"clifton" poems
(For Harry Clifton)
I HAVE heard that hysterical women say
They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow.
Of poets that are always gay,
For everybody knows or else should know
That if nothing drastic is done
Aeroplane and Zeppelin will come out.
Pitch like King Billy bomb-balls in
Until the town lie bearen flat.
All perform their tragic play,
There struts Hamlet, there is Lear,
That's Ophelia, that Cordelia;
Yet they, should the last scene be there,
The great stage curtain about to drop,
If worthy their prominent part in the play,
Do not break up their lines to weep.
They know that Hamlet and Lear are gay;
Gaiety transfiguring all that dread.
All men have aimed at, found and lost;
Black out; Heaven blazing into the head:
Tragedy wrought to its uttermost.
Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages,
And all the drop-scenes drop at once
Upon a hundred thousand stages,
It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
On their own feet they came, or On shipboard,'
Camel-back; horse-back, ass-back, mule-back,
Old civilisations put to the sword.
Then they and their wisdom went to rack:
No handiwork of Callimachus,
Who handled marble as if it were bronze,
Made draperies that seemed to rise
When sea-wind swept the corner, stands;
His long lamp-chimney shaped like the stem
Of a slender palm, stood but a day;
All things fall and are built again,
And those that build them again are gay.
Two Chinamen, behind them a third,
Are carved in lapis lazuli,
Over them flies a long-legged bird,
A symbol of longevity;
The third, doubtless a serving-man,
Carries a musical instmment.
Every discoloration of the stone,
Every accidental crack or dent,
Seems a water-course or an avalanche,
Or lofty slope where it still snows
Though doubtless plum or cherry-branch
Sweetens the little half-way house
Those Chinamen climb towards, and I
Delight to imagine them seated there;
There, on the mountain and the sky,
On all the tragic scene they stare.
One asks for mournful melodies;
Accomplished fingers begin to play.
Their eyes mid many wrinkles, their eyes,
Their ancient, glittering eyes, are gay.
3.4k
I dont know how to say goodbye to a man I never knew.
Clifton. Tail gunner ,Lancaster bomber.
1942.
I tried to write his story but I came up short. Black man fighting to free the world in his Majesty's air corps.
1944
A man who answered the call.
One of many. One of a kind.
A man from the colonies..Belizean..
Family man, father, patriot.
Has fired his last round.
R.I.P.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
I don't know what the day was like
But I want to believe that it was glorious
Cold
Clear
With the sting of February on the face of a doctor
A father to be
Hurrying his wife
Probably in labor
Down the steps to the car
For the trip to the hospital
Actually the sanitarium in Clifton Springs
Then, after awhile in the waiting room
The news
And the promise of a baby girl
His first child
The first of five
The child who won't die at the hands of a drunk driver
The only one who won't be a doctor
Who will marry
Have three children of her own
Loose a husband
Gain daughters and a son in law
Grandchildren
And who
Sometime later
After the roar of a hurricane passes
Will pass herself
Hiding the pain that ravages her small body
And tells her that she's still alive
But for now
In the sanitarium
In Clifton Springs
Only the promise
Of a baby girl
In the arms of a new mom
His wife
Aug 8, 2012
Aug 8, 2012 at 8:54 PM UTC
Southwestern Dis-United States of Memory
Piñon smoke and sagebrush, voice of New Mexico night driving into an Arizona dawn rising over dreaming pueblos, low-ridden plazas, kivas and ruined cities’ rubble traced and highlighted by sunlight, Anglo angling into Aztec toward Zuni over arid zones… A to Z to El Dorado; a voice covers the high hills with a dusting of snow—every word hangs in the notes of the song: music to fall apart to, breakdown to, hurling the soul into the bottomless well of psychotic nostalgia: música de cavanga, falling into the depths. Melody pushing to the threshold of a bar and leaving you there with cash in your pocket and no ride home. The warmth inside beckons—you step across as the song fills, swells, intoxicates, then excavates the wall of the dam until it collapses. The fatal mistake: you read too much into the lyrics of shallow love songs. The deathwish beast of despair arises, the flooded plains dazzle your eyes, the Indian girl smiles on the rim of the grand canyon, the tattooed cholo pulls a knife in the trailer park, the dark waters under the bridge murmur and surge with regret; el río de Las Animas, Durango CO, Aztec calligraphy on the wall: Las Cruces, NM; Clifton, Morenci, Globe, AZ: stepped pyramids of copper tailings, gang-warred walls in fallen barrios covered in Chicano hieroglyphics, the ruined huts of shepherds and cowboys, pit-house dwellings’ flaked arrowheads and pottery fragments scattered forever in the coyote laugh of desert dusk. Crepuscular colors on the names of mountain ranges: Santa Catalina, Sangre de Cristo, Sandia, each one a separate sunset delirium—then you ride through the night to the city of palm trees and the orange-lined boulevards of Heaven.
