come all you story readers
be you young or be you old
to the land of sir dolly dimple
were fairytales unfold
not so far away
and not so long ago
lived a boy named dolly dimple
and a horse named dynamo
they lived in a land of tyrants
were fear and greed was bred
yet this boy called dolly dimple
had a halo on his head
he grew to be a decent man
big and brave and strong
he rode the land on dynamo
to put right all that's wrong
he rescued damsels in distress
he put dragons fires out
he made the land a safer place
he was loved beyond all doubt
yet as he grew so famous
so did the boy next door
the wicked tyrant gordon
did evil deeds galore
now gordon was a wicked boy
who grew to be an evil man
to undo the good deeds dolly did
was gordons master plan
now gordon hated good sir dolly
ever since they both were boys
cos sir dolly quite by accident
broke one of gordons toys
so gordon kidnapped all the princesses
and locked them in his tower
to grind down all the corn he grew
and turn it into flour
he crept into peoples houses
to steal kids from there bed
to work in his bakeries
to turn his flour into bread
then he sent out all the orphans
to work on the street
seling his bread
to the people they,d meet
then he bought up all the houses
with the money he made
and doubled the rent
that the poor people paid
now everybody panicked
shouted screamed and bawled
till someone suggested
the mayor should be called
now the mayor listened carefully
and when he heard it all
he picked up his phone
and gave sir dolly a call
he quickly told sir dolly
what was going on
on dolly said dont worry mayor
i,ll be right along
so he dressed in his armour
loaded his pop gun
climbed up on dynamo
and his good deed had begun
he rode up to the tower
scaled the walls of stone
peeped into the window
to see the princesses were alone
when he saw it was all clear
he climbed into the tower
and made a big rope ladder
from the bags that held the flour
so sir dolly and the princesses
climbed down to the ground
and he took them all home safely
except 4 one he found
she was princess of the orphans
princess clare was her name
sir dolly fell in love with her
princess clare felt the same
now sir dolly had a mission
he knew he must go alone
so he dropped off princess Clare
at the mayors home
princess Clare  told sir dolly to take care
he said dont worry i,ll be back
with the wicked tyrant gordon
******* in a sack
so he rode off on dynamo
to the bakery door
so he could free all the children
so they could sleep once more
he kicked down the door
took off every chain
rode them all home
and tucked them back in bed again
then he rode to the orphanage
and hid in bushes by the gate
he knew gordon would come back 4 the kids
all he had to do was wait
first thing in the morning
just as it got light
he saw gordon coming
so he jumped out of sight
sir dolly shouted gordon
we meet again at last
i,ve come to punish you 4 all ur crimes
ur evil days are past
yet gordon was so quick
he turned and as he fled
sir dolly pulled his pop gun out
and shot him in the head
all gordon cud do
was fall with a shout
as the cork from dollies pop gun
quickly knocked him out
so dolly tied gordons hands up
tight behind his back
then picked up evil gordon
and dropped him in a sack
he put gordon on dynamos back
tied him on with his tail
rode him back to town
and threw him into jail
now the whole town cheered
and shouted dolly,s name
and gave him a medal
for stopping gordons evil game
now princess Clare
gave dolly a big kiss
and everybody cheered again
and not long after this
sir dolly and princess Clare
became husband and wife
and lived happily ever after
for the rest of there life

Her prized first bike
came out of a breakfast cereal competition.
Then sped her around London
from lecture to final examination.

Twenty years on it was replaced
by gleaming white and black carbon.
Bought, lacking in memories
faster, lighter with a baby seat for Bethan.

Fitness, a priority this year
swimming in the pool, open water and the sea.
Clare selected a running coach
cycling home at an ever higher cadence for tea.

Happy, with her performance
in her very first event as a triathlon novice.
A second, saw Clare pedaling faster
to race past fellow competitors with ease.

In her last competition she was pictured lithe
on posters promoting reactive sports glasses.
Winning a new Felt racing bike, seats in the VIP stand
for the Tour de France finish and her fit lasses-****.


My congratulations dear hero...

Its fast approaching
Valentines day
So my darling Clare
I,d just like to say
I love you with all my heart

Valentines day again
Our fifth together
Love you more with every year
I,m so glad were together

I,ll get you a big card
And a cute little cuddly toy
Just to say I love you
And I,m glad to be your boy

I,ll fill it full of verses
And hearts and kisses too
I,ll even write a sloppy poem
To prove my love is true

So never leave me darling
I don,t know what I,d do
If I had to spend my valentines day
Without my love so true

So happy valentines day
And thanks my darling Clare
For giving me a valentines day
That me and you can share

Tu semper amoris
  Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.

  VAL. FLAC. ‘Argonaut’, iv. 36.


Friend of my youth! when young we rov’d,
Like striplings, mutually belov’d,
  With Friendship’s purest glow;
The bliss, which wing’d those rosy hours,
Was such as Pleasure seldom showers
  On mortals here below.

The recollection seems, alone,
Dearer than all the joys I’ve known,
  When distant far from you:
Though pain, ’tis still a pleasing pain,
To trace those days and hours again,
  And sigh again, adieu!

My pensive mem’ry lingers o’er,
Those scenes to be enjoy’d no more,
  Those scenes regretted ever;
The measure of our youth is full,
Life’s evening dream is dark and dull,
  And we may meet—ah! never!

As when one parent spring supplies
Two streams, which from one fountain rise,
  Together join’d in vain;
How soon, diverging from their source,
Each, murmuring, seeks another course,
  Till mingled in the Main!

Our vital streams of weal or woe,
Though near, alas! distinctly flow,
  Nor mingle as before:
Now swift or slow, now black or clear,
Till Death’s unfathom’d gulph appear,
  And both shall quit the shore.

Our souls, my Friend! which once supplied
One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,
  Now flow in different channels:
Disdaining humbler rural sports,
’Tis yours to mix in polish’d courts,
  And shine in Fashion’s annals;

’Tis mine to waste on love my time,
Or vent my reveries in rhyme,
  Without the aid of Reason;
For Sense and Reason (critics know it)
Have quitted every amorous Poet,
  Nor left a thought to seize on.

Poor LITTLE! sweet, melodious bard!
Of late esteem’d it monstrous hard
  That he, who sang before all;
He who the lore of love expanded,
By dire Reviewers should be branded,
  As void of wit and moral.

