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 Feb 2017 Clark
Dorothy A
Make friends with yourself
For a lifetime is too long
To be your own worst enemy
 Feb 2017 Clark
Isha Natsu
For Keeps
 Feb 2017 Clark
Isha Natsu
Someone once told me that I was "for keeps". I've never been a fan of any type of label, but I've wondered how he had shelved me in two words.

I've sought out its meaning. Maybe it was the same as how he was always proud of his vintage toy collection. I was there for his quartlery dose of nostalgia. The novelty of us was something that made him grin.

It could be how another liked to treasure letters from lovers past. Only to flood himself in regret. The names and faces garbled in the salt water.

I learned it was not the same as how my neighbour cut the thorns of the rosebushes, and left the buds for him to adore. He always kept the scissors by his bedside.

The only things I have managed to keep are my pinky promises, my drafts from two years ago, and my used bandaids. It's embarassing to recount how unmade, unfinished, and uncertain I've been.

But if I were to love you, I will not tell you you are worth keeping. Holding you would be selfish to the universe. I cannot possess your thoughts and your soul, your charm will pour itself from my grandmother's china. Pictures will not be taken. Maybe just one, to show my friends the uncanny resemblance you share with my favorite poet. I will unknowingly breathe you in, only to heave heavy sighs into your mouth.

We will thrive among white lies and speak about tomorrows with fistfuls of hourglass sand in our pockets. We will borrow light and pay in forms of miles we need to walk.

I have never wanted to be called a keeper, nor have I ever wanted to keep. The world can only afford to lend beautiful pieces of itself.
 Feb 2017 Clark
Cweeta Cwumble
as the daylight breaks through
the stained-glass window and
rests upon your sleeping face
like a blanket

i like to look at you this way
when dream world is still open for you,
your day hasn't yet started and you're
untouched by the rest of the world.
just dreaming.

i feel like this is perfection.

your soft hair, your eyelashes,
the gentle rise and fall of your chest,
those lips that are (somehow) even more
perfect than they were the night before.
the lips are my favorite.

i think about kissing you, tasting you,
folding myself into your tattoos,
lifting you gently back into your body
so I can once again be with you

but I linger in this moment a little
longer. savor it a little more. allowing
you more time in the mystical purity
of your dreams. allowing myself to bask
in this budding garden a little more.  

and I hope that in your dreams you are a king.
 Feb 2017 Clark
 Feb 2017 Clark
Shadows are black
Darkness encompass around;
Shadows stand opposite to bright
Where opaqueness block the light!
Darkness of self
Encompasses with transgression;
Craft the shadow
Snag with off beam;  
Brighter exertion fade-out!
Obscurity of shadow
Remain in recollections!
 Feb 2017 Clark
Tammy M Darby
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.
 Jul 2016 Clark
The Willow
and I was a mess

I was talking

because I talk to protect myself and try to make sense of things and validate myself and
tell lies
that I didn't even know were untrue.
I had no idea.

It was only after I had fought
(bashed myself to bite sized pieces)
did my shingles fall
they fell
they were covering a color found under my skin that

Can you guess what it is?

(It's a searing sapphire. Nearly painful to look at, it's so blue. So deep you can get lost in it, and many do.)

I forgot that I am
I am
I am a whirlwind, and storm, a train driving faster and faster

I am all this
and I pretend I am a calm meadow.

I broke myself to bits
against you
to remember the color of my soul is not as passive, as safe
as light as I want to believe.
 May 2016 Clark
Dhaye Margaux

I want to be your sun
the light of your day
I want to be your moon
the light of your night
I just want to be both
your sun and moon
greeting you with rays
of my glorious light

You and me all the time

— The End —