It used to be the sunlight shining through the trees
the warming breeze
would bring a smile to my face.
…
It used to be the song birds flying over me
in harmony
would fill my heart with such grace!

But what was once a springtime of a brand new start
now breaks my heart
I didn’t want you to leave…

I etch your face from memory on this day and then
you’re gone again
and all that’s left, is to grieve.

Oh sad spring
it doesn’t seem fitting that you come around
all light and sound
to a heavy heart.

Anything
diminishing my pain would seem a mockery
As all love for me
is torn apart.

When the light within is darkness, how great the loss
pick up the cross
as one who’s already dead

Let the songbird sing a dirge it is more fitting now
Would you allow
new dreams to be fed?

I etch your face from memory on this day and then
you’re gone again
and all that’s left, is to grieve.

I used to have a budget
I don't know where it went.
But it's too late to start one now,
the money's all been spent!

Yet there are still more bills to pay
and some are due tomorrow.
Wishing won't make them go away,
So we'll just have to borrow.

There was a time

when their eyes were locked

on each other.

There was understanding

and the door was open.

But his anxious heart reads

what is not written on her face.

He is afraid

that she is slipping away

and quietly shuts the door.

Now he wonders.

And she wonders what he wonders.

But will not ask,

afraid to read what is written there -

confirming the door is locked.

I walked down to the Potter’s House
one fine sunny day
to find the Potter hard at work
with a stubborn lump of clay.
He poked and prodded, pressed and pounded
then sighing in dismay
considered tossing that lump away.

But now instead of a darkened frown
His face lit up as He cast it down
And worked to form and bend it
to the new thing He intended.
Though starting with hope of a chalice cup
A sturdy chamber *** rose up.

A brand new lump, when He was done
was unwrapped, moistened, thrown and spun.
It yielded gladly in His hands.
To a chalice on the table stand.
The chamber *** began to say,
“But why have you made ME this way?”

“Why am I for common use
instead of a chalice for wine or juice?”

But the Potter said frankly, in reply
“It is not yours to question why.
Don’t I have the right to make
What I wish? It’s no mistake.
I used your temperament to find
your exact calling – for your sake.”

“I did not cast you in the heap
or throw you out into the street.
You still have found a useful place
and in this, I have shown you grace.
Though a chamber *** you be,
Be the best chamber ***, for me.”

Now, safe within these walls
I can forget
the press of things undone,
days of regret.

Tonight new dreams are mine
with just a touch.
Enclosed within your arms
and loved so much.

As treasure in your eyes
I feel no fear.
We dance, we spin and float,
then, resting near -

Your warm hand holding mine
in sweet repose.
Your breathing stirs my hair,
your eyelids close.

Tonight, new dreams are yours
with just a touch.
Enclosed within my arms
and loved so much.

You speak

and I fall into memory, not my own.

The corners fade

Yet you are distinct

and more alive to me than myself.

Adjectives, nouns and verbs

become sight

and heart

and pace

straining toward phantoms.

Not standing,

not running,

my feet fly and you cross the line.

Thundering pulse of sweat and salt,

the race is won -

although you tore through ribbon long ago.

Two dear, sleepy heads, now tucked into bed
with a kiss, and a prayer, and good night's all said.

Each day has its wiggles, its tantrums and giggles
that still to a sigh, as they snuggle in bed.

We tiptoe from their room. Has the day passed so soon?
Did we play enough games? Were enough stories read?

But as morning grows light, sunny faces in sight,
assure me again of a full day ahead!

A new chance to grow, to listen and know,
to love and to treasure, those dear sleepy heads!

He hears the shouts of battle
as the mighty cannons sound.
Eyes stinging from black powder
he fires his final round.

His body torn and bleeding,
he collapses to the ground.
As darkness falls he wonders
if he ever will be found.

Five suns and moons will rise and set
upon that gory hill
before the air is silent
and the guns have had their fill.

The natives call it slaughter.
The preacher says, "God's will."
It doesn't matter what you call it,
to that soldier on the hill.

His eyes are fixed, and lying still.

You gaze at me, assured, composed,
as if your answer, unopposed
would stand against all scrutiny.

But what is clear in your own mind,
as one who sees and yet is blind,
is merely practiced litany.