And yet, while Beauty’s praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!
  Repine not at thy lot.
Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution’s arm is dead,
  And critics are forgot.

Still I must yield those worthies merit
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,
  Bad rhymes, and those who write them:
And though myself may be the next
By critic sarcasm to be vext,
  I really will not fight them.

Perhaps they would do quite as well
To break the rudely sounding shell
  Of such a young beginner:
He who offends at pert nineteen,
Ere thirty may become, I ween,
  A very harden’d sinner.

Now, Clare, I must return to you;
And, sure, apologies are due:
  Accept, then, my concession.
In truth, dear Clare, in Fancy’s flight
I soar along from left to right;
  My Muse admires digression.

I think I said ’twould be your fate
To add one star to royal state;—
  May regal smiles attend you!
And should a noble Monarch reign,
You will not seek his smiles in vain,
  If worth can recommend you.

Yet since in danger courts abound,
Where specious rivals glitter round,
  From snares may Saints preserve you;
And grant your love or friendship ne’er
From any claim a kindred care,
  But those who best deserve you!

Not for a moment may you stray
From Truth’s secure, unerring way!
  May no delights decoy!
O’er roses may your footsteps move,
Your smiles be ever smiles of love,
  Your tears be tears of joy!

Oh! if you wish that happiness
Your coming days and years may bless,
  And virtues crown your brow;
Be still as you were wont to be,
Spotless as you’ve been known to me,—
  Be still as you are now.

And though some trifling share of praise,
To cheer my last declining days,
  To me were doubly dear;
Whilst blessing your beloved name,
I’d waive at once a Poet’s fame,
  To prove a Prophet here.

There was a Young Lady of Clare,
Who was sadly pursued by a bear;
When she found she was tired,
She abruptly expired,
That unfortunate Lady of Clare.

intro . . .
Have you ever noticed how many wild-guys out there through-out the world-over who have a wild-streak that are named Jim or James or Jimmy?
I mean take a look at the personalities of the many famous and not so famous men who are just a bit left-of-center and rebellious in nature.
For instance Jimmi Hoffa or take wild guitar man Jimmy Page or the great actor James Cagney or James Mason. Now consider Jimmi Stewart or James Garner.
What about everyones favorite spy James Bond. The wild genius of Jim Carrey. The old time character vaudvillian master Jimmy Durante. What about the historical
Jimmy-The-Greek. The rebellious outlaw Jesse James. What about the many musical legends like James Taylor or Jimmy Buffet. Who isn't amazed by the one and only
James Brown? What about Jim Morrison of The Doors or one-of-a-kind Jimi Hendrix. Then there's the wonder of James Dean himself - the ultimate hellion.
Well I wrote a song for them all... it's an original number called...  

Jimmy Rebel

by:  David Wayne Clare   aka David John clare

Hard Rockin' Country  (Rebellion Theme)

You've been upset for so long, at your dad, and at your sister
We heard your mom, she run and gone, well you're not sure to where but you know you'll miss her

Fed up with all the lies, never found true family ties
Not much, to leave behind, got some friends, but theyre not your kind


Well... Jimmy Rebel, meaner than the devil
His world is so hard to understand
Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Youve taken all you can, stupid kid . . . brilliant man

You dont get pushed around, though people put you down,
Yeah, some would even throw rocks at you
You were born to speak out loud, without making any sound
Known by some ***** looks, a collection of scars, lifes true tattoos
You've lived the black and blues

Whoa... Jimmy Rebel, badder than the devil
This world's so hard to understand
Jimmy Rebel, you got a score you got to settle
Come on you know the plan, ugly boy... **** man

Feels like everybody hates you, yet you never run and hide
You're from a broken mobile home; yet your heart is double -wide
No matter how strange youre made to feel, you wont get pushed aside
Standing tall in a cruel crowd, not many a man could out survive
Out survive...

Jimi Rebel, stronger than the devil
some say...
Hes got the master plan
Jimmi Rebel
Gotta score you gotta settle
Now he knows they cant understand just what it is...
Yet I can...  yet I can... yes I can understand

Jimi Rebel

Stranger in a strange land
Viscous one deserves a medal
He knows they cant understand, just what it is...

Yet I can, Yes I  can, yes I can
YES... I  Can . . . .

D. CLARE   (c) In Perpetuity  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
JET-SET  21ST  CENTURY  PRODUCTIONS
Clairvoyant Music / BMI

The chao phraya river song
by: David Wayne Clare

Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)

Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-****-mean but, that's where you'll find me... along with buzzards, ******* and kumoi dope fiends...

Chorus
we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

now...
oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens
I dig them slant-eyed ******,
them sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13!

(Miami Hotel)

cause they love that ***** water ...
oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

(Harmonica Solo)

You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)
Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...

One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...
'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

Refrain

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...
Buddha!
Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...

Oh, Bangkok, Thailand... you're my home!

(Sharp jumps from river with snied smile... big splash sound...)

(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI

Thailand...

Aka
The Hang mans Rap     Ghost Town Version and Mix    

By, David John Clare

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
Your gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home abuse
Dont crush my hand, cuz you cant understand the plan
She and me need to be free, Mr. Law man
Shes not your daughter, dont doubt her, Ill dote her, Miss Senorina, with my *** gun
Give us water and feed, we're the Wild West creed, of a new century seed
So concede and give heed, were gone like a tumble-****, off to breed
Like a slow-blizzard-breeze, get on yours knees please, you cant seize these mysteries
Hangmans Rap, (its the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
Im hanging out at the beech, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched, no deputy dog can claim my ******, so watch out when you fall thru own hatch
Ma Baker and sons, like the undertaker, are the new setting sun, movers and shakers
Annie get your gun, were on the run, get on your high horse, were born to run, break every law like a saloon-brawl, here come the Sheriff after us all y'all...
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Loving like we cant be dead in a Western ghost-town, its all your head, give us this day our daily butter and bread, its like I said move slick or live in club Fed...

