Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"


abstract poetry


A scalpel, in truth, is just a knife.
But one is used to heal,
And one is used to harm.
The only difference
Is the hands that hold them,
How careful and controlled one is,
Causing the least harm possible,
Only what is needed to correct
The gentleness follows the intent,
To make better. To help.
While the plunging, jagged force of the knife
Always leaves scars.

– s. Clark


He held his dream so deeply that
the dream was wrapped in fear.
It burned so bright within him that
it hurt to hold it near.
He never spoke it, for the way
it trembled on his lip,
and would not leave the shore for fear
of sinking with the ship.
And so the dream lay burning in
the embers of his soul.
For fear of flame extinguished, he
was left with only coal.

– s. Clark

Magic Pen

She had a magic pen
that wrote nonexistent script,
the ink flowed through her veins
to ballpoint hands,
and life was her paper.
The way she wrote
put clichéd words to shame,
spelling out her love and wonder,
marking beauty over
the world’s grimy manuscript.
She would tell you
she was no wordsmith,
but the way she lived and loved
was poetry.

– s. Clark


She’s running,
but where? She does not know.
The wind will blow
and carry her away.
She’s swimming
the tides life sends her through.
There’s nothing she can do
to change course, or to stay.
She’s climbing,
but keeps wondering why.
She doesn’t need the high,
she always hated heights.
She battles,
so fiercely, in a war
she never signed up for.
She’s crying as she fights.

– s. Clark

Raised Walls

Let loose the barricade! The briar
woven by the hurtful woes
and twisted into brittle spire,
unbroken by the swell of fire,
frozen thickly as it grows.

Yet breaks the cold and massive bastion,
not upon the violent throws
of ardor and aggressive action,
but, soft, the whisper of compassion
melting, splitting where it goes.

– s. Clark

Missile Launch

One flick of a finger
Launched a missile
That blew us all to hell.
Critical implosion
At the center of our souls
Left a crater in our lives.
Collateral damage beyond calculation,
Fires of fear scattered throughout
The shrapnel of our dreams.
Standing amidst such
Mutually assured destruction,
We have no water and no tools
To put out each other’s fires,
Or rebuild each other’s hearts.
Too busy preserving
What little we have left standing.
The damage you’ve dealt
Is world-shattering.
How could you pull the trigger?

– s. Clark

God’s Beauty – 2


She perched upon the cliff’s pointed edge
Staring down into a concave world
With mounds of mighty stone
Interspersed across its cratered face
Mountains, punching up from the river cut floor
Lifting in layers to crest, flat-topped,
And sigh back, dipping heat-baked toes
Into the icy riverbed.
Under her feet, a path of grass spread down
Along the cliffside in zig-zag trails,Growing into a carpet of green trees
That rolled out in a line and dropped
Into the canyon crags.
Majesty, miles from her fingertips.

He laid back on the cliff’s flattened top
Gazing up into an endless sky
With speckled spots of light
Pricking points across its midnight face
Nothingness, punctured by burning bits of life,
Stretching beyond breadth of breath or sight
And expands still, sending whispered echoes
Into the inky void.
From his eyes, a stream of light reflected upward
Into the openness, took in the moon,
Dissolving into a stream of his own starlight
And mixing with the dust
Of other, foreign worlds.
Luminescence, lightyears from his reaching hands.

And both wondered,
Not for the first time,
Just how
they were.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Bravery – 2

Truly Brave

He has fought fear.
He has charged unknown dangers,
cast himself full-tilt upon the task
and been broken, dashed,
and pieced himself together.
He has stood eye to angry eye
with gritted teeth, flexed muscles,
and faced down larger foes.
He has hung at heights,
staring down at speckled earth
miles from his curling toes
and tilted forward into open air.
He has born the weight of pain,
shouldered agony until it was his
and carried it until it conceded.
He has faced every challenge,
and met every dread with a grin.
Ah, but if he can love her— then
he will be truly brave.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Innocence – 1

Unquenchable Light

He reached for the stars
but he stretched out too far,
and they burned up his hands,
left him covered with brands.
But he reaches on still,
for he measures his will
as his light,
Matching might
with the stars.

– s. Clark

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