You cannot see half hidden by
the shadow of the if and why
a nuanced answer signified.

And speaking yet into the air
enchanted by your doctrinaire
opinions that have not been tried -

You will not countenance a doubt
that anyone may have searched out
a truth you have not realized.

But I can see you, I can hear.
Your point of view is very clear.
And nodding silently, I go.

There is no point continuing
when only one is listening.
He will not learn, who only knows.

There was a time when time was not, you say,
And before time existed, there was God
But “before time” brings sequence into play
And it must be so – though it does seem odd.

The Cosmos burst from thought, intent and Word
blazing light where only darkness reigned
And for the first time God in Heaven heard
the chickadee and warbler’s refrain.

If there was time when things began to be
there must have been a time when things were not.
Design created, necessarily
would have a Mind from which they first were wrought.

And where creative thought exists there is
a sequence dwelling in the Father’s mind.
The nature and existence that are His,
Creation directs wanderers to find.

For His eternal nature, and His ways
are clearly seen and known by those who look.
He who formed the earth and nights and days
Brings evidence to light in nature’s book.

The stars were lit one day, but will burn out.
What once was spun in orbit, fade away.
But God who was before, without a doubt.
Will never cease, though Earth sees it’s last day.

And in the plan, revealed by Living Word
New Heavens and New Earth are yet to be
And eye has not yet seen nor hearing ear
the wonders He designed for you and me.

He who set the Heavens in their place
And calls the stars and planets each by name,
Calls to us, though still a fallen race
to seek and find Him – that is why He came.

For Father, Spirit Son – as One agree
that all who come repentant, will be blessed.
And sealed in Heaven is this firm decree
Those, weary, heavy-laden will find rest.

And there will be a time, with no more sun
or moon or stars as we would see them now.
The Light that lights the world will be the One.
Before Whom Heaven and Earth someday will bow.

Jane Clark, 2013

Spinning in circles.
Which way should I choose?
Will the things of real value
be things that I lose?

The duplicitous mind,
while desiring the prize,
fears the door I unlock
will be death in disguise.

My heart is misleading
and fickle tonight.
To have patience to finish
and follow the light!

But each step holds a consequence,
I know that well -
Let not my steps
lead another to hell.

A great call before me.
The Book in my hand.
The light from it’s pages,
Your guiding command.

My mind is no guide Lord,
my heart – not the key.
Only light from your wisdom
illuminates me.

A business call,
a meeting planned,
a note half-written,
pen in hand.

Caught up in urgencies
I find
the worthier
has slipped my mind.

Days flee away!
Tasks without end,
have distanced my
familiar friend.

Now sitting here
and missing you,
I wonder what
I need to do,

to return
camaraderie.
Familiar friend,
remember me?

Discarding the loaf, he gnaws on the crust
Declaring all food but tasteless dust.
“Because you have always eaten bread
That doesn’t mean you’ve been well fed.
You’ve missed the whole point,” he said with a grin,
“Since you have no stomach for original sin.”

For logic has fallen and can’t arise.
The meaning of meaning? Delusional lies.
What seems food to you is not food at all
What seems true to you – a siren’s call.
And you will live happily there in your dream
not caring if things are not as they seem.

The stylus bleeds when fixed in his grip,
conforming the straight to a mobius strip.
Denying philosophy, playing the sage;
No words in the center, the margin, his page.
He signifies. Indicates. Yet you might miss -
The words have no meaning. Not even his.

Exalted in my estimation,
captured by imagination,
enamored yet by selfish will,
You know me well, but love me still.

You call me out of wilderness
into a place that You can bless.
So tenderly, You let me know
there is no place that I can go -

That separates me from Your heart.
I have been called. I'm set apart.
Though I have wandered from Your will,
You know me well, but love me still.

A graceful sprite, so full of life
she danced her way into my heart
I never understood till now
that grief was tearing her apart.

Her father was an angry man
Her mother cried into the night.
And Elenor went wandering
inside her mind -and out of sight.

It took a while to realize
that little Elenor had gone
she took no purse and left no clue
as to the road she traveled on.

She made new friends quite easily
but they would never know,
that as the past came closing in
Elenor would have to go.

She came to me, as children do,
with laughter and expectancy
wondering what part I’d play
in her created fantasy.

