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Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

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stories

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

Fiction

Ahhh, the song of a story
The swell of the spirit in the words
How they reach out to catch you,
Soul to soul, a life transferred
Ah, the sweet reunion
As though kindred souls reunite
Returning to abandoned truth
The beauty, the wonder, the light!

– s. Clark

Theme Week: Fairy Tales Retold – 3

No More Nonsense

This crown that I am forced to wear,
Has grown so heavy on my head,
Made up of curling spikes of gold
But pressing down like gnarled lead.

My people look to me to end
The curse that twists our vibrant land,
That turns our whimsy into fright
And forces darkness from my hand.

The wizard knave that sent this curse
Has long since fled, and barred the gate.
He locked a shrunken door behind
And left us to an eerie fate.

The hatter now sits in his yard
And boils mice to make his tea,
The cheshire’s grin has grown so wide
He feasts on those that pass his tree.

We can bear no more children here,
So we grew daughters out of seeds,
Flowers that cut their brothers down
For fear their difference made them weeds.

The madness spreads across the land
(I feel its fingers scrape my mind)
And I must cease its sickly sweep
Before it ruins all our kind.

And so find I must execute
Those who have gone beyond our reach.
My edicts come in snapping rage,
Because I mourn the life of each.

But one has come into my realm,
Who somehow passed the shrunken door
Not of this place, not of this plague,
We are not hopeless anymore!

The logic brought from outside worlds
Could cure my kingdom of this curse!
But she joins with the tainted ones
And only makes the madness worse

I have the stranger brought to court
She is a pale and fragile child
A lovely flower, sweet and small,
Why did it have to grow so wild?

The sorrow stains my weary voice,
The sentence falls, “Off with her head.”
Pale roses make me think of her,
And so I have them painted red.

– 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

To my followers:

Thank you for following Poetic Utterings and for your interest in my writing! Please enjoy your visit, and feel free to provide commentary, ask questions, and interact with me as much as you want. If there is a topic you would like me to write on, let me know, and I will do my best to fill the prompt.

In gratitude,
s. Clark

Dragon Maid

A Dragon Maid must show no fear
If she would bring the dragons near.
If she would tempt that daring fate,
They must not sense her hesitate.

A Dragon Maid must not be frail
She may not stand by, meek and pale
The dragon rules the sprawling skies,
He must see fire in her eyes.

A Dragon Maid is strong as steel,
For she was made to fight and feel
And cannot falter under pain
She only grows through heat and strain.

A Dragon Maid cannot grow cold
Her life is lived of passion bold
Her heart must always burst with flame
Just as the dragons she would tame.

– s. Clark

If I could write a world into existence…
And keep it turning over by persistence

Flaring sunlight with imagination
Twisting whirling words into creation

If I could spark a soul into these pages
That could endure beyond the dreary ages

To fill your hearts with roaring joys and laughter
And sink them in the sorrows of disaster

If I could sew such friendships in the weaving
Of my still words, such that you mourn their leaving

And dream adventures worthy of your reaching
With messages so true they merit teaching

If I could write a world to life and breath
Then I could gaze unfaltering at death

And know my life worthwhile in the living,
For letting go is joy, if it is giving.

– s. Clark

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