Search

Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

Tag

love

I need you
to know, if this were
all, it would not only be
enough, but more
than I ever conceived – ever dared
in hoping for.
What a way to live – aflame
with trees, and sky, and sense, and
words like grain
pushing through the hard-packed earth.
Is it possible
to be so full
and not to burst?

That is why you must
know that this piece was enough
to bear the whole. A gasping at the brink
of tide. If this relief
is all you should provide, and even if
my lungs should shrivel in the sinking
now, it is well
received. Goodness is
carried far as grief. Our lighter
gift, too oft dimmed beneath
that oily blanket – but it
burns. It burns the longer,
through the age of man
and yonder. All else is
concealment, that lights at last
on the eternal flame.

I mean to say –

this one spark
proves all
enough
to burn
the dark
away.

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.”

Growing in Graveyards

Growing in Graveyards

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends!
May each of us share love with someone who needs it today.

And for you, here is Robert Frost’s “Love and a Question.”

Robert Frost - Love and a Question

The Willow and the Oak, remastered

Sometimes a poem can take years to complete. Sometimes it is never complete. This one I’ve just made a bit better.

The Willow and the Oak colored

Made of You

Made of You

Puzzle Pieces

Giving Up on Love

Giving Up on Love

Poetry Night

Poetry Night

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