Gun powder blast, shattered glass, Im riding the range like a social-outcast, were on the run, having fun, you tub o-guts, Ill grab my scatter gun....  so hide the girls, Im heading for the hills, no thanks doc, I aint taking no pills, what you want from me? my whole life history? Or, a bottle of wine of Dubonnet on this Valentines Day, dont act stupid, go ask cupid to shoot you with his arrow in the court room with a Clarence Darrow, stay on the straight and narrow, its a harrowing call, to be a Too Tall Jones, outlaw yall
Hangmans Rap, (yeah, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
(Marlin Brando cant be catched)
Hangmans Rap, (the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, it's  hangman rap, like a One-Eyed Jack yall

Heed to the call, the-call-of-the-wild, Im the blazing-trail child on the way to my home on the range, some think Im strange, no matter at all, Im the lonesome-ranger, trying to avoid all kindsa danger, thats all
Hangmans Rap, (tiss, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack                                                             ­                                           
Hangman Rap, (oh, the hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, like some **** One-Eyed Jack yall

So, get back from me, Im on a quest and where I go you cant plainly see I aint no toy, try to catch a glimpse of the real vision in me, ok cowboy?
Hangmans Rap, (yes, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack

Hangman Rap, (just, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, ****! a One-Eyed Jack yall

Im hanging out at the beach, far from your long arm reach, Ill be back cuz Im planning my attack, like a One Eyed Jack, Marlon Brando cant be catched
Hangmans Rap, (do the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangmans Rap, (****, that hangmans rap)
Hangman Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall

Take off this noose, Im on the loose, like a double deuce spruce-goose
dem gallows is to shallow for me, its only for your own in home use
Hangman Rap, (wo, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangman rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack
Hangman Rap, (yeow, the hangmans rap)
Hangmans Rap, its hangmans rap, likes a One-Eyed Jack yall
There he go

D. Clare   Clairvoyant Music/BMI     copyright in Perpetuity      all rights reserved

Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, Sister Maria, the refectorian, had said, Sister Teresa remembered walking passed the refectory, touching the wall with her fingers. God is my witness and guide, she translated, feeling the rough brick beneath her fingers. She stood; turned to look at the cloister garth. Sunlight played on the grass. Flowers added colour to borders and eyes, she thought, letting go of Maria's words as if they were balloons. Ache in limbs; a slowness in her movements. Age, she muttered inaudibly. The war had taken her cousin's sons in death. Two of them. Peter and Paul. Burma and D-day. Three years or more since. She brought hands together beneath the black serge of her habit. Flesh on flesh. Sister Clare had touched. Not over much, not over much. Papa would lift her high in his arms as a child, she mused, her memory jogged by the sunlight on the flowers. Higher and higher. Poor Papa. The spidery writing unreadable in the end. She sniffed the air. Bell rang from church tower. Sext. She looked at the clock on the cloister-tower wall. Lowered her eyes to the grass. So many greens. Jude had lain with her once or was it more? She mused, turning away from cloister wall and the sight of grass and flowers. Thirty years since he died. Blown to pieces Papa had written. Black ink on white paper sheet. Flesh on flesh; kiss to lip and lip. She paused by church door; allowed younger nuns to pass; so young these days, she thought, bowing, nodding her head. Placing her stiff fingers in the stoup, she made cross from breast to breast. Smell of incense; scent of wood; bodies close; age and time. She walked to her place in the choir stall, bowed to Crucified tabernacled. Kneeled. Closed eyes. Murmured prayer. Heard the rustle of habits; clicking of rosaries; breathing close. Opened eyes. Sister Clare across the way. A nod and a smile, almost indiscernible to others, she thought, returning the same. Mother Abbess tapped wood on wood; chant began; fingers moved; sign of cross; mumbled words. Forty years of prayer and chant; same such of fingered rosaries; hard beds; dark night of soul and such. She sensed Papa lifting her high in thought at least; Mama's touch on cheek and head. Jude's kiss. Embrace of limbs and face. Il dio è il miei testimone e guida, she recalled: God my witness and guide. Closed eyes. Sighed. Sister Clare had cried; had whispered; witness and guide; witness this and guide, she murmured between chant, prayer, and the scent of incense on the air.

The chao phraya river song
by david john clare

Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella) Down by the River (echo-ee, a Capella)

1 Down By the River, don't dive in, them sharks are real-****-mean but, that's where you'll find me...

along with buzzards, ******* and kumoi dope fiends...

chorus 'cause we love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !

2 now...Oriental Asian Ladies, Thailand's **** Siam queens

I dig them slant-eyed ******... Them
Sticky cat-faced chicks on Soi 13! 'cause they love that ***** water ...

oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're my home !

(Harmonica Solo)

3 You'll find me trashed one morning (smashed!)

Iced-down in China Town; all crying alone...

One day I'll never leave here (Lord!) Unless an Esan Girl might claim me for her own...

'cause I love that ***** water ... oh oh oh Bangkok, Thailand; you're our home !

Refrain

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River...

Buddha!

Chao Phraya River, Chao Phraya River... Chao Phrya River, Chao Phraya River...

Oh, Bangkok you're my home!

(Big smiling shark jumps from river with switchblade knife in between teeth...)

fin

(c) in perpetuity, David John Clare Clairvoyant Music BMI

Thailand...

When you no no want eat Lemmon
'cause it no no not taste sweet
You should not have sugar candy
It's not healthy as can be...Now!

There are new Thai Fruits discovered, in the Tropic Jungle heat!
All them lovely Thailand Fruits! Make you mouth say" Tutti Fruit, Ah!"
All exotic and delicious.. at first one is so suspicious... cause it taste so crazy wild
But, even good for baby child...

Big banana grow for monkey Yes, Thai Fruits tastes so fun funky!
Mango for Bangkok street dancing, All Thai Fruit best for romancing...
GrapeFruit great for big-big ape! Thai Fruit, in my my milk-shake!
Grow head hairy with Strawberry! Dandy Fruit lovely big Cherry!

Melon make wild man go yell... Thai Fruit put you in love spell
Guava flavor in coffee Java yes, Thai Tree found in Bahama!

Now, we eat up all da fruit, lovely-lovely Melon Fruit!
cuase it makes sweet-nectar juice! Cleanse your Healthy body loose!
There are new Thai Fruits we eat discover deep in Jungle heat!
We love spicy Thailand Fruit! Make you mouth feel Tutti Fruit!

"Yum Yum" sez baby child...
Get Fruity Now! Sweet & Sour! Hep Hep Hurray!

Thai Fruit, yum yum yum!
Don't need no *** *** ***!
Feeling Fruity all over, sensation of all flavor...
a brand new taste I now savor .... Mmmmmmmm Deeelicious!
Thailand Fruit is now: what we all Favor !!!!

