Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"



She Believes

She believed,
Once upon a time,
In dreams and fairytales
In storybooks and rhymes.
She has learned,
Since then, that life is hard,
That dreams are work and wear,
And stories leave you scarred.
But she believes,
That dreams can still come true,
That love is worth the fight
And faith can see you through.

– s. Clark

Whiskey in a Teacup

Her fragile beauty drew him in,
And not a piece of him was spared
For she was whiskey in a teacup,
And his heart was unprepared.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Valentine – 2

Missing Piece

She was beautiful.
The way her hair twisted
and fell across rose-stained cheeks,
like soft, dark smoke, curling
over a pale, spring morning.
Her lips were pink and parted
in an invitation.
The way she hid her eyes halfway
beneath blushful, batting lashes
and sang her words like a lullaby.
She moved like the wind,
alternatingly cool and coy.
And he thought, as he watched her,
as we all hope to, in our time,
that this was perhaps the missing piece
of him, come home at last to rest.

– s. Clark


Her heart has become hollow,
Punctured, and all the love that filled it
Drained. The spear that pierced her killed it,
The rest of her to follow.
She wants to share compassion,
But she is a dried-up vineyard,
Dust. She keeps on digging inward,
But finds her soul is ashen.

– s. Clark

Shadow Dancer

She meant to fall asleep before the moon
But words were dancing in her head
and she had danced alone so long
She clenched the slipping fingers of thought
And twirled between broken echoes
of unanswered questions
Swaying to the haunting melody of her heart
Head spinning, she spun on
and refused to quit the dance
Until the disapproving eye of dawn
glared through the window
And she turned from the thoughts of the day
unwilling to flee her dark partner
She sank into the arms of a dream

– s. Clark


How beautiful! A girl who shares her heart.
Our God set her apart
To be a force when other souls will fall.
He tuned her to His call,
She dances to it like her favorite song,
And, smiling, sings along.
She is a trumpet, hailing to the King,
Her spirit echoing.
How rarely has a soul been set so free!
So may it never be
Imprisoned behind bars of hurt or fear.
Sing on! Laugh on, my dear!

– s. Clark


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 – 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

Grit, Grime, and Grace

She learned, at some surprise point,
That pearl earrings and blistered feet,
Strong, sure hands and soft, small touch,
Mud-splattered mornings and rouge-tinted nights
Did not have to be mutually exclusive.
She learned, all at once but gently,
Like awakening from a heavy sleep,
That beauty and strength – grit, grime, and grace –
Could live together in one entity,
Like burning fire in the dark of space,
Or rain and lightening in a storm.

– s. Clark

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