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

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

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

the brook wanders by the farmhouse,
an animal falls in, and cannot swim,
the brook does not know this,
the brook lets the animal struggle, it is tiring
the farmer sees the animal tumble in,
he checks to see it is not one of his, poor animal weakening
he knows he does not have to save it,
he too has more important things to tend,
a person in an ocean of people, (two or more)
wears masks to make them seem to belong,
they hide their struggle, from the closest ones
to them and from their co-workers, and family
as well,
all of who do not want to notice the battle,
they do not look beyond the mask,
it is not their business,
it would be rude,
it might take too much out of them,
that is right,
just ask the
brook and the farmer.


©ClemC072013

I am a beluga stuck on the ground,
My covered water body, sounding,
An echo to the sounds around us,
I move the water that moves, us
I am not shy, of passersby,
I love being me!
appetite for life,
devoured at my whim,
though I am a baby, small in this place.

©ClemC072013

I am a Beluga but stuck on dry land,
My thin skin the fish tank, where I feed,
On music,
On wonder, always aware of danger,
On dance,
On water, afraid of drying out like a stick,
On swimming,
On life, bring it on...baby!

©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

A fjord is a mountain,
                 a fountain,
of splendid beauty,
that bubbles up ,
with laughter,
from the wind
moving trees, shrubs
land laps at the waters
edge which is
so generous with
LIFE  
teeming, with sea
LIFE
in water, that is
pure and clear,
and deep,
drag me there,
         to witness
         where
the water is so
cold and light
is so slight, sea
creatures move,
like,
still LIFE.

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

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

Black ink squirted in my eye,
Too close as he passed by,
Crusty barnacles, reachin' up and out,
Scratch my beluga belly,
swimming distracted,
always on demand,
dump me in the deep end of the ocean,
off of dry land,
Is the only solution, IF
you put me in a bind, with chains and anchors,
then I could escape the twenty four hour me, baby.

©ClemC072013

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't go barefoot in the snow,
if you have no where to go;
like a sauna, good for Flora and Fauna,

Don't run naked on the ice,
slipping is not to nice,
abrasions sting, make you sing, in the hot tub.

Don't live your life carefree,
or fuel your God given creativity,
dig your hole then be brave,
climb in to make sure if it fits
                        it is your grave,

after all

if you do nothing, nothing at all.

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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

Walking ( ) birch trees,
knee deep ( ) crystalline flakes,
piled high on one another,
bright sunshine glaring,
white reflected light as
seen ( ) a birch bark slit
in the snow goggles,
being ( ) with winter is
not easy, when
winter is not ( ) with
stilling any liquid,
chilling any warmth,
filling the air with
silence ( ) and ( ) and
moisture
in the breath
moving slowly away
until caught on the
frosted breeze,
blowing ( ) the trees
covered in birch spots
and birch stripes.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

A baby,
a toddler,
a child,
learns first by;
undoing pieces,
tearing down,
taking apart,
all by heart,
then a child
assembles dreams,
then a toddler,
holds hands together,
then a baby,
makes a family,
with so much love,
it is my undoing.


©ClemC 062013

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

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

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

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

Red flashing lights on the beach,
Green cold liquid state around me,
     lake water surrounds my body,
sandy bottom down and away darkly,
  the water absorbs all the light starkly,
but we are looking for a swimmer lost,
the beaches, we checked
and the diving platform decks,
we searched the bathrooms of both sexes,
parking lot a lot, again we were vexed,
parents though, cried and filled with panic,
the search was organized, very mechanical,
until
in the shadow of
a deep sunken log
the eleven year old arm,
pale, body lying still
caught the eye,
of a big-hearted guy,
a strong guy named Joe,
who dove
and dove,
till he reached
the hand that was
reaching out...
to say goodbye.

Night sky,
any dark sky,
with pointed
shards,
poking holes
in that fabric,
of the night,
of the unknown,
now bright,
now twinkling,
mischievous,
sharp hooks to
snag dreams,
and tear,
space, space,
                      space
that goes
out there,
and never
comes back,
the same,
but there are
those stars,
ripping holes
for the moon,
then the sun,
then back to
starry
night.


©ClemC 062013

have you ever wanted to wander off alone,
to find yourself bending to skip a stone,
across the water.

did you ever lay in a meadow and spy
a vulture watching you from up on high,
gliding across the sky.

now or never stand on a mountain top,
looking east, or west, south and north and stop,
to stare across time,

To appreciate,
the gift of life,
so who are,
you going to
share it with...a cross...

We would get to go across the snow,
We would get to run fast across the grass, laughing
We would get to wade to our knees in water
                                       and warm breezes,
We would get to kick high the drying leaves in piles,

That is when I was a child.

They would march in droves across snow and ice,
They would run fast into mayhem, across foreign grass fields, battle cries
They would push the long boats in water up to their knees
                                     bracing cold winds of journeys to discover,
They would get a kick out of conquest and ****** battles fought, for Valhalla
                                                    gates to open as smoke curled high and flames
                                                    fanned funeral pyres piled higher.


That was my ancestral family.

Not much has changed...?