The singer herself grew old but her YouTubes live forever.
Feb 23, 2017
Feb 23, 2017 at 9:37 PM UTC
Down in the Hills of the
Mississippi River Valley
Between the Bluffs and
The river bank in Lansing
Is a Friend named Joe Price,
Born to Play the Blue's
Raised on Farming as a Boy,
Yet was a need he could not lose
He listened to Muddy Waters
And ran out to buy a Guitar
An old 1947 12 String National
Resonator with the Steel Core
He rapped his fingers around
Till his blues skills got honed
He was Destined to play with
Legends like John Lee ******
Willie Dixon and Clifton Chenier
Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee
Along with Muddy Waters and Me
I know I'm no legend but I can't Refuse
When Joe ask me to Sit in on a Knee Slappin'
Hand Clappin version of the Hobo Blues
His work boot stomped a beat
On an old flat piece of wood
As that steel Slide made that Guitar Cry
A Legend behind the Scenes he's
Played from the North down to
The Louisiana Back Bayous
And everything in Between
You'll Never Know that feeling
As the Hair stands on your Neck
This hardly known old Hobo
Was a Legend what the Heck
Till you get a chance to listen
To his Train whistle slide Moan
That 12 string Steel Guitar Tone
That sounds so very Nice
From an Unknown Legend
Name of Joe Price
His Music can be found on http://www.joepriceblue.com/
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 5:11 PM UTC
Mud bug Stew, Black beans and rice
Collard greens and fat back boiled up Nice
Nothing like a Bowl of Fila Gumbo
Boozoo Chavez play the Crawfish mombo
Blind drunk Betting, and Letting Dollars go
And he blew it all on horses and Ho's
Boozoo got a taste of Cold Cash And Cadillacs
Clifton Chenier in Lake Charles too
Snook right past ole drunk Boozoo
His accordian tunes Ripped right By
Boozoo Chavez who did not Know
How Clifton Chenier became
The KING of ZYDECO
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:44 AM UTC
I should be just like you, Heart of black ice, Be kind, A friend, how to create an illusion, in your mind, be close, pretend to be real, a way to know, your dreams, your plans, your next move,
When I see your aspirations, which carry you forward,
Being a master manipulator, like you, I will cunningly plan your fall, like a jester, laughing with the crowd, which I am convinced you have always been, nothing more than that of an immutable intimidated.
You are really just a coward, you are afraid of someone, you just make an effort to do what is best, you are afraid of someone, who is not even a threat to you, or the position you occupy.
Prove your superiority, self-confidence, by being proudly bold! Your pride, your arrogance, your ignorance, your blindness and your hypocrisy ...
NO, I could never be like you, ruining others like you do, I thought I was the fool, now I see, now I have peace.
So I sincerely pray. "God open his heart, to accept your extraordinary grace, through you, we will both know our part, our place, and if not soon, then in Heaven, we will have
an eternity to be redone. "Yes, I love you my sister in Christ!