Thai Fruit Taste, the one we love...
All the many are so nice...
Like Mangosteen herb spice

We all want Thai Fruit now, is the flavor in our mouth...Sugar Chocolate Candy can go south... '
'cause dem no don't tastes as sweet...

Theres the new Thai Fruit we discover in the Jungle fill with heat!
It is the lovely Thai Thai Fruit! Make you go go Tutti Fruit!
It is exotic and delicious.. Now no one is suspicious... cause it taste so yummy wild
We feel like baby child... Yep, it make all go hog WILD!!!

(c) 2009 David Wayne Clare all rights reserved in perpetuity - Intellectual Property use by permission

An immigrant from County Clare
brought to this harsher clime-
Phoebe Prince, an Irish lass,
a gentle heart and mind.

First used, and then discarded
by one boy, then another.-
Object of the mean girl’s scorn
the consummate "outsider"
 
On her last day alive                                                            ­                                                                 ­                           
They hounded her from school.
The girl they called the “Irish ****”
disgraced and played the fool.

Her sister, Lauren, found her body
hanging lifeless in the hall.
Befriended by nobody
Phoebe chose to end it all

And on the day they held her wake
Those monsters held their dance
A debutante cotillion
for a troop of soulless tramps.

She’s buried here in County Clare
because the Ocean's waves
protect her from the harpies
who drove her to her grave

(truck-drivers, bar-boozers, loser-bar yokles, blue-collar rednecks will all love this smash hit song!!!)

Rockin country genre

"Big Mouth Surgery"    
  (by david John Clare)

(rockin' country drunk hick juke-box mix)

Wow!  She sure does talk a lot... could almost cause a riot

But we don't get... just what she's trying to say

We could hear her fine before... when she used to be quiet

Guess all them new school-words get in the way

We took her to see... a gypsy-psychic-magician

But he wanted more... than we could pay

So we took her down to see... our local town physician

And here's what old doc... had to say

Boys...

"She needs Big Mouth Surgery"

Her tongue is on the blink

She just talks, sqwacks and talks some more

'Cause she don't know how to think

So please don't be stallin'

Her brain is now corrupt

Can't you see that she has fallen'

And she just can't ''shut-up!"


Big Mouth Surgery

Cause no pills seem to work

Hurry please now doctor

Before she drives us all berserk


Big Mouth Surgery

But will it work without a doubt?

Better make it a lobotomy

Before she starts to shout!


(solo)


Our reputations are expensive

While her talk is **** cheap

You just can't tell her nothin'

'Cause a secret she can't keep

No one seems to know

What the fuss is all about

We're just waitin' for her brain

To catch up with her mouth


She needs Big Mouth Surgery

Her mind is on the blink

She always talks, talks and talks all day

Why can't she just please stop & think?

So please don't be stallin'

Her head is all corrupt

Can't you see that she has fallen'

Her fat-mouth can't shut-up!

Big Mouth Surgery

We need to find her a shrink

Hurry please there doctor

Before she drives us all to drink

Big Mouth Surgery

She's heard north, east, west & south

Who gave her brain a laxative?

Got diarrhea of the mouth!


Big Mouth Surgery

No pill can take effect

Hurry please now doctor

She is a mental wreck

Our minds: she made us loose

Her words: just seem to ooze

It's so hard: to take a snooze

We just drown all-day in *****

Beer, Whisky, Wine & ***** . . .

To wash away our ear-ache blues!


Yip Yip Zip Lip!  ...Yee Haw!

(c) 2009    David Wayne Clare

CLAIRVOYANT MUSIC / BMI

all rights reserved

in perpetuity

The Weapons of Mass Seduction    By: David Wayne Clare
(a message about global discrimination)


Imagine a World today with only love Where no one fights, pushes or shoves

Humans racing to share embrace The only thing worn is a smiling face

Working together in nature's land Linguistically silent so as to understand

No passports are needed to travel afar Always feel welcomed no matter who you are

People all happy, through peace we co-exist No war-time armies here for us to enlist

We reap what we sow, no one bears greed When nature provides us all that we need

All join hands together to end all the crime Let's learn from mistakes past now of our mankind

Knowledge is the key to all future instruction As we empower the weapons of mass seduction...

World Peace Now! Love Conquers Hatred! End Discrimination!


(The Anagram of ADOLPH ****** = HOT RAPID HELL
While the Anagram of ALBERT EINSTEIN = TEN ELITE BRAINS)


© In Perpetuity By: David Clare - All Rights Reserved
For my great uncle...Truman Clare

We can't help what we look like, be kind to all brothers and sisters...

Sister Teresa felt the cold evening wind through the cloisters. Shadowy figures sounded near by; the sense of waiting; the held breath; the stillness before the office of Vespers. She refused the wheelchair; wanted to walk along the cloisters to the church. A novice sister held her arm to guide her; Sister Bernadette's young hand on her elbow. Blind now apart from shadows and imagined faces from memory. She sighed. Sensed touch of the novice's hand. Breathed in the evening air; remembered the years of waiting in the cloister; the anticipation; the prepared prayers; the youthful voice gone now, she mused, releasing a breath-like prayer. She recalled Sister Clare's embrace by the wall where the cloister bell-rope hung like a tail. God is my witness and saviour, Sister Maria had said. She's dead too, Sister Teresa, thought, peering through her darkness at the shapes and figures ahead. Was it Jude who had kissed her once or was it more? She wasn't sure. Time distorts, she muttered softly, but none took notice. She breathed the air; sensed the dampness; the evening prayers hung in the air of yesteryear. The novice squeezed affectionately; her whispered voice soft and child-like. Did she need the toilet? Was that what she said? Words carried off in the air like the dead friends of her contemplative life. She shook her head; squeezed shut her eyes until lights flashed behind them like a stormy night. Whether the novice was pretty or not, she had no idea; had no sense of her except the touch of hand or softness of voice. Papa was in his heaven, but Mama where was she? Do not let them touch she had said; men are such creatures. Flesh on flesh; lip to lip. Jude had kissed and lain with her, she thought through her muddled mind. Clare had held; dead and buried; her mole-tilled ground holy still, she wanted to say, but only sighed. Movement. Bodies moved. Sister Bernadette touched her arm; gently prodded onwards; said gentle words; failed to keep hold of; slipped away like soap in a bathtub. She tried to clutch the passing words, but silence returned black and deep as the darkness of her days and nights. Chill in the air. Sighed. The footsteps on stone; the echo of chants surrounding as she moved to the pews reserved once for the lay-sisters, none now, all left or dead and swept away like the dead leaves of autumn. She sat; uttered the prayers; listened for the soft voice of the novice nun; wanted to feel; to hold; to touch. Not too much, not overmuch. God be my witness and saviour, she whispered between prayers and chants, recalling a kiss, an embrace, but not of Judas, not of Judas. She breathed the chill air; imagined Clare was there; imagined Christ's breath on her cheek and brow; a light far off beckoning from a distant hill.

