Tag Archives: poetry

Naked Snow

Alone I stand,

shaking.

Alone.

 

Insanity runs.

Insanity sweet and perfect.

None of you can touch me now.

 

Thew snow falls shallow,

yet the cold of the Earth affect me.

I twist,

I throttle,

Naked and alone –

my arms stretch out to my sides.

 

Run. Run away.

Run from the insanity that is within.

 

I am naked and alone in this snow,

and none of you

shall ever touch me.

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Imprisoned

An old creak as the doors of the morning rattle from the sweet cover of unconscious dream.

The painful light of being bears down on me,

urging and pressing and warring.

In waking there is no repose,

Duty latches onto my first thought –

a schizophrenic voice,

maleficent and sharp.

There is no soft glow of morning here,

no quiet solitude before the dawn to prepare.

Here no sailors press the shoes of luck before the day begins,

for the night has been a brief pause only,

and yesterday’s burdens beat the dust of responsibility from their coattails

and into my sputtering,

coughing lungs.

Now the cold light drips down on me,

artificial and frigid,

it stings my eyes even as it reminds me that nature lies afar

just outside my reach,

just outside my sight.

I rot in this cage of the mind,

watching as each precious moment of being is traded for a morsel

and mortgaged for another sack of chores,

always waiting

always bearing down and pressing crushingdehumanizingdamningkilling.

There is no escape.

I have no metaphor,

no poetic analogy.

I am trapped.

This is Hell.


disgust

I see you there,

a glint in the periphery,

a flicker against the inane reality.

I see you there,

and I spit,

I have cursed my own blood,

discarded my own brother,

what do you think you hold

that I could ever value?

Be honored.

Celebrate,

for I see you there

and take note of the insignificance that is your life,

the banalities that are your thoughts,

blank unrecognition of truth,

blatant disregard for reality,

bold disdain for completeness.

I curse again,

claw at the scratch of the stench of your clothing,

vomit at the hint of your person.

Like the hiss of an angry cat,

I draw my shackles up against the social law

that protects the weakness that grows in your loins

and dilutes the strength of evolution,

stain upon the cloth of humanity.

Be gone.

Depart.

There should be no place for you here,

and I curse the ones that build

for you a house of woebegotten love,

misplaced

and displaced,

granting mercy to a mote

that should not be,

an unfortunate glitch

in the code of humanity.

I shiver and move on,

disgusted at the thought

of the taste of your mind.


union

It’s still there,
the ever-present roiling,
the ever gnawing
burning
devouring
consumption.
Oh, but I grow so weary,
I am spent
with so little left for tomorrow,
for being,
for myself.
Wave after wave after wave,
I flail beneath the encompassing crush.
Inhale.
It is so close,
a sweet reprieve through quiet bliss,
a mouthful of water,
a quick, merciful gulp of burning resolution,
it is so near,
my fingers touch that place,
chill and warmth and pain and acceptance.
With a sigh,
a breathy whisper I am gone,
forgotten and unknowing,
to sleep in undisturbed,
unknowing silence.

Stop.

Start again.

And here we are.
A meandering path from innocence to…
well,
to somewhere else.
Through torment and joy and fear and triumph,
to arrive at a place both ephemeral and permanent.
I am,
but I am becoming.
I am,
and I am not yet.
I am so weary of the trek,
and I no longer know how to justify the race,
how to envision the prize.

So,
I do nothing.
I think nothing.
I delay and obfuscate and deny.
Time is a healer,
and I cry into Her bosom,
waiting for healing,
waithing for health.


Solitude 

With a sudden thump,

Heavy with finality,

The formless hand of time tosses another trowelful of soft,

Loamy earth atop a small box

Whose contents are forevermore hidden

To the eyes of consciousness. 

The gentle breath of forgetfulness stirs the soft wisps of moist steam

That curl in faint tendrils from the gash

In the rich,

Brown,

Soil. 

Rain falls. 

Now gentle,

Now torrential,

And the ground forgets the scar

Beneath the choking weeds of regret.  

In a whisper of time,

All is forgotten to dust

And loss. 


Mute Gloom – unfinished

Like a pervasive fog,

a bleak, white chill seeps into me,

into my bones and up into the small chamber of light

where meditators play,

damping the tiny flame

that sometimes there dances.

Memories stir,

quickly tamped down into a gnawing ache –

I wish not to remember,

yet I know not to forget –

some lessons are harder than others.

 


Peace

There in the swirling torrent,

at the eye of the rage and chaos,

in the core there is a stillness,

an unremembrance of the gnats and knives

carried in the wind.

Round and round and round,

flashing lights illuminate white-capped crests

as the very surface bends to that calm,

to that void wherein there is no whirl,

no time,

no thing.

Implosion of sound as forward becomes down becomes around again,

the distance from peace ages and lengthens

as the sea is wrapped and twisted further around the eye.

Above, the clouds lurch,

drunken spirals they vomit the cold, biting rain,

spew hail,

belch thunder.

There is no sun beyond the cloud,

no night sky reigned with star,

there is nothing but the maelstrom,

crashing and gnawing at that silent core,

drawing everything down to the silent end.


Smoke

It is cold as I sit in the shade,
Tasting the soreness of the day.
The sun cannot see me
Here in the shadow.
I sink into myself to hide.

I spit.
The remnant of the drink.
Black coffee and bitters,
Rich, leather flavors.
I am rich beyond my own means.

Do not approach me here,
A few degrees short of warmth.
I will devour your mind
And consume the hell that you bring.
In this place I am alone.


angry tie

I thread my body in hot dissonance –

the angry pinks leap out from an ecru field,

lashing out to assault the eye,

to offend the inferred harmonies

swelling in a sea of pretense

around my open scowl.

 

It is my mood,

fey and callous

that accents the palate –

a dark stain on the white fabric,

a sore-thumb crack in an over-sized button.

I lick my lips to whet the daggers of my eyes,

lit with smoldering rage,

the tiny figure hurling insults as monolithic giants,

futility in a storm,

eroded in a blink.

 

all that I see is frustration,

consumption,

and waste.

 

all that I know is disgust.

 

11/6/14


Adah’s Sea

I watch her,
Penultimate Innocence,
The image of wonder
As she holds a fragile life in her hand,
God to something unknowing.
She sees that beauty,
Recognizes the fragility,
And considers her actions in light of conscious life.
She does not know,
Cannot know the depth of this emotion,
The verity in my longing to deny myself
To the Truth of her purity.
.
The sea moves on,
Gentle under the warm sun,
Singing her slow song of the ages,
Wave after wave
She wets the sand.
We move,
Impermanent shadows across the face of the Earth;
My time grows ever shorter
Even as the fullness of her majesty grows –
I am crushed in the knowledge of my eventual departure,
For she shall shake mountains,
And move worlds.
.
I sit in the sun
And contemplate her soft movement,
The stroke against shell,
Squinting in the brightness,
She is what I had hoped to make,
Completeness from my brokenness,
And my life is not a waste.
.
I have hungered for immortality,
But never so as now,
As in this moment where I long
To follow the story of this flower,
Planted through my love,
Tended under my foolish watch,
And flowered in my twilight.
I wish that I had forever
To hold that tiny hand,
And see that pure innocence
Before time and tide wash it to memory,
As life takes its toll.


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.

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