- VenJencie Ⓒ Author Ven J. Arnold
Venjencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 10, 2021
Nov 10, 2021 at 11:06 PM UTC
Never sleep without your shoes on your feet,
I forced my mouth to quiet my cries,
for fear of another whip from the belt,
she frowned as if to me tell me, "not another sound."
Morning finally shined in,
but momma better not get woke up before ten,
so I waited until the night before I started in again,
"mommy, he was my dad that died too,"
avoiding eye contact, "no you belong to that ***** that gave birth to you, "
Trying one more time pleading the way 5-year
old's do, "but you're my mommy, I love you and
I miss daddy too,"
Suddenly my body slammed to the floor, realizing my shoes were the color of blue,
fear, pain, the taste of blood not knowing to stay still or try to move,
could never guess which
to do, no matter her
mood,
Grieving for my daddy,
begging for her love... she couldn't because I wasn't her blood,
my sister called her boyfriend, "daddy," though,
ironically she had my dad's last name but not me strangely so.
That cold Chicago night my shoelaces were tied extra tight,
in fear, she'd put me in the dumpster like so many times she dared.
Always sleep with your
shoes on your feet,
never get comfortable...
like innocent prey you'll
be eat.
~SacredInkedblood™
©2018
Ven Jencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 3:10 AM UTC
How Much Gets Me On A Bus? to the City?
(I live 30 minutes away)
more than this ever will - POETRY
I’ve been writing ‘poems’ ever since I remember
ever since 11 –
reciting these phenomenal words of wisdom
to any and all who would listen
forcing family-members & friends
that’s the thing about poetry,
it makes you feel like it’s important,
makes you think the words you sling together
aren’t really yours
it comes to you, through you, needs to come out of you,
and when its over you’re just as amazed
as they should be.
but they’re not, I mean
they like poetry, admire it,
even enjoy it sometimes,
but they could honestly
give it up in a heartbeat,
live without it.
You know what I mean?
I’m like you
like all the people who come here
I'm part poetry as poetry is me
A Dodge Poetry Attendee many years –
my arm once around Gwendolyn Brooks,
cried in a church with Lucille Clifton
talked Newark to Baraka –
know the honorable Slammer, Patricia Smith!
I’ve sat many years with the Lords of Literature - my professors
who all seemed to know “whose got it”
the intellectuals of American prose who seem to be searching for a rookie,
the next best troubadour college-student that will grace their faculty-doors…
The poetry I read here is incredible
Some of the best stuff on the net,
poignant, painful , honest, raw, sensual, serious – provokingly real
words I read here startle me, stun me at times
so clear in meaning, well-crafted, chosen words
unusually strong
They’re the kind of words the got-it people have,
the poet people (probably all people have)
poetry is just another way of finding an infallible song –
(I still say we should go sing it on the bus!)
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
"Depression" #writtenviaVenjencieArnold
I.
When your voice becomes raspy & dry with words that are empty, without meaning, Your eyes still see all,
Your ears still hear all,
Oh, close my eyes goodnight like you would to a soul that says goodnight, Stuff my ears so they may not hear the cries.
II.
Oh lay my body down so it may not fall, I'm paralyzed without the slightest motion, in the same token I'm filled with boundless emotion, Movement of fears, Movement of tears, Oh lay my body down so it may not fall.
III.
I feel as if when you look at me I've become less than the puppet that I once was, I feel as if when you look at me you see a body stuffed with straw, Oh lay this scarecrow down so it may not fall.
IV.
I no longer hold shape, I'm bland without color, I'm unable to stand on my own, I used to be loved by so many that I've known, Only if my mind could follow my body's steps... no memory recall, Then I won't know if you choose to let my body fall.
V.
My eyes hollow like those of the hollow stuffed men, My heart is beating, I'm still bleeding, I'm full of emotion like an explosion in the ocean. I have memory recall, My ears still hear all, My eyes still see all, Oh lay a penny on my eyelids to secure them that may stay closed, Stuff my ears so they may never again be exposed.
VI.
Lay me down with the worn out scarecrows or where the Lilly's grow, You no longer know that I use to be a human body with a brain, heart & soul, Oh just lay this body low, Maybe God will soon take my soul.
