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...

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.

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

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...?

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

she dragged a clear bag,,
a patchwork of her clothes,
she held her hands behind,
her back, checking traffic,
to make sure all crossed safely,

ours eyes met, and I assumed
some things about her life choices,
we smiled at one another,
she recognized my thoughts,
and I looked away, all cars paused.

her blue coveralls, were extra
large and extra tall, she had the
cuffs tied and they
scuffed along the
asphalt like her
clothing in the
clear plastic bag,
the blue over-sized
jumpsuit was tied at
the waist, cropped hair,
gave her a girlish flair,
but she did not care,
twenty pairs of eyes
all stared, waiting for
to get out of the way

it was laundry day,
and she was going to
pay to wash the stuff
out of each piece she
owned, oh that smile,
said that I was right,
and she was okay
with it, as she was
off
for the night.

©ClemC072013

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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

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!

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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.

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

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 *******.

I knew.

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


©ClemC092013

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.

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

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

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 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

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.

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