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Steamy faces from a silver curtain,

The show about to begin.
Dominic Clarke Dec 2020
Princes and princesses in aprons and suits,
Pirates on ships in the clouds,
Half-forgotten hopes and dreams,
And a vow of patience --

Scribbled in a 15 year old notebook,
In green felt pen,
In joined up handwriting, summed up in a phrase:
‘Wait for the stars to align.’

When Mars came hard and the moon turned its back
I forgot that notebook, and its plea,
When love found its way through to the eye of the storm,
And I accepted its course with a bitter tack --

I didn’t care for that notebook, and its caution
When all was in shadow, and
love’s bitter fruit wrought its sweet poison.
Paralysed by fear of loss and the barren vine.

I found a cure in the darkest sea
Beyond despair,
Beyond hope,
Of a promise made long ago.

Of a silver notebook
And green felt pen
In joined up handwriting
'Wait for the stars to align.'

And I did.
Dominic Clarke Jul 2019
Her eyes glisten as she rabbits
on about how Mars is in its second
alignment, and the moon is
in her corner.

The bell above the door tinkles
as it slams--

Vagaries of fate swoop and
dive, and
he can’t stop thinking
about how beautiful
her lips are
as they move.
Dominic Clarke Oct 2017
Thought enters Left;
Feelings from below--
Response is mixed,
Reception incompatible.
Dominic Clarke Nov 2016
Another year passes, softness slowly looms.
Another pair bought on a Sunday afternoon.

Bare feet incarcerated in plush warmth,
scuffing blue carpets,
Sound is numbed and Feeling stifled.

The foot, wearing sore as the day drags on,
pines for evening,
and comfort.
Dominic Clarke Jul 2016
... quiet eyes meet in desire evolving:
a Future swelling above fragile lives.
            wires that pierce the tissue
                        twist and shatter,
      penetrate muddy bloodstreams,
                clarify joy, fear, anxiety –
   a longing that pierces the veil
                     and illuminates                  
         death just as surely
                      as hope.
Dominic Clarke Aug 2015
Tears rinse ash from her cheekbones
Understanding outgrows hostility
A reflexive finger recovers a lip
And from each this tapering path
Finally separate.
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