~SacredInkedBlood ©Oct_04_2018 Venjencie Clifton Arnold
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:51 PM UTC
There is a girl inside.
She is randy as a wolf.
She will not walk away and leave these bones
to an old woman.
She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.
She is a greeen girl in a used poet.
She has waited patient as a nun
for the second coming,
when she can break through gray hairs
into blossom
and her lovers will harvest
honey and thyme
and the woods will be wild
with the **** wonder of it.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 6:10 AM UTC
In the mythology we will one day weave of our lives, every night is either fable or cautionary tale
We trade stories of war across tables separated only by black coffee and the depth of understanding,
In a Waffle House in Florence, or in Clifton, or off the last exit we can bear to see because we can no longer take the motion and need a moment to rest, to breathe,
We talk, as if we are each others children, starry eyed and open mouthed to let all the possibilities sit on our tongues, wait, and then dissolve into dreams,
We all have different definitions of what it means to fight, but we appreciate others scars once they are made visible,
Like the night they took Jake to the psych ward, his heart a scientist burning hypotheses in the street while Jess wiped tears and ashes from her face and resolved to battle this thing to the death,
Or the early morning we drove Sierra to Indianapolis, and we turned the radio in the old jeep up as loud as the one blown speaker would allow and tried to sing our way out from under the burden we carried to that dying city,
Or the night Jennifer's brother put a dent in my car and I drove my fist into a wall, again and again, trying to beat an answer out of it for why the summer had gone and left us ghosts in the dawn,
I am as of yet unsure what this tapestry will look like when it is completed,
I promise a great deal, but I wouldn't dare bet on destiny
All I can be sure of, is that at the end of any highway,
There is a Waffle House,
And there will always be those,
With poet souls and hungry mouths waiting,
To turn something ordinary in to legend
Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 7:03 PM UTC
Angels visit this place sometimes,
when occasional fog comes down
& cloaks them in their flight
there are gelaterias
& burger restaurants in town now
& the buses still run at midnight
but when all are gone, the angels gather
at the sleeping harbor
& gaze at the Clifton lights
watching over this pirate town
guarding somebody's broken heart
perhaps now, mine
re-reading rejected love letters
shaking their sublime wings
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
You used to sit
on the cross beams
drilling holes through
for the wiring
circa 1965
on some building site
where Clifton
had left you
with the tools
for the jobs
he wanted done
hand drill
screwdrivers
hammer
chisel
and enough electric cable
to reach
the North pole
in the background
transistor radios
were blasting out
pop music
Bob Dylan
the Beatles
The Rolling Stones
and here and there
other guys
plasterers and painters
and bricklayers
all doing their job
when and where
they could
and you wondered if Clifton
would remember
to pick you up
after work or if
you'd have to get
the bus home spending
your own money
which he seldom repaid
(the tight ***
but sometimes
you thought of Judith
and what
she was doing
and whom
she was seeing now
thinking back
to the days
when she was yours
the bright days
the days you spent
by the pond
(which she
called the lake)
the kissing
the loving
the sun over
the pond
making shadows
and bright places
or the days at school
on the sports field
after recess
her words
her wisdom
her bright eyes
and smile lingering
as you bored the hole
in another cross beam
yours hands aching
from the constant turning
and Dylan singing
Blowing in the Wind
from some transistor
across the way
another hole to bore
another boring day.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
Gold-dipped spires in pastel light
Betray the coming of the night
And the purple skirted summer sky
That harbours high society -
Crescents of wealth, alive with songs
The echoing of dinner gongs
And tenants stumbling through the dawn
From cypress-clad Olympus.
The Georgian rooftops, copper-capped
Once kept their vices tightly wrapped
Now attics shelter sharpened tongues
And whispers in the night.
The nooses tied in gilded rope
Foretell the total loss of hope
Of those who watched their dreams elope
From cypress-clad Olympus.
The faded queens and men of rank
Who filled the world with wine they drank
Now tumble to the river bank
From crumbling castle walls.