Blessed art thou amongst women. Sister Teresa closed the book. Brushed hand across book cover dispersing dust and thoughts. And blessed is the fruit…She lowered her hands to her stomach and tapped three times. Empty tomb; empty womb. Looked across the room at the crucified hung on the white wall; hammered and nailed; battered and bruised by time. She brought her hands together. Let flesh touch flesh. Jude long gone, in flesh at least. Papa had gone the year before; no last farewell; no last goodbye. Sighed. Lifted her eyes to the off-whiteness of ceiling; lifted her heart and mind to a world beyond. Bell rang from bell tower. Voice of Christ, some said. Closed eyes. Held breath. Then released breath as if God had touched her afresh.  Men not to be trusted, Papa had said. Last will and testament; his last words, she mused. She rose from the table and book; stood gazing at the black book cover; stood in a silence like one struck dumb. Bell rang. Sighed. Moved across the room; opened the door; closed it  with softness of summer’s breeze. Mama wore black in perpetual mourning. Black on black; death on death. She moved along the cloister; touched the wall; felt the roughness of brick on brick. Jude’s image pale as ghost; off to her right she thought he lingered. All in the mind, Mother Abbess had said; smiled; patted her hand. Not to touch, not over much. She paused by church door and felt for the stoup; dipped finger in water; hoped for blessedness; made sign from breast to breast; scanned the choir stalls for Sister Clare; not there, she mused; disappointment stabbed her; drove her inwards; struggled with her night of soul. And blessed is the fruit of thy womb. Jude kissed her once or was it more? She mused, taking her place in choir; shifting her breviary; clutching it tight. Nun followed nun; each to their own place; each to their God prayed, she mused, opening the page, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Mother Abbess tapped wood on wood; made the sign from shoulder to shoulder; nodded the beginning of prayer and chant. Not to be trusted, Papa had said. Not seen last nine months; sorely missed; huge chasm in her breast and heart. Turned the page. Lifted her voice. Eyes flowed across the black and white as if swimming through the sea of despondency. No Sister Clare. I do declare a pain is here; wish you were here; near me now, she said inwardly, following the words like lost sheep. Where are You now my God? Sighed. Held the breviary; felt the weight of it; like her sins it weighed her down. Sunlight shone through upper windows; touched the stone floor between choir stalls; made as if fire burned between them, she mused, letting eyes move from the page; allowing memories to stir like giants waking from slumber. Flesh on flesh; hand on hand to touch. Not over much, not over much. And where are You? she asked in her silence; settled her feet in stillness. Pray for us sinners. Now and at the hour. Where had time gone? Papa gone; Mama long since dust to dust; Jude blown to the four corners in battle; all so sorely missed. No Sister Clare. Chant ended. Silence. Mother Abbess made sign; blessed all gathered; gathering her black robes she moved slowly down the aisle with her bride groomed but invisible Christ and the sisters followed each too with their battered and bruised groom inwardly held; separately loved. Sister Teresa waited and watched. Knelt and sighed. Where was her groom?  Had He gone or died? Closed eyes. Sighed. Brought hands together; moved lips and mumbled prayer, which lingered just above her head; blessed the air. Now and at the hour.

The onion, now that's something else
its innards don't exist
nothing but pure onionhood
fills this devout onionist
oniony on the inside
onionesque it appears
it follows its own daimonion
without our human tears

our skin is just a coverup
for the land where none dare to go
an internal inferno
the anathema of anatomy
in an onion there's only onion
from its top to it's toe
onionymous monomania
unanimous omninudity

at peace, at peace
internally at rest
inside it, there's a smaller one
of undiminished worth
the second holds a third one
the third contains a fourth
a centripetal fugue
polypony compressed

nature's rotundest tummy
its greatest success story
the onion drapes itself in it's
own aureoles of glory
we hold veins, nerves, and fat
secretions' secret sections
not for us such idiotic
onionoid perfections


Wisława Szymborska, translated from the Polish by Stanisław Barańczak & Clare Cavanagh

Shadows dance on subway walls
Through crowded bars and pachinko halls
I came equipped for fun and play
You dont have to tip but boy you pay

The night runs deep when you miss the train
After this trip you're never the same
I fell into forbidden zones
Ancient temples turned into internet shops dial for *** to her cellular telephone

Step to the beat invent your own way
If you can't dance you've got two left feet
What's the difference let your hair down its time to play and dance the...

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Don't dance the...
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no

Down the street there's a ceremony on
It's a cinch when the pink lights on till dawn
Get to grips with a ancient kind of street dance
Kissing cherry lips or grape or mango
Do every dance but NOT the Tokyo Tango

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no

Zakuza dance

Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no
Tokyo Tokyo Tango oh no no no


D. Clare

written in Tokyo

Well, honest John, how fare you now at home?
The spring is come, and birds are building nests;
The old ****-robin to the sty is come,
With olive feathers and its ruddy breast;
And the old ****, with wattles and red comb,
Struts with the hens, and seems to like some best,
Then crows, and looks about for little crumbs,
Swept out by little folks an hour ago;
The pigs sleep in the sty; the bookman comes—
The little boy lets home-close nesting go,
And pockets tops and taws, where daisies blow,
To look at the new number just laid down,
With lots of pictures, and good stories too,
And Jack the Giant-killer’s high renown.

It wasn't the best birthday,
Not that 39 is exciting anyway,
But I wasn't quite prepared
For what my brain threw my way today

What is even the point?
In turning 39?
Next year Clare and I are going to Ethiopia
- to sneakily go back in time ;)

38 was old enough
But still not quite that bad
39 is a lot more daunting
For there are no more "30's" to be had

But a few days ago I met a friend
Who just turned 70 last week
What was even more shocking
- she is still much fitter than me!