I loved her laughter and her smile,
and would have kept her as my own
but just as quickly as she came
she slipped away, alone.

She left a note with scribbled hand
“I have to go”- was all it said.
Today the front page of the news
reports a missing girl found dead.

Her father has been taken in,
a suspect for the crime.
Her mother’s in the hospital.
They say she’s lost her mind.

If only I had questioned more,
this little girl who stole my heart.
I never understood till now
what grief was tearing her apart.

Who is he and why should I care?
What matter, what meaning, anywhere?
All is futility, effort a waste
When no bread remains for the hungry to taste.

You’ll toil and sweat for society’s good.
If you do what is right and do what you should,
The pockets of beggars will be full and fat
But what will posterity do after that?

The drunk lays down wasted. The well has run dry
and no change is left in the coffers to buy.
The tools are left rusting, all lined up in rows,
But the wise have all left, so nobody knows.

The beggar would **** him, the savior of all,
accusing the thinker for the pain of his fall.
The prophet of profit, destroyer of fools
He will not be tied or be tried by their rules.

He lets each one fall. The motors all cease.
When lights all go out, at last there is peace.
And when men of mind at last may go home
They’ll rebuild Atlantis that only they’ve known.

(Dedicated to Charlie)

Here is the knight of valor

with starlight in his eyes

a golden helmet on his head,

and I see through his guise,

A gentle, hopeful heart.

That hides a greater quest

Of mysteries and riddles.

He yearns to know the rest.

Meanwhile, forgotten lessons

Still wait beside his chair

While thoughts and dreams are wandering

Where only heroes dare.

She hesitates a moment on the stair
uncertain if her daddy knows she's there.
Then, careful to avoid the slightest creak,
descends another, just to take a peek.

With wonder at what's going on below
she longs to be included, and to know.
Until her curiosity's been fed,
there is no point to tucking her in bed!

To be content
while striving for more
To guard my children
with an open door,

To love as God does
in a world full of sin
without letting worldly
temptations in,

With the faith of a child,
but not easily swayed,
To live in freedom,
with God’s will obeyed,

To seek holiness,
and struggle to learn
the right from the wrong,
without judgment, discern -

Not trusting in self,
yet to rightly divide,
to find self approved,
and to live as I’ve died,

Armed, ready for battle,
with peaceful trust,
and do all for love,
because I must…


To fear God is wisdom.
Yet true love, casts out fear.
Somehow I need both
while I dwell on this sphere.

No wonder the world
thinks Christians are odd.
Even the faithful
disagree about God!

So, Lord my prayer is,
as the New Year begins,
where my efforts fall short,
please cover my sins.

And if my mind fails
to make sense of Your will,
Let your grace lift the veil,
so I’ll follow You, still.

by Jane E Clark, Dec. 17, 2012

There was a time his armor waited ready by the door.

His heart burst at the shout of comrades gathered for the war.

The darkling night would cower at the echo of their roar,

But the solitary soldier fights no more.

Too many broken shields now lie in trenches near his home,

And  countless lost and missing loves are searching for their own.

The carving is still fresh upon the monumental stone

And the solitary soldier stands alone.

The cry of battle far away sounds harsh against the night.

The tattered flag is lowered. He recoils at the sight.

No matter how he wishes he can never make it right.

So the solitary soldier ends his fight.

(To my dear friend)

I can’t see your piercing, questioning eyes
as you look out to sea, away from me,
expecting another unpleasant surprise,
but no answer comes. No answer will be.

Carelessly glancing at all you once knew,
and shifting your load to lighten your pace,
you join with your comrades, captain and crew
and turn back a moment, to study my face.

I remain rooted, and fixed to this ground.
The rope is untied and sails are unfurled.
The air echoes shrill with the gulls as they sound,
as you sail away, and out of my world.

I’ll always care for you, and never forget
the stories, philosophies, questions and tears.
This chapter may close on our lives and yet,
will live in my memory, as if you were here.

I’m breaking inside at the loss of my friend.
And hoping you find as you sail through the night,
Fair winds to a harbor around the next bend
And following seas that lead to the light.

The mirror of Dorian Gray, deceiving -
his portrait lies buried that tells the truth.
The wandering heart, self-excusing, believing
it never will face the end of its youth.

