my hands.

I use my eyes to see.
I use my ears to hear.
I use my lips...
                       to shape words.
When I am speechless around you.
You may never read this.
You may never know it is about you.
                            But it is!

i can't hold it together, i can't hold it together
my legs are heavy and my feet awkward,
my heart beats like someone pounding down
the door downstairs, hammering, hammering
will it hold together, will it hold together

it won't, I won't, my life won't
                                                 unless we are together.

Let's throw in together, forever?
                                                   But, how do I show you I can hold it together.

Windows shut and locked.
Doors shut and locked.
Shutters closed over my heart.
                                                 So no one can see, my failure to hold it together.

Unless...we  .   .   .



©ClemC102013

when I awake and the bed is wet with sweat,
the wind knocks against the window pane,
I fret that I should let in the wind,
it is plain to see I am not better yet,
when I awake to realize the day is not arrived,
in the dark alone I lay and cannot close my eyes
what if I forgot to lock the door,
what if that shadow in the corner,

is much more that a figment of
my restless mind, the sheet is knotted
now and I am in a bind
I just curl up and wilt
I curl up, I am not built
of steel or concrete,
I am flesh, slowly rotting meat
I curl up and pray for light of
any kind, even headlights from
the road, the dark has absorbed
it all so as I fall I curl up,
so I don't fall down into despair
not knowing where it is I
sleep tonight, would anyone even care?
I hope, whoever
she is, beside me, knows where
and will tell me in the morning
and not leave without a warning
... I pray softly, "please pretend to care"


©ClemC102013

Oh this time out,
      No doubt about,
IT,
Will not be my last,
I will go back and back,
For it is my future,
I met Her where the land
Failed to go further,
What a gentle maiden the Sea
was, for I had never met Her,
like this before, the white sharp
teeth barely showed, as Her lips
curled as waves do,
and She spoke with a still sweet
voice, not the snarl and crash
I am used to, and She whispered
to ME, "step closer, and enter me,
I will take you, lighten your load,
we will float together, under the stars,
                        Forever.
I stood
and sobbed
bottle to my
lips, full the
emptiness,
the loneliness
I share with
no one except
the sea, sorry,
the Sea, the will,
if I had not had a
miserable life,
which makes
me undeserving
to lay with you Sea,
as you would pour
into me, to empty
my sorrows, replace
my one joy, with
a cold into which,
my witch, you
would no longer
recognize the
bloated cocoon
that would hide
me, as I would
bottom out of life
to consummate
            You my wife,
strangers
once again,
starting over.

©ClemC102013

sleeping in my bed,
strange,
to be home, from Gladstad

standing on the edge of your beauty,
found a path through the scrub that
               Brings me to my knees,       to        a     place
                    where I have not been,
                          for some Swiss time.

From this precipice there is, naught but beauty.

you must be here, your winged wonders,
hang on the updrafts like it is the breath
                   That you exhale with care,
                        just enough to hold           them         there
                                 hundreds in flight,
                                      in sight.

I have no way to capture this, complete with what my eyes alone, do soak.

or you make the wind and water in this fjord far below,
hue of the blue sky so pure with a cloud or two, for show,
        I so badly want to shout and    hear    the    echo,    echo
               but to have this view, for me, quiet
                  silence is the comfort, I need.

Strand me here  if you must in this place this,  
  
space so free and so much to see, so far from society
especially delightful to such as these, a part of your
                         Creative identity, but    who     am    I,
                                that I should see the face of,
                                      you, in whom I believe.

And yet I live.


©ClemC102013

desires are wildfires that show up, like candles tall as trees,
my face belies me, so do not take advantage of me and play poker,
with my poker face,
I would wear my heart on my sleeveless shirt, I know it would beat and
stay there by itself for you, beating the odds, thumping them out at 4:1,
without skipping a...,
the cliches that keep us together are all that we have,
we have only had bad times and I wouldn't know a good time,
if it waited on a street corner,
like I am now,
alone.