Her grandson is now 17
I once taught him to bake cakes
Back when I shared her house
Duncan was at primary school for goodness sake!

I don't know if Clare feels the same
About this weird age to become
Or whether as some say its just a number
My 70yr old friends are forever young

I have so much admiration for Clare
With her determination to succeed,
She does make me feel younger
Although turning 39 is still **** - it must be agreed :/

But I was determined to make the best
Of the last year beginning with "3"
Although I dramatically failed
Got dressed, panicked, then ate grapes until tea...

I did let down Teresa
I admire her so much too
We were supposed to eat cake
And how I miss our conversations about poo..

But here I still am
Dressed for both Africa and the North Pole
Required a walking pole to get to the pub
With snow turned to ice - it wouldn't be pretty to fall...

But I finished my day with a whisky
A wee dram to still being 30 something
A single malt Aberlour came to my rescue
To compliment the huge amount of Diazepam

I shall try again tomorrow
Looking forward to seeing Carryn again
So I officially cancelled my birthday
And tomorrow I will try again

But my goodness how Im so grateful
To some very special friends
Here in Aberdeen,
Mary and Glyn are those friends

My brain tortures me frequently
And today we had so many plans
They all went down the toilet
Quite literally (!) but gladly from the right end..

So generous are my adopted family
I can never be grateful enough
For putting up with my panic
Understanding my brain says its "had enough"

It might have been a ****** birthday
But I don't know where i'd have been
If it were not for Glyn and Mary
And their endless compassion and understanding.

To all my friends - sorry for being "weird", and I really do appreciate all your kindness with all my heart.. ❤️

Written in Bangkok, Thailand SE Asia, Siam

a.k.a. "Skype Love"  a.k.a.  "Skype Life"  a.k.a.  "Skype Fun"

The Skype Theme Song      "The Skype Song"

written by: David John Clare    

     

(Sci-Fi Techno Music)

Verse 1

Feel the shock, hear the buzz,   Turn-on your screen, so you can see what it does

Tells you who's there, finds you a date,   Friendly webcam faces: how they radiate

Never be bored, Skype gives us something to do,   Her electric eyes to watch me in my view

Lightning filled hands, good tingling sensations,   Skype runs the world: on a single cosmic vibration

Chorus 1

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a new friend I know, Skype Life, You sound so good, feels so good to me

Skype Fun, It's me Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Me Now! ... makes it so easy like: 1-2-3

Verse 2

How it works so well: nobody knows,  It's more than simply just 1's & O's

Skype don't lie, no it's not science fiction,  A very clean high, our one and only addiction

Brand new friends, new loved ones too, In every country a cool rendezvous

 

A lovely Chat? Well it gets better than that!  If you don't Skype, then you don't know where it's at!

Chorus 2

Skype Love, It's my computer on video, Skype Life, You sound so good, look so nice to me

Skype Fun, It's us Oh Yeah!, always on the go, Skype Someone now! ... it all so easy as 1-2-3

Bridge

Go feel the magic on-line,  Someone now: is as close as your hand

Now finally every thing's fine

The World is now: at your command, command, command ...  (**** Pow!)

Chorus 3

Skype Love: an on-line chat with a true-friend I know, Skype Life, It's great, always there for me

Skype Fun, You sound so good, it's so cool to go

Skype !  Sign Up Now! ('cuz), It's for free, for free,  for free,  for free,  for free... (echo-fade)

© In Perpetuity written by:  David w. Clare  Clairvoyant Music / BMI

all rights reserved by the author


Skype: xendavid

email: LetsCreateSuccess@gmail.com

I had a dream last night
That when I awoke
You were tangled in the sheets next to me
Our legs intertwined, our clothes scattered
Together and happy as never before

Reality hit when I came to this morning
Nobody next to me, cold and alone
The dream lingered just beyond my conscious thoughts
Leaving me with a hollow, empty feeling
Because you are gone

''We Still Want You Bad (Michael)''
by: david wayne clare


Didn't think that this could do it, do it, do it
Didn't think that it would ever do it, do it, do it
Didn't think that life could do it, do it, do it
Yeah, we want you, we want you back bad

We remember the times and the hits our ears would taste
You let your love-sound shine; now time has let it go to waste
It's seems no matter when, life can fool you

His skin-deep charm we hadn't relished like oh so before
Not really thinking we just jumped up and walked out your door
The pain we just cant bear, we have no one else to tell
It drives us mad to think we feigned and now were compelled

Convinced ourselves of no second-chance and we thought it was through

Dont you think were insincere; the world has changed its point of view
We know we were to too coy, all acted so demure
Now this: the price we pay for being so unsure

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad-boy, for you were our fave thrill!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our fun thrill, thrill, thriller

Oh, we are so, so all alone

When you left from our caress we said our sadness grew
We never before confessed, we guess you really never knew
We thought the times we had, was really ours to keep
Emotion twists and turn; the pain of it: always will run deep

Where are his love tunes that will never make it in the book?
If they can fill the empty ages, well its worth a second look
We thirst the touch of love that hides in Michaels fantasy
The kiss of his goodbye was never meant to be

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our big thriller!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our best thrill, thriller, thrill

We always will remember the times and your ever-changing lovely face
You let your love light shine; youve gone and let it go to waste

Don't want to be branded, seems no matter how, life can fool you
We all feel a so very stranded, It's as if you've always known

It's a question of what we want: we want you bad!

Cause!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you boy bad, for you were our favorite thriller!

We still want, still want you, we want you, want you bad!
We still want, we still want you bad, for you were our fun thrill, thriller, thrilla


(c) 2010 David Wayne Clare Clairvoyant Music / BMI ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The short-order cook and the dishwasher
argue the relative merits
of Rilke’s Elegies
against Eliot’s Four Quartets,
but the delivery man who brings eggs
suggests they have forgotten Les fleurs
du mal and Baudelaire. The waitress
carrying three plates and a coffee ***
can’t decide whom she loves more—
Rimbaud or Verlaine,
William Blake or William Wordsworth.
She refills the rabbi’s cup
(he’s reading Rumi),
asks what he thinks of Arthur Whaley.
In the booth behind them, a fat woman
feeds a small white poodle in her lap,
with whom she shares her spoon.
"It’s Rexroth’s translations of the Japanese,"
she says, "that one can’t live without:
May those who are born after me
Never travel such roads of love."
The revolving door proffers
a stranger in a long black coat, lost in the madhouse poems of John Clare.
As he waits to be seated,
the woman who owns the place
hands him a menu
in which he finds several handwritten poems
By Hafiz, Gibran, and Rabindranath Tagore.
The lunch hour’s crowded—
the owner wonders
if the stranger might share
my table. As he sits,
I put a finger to my lips,
and with my eyes ask him
to listen with me
to the young boy and the young girl
two tables away
taking turns reading aloud
the love poems of Pablo Neruda.

