Monthly Archives: February 2014


They are not lonely,
They are sowing the seeds of life,
As they condense hydrogen to helium and finally to iron.
They grow old,
But they ride contentment,
Smiling as their children are born and cool to planets,
And moons,
And life.
They know they are a part of the cycle,
And that they too must go,
To flare out as supernovae,
Or to collapse into singularities,
Transcending the laws of this universe
To begin life
In the next.
And so too shall we end or cycles,
And transcend this confining flesh
To begin anew our lives
In the next portion of our cycles,
And more complete.

In response to:

Not now

It is my wish to hurt you,
To hold the corners of your being
That you have tried to hide,
And pull until you are thin,

I loathe you,
Your weaknesses,
You are not one lesson shy of inadequate,
You are without value,
A stain on the air that I breathe,
A mire in which my shoes are soiled.


The inverse side, the inside song.

Your words, the words run like smoke.


I held on and once again, burned, I cry to no one.

She held out her hand,

not knowing why,

and I took it,

not knowing why.

A cold wind,

gray and sad,

blows me down and those hands are there,


laughing that I fell.

She looks into their eyes and I see a mockery

of all that I have.

I have no more room for sadness.

So, look at these eyes

and understand my goodbye

as eternal.


Oct 1998

Bird Song

What is to gain
From voicing aloud these words?
Granting them form in sound
Gains me naught.
So I swallow.
I perceive.
But I am loath to speak,
Even here to write these thoughts encoded.
I trust rather to hope,
Though hopeless I deem the pursuit
Of the perfection that could be,
That would be,
Even that should be.
So do not take my silence as wisdom,
Nor pensive pauses for time to digest.
I hold my tongue in disgust,
And shame at the separation
Of where we are,
And where we could be.

Beyond the Night

I have lost a day to the distance,

for this place is beyond dreams

and past the night.

All is different here, so very different.

The pride,

the will,

I am torn down in the fire by ideas

I can never understand.

I am a child without a voice,

without right –

pushed and pulled,

swayed to either side by desires around me.

My soul is too different,

my ears a curse.

I can no longer speak –

my opinions melt under the onslaught.

I have a mind,



I wonder how to return to life,





I can see it.

Can you  not?

This brightness and white-hot light?

Can you not smell

the fire-scent of rebirth?


Darkness follows,

cool, soothing darkness,

a balm to all of my wounds.


You can just barely sense the arrival of the new self,

the air tingling with discovery.


My back rests on cold, polished stone

as I reach my hands to part the velvet,

but nothing,

thick and musty nothingness

meets my arms and face.


In the distance I hear music;

soft, slow music.

Words of twisted lament

speak of ultimate sadnesses.

But I am new and have not yet been filled,

so I drink the emotion and revel in feeling anew,


All that I know is of sadness.

It is filling and complete.

My eyes see dancing,

the music leaps in the darkness.


I awake to vague impressions,

a desire for sadness.

Apr 5, 1996


The taste,
That feeling –
It brings me to the border,
Just to the edge.

I go back,
Bit it brings nothing new,
I yearn to create.

I have seen
Another way,
A different path to take me there,
But the slope edges up.

I sit
In resignation,
Blind to a fate set for me
By unseen hands.

Baking Blowup

Our Baking Will Blow Your Mind

The Dinner

A Space for Fellowship

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.


Turning Tears and Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures


literary fictions, flashes, fiascos


The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.


A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design