©ClemC102013

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

Gardens come and gardens go
seeding, planting,
watering, weeding
as do the seasons,
as the crop is waiting for your care and
to greet you daily, for without a gardener
such as you, I may have turned to seed,
too true? Or become a bad ****.
Your garden is a beauty every year,
as for me, I am getting there, thanks to you!

what happens to you if you have been out of touch,
no television, no computer, no cell phone or such n'such,
working in the remote parts where very few care
to tread, waste their time, staring at rolling terrain,
with trees twisted by winds that blow and reign,
animals pass by like you belong and none are afraid,
             if I lack social graces and look right in their eyes their faces,
no ambulances sirens, no engines boasting horse power,
and an hour is just an hour and there is no hurry,
                                                   why do you worry,
I will not take away from you, your news,
I will not remove your technology, your views,
I will not, I cannot do that,
For I have experienced the freedom,
                  the pure taste of living on my own,
                   by any means, survival
                   deep nature is my rival,
and I will not take what skin deep social circles
you have, that is not in me,
for I know you know the hypocrisy,
and see,
as I present my scrawl, on hello, poetry
that is all.


©ClemC082013

They were like gun shots but softer,
They were like firecrackers
                                              without the crack or fire,
There were so many I could not count them all,
                     then they were stopped in their fall.

The cars driving fast by the house,
were louder than before, a woosh, with a splash,
there was rumbling in the distance and a flash,
those meteorologists were right,
sixty percent chance this night,
                               of showers.

It is good to be part of the majority
for a change of weather,
how strange,
                      my dog is now glued to me,
I take no solace in her endearment see,
even in the midst of the slight downpour with
pyrotechnic effects,
                                  she wants me to take her
out the door to do her *business, but not alone.

They asked if I wanted to go North,
I asked if there was any place further
South,
They shook their heads side to side,
I said I needed time, was there absolutely
any place else,
They shook their heads side to side,
I asked if there was still room for me here
with my wife and children so near,
They shook their heads side to side,
"besides" said one, "they are not going
anywhere that you cannot come back,
to the gravesides"
I looked them in the eye
They shook their heads side to side
I went for a break found myself in front
of a newscast, somewhere in the world
there was one two three terrible clashes,
somewhere on the west coast of some
distant promised landing, a bottling giant was
guzzling profits while emptying Mother
Earth, her name is Aquafir,
if that was not enough some part of the
under under cover part of a government
arm admitted that Area 51 exists but it
is more like a farm, something stinks and
there is allot of *******.

I went back and looked them in the eye
and asked how long I'd be away and they
said, "until you die"
I can come back to visit.
They nodded up and down
"once a year" they said and each one had
a frown.
I changed my heart to get away from this
insane place we know, has become, I will find my
peace far from this madding crowd,
as long as they don't find me if they come
looking from, the top of the world, down.
If they do
I will shake my head
side to side, instead
of choosing who is right,
so leave me to find my peace
my mind, until I see my loves
once more.

I knew we were in a bad way
on that fateful day,
no one else seem to notice,
I was a guy, not a poetess,
I was not the Captain or a deck hand
I was an average guy not high in demand,
          Found myself on the high seas

'Rough day on the seas,'
I said
water up to our knees
slapping not clapping,
drowned out the vultures
and gulls overhead,
I was going to be laying
on the sea bottom for my bed.

She is a poetess the sea,
She has squeezed the last
Drop of words out of me
By drowning my sorrows
While adding water
There are no more, tomorrows.

choices two
I leave for you
pronunciation,
you decide
do you refuse
to be used
or allow you
to be used
like refuse
and tossed
about the
place.

I can help
if you ask
when I
knock on
the door but
you ignore
that help stands
outside your
door

his dark heart
dark from the start
is not what
you deserve,
I've tried to sway
your use
of excuses, in his
defense, his parents
his childhood, misspent
at your expense

how many more
times will the po-po
call before you may
fall a victim as you
refuse what little
we have to keep
you from being
discarded like
refuse again

he may be a mountain
but he is no man,
escape while you can

signed
your friends

coins of every deNOMination,
picked up, roadsides, sidewalks,
laundry tubs and machines.

bolts, nuts, a few loose screws too,
glinting in the daylight to my crow-
like eyes, bending, squawking my surprise

found
objects of infinitesimally small worth,
of unknown origin
desired, delightful, destined
   to belong to me

F.O.O.D.

Found Objects Of Desire

Treasure trove of trinkets tickling fanciful obsessions of discards.

what is like to steal the weather
from somewhere else,
instead of the blues,
like a thief in the night
take the Sun and make
the day bright
while they tear at the
clouds for the usual share
of shining sun,
a cold hearted ****,
possessing stolen warmth
the crooked old man I am
with two left feet and cane,
hope they can't track my
steps across the dreamy
starry night back to
my hovel now heated
by rays of a borrowed
ball of molten light
burning guilt into my
back and my shaded eyes
looking down and
to the left, telling lies
about where I was,
with no alibi, and my
permanent burnt fingertips
leaving imprints looking
like sunspots,
showing me to be
that thief in the night.  

