Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

The Beauty of People

If you’d like to check out my self-published collection, you can find it here. Written for pre-teen and teen readers.

Don’t forget to drop by C3 Art to commend the illustrator, Pieter Clark, and follow for more increasingly great artwork.

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Performing at Hutchmoot: Homebound

Hey friends!

I’m excited to announce that I’ll be performing my poetry for the first time at Hutchmoot: Homebound, a multi-day digital event focused on community, story, music, and art, hosted by The Rabbit Room! The conference starts NEXT WEEK, October 9 – 11 (though some cool aspects are already out, with more dropping today), and the content will be available all the way through October 23rd, so even if you can’t make the weekend you can still enjoy it all.

Tickets are available now at It’s only $20 for just a TON of incredible content and fun, and there’s plenty for the whole family. Hope you’ll join us.

Love is This

He said love resides in memory.
I suppose
it can exist in afterglows,
in glass-pressed pictures tinted rose,
and how the heart holds
the mark of a strike
far longer than our simple skin,
how it can keep a moment sinking in.

I guess the scents and touches
linger after.
The tumbling of your laughter
across the grass, the past—fast-fading
flash of light—
the weight of you inside my arms,
our foreheads pressed together,
how you
never shrank from adoration
or ever met my kiss with indignation.

I suppose it has some merit,
all the dreams
we stuff inside each other, straining seams
and scribble-scripting words into the reams
of all our stories, to make some sense
of things that fail and fall from present tense.

I guess love cares for memories,
if even one
can carry them until the road is done,
can bear them underneath the heat, and run
the race—perhaps alone.
Too often it all falls to one to own.

But I have watched how memory
gathers rust,
how time can grind its finer points to dust,
and leave it brittle under winter’s gust.
And I think more, by now, that love is this:
the thing soft-sighing when the memories twist
and decompose to sorrow,
“Yet, you will find me here again tomorrow.”

Living Gray

Some Gray Lives

Shards of Stained Glass

Shards of Stained Glass


Shape the Earth



So Far, Yet Still

So Far

The Well

The Well

All is Yours

All is Yours

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