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Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

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Writing Prompts

Theme Week: Magic – 1

This is long overdue, so sorry!

Books are Magic

They sat in a classroom, but she
Sat in a torchlit tavern,
Inhaling the smoke from a dancing fire
And puffing patrons alike
Sipping a rich, cider-ale,
While her left hand waved slender fingers
Over a page, capturing the words
Of the couple conspiring in the corner.

They rode on a train, but she

Rode bare-back through a sunlit wood,
Breathing the sharp, cold autumn air
And deep scent of freshly-wet earth
Drinking in the morning dew,
While her gentle, calloused fingers
Twisted in a free-flowing cherry mane
As she spurred her fierce companion on.

They flew on an airplane, but she
Flew among crystal-lit clouds,
Siphoning spectrums of color all around
And sighing streams of violet light
Soaking in the vibrant energy,
While her right hand gripped with strong fingers
The  iron hilt of a mighty sword
And her wings threw her into battle with a scream.

And no matter where she was contained,
She was never trapped,
For she brought the magic with her.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: People Watching – 2

Resolutioner

She stood like an island
Large, and isolated in an unfamiliar place.
Her skin rippled like waves
As she heavy-hoisted up an iron bar
With black ends printed in white: “15lbs”.
Sweat poured from her head like rain,
And her arms flapped as they pumped the weights.
A sky-blue shirt stretched over her rolls ordered,
“Just do it.” And she did,
Unheeding and uncaring of the glances.
She warmly returned my smile, ah the sun,
Essential to any growing life.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: People-Watching – 1

Vanity

He was the type of guy
who knew how handsome he was,
and acted like it.
Self-satisfied smirk on a chiseled jaw,
dismissive side-glance from ocean-blue eyes.
He oozed false charm like syrup,
and made the room feel sticky.
Scratching the careful stubble on his chin,
he surveyed his arena.
One girl caught his eye and smiled warmly,
he chuckled, and kept searching.
Paused, swooping down
on a lovely brunette in the corner.
He asked what she was working on
and listened for a moment,
before spinning the world back to its orbit
and revealing his archive of achievements.
And perhaps he was honest,
in word, if not manner.
When she left, he took a moment
then slipped across the room,
striking up the same conversation
with a different girl,
who had not seen the first.
And the girl who smiled stood,
chuckled in her own turn,
and threw away the trash he left behind
for someone lesser to clean,
as the second target stood
and said goodbye.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Christmas – 2

Wrapped

White flecks fall
Painting the landscape pure,
While we wrap warm wool about our necks.
And parcels wrapped
In jolly red and shimmering silver,
Fold in joy with tender care.
Arms enfold,
Wrapping us in warmth,
Engulfing those we love to keep them close.
Lights soft twinkling,
Like crystal-spectrum stars, and all
Is magic, wrapped around the everyday.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Christmas – 1

I know that I am so late in posting this, I got caught up in the holidays! I hope you can all forgive me, and that you are having amazing holidays of your own. Love you, my dears, thank you for reading!

This poem “Christmas” is a VERY non-traditional Christmas poem, meant to speak to the reason for the season. I hope you still enjoy!

 

The air tastes sharply of iron
As the dust is tainted red
Frantic shouts across the valley
Rise in notes of mounting dread.
For though we may fight with fervor,
We have met a fearsome foe
Creatures, jagged, black, and snarling,
Tearing through us row by row.

Not a man has stood before them,
They have slain both swift and strong.
In the hundreds we have fallen
To the fury of their song.
For the song was one of darkness,
Draining all our will to stand,
And it soaked into the soil
Like a poison in the land.

Now we pause, bloody and broken,
Some have quit their post and flown,
And the brave are few in number,
While their ranks have only grown.
Faces turn to watch the castle,
Voices cry out for the King.
But with all the length between us,
Who could hear our suffering?

All our swords have fallen heavy,
Trembling, we cower back,
As the monsters roar and cackle,
Setting for the last attack.
Then a shout upon the hillside
Draws our eyes across the land,
Silhouetted by the sunset
Is the figure of a man.

He lifts up his sword, defiant,
Hulking shadow, edged in light,
And he spurs his stead to gallop,
Charging down into the fight.
Raise your heads and see, my brothers,
Shrink away in fear no more,
For we have not been abandoned,
And the King’s son comes to war!

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Old Souls – 3

Too Young

I have grown so very tired,
My back is bent from all the weight.
For my heart has grown so heavy,
Beneath the fearsome load of hate.
My frail arms can last no longer
Holding my grudges to my chest,
All my anxious thoughts assault me,
And I must set my mind to rest.
How the tired task of living
Wears like a sickness in my soul.
How I seem to hunt down sorrow,
Chained by what I cannot control.
Where is the song that I once heard,
The words of hope I once was told?
Help me drown out this silent scream,
I am too young to be this old.

– s. Clark

Halfway

You must understand,
She does not jump,
Risking a momentary high,
She skydives.
Plunges head-first into open air,
All adrenaline and trust.
She does not wade gently
Through shallow, lapping water.
She plunges,
Submerges deep beneath the surface,
Far from the steady land.
She can not love softly,
But leaps full-force,
Sinking to unsalvageable depths.
Forgive her hesitation,
For when she loves
She cannot love halfway.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Old Souls – 2

Aged

There is youth in his face,
But such age in his eyes.
Oh, what a lovely,
Deceiving disguise.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Old Souls – 1

Old Soul

Her soul was made
Of the scent of well-worn books,
Of light reaching the roots of trees,
And murmured conversations
By the fireside.
It was woven in knitted thread
And bronzed. Formed
Of steam sighing over tea,
And fingers softy plucking strings.
Her soul was a forest. A library.
The night sky. A song.
Her soul was a shimmering,
Bottomless lake,
Ever sinking
Deeper away from the world.

– s. Clark

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