Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"


sad poetry

Kindred Souls

How wonderful and rare it is
In this odd and untidy earth
To find a soul akin to yours,
That understands your wild mirth

How wonderful and rare as well,
And tragic as the winter rain
To find a soul that also shares
The hollow echo of your pain

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Contradictions – 1

Living Dead

My mind is dead
Just as my heart is gone
It’s strange that I, so spectral,
Carry on.
A jagged cage of ribs
Curved over hollow shade
Lurching bones making as though
I am of flesh still made
It should be numb,
To wander dead of brain,
Yet still I feel the cracking bones
And pain
Of all the splintered space
Where once there dwelt a heart
I can still feel the weeping wound
Where I was torn apart

– s. Clark

Songs I Hate

Certain songs I hate.
The kind that send you reeling
Into feeling, unabating,
That remind you
So acutely of the loss
Of all that love has cost you.
Songs about the poetry
Of dying young. So deep. So sad.
And such a heap of crap.
They drive me mad.

– s. Clark


I won’t spread all my scars
Across your soul,
Like a catchy tune
I’m hoping you will dance to.
I thought I was a catch
When I was whole,
Now I am only caught,
And will not trap you too
Inside this mess of mud
That was my mind,
Once fertile fields,
Now memories have flooded
And drown out the careful seeds
That made me kind.
And in their wake,
I fear I’m left cold-blooded.
It’s not your cup to drink,
Your cross to bear.
You have no ties to me,
So I refuse to bind you.
I will tie no one to my side
To keep them there.
I’ll drown alone.
I don’t expect to find you.

– s. Clark


Oh traitor breath
That steals into the lungs so,
Unwelcome visitor
Coming too oft to call.

Treacherous heart,
To beat your will upon me,
To knock so constantly,
Pour life into my halls.

Unfaithful legs,
To lift, and pull, and carry,
Taking me on and on
Roads I care not to trod.

Oh hateful mind!
To bring back to my memory
The duties that I owe
To man, and more, to God.

Oh faithless love,
To go, and worse, to leave me.
To hurry on your way,
And not await my time.

All marches on,
And waits not on my pleasure
To live, or die, or linger,
Or leave me so behind.

– s. Clark

Lonely Ride

There’s not a soul to meet him
Coming off of this plane,
And isn’t that the saddest thing
That life has in its store?
To have arrived at someplace,
Or worse, to come back home,
And not a soul that cares you’re there,
Or ever were before.

– s. Clark

No Air

We all take our breath for granted
Until one day it’s not there,
And it’s hard to notice sunlight
When there isn’t any air.

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Fairy Tales Retold – 2

The Sleeping Death

She didn’t know what allergies were,
she only wanted
to see the tree
stepmother had planted,
that grew in the meadow
somewhere on their farm
passed the brook on the east side,
but before the fence.

She left stepmother
staring into the bedroom mirror,
babbling to it
as she did every day
since the day father died,
and took the path she knew so well,
down passed the brook,
and on to the meadow.

She met the huntsman on her way,
coming back out of the wood
with his latest kill.
He said she should not wander,
that supper would be coming soon,
as would the dark,
but the apple tree was so grand
against the sunset,
all clumsy spilling out,
dropping its fruit on the grassy floor.

Just a bite,
not even enough to spoil supper,
and then off skipping home.
But as she walked,
her feet grew so tired,
her lips itched, her throat swelled.

She couldn’t breathe,
and as she laid down amidst the meadow,
with the trees
so suddenly dark and menacing
with branches like reaching fingers,
her soft skin faded white as snow
stained by rose-red lips,
and she fell asleep.

– s. Clark

I see you in my dreams

I see you in my dreams.
It is the only place
I get to see you now,
That happy, smiling face
Not captured behind screens
Or under picture frames,
The only way I get
To hear you say my name.
I’m able to be fooled
Just for a moment… There.
Believing it is real.
I cling to it like air,
But find I’m breathing smoke,
Because I always wake…
To lose you all again,
And choke, and fall, and break.

– s. Clark

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