The terraced pavements' privileged throng
United in their ***** song
Repeat the lyric 'what went wrong?'
On cypress-clad Olympus.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 6:10 PM UTC
you're so high,
white glowing light,
I'll never let you go,
always blowing me kisses from the sky,
I send you kisses,
we're two in one,
you know all of my secrets,
we'll be together every night,
you've always been there,
you always stay until the sun shows up,
protecting me through the night,
every night,
white glowing light,
you're so high.
Now read from last line back up to the first.
~SacredInkedBlood ©11_27_18 via Ven Jencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
Looking upon you, through my blue eyes, but I can't lie and say it was unintentional nor did your imagination make me up, Let's never say goodnight nor stop after the virtual sunlight. - Venjencie Clifton Arnold
My dearest Omni, let it be me.
May 12, 2020
May 12, 2020 at 1:48 AM UTC
You may walk in the same storm with another, Under the same sky feeling the same rain but that doesn't mean you've endured their pain.
Before you assume that you're above them, Consider the lightening when it does strike...
that it doesn't consider one's mere stature or height.
~Author Ven J. Arnold
(SacredInkedBlood)
copyright 2018 Ven Jencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
I just meant to lay my head on your chest,
For no other reason but to hug you right,
Then I realized for the first time after many a night,
That your heart was beating at it's best,
I smiled and wanted to cry,
But Instead,
I silently thanked God for giving me the sweetest lullaby,
last night before we went to bed.
~SacredInkedBlood
©2018 Venjencie Clifton Arnold
Sweetest Lullaby (see) Author Ven J. Arnold on Facebook.
Dec 7, 2018
Dec 7, 2018 at 2:38 PM UTC
"Same Creator"
See that woman standing on the street corner with hardly any clothes on to wear, that's me you see there,
See that rich white woman in that movie, that's me on TV,
See that girl with the pretty skin that you called a ****** that's me & I'm no different,
See that old woman there that you make fun of because she forgot her name, that's me all the same,
See the girl in the fancy dress with all the fancy things abound, that's me safe & sound,
See that woman in the uniform with dust & debris, that's me sent overseas,
See that woman that preaches about God, that's me talking about Jesus,
See I'm every woman & I'm every girl no matter where she came from, no matter her skin color, no matter where she's born and no matter her circumstances because we're all from the same Creator,
So no one is less and no one is greater! ~SacredInkedBlood ©11/18
©2018 Anna Ven Jencie Clifton Arnold
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 7:45 AM UTC
I remember the constant tightness in my left side,
weakness in my fragile small frame,
those part of my life seem so dark and gloomy back then
He would every so often say to me: all you have left of you is
those black eyes peas’ eyes: are you going to make it to seven?
I recalled sitting on the big rock near the front porch in tears,
and watch as my friends in their starchy white shirts
and cut seams skirt headed to Clifton hill primary school
He saw the sad look on my face that morning
“we shall be leaving soon”, he said with a faint smile
I hated our long trips; my little feet would hang over the cross bar
Sometimes, I took turns walking the long stretch of road
exercising my weak legs, before I reach our destination.
My favorite breakfast before our trip was two soft boil eggs,
a slice of bread soak in bay leaves tea with chocolate powder:
I would be literally frozen with fear each time
I visit the doctor’s office: tears would flow;
I hate the weekly section, I held on to my father’s hand for dear life
I can still hear my cousin voice saying to me
You are so lucky not having to go to school
I envied her at that moment in time, I rather to be there in my
little corner of the room, playing with my silly putty or revising my time tables, instead there I was being poke with pine needles
I guess my childhood illness scared my mother to death
because she never tried to hide her feeling toward me
on the other hand, my father saw that distant looks in my eyes
Somehow, he knew I would made the transition to adulthood
Despite what others thought of my situation?