But darkness will fill the heart of the canvas
And bloodstains seep through to mar beauty’s face
The countenance hardens, the mirror won’t show this
Until retribution has found her place.

Then sheets torn away to the horror of all
reveal the true nature of Dorian’s sin
No veil can now hide his consummate fall,
Nor repentance be found to begin again.

Only flames and torment, for this one must die.
His sins have dragged many, unwitting to hell.
Yet there, but for God’s grace, go I
Uncloaking my portrait, I know this well.

Notes spill out

like a confession

I am arrested.

Chords tied tightly

in progression

I come undone

Hypnotist with waving wand

bring me back again

to Rhyme and meter

rhythm and matter

Sound and resound

I surrender.

I quietly slip beyond my door,
leaving behind an unwashed floor.
The heap of *****, crumpled clothes,
the end of which, nobody knows.

I close my door, turn from the mess,
breathe in, and drink of quietness.
Then take my lonely, lovely stroll
deep in the woods to a hidden knoll.

Where I shall dream, and plan, and pray
gaining spirit and strength, for a very full day.

The maiden heart now covered with lace,
powder and rouge line her face.
Time’s cruel touch hobbles her grace.
The matron steps back, to find her new place.

Inside her breast beats a heart that is young.
With so many songs still left unsung.
Her wisdom ignored by those she’s among,
The plans she made, dust covered. Undone.

She wanders alone in the crowded room.
Hearing faint laughter, remembering a tune.
She never noticed the passing of June,
And winter, it seems, has come too soon.

Truth and light and all that’s right
Is what you say, is what you do,
So who’s the enemy I fight
When night is also light to you?

I’m turned around till up is down
And inside out and outside through.
It never ends, the same as you,
It only bends, and false is true.

I frighten thoughts back in their place
and seize on what I thought I knew
No loving Hell, No pain of Grace
Only Enigma – All is You.

Given with a pledge to bear,
this symbol, timeless, everywhere.
It's smaller, yet the golden sun
is reflected in this one.

A gift of heart and soul and mind,
it can't be any other kind.
To minds of lovers often springs
this token of eternal things.

I want to see beyond today
To cast the former things away
To live this moment without fear
To speak with grace, and with grace, hear.

To hold my life with open hands
To walk with joy in Your commands
I want to see beyond today
So I may know Your perfect way.

You want to trust me with Your will
Yet I am hesitating still
Afraid to find I cannot run
and finish what I have begun.

Afraid to let them see how weak
I am inside. So dare I speak?
I want to see as You see me
Through grace, and in Your grace, be free.

And when I think I know what’s true
And focus on what I can do,
Please bring me back again to see
It’s not myself, but You in me.

You have a plan beyond today
And so I wait, and hope and pray,
Releasing my ambition to
The better path of loving You.

She’s still watering the flowers
although they’re bent and brown,
in hopes, life giving showers
will restore their withered gown.

Each morning at the window
she’s looking to the sun
expecting reaching limbs to bear
the fruit of labors won.

Then for a little while
signs of life seem to appear
but the season’s growing colder
and the creeping sleep draws near.

As frost sparkles from each stem
you will find her tending still,
pouring water on the flowers
that lie dead upon the hill.

You say hello to evening
as welcoming a friend.
The light has had it’s turn
the day has found it’s end.

It’s time to close your eyes,
to rest in dreamless sleep.
I know love never dies
but unashamed, I weep.

You smile in sweet repose,
adorned in silk and lace,
as one who really knows
you’ll see your bridegroom’s face.

In shadows I remain
and watch you as you fly,
yet choked with lonely pain,
to watch my Mother die.

Sung into the air,

whispered in a prayer.

Etched on tender pages

hallowed through the ages.

May It be.

The word that thrills my heart,

Alive and set apart.

No other loves can claim

the power of your name.

Over me.

The family sits in silence

waiting for a breath.

a spark,

anything.

Life goes on.

Perhaps not.

perhaps, only existance.

Solitary again.

Should I presume they would

agree with me,

support me,

love me?

Perhaps,

It isn’t about me

after all.

I hear a sigh -

It is my own.

The silence is broken.

I know
I don’t
I think
I can’t
You say
You are
All I can do
Is hope