Happy Monday, everybody!
With the start of a new week, the (relative) settling down of things, and the need to combat my own writer’s block, I present the return of Theme Week!
Comment or send me a message in what sort of theme you would like to see some poems on this week. It can be as broad as “nature”, as specific as “the sound of laughter”, and anything around or between!
Looking forward to writing for you again.
Lighthouse
He saw her in calm waters,
Sailing peaceful on the sea.
He marveled at the beauty
In the way her heart was free.
She sang into the breeze, and
Pulled with fervor at her sail,
She smiled into sunlight
And left laughter in her trail.
He saw her when the storm came,
And the waves threw her about,
She tried to steer to safety,
But could not find her way out.
The wind rushed, loud and heavy,
And the rain came crashing down,
She sailed on, stern and driven,
But he feared that she would drown.
He loved her in the darkness,
As he’d loved her in the light,
And burned to watch her struggle
All alone within the night.
And so he drove his heart down
Into truth, like stakes in stone,
And lit himself with strength, so
She could always see it shown.
He would not see her anchored
By the tempest, so he swore
That he would be her lighthouse
Standing steady on the shore.
– s. Clark
RISE
Weary soul, lost and abandoned,
What did you last have your hand in
That was worth the measure of your time?
In this life, so frail and fleeting,
You have just one, red heart beating.
When did you last step up to the line?
When did you give up the battle,
Fall into the herd, like cattle?
Can your soul still hear the burning call?
How much was your silence bought for,
Laying down the cause you fought for?
Rise! There are some mountains worth the fall.
– s. Clark
They Are Beautiful
They are beautiful.
the way he looks at her,
like he can’t believe she sits there,
real, and raw, and regal before him.
He grips her hand like a lifeline,
and she traces her fingers down his arm
like a map back to shore.
They keep inching toward each other,
entangling further and further across the table,
hearts barely held apart by separate bodies.
He is her world,
and she is the universe through which he spins,
madly, wildly, flying,
but tethered in orbit
by the assurance of her hold.
They exist in their own space,
rolling through the void,
infinitesimal as dust, immense as galaxies,
and they are beautiful.
– s. Clark
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
A Worthy Destruction
He was beautiful.
The way his grin sparked in his eyes
and teased his mouth into a tilt.
His gaze was bold and brown,
and full of mischief.
His voice was a storm in her ears
that left her mind clouded.
He wore his strength softly,
gentle hands with scarred knuckles,
calm, composured confidence.
And she wondered, as she watched him,
as we all do, in our way,
whether this might just be a person
worth being destroyed for.
– s. Clark
Magic is Madness
“If I sang you a love song, would you think me mad?”
“Most likely.” she answered.
“Why, darling, how sad.”
And he laid out his bones as a bridge for her feet
For though she could break him,
she made him complete.
And though he could lead her astray, he did not
But blew her to dust
with a look and a thought.
She read him her wisdom from borrowed life notes,
And he held her hostage
with lips to her throat.
And, for her, to love him was never a choice,
For magic is madness,
and hers was his voice.
– s. Clark
Resolutioner
She stood like an island
Large, and isolated in an unfamiliar place.
Her skin rippled like waves
As she heavy-hoisted up an iron bar
With black ends printed in white: “15lbs”.
Sweat poured from her head like rain,
And her arms flapped as they pumped the weights.
A sky-blue shirt stretched over her rolls ordered,
“Just do it.” And she did,
Unheeding and uncaring of the glances.
She warmly returned my smile, ah the sun,
Essential to any growing life.
– s. Clark
Shigé Clark Writing 