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Poetry by Shigé Clark

"Let the battered heart rejoice"

Tag

words

Wild, Wandering Words

Wild, Wandering Words

Limited Lines

Limited Lines

Creator

Creator

Dripping Poetry

Dripping Poetry

Ragged Book

The old man, in his tattered cloak,
Offers knowledge of unknown wonders,
Forsaken by the shallow hordes
That pass him by.
They search for richer robes.

– s. Clark

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

Words

A scalpel, in truth, is just a knife.
But one is used to heal,
And one is used to harm.
The only difference
Is the hands that hold them,
How careful and controlled one is,
Causing the least harm possible,
Only what is needed to correct
The gentleness follows the intent,
To make better. To help.
While the plunging, jagged force of the knife
Always leaves scars.

– s. Clark

In Endless Pursuit of Poetry

Though I swift and endless write,
I will never find the time,
I will never have the breath
To exhale my endless thoughts
To assuage my searching mind,
And will come at last to death
Scrawling madly still. Be caught
Startled to have lost the light.

– 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

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