By: David W. Clare

The bad ones are good 
The good ones are bad 
I've been had... Philippines Girl!

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
Feels right to love them 
(The *** ain't for free!)

She knows my desire tempestuously
Her slave I became for her sick hungry greed...(Philippines Girl)

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

Up for the lust of a Philippines girl
And desire of the tropical whirl... whirl... whirl... wind...
(Philippines Girls!)

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

So easy to be with 
So hard to leave 
So wrong to love them
(Their charms aren't for free!)

She's hungry tonight 
For her love I will try
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 
When I said good-bye
I'm now far away from that dark Asian sky

All for the lust of Philippines girls
Wanting so real
That tropical world!

D. Clare

(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully-grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you'll park or capture it
More thoroughly.  You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open

By: David Wayne Clare

Sad commentary on society
**** of the earth
Killer of innocent children
His ugly mamma gave birth

Slime dog is a quack
Sells dope and smacks on
I ask you kindly
Where is Michael Jackson?

Take a walk through the forest look up at the trees and hills
Show me one tree that actually grows pills

Bring back the guillotine
Abolish civil rights for uncivil wrongs
The 8th amendment is a shield
To the drug-dealer… we must not yield!


(Anagram: MANIAC PRIDELESS FOOL = MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL)

© In Perpetuity – All Rights Reserved By The Author: David Wayne Clare  


In Asia on the airplane embarkation card it reads... Death to drug dealers in Asia!
I lived in parts of Asia many of the drug dealers get caught and shot...see YouTube

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

I got the call at eleven o’clock,
‘They want you to dig a grave!’
It wasn’t such a terrible shock,
The message came by a knave.
A serving man from the House of Gull,
That mansion up on the hill,
Where Baron Downz kept his hunting hounds
And the beautiful Grace de Ville.

They often sent me a midnight call
To dig them a grave or two,
Whenever there was a duel fought,
For graves, well, that’s what I do!
I dig them deep in the dead of night
At the edge of the Forest Clare,
They pay me a hundred and fifty crowns
You wouldn’t know they were there.

For only I know the resting place
Of the Lords that fell by his sword,
Of every man that has tried his will
Each one that questioned his word.
The Baron’s known for his ****** mind
And revenge is his only skill,
He gets them drunk on his German wine
And then moves in for the ****.

He murdered the father of Grace de Ville
Then kept her there as his prize,
The night that he tried to have his will
She almost scratched out his eyes,
He keeps her bound by a silver chain
With a lock that tethers her wrist,
And swears she’ll only be free again
When her maidenhead is his.

The servants told me he paced the hall
With his patience growing thin,
He’d rage and roar when she locked the door
To prevent him getting in,
There was tumult up in the hall that night
So I knew that there may be blood,
I took my shovel and lantern out
And began to dig by the wood.

At three o’clock in the morning they
Arrived in the horse-drawn hearse,
Slid a coffin out of the back
And laid it down on the turf.
The Baron Downz rode his horse around
And peered in the empty grave,
‘A fitting place for the maidenhead
Milady’s so keen to save!’

I felt the chill running up my spine,
It raised the hairs on my neck,
Surely he couldn’t be so unkind,
But the coffin lay on the deck,
The Baron motioned them all away
And they left with the coal black hearse,
He watched me lower the coffin in
Then turned away with a curse.

‘Be sure to cover that coffin well,’
He snarled as he turned to go,
Tossed me a hundred and fifty crowns
Then ambled off, real slow.
I heard a thump in the coffin then
And my heart jumped into my throat,
A muffled whimper, down in the ground
And a scream on a rising note.

I knew my life would hang by a thread
If the Baron came back around,
But still I thought, I’d rather be dead
Than bury de Ville in the ground.
I clambered into that terrible grave
And prised off the coffin lid,
She gasped, and thanked the lord she was saved,
But then came a note of dread.

‘You play me false, you’ll pay with your life,’
The Baron stood looking down,
And then he began to unsheathe his sword,
The shovel was still in the ground,
I turned the shovel blade side up
And ****** it under his chin
We clambered out of that open grave
And swiftly tumbled him in.

I work for the Lady Grace de Ville
In her livery, red and gold,
I’ve not been asked for a single grave,
Nor ever will be, I’m told,
I take her out in the coach and four
To ride by the Forest Clare,
And run right over the Baron’s grave
Whenever we’re passing there.

David Lewis Paget

i took a trip to ireland to dear old county clare
there i fell in love with a girl that i met there
the way she looked at me with her eyes a glow
thats when i fell in love my heart it told me so

we would watch the stars twinkle in the night
with the moon above shining oh so bright
sit down by the river watch the shannon flow
flowing very gently flowing nice and slow

with the moon above lighting up the sky
shining on the river as it went floating bye
we would sit for hours hold each other tight
underneath the moon lighting up the night

with a gentle breeze blowing wild and free
blowing through her hair as gentle has can be
with the stars above that twinkled way up high
and the moon above lighting up the sky

i wont forget my trip to dear old county clare
when i fell in love with the girl that i met there
the way she looked at me with her eyes aglow
by the river shannon as we watched the water flow

See my bridegroom comes,
said Sister Clare, He comes
swift as birds of Spring, His
voice echoes within, His

touch wakes me from deep
slumber, unfetters me from
my sad sins; His eyes watch
me, they run over me like

flowing water, look into my
soul like dawn's light; He is
my keeper, my protector, His
hand caresses me in my deepest

darkness, His fingers raise
my chin, lift my head, His
fingers touch my heart, wake
me from my selfness, my

obsession with my me; He
comes into my heart, He is
the kisser of life, the waker
of sleepers in the grave; I

wait for Him in the night
when the darkness embraces,
seek His company when
demons touch and ******;

He is my bridegroom, my
love, I seek Him out like
one for water as I thirst,
I listen for his footsteps in

the break of dawn, I kiss
Him as one kisses one's
deepest love, I am only
happy when He is near,

when His voice awakes
me. He is my safe ship
out in the dark deep sea.

