Guys, IT CAME IN EARLY! And it looks AMAZING!!!
You can buy it at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/sclarkpoetry, all proceeds from now to the end of the year will go to The Rabbit Room, a non-profit dedicated to story, art, and music!
Don’t forget to drop by C3 Art and commend Pieter on this AMAZING cover art and all the beautiful drawings inside!!!
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The visitors all come bearing selfishness,
but only Sorrow wears it royal
in the open like a robe.
He hunkers under the heavy cloak
saying it keeps out the cold,
and makes apologies—apologies for all the mud
it drags across my well-swept floors
and the jabbing pins within
that hold him together.
Oh, but he must, he must wear it,
and all is borne.
I set my hands out in a bowl, and we both bow.
The cloak is shed, the pins replaced
with thread, the floors are cleaned,
and the visitor sent on his way.
“Come again when you must.”
Rage is easier to greet,
but rarely receives entrance,
drunk as he comes
tilting into precious, porcelain peaces.
The door is bolted against him, so he hammers
ceaselessly throughout the day and night.
And since I have not learned his name,
I cannot sober him with reason
or soothe him with song.
“Water, water,” he cries,
and I give him wine in the shadows.
His furnace needs a river. But no,
that could rip the whole structure from its roots.
So I let him spew his flames on the threshold,
and those who mind the house wonder
at the flickering in the windows,
the bubbling and peeling of the walls,
and I tell them all is well, all is well,
as smoke billows beneath the door.
I sit frog-like and boiling, beside
the only one who made my halls his home.
Looming mass of muscle—I have fed him well.
I ask if I should let his brother in.
“No,” he whispers, as he ever does.
All visitors abide against his will.
It is he who cleans the floors,
and paints the walls, and pours the wine.
He who draws Rage in, and he who bars the door.
He who fills the room to bursting,
suffocating any who would stay.
But now wood splinters, heat spills through the cracks,
and he shambles toward the basement door.
Tomorrow will find him unburnt,
fingers coiled like silk-tongued snakes
around my ankles in the ashes.
– s. Clark
Gah, it’s late in the day, but I simply couldn’t miss this #FeaturedReaderFriday! Not when there’s a chance to shout-out to the fabulous Bonita!
So glad you’re enjoying the book, lovely lady. I hope you are reminded of all the ways you’re beautiful. 😊
If you want your own copy of The Beauty of People, you can get it at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/sclarkpoetry. ‘Tis only $7.99! I know, for a whole book. Cray.