©ClemC082013

Large figures chasing you with soft noises,
                                                       for voices,
     long fingers reaching as your short legs,
  and little feet run and your laughter begs,
                                                         for more.

The heart pounds
     as you run laughing.

          Growling faces chase each other in this place,
  of sport where points count and effort on your face,
on each combatants face, explain the pain of the pace,
all for a ball without mercy or grace, to give up
                                                              ­         a disgrace.

The heart pounds
    as you run to do battle.

You see that person for the first time, or the tenth time,
                                              you
hope, you will see them over and over for the enth time,
your eyes meet and            
                                             you
                                                         fall harmlessly into the
drumming sound, that suddenly got louder in your chest.


The heart pounds
                  as you.. .. race toward.. .. each other.

A small cry, tears to your eyes
more to life than meets the eye,
more pairs of hands and feet,
         your family is complete.

The hearts pound
   as you two live out creation.
                             And dreams.

Alone, with walls chalk white and no feeling,
     watch sticky flies move and paint peeling,
the only visitors are lost in the colour of the walls,
                                         you
hear voices so familiar, distant echoes down halls.
Then they are gone, all is unwelcome and strange again.

The heart pounds
      irregular growing weaker,
                                                  like your resolve.

                Still, the heart pounds, catching on every
                                         hope,
                                                  you ever had.

©ClemC082013

They thunder their engines,
and the noises chases dogs,
out of their own skin,
our canine friends hear the sound
long before it arrives,
from tail to nose feel the sound,
long after it leaves.

Storm clouds with thunder,
and some motorcycles carry
sound in full HD.  Too bad,
they don't hear like the dog does,
then their hearing wouldn't be
                          as it once was.

Remember please ride responsibly
like you were a dog, even if your ride a hog.


©ClemC072013

I have a friend who lost something,
he cannot put it in words, it comes out tears,
he cannot breathe easily, every parent fears,
                                    this one thing.

There is a friend we have in Jesus.

I have a friend who may not see it this way,
his eyes are pools and I am no comfort,
the shock is enough to stop
life in its tracks.

There is a friend we have.

Anger and resignation,
frustration and
sadness that fills and fills,
that pours that pours
out of the human
chemistry
like some reaction,
that adds pain to emptiness,
and fuels fire,
that needs to be thrown,
at anything thing that
is not as sad as you,
but you don't
know that no one
person will ever be
as sad as you,
even if they
mourn,
they
grieve,
for the very
same one unreasonable
pain.

They all wish that it had been
them instead,
is not answered.

There is a friend. I am he.
I am here. For all of you.

©ClemC072013

The Eastern wind blows and comes at such a slant,
that you can never, get out of the way, it is tantamount
both parties were in the wrong, standing in the way.

Dubai the insurance state
fifty fifty blame
what a game
             shame over
             honor,
terrorize the tourists,
workers, from domestics (imported)
for every hotel in sight
to oil patch imports,
oh the money,
as if it is worth the risk!

Good bye Dubai
Good bye, **** is not a male right,
the victim is a victim shamed already
by the act do not add to their plight
by dividing the blame,
your wealth enables bad
behavior with a religious fervor,
common sense,
common decency,
                 tells me to believe her.

Good bye Dubai, as pretty and
a delight to the eyes, you want the world
to see, I forgive you for your injustice
to an innocent like she.  

©ClemC072013

The cold has surrounded everything, winter with
crystals forming, take the moisture from your breath and
freeze framing it in the air
or on your beard and in your hair,
that frame your face,
eyelashes have a sparkle,
you are beautiful with a hint of frosting,
your warmth,
your love,
your closeness,
you,
may not affect the weather or the atmosphere,
but my heart has melted and pools,
please dip and know that you may enjoy me.

©ClemC072013

When you walk among the trees,
                    do you feel a breeze,
              even on a windless day?

When you walk among the forest,
like Adam, like Eve, do you meet the Florist,
            even when you are alone?

When you hike among the trees,
dropping your burdens as you please,
                are you not then new?

When walk among the woods,
as a created being freely should,
are you the hunter or the prey?

When you run among giant conifers and deciduous growth,
                                          tell us where you were under oath,
                      as there are not as many as there were before,
  how did you know where to go...can you take us there?


©ClemC072013

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