"clat" poems
**** , clat
My heels pound on the street
**** , clat
A steady beat
**** , clat
Something follows
**** , clat
A heartbeat empty and hollow*
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
I am a glowing little body of softness. An opening.
A wide-awake place for you to dip your fingers into and feel
heat.
We are biting mango skins at the dinner table.
We are wiping fruit nectar dripping down our chins.
We are sticky hands and baby teeth
And we are learning what it means when our
Favorite things are mama's feet walking across the kitchen and
pools of sunlight spilling from the bedroom window.
I am sleepless and it is 4 AM and
it is all too humid except for the breeze clat- clat- clattering the blinds.
We are tightly knotted at the limbs.
Your breath smells like peppermint toothpaste and
'how was class today baby' is the thin strand
of home keeping me grounded.
I am looking at you brave, I am looking at you raw.
I am looking at the lines in my hands and feeling powerful.
River bed palms. Hair like seaweed; salty-eyed, calm.
We are sitting by the sliding balcony door of my apartment.
We are sitting on the bench watching seagulls.
Listen, I am thinking.
Don't forget this sound.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
The merry banter of the waitress flirting
With her old men the negotiations
For a coffee refill the rattle of flatware
And the clatter-clat of the breakfast plates
The buzz of conversation and over there
A Bible verse and a head bowed in thanks
“Then Grandpa shot Billy” and too the hum
Of how’s-the-weather going to be later on
The usual beginning to another work day…
But wait…but what…what did that old man say?
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
The Pause of Time.
Tick Tock,
Hear the sound of clicks
It's time ticking, seasons flaking away
With each new tick, never find ease
Lean closely my dear
& hear more cleanly,
This low pitched mellow voice,
Urging on, the rushing of mighty winds
In even bits of every unit
In each stutter of time
Clickity clat , are the batteries dying?
All is slow
I hope the hands of the mother clock are jammed,
Perhaps the sun is falling,
With its orbits never again to reign,
To press the laws of time
Or perhaps the light on time has shone
In rigid rays enforced a home on the inside
Kin to heart, petted to a snooze
To find me relief from the ladens of regret,
From a racing heart and a boiling mind
To have me reflecting on the little things
Amassed round and about my soul
To have me enjoy the procession of life,
Than suffer the knocks of a losing squabble
Against the hands of time
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:51 AM UTC