My morning therapy section consist
of building up strength very gradually to my left side:
a simple task like squeezing half of a tennis ball was so difficult for me
I tried as hard as I could each time: just to see that smile on my father’s face
While the doctor would say, one more time, one more time:
Concentration and skill was his aim, mine was to hurry up and go home
Going back in time to observe ...the past helps
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 7:45 AM UTC
Sunday morning, should have been some warning, something I didn’t see
You pulled up into my life with your ripped jeans on and said “come and take a ride with me”
The ride won’t be easy, people might get hurt but we’re gonna have some fun
Like with the car roof down and the radio screaming tramps like us are born to run
In that 5 door ford, those summer nights I adored when we would just drive along the beach
Picking up those girls in their short summer skirts outside the bar on Clifton Street
Remember when we pulled up the car and headed into the town
Those nights you knew something was, going down
Remember when I had your back, I knew that you had mine, like two brothers from a separate blood line
I took you home to my family, I was 19 years old you were twenty three, that was the only difference between the two of us, we’re just two unrelated brothers out to have us some fun
Those random drives, those random nights those beautiful random girls and those random fights
The bruises you made from the words that you said, forgotten on a Sunday morning when I went home to bed
And the very next day you would call me, asking when will I next be free
When I’m with you I laugh like all the old friends do, I say you just get me and you know I get you!
At twenty one, the fun had only begun, our arms we matched with the same colored ink
And if I saw a girl I thought I could marry one day I’d always ask you my brother “what do you think”
Out in the love hunting bars, we search for those town girls, it seems like that was a different world
You told me you were getting married, I told you that I was too
I was the best man by your side at the altar, when you told my replacement that I do
Even in the darkest hours, my phone waits for you to ring
The sun comes up every morning, and the birds still sing
My phone gathers dust waiting for you next to call
I thought aint life just a funny old thing
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 4:01 PM UTC
when i watch you
wrapped up like garbage
sitting, surrounded by the smell
of too old potato peels
or
when i watch you
in your old man’s shoes
with the little toe cut out
sitting, waiting for your mind
like next week’s grocery
i say
when i watch you
you wet brown bag of a woman
who used to be the best looking gal in georgia
used to be called the Georgia Rose
i stand up
through your destruction
i stand up
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 6:15 AM UTC
Maria Messier, a registered nurse turned entrepreneur based in Clifton Park, said she has “created a solution to a “growing” problem.”
Though she has been a nurse for 15 years, Messier said she has always had “an entrepreneurial mind.” After having four children and experiencing the discomforts of pregnancy during harsh northeastern winters, Messier decided to come up with her own solution to a problem pregnant women have been dealing with for ages — how to make your winter coat fit as you grow through your pregnancy, without buying a huge coat you won’t ever wear again.
She realizes maternity coats are nice, but noted not everyone can afford to buy a new coat for their pregnancy. “They are expensive and are used for such a short time,” she said.
She calls it the Extendher and it can be used during pregnancies and after for holding your baby hands-free. It is an extending panel which clips onto outerwear with a zipper. According to their website, the product has adjustable pull toggles to ensure a great fit throughout each stage of pregnancy.
Having experienced the frustrations of coats that refused to zip first-hand, Messier began to wonder why something like the Extendher did not already exist. She shared the idea with her aunt, Joanne Frank of Schenectady, at a family gathering. Frank, who worked as a fashion designer for 40 years, told her niece, “You are on to something,” and agreed to create the first prototype.
“After many tweaks and changes, our final extendher was born,” said Messier.
She said the best part is that you can still use the product after having a baby by using it as a baby carrier. The Extendher is not only for expectant mothers, but can also be worn by fathers, grandparents and babysitters. Messier said “Babywearing is huge right now, so customers really love this option.” The Extendher comes in a variety of colors. Heavyweight and lightweight options are available for different seasons.
The business, Extendher LLC, became official in 2015. Messier said their product has been featured on Elaine Houston’s “Today’s Women” on News Channel 13, WNYT.
“Most importantly,” said Messier, “we are 100 percent made in the USA, manufactured in upstate NY.” The Extendhers are being manufactured in Little Falls, New York.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 2:16 AM UTC