I will tell you these things about the sky
and of summer going into fall, of berries nearly gone
the mountain ash trees green, gold and changing.
The yellow waxwings that perch beneath
the heavy laden leaves, cool
amid an autumn storm.
Half the sky is impossibly grey
then further away, turning black charcoal
a place where thunder is born, booming.
The other half changes from pink, purple, blue
crashing its way into these luminous hills
meandering in sync with birds over the river
until the sun comes, igniting the clouds
on fire with red again.

I have found the beauty
you propounded
your wisdom in choosing me

Heart melded perhaps
with wisdom
self with empathy

it took ages and
was not an easy path
to send me on

you , my muses ,
must have seen something
in my being

in my me, far off , you
saw future , predicted
where I might become

a mere human
striving for a muse or inspiration
among so many.

I am heartened
by the thought of you
inspiring

so many more

By: David John Clare

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had by Philippines girls 

So easy to be with 
So hard just to leave 
Feels right to love them 
But the *** ain't for free

She knows my desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed.

She's love starved tonight 
For money she'll cry
I'm flying in clouds to that blue Asian sky...

Up for the taste of a Philippines girl
And for the love of a tropical whirl...

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had by Philippines girls

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
So wrong to love them
Her charms aren't for free 

She's hungry tonight 
For her love I will cry
I'm hungry right now for some sweet cherry pie...

She's all I desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed. 

She was love starved that night 
I was hungry for pie
I flew away from the clouds of that dark Asian sky...

Just for the taste of a Philippines girl
And for the love of a tropical world...

D. Clare

(c) 2016 in perpetuity all rights reserved by the author 

(p) FilmNoirWorks publishing BMI
Las Vegas, USA

her parents would have nothing to do with the z,
naming her Elisa Beth

which few got right in her 65 seasons, for their habit
molded an EliZabeth every time  

we presume it mattered not to Elisa, Elisa Beth, because she was
born blind and deaf

her record of birth got it right, but her social
security card did not,

the checks were cashed by caretakers, who cared not
whether the letter snaked or zagged

her parents' obits also claimed they were survived by
an only daughter, EliZabeth

when she "met her reward," some two years past
there was no legacy in print

save a death certificate, which again blasphemed
her appellation with the alphabet's final figure

but on her gravestone, curiously, she was Elisabeth once more,
though what flat, mute slab could even such a score?