The gates of the ancient prison creaked
And the chains clanked in the breeze,
When we pulled in with our caravan,
As we camped among the trees,
The kids went off for a quick explore
And were back before nightfall,
They said, ‘There’s all of this nasty stuff
Leaked out from the old stone wall.’

They said it looked like a yellow moss
But it had a putrid smell,
It clung in lumps to the chains, in clumps
That were hung in every cell,
‘Do you think it grew on the prisoners,’
Said Ted, with his eyes a-glare,
‘I’ve got a terrible feeling from
The damp in the cells in there.’

‘It’s only an empty building,’ said
Darnelle, but her eyes were bright,
‘I heard the prisoners whispering
As they must have done, each night,’
She let her imagination reign
Or that’s what we thought she did,
I learnt to listen more carefully
When she said that she had, our kid!

So later, when they were both abed
I took Clare by the hand,
And led her into the ancient Gaol,
To that misery of man,
Our footsteps echoed on cobblestones,
My voice came back like prayer,
Bouncing back from the old stone walls
In tones of a pure despair.

The moon came filtering down that night
And made patterns through the trees,
While beams shone in to the cells where once
Old men prayed on their knees,
And Clare would shiver where candlelight
Was once the only ray,
To keep the spectres away at night
Until the break of day.

I kept on wandering further in
While Clare would turn around,
‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘it’s a scary thing,
We walk unhallowed ground,’
But no, I walked to the furthest cell
To the meanest cell of all,
And saw the bones, and the yellow moss
In a pile against the wall.

A beam came down from the rising moon
That lit up the pile of bones,
And there for a moment, all we heard
Was the sound of muffled moans,
A shadow rose by the weeping wall
Of a man who cried ‘I’m free!’
Who dropped the chains of his earthly pains
As he strode away, through me.

And all I felt was a deathly chill
As he passed right through my form,
My mind was frozen, my heart was still
And I felt I was unborn,
But then the morning arrived at last
With a terrible sense of loss,
For all one side of my face was gone,
Covered in yellow moss.

David Lewis Paget

two ships in a bottle
the colors of blue and purple
rain falling
into the ocean
pain into a bigger whole
atmosphere awaited
there I must go
the same notes again and again
lost souls
my lost friends
I want to rewind
let me go back to
lonely feeling
gray trees in November
candy coated moth *****
hard to swallow
hard to chew
my mouth is sour
and I miss you
three notes over and over
a cold October
messages washed into me
church bells singing
rocky sounds
blood hounds
barking
that time is playing its trick on you
distant sounds
that mean nothing
a pen that will not write
Dead.
memories that I try to remember
I must forget
your heart shaped locket
Miss Clare

READ THIS ALOUD!  

LINK > https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbYkiKKNZEI

Bangkok Spooky      POEM By: David Wayne Clare
(Edgar Allen Poe style Poem I wrote about NaNa Klong Toey – The heart of Bangkok’s Wild Nightlife Fun!)

Where every **** Thai ***** filled night on the Sukhumvit is like Halloween...

BANGKOK, a dimension of unspeakable filth! In forbidden circles of those who never admit they detest boredom. Will do any curry favor to partake in the whoremongering Babylonian proclivities and vile ****** festivities found only here in this seething sinister air in this insatiable cyclone of sin is thick with musky city 5000 year aged ancient old dust…

This, the Krong Thep City became Bangkok in 1769 today still as then can turn a wholesome foreign gentleman into a freak a wholesome man who dare visit here will fast become a vexed drooling fool in less time than it takes to cross the filth ridden ****** crosswalks of ancient soot and dust from the many Tuk Tuks exhaust the man will become lost and of no use as his very soul will wail in the Asian musk –

...once bitten twice smitten kid in a candy shop will drop his Thai baht money as there is no way out as to ever leave here… as he yearns to become wanton in fiery incision with incurable desires within this hideous overload of sensual persuasions of kitsch and splendor vile derision…

Better wear tightly a neck brace as the Thai traits of beyond gorgeous dolls trolls and trollups

Will beckon your embrace where even Ulysses could not be bound by sailors ropes as the sheer grasp with Herculean strength of a he man will snap the mast of the voyagers ship as you slip into the abyss of her to die for jup jup kiss…

He will wish away his all until his head takes in all of the bliss and soon he cries tears of blood.
Siam, is the age old ancient matriarch of ultra **** ladies very young to very old.

Caveat Emptus, to all ye fools who dare enter and dare to survive here as this is the fool’s gold street soi boutique in the twilight realm of illusions and lady boy Léger Jermaine…

Beware, there is no turning back in Bangkok! Its nightly floggings and unmentionable 10,000 delights has for eons mesmerized the lost fools Oh the tales of ancients street freaks grip tightly
Your very soul nightly!

D. Clare

Harley Davidson motorcycle song
By David John Clare

My elektra glide had to find her
Shes got the key to turn it on
Street wheels are spinning
Now were are wining...
When she sez go let's get it on...

Harley love will get you racing the street bike you'll be a chasing

So ride the wind with Harley Davidson
the machine for you...

Now my baby said to me boy now don't be slow let's get over to the Sunday cycle show

our fat boy was still looking the best
Want my advice? Here's what I suggest.

Chorus

Well we don't talk much so to hell with a car
Romping in the country under Texas stars
She rolled out the blanket on the grassy dew
We started drinking Jim beem right out of her shoe...

Chorus

Harley Davidson motorcycle
Milwaukee Wisconsin

David John Clare

Live through me vicariously...

My rich neighbors got upset
Sycophantic ******* pretentious jet-set

I am the pariah the iconoclast blasted by rumors, iron-curtain of suburbia hurtin' tuff darts pointed at me

Think young it's only the vicissitudes
That control your mood and attitude

Am I gay? Your wife doesn't think so!

Go ahead live through me vicariously...

D. Clare

Let's watch the fights see who wins
***** politicians quack doctors spin
I will sue you in court of law
My sneaky lawyer will find a flaw

Get off my property or I call the hoggs
Then you get bitten by my cyber dog
You wanna arm wrestle or fight **** or dance?
I'll show you who wears the pants

My car is faster than your old stage
Drive you in the ditch in a bout of road rage

Rockem Sockem Robots will soon be the contagion of hate in the coming age...

D. Clare