Dans la rue de rien personne

Waking At NightThe blue river is grey at morningand evening. There is twilightat dawn and dusk. I lie in the darkwondering if this quiet in me nowis a beginning or an end.

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may last!

I say, ‘Get me some poets as managers.’ Poets are our original systems thinkers. They contemplate the world in which we live and feel obligated to interpret, and give expression to it in a way...

You have to imaginea waiting that is not impatientbecause it is timeless.

I moonlight as the greatest actor. I smile. I choose the comedy mask every time. I tell those who worry that I am fine, that I always will be. There is nothing to gain from...

Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a...

As a poet I hold the most archaic values on earth. They go back to the Neolithic: the fertility of the soil, the magic of animals, the power-vision in solitude, the terrifying initiation and rebirth,...

I want to live simply. I want to sit by the window when it rains and read books I’ll never be tested on. I want to paint because I want to, not because I’ve got...

You have shit upon your shoulder.

holding the eveningtremblingly close to mei weepinto the sun lettingthe burdenof hopelift off my chesti realizethis is what it meansto be free.

2 to 12 hearts 1 beat2 lips will meet2 birds 1 stone2 never b alone2 wills 1 goal2 haves 1 whole2 be in love2 be as One***©Clarissa O. ClemensThe Poetic Diary of Love and Change...

i’m glad to be alive in a world wherehis gently awakening eyesnourish the morning sun.

I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall...

For it is up to you and meto take solacein nostalgia’s armsand our abilityto create the everlastingfrom fleeting moments.

Mystical experience needs some form of dogma in order not to dissipate into moments of spiritual intensity that are merely personal, and dogma needs regular infusions of unknowingness to keep from calcifying into the predictable,...

Sexual intercourse began in nineteen sixty-three (Which was rather late for me) between the end of the Chatterley ban and the Beatles’ first LP.

Every SongEvery songis the remainsof love.Every lightthe remainsof time.A knotof time.And every sighthe remainsof a cry.

As long as I can hear the sweet melody of your words, I need not; The angel’s secret, to be whispered in my ears As long as I can lace your silky fingers round my...

Art is long, and Time is fleeting.

some words bring warmthjust bybeing next to each other.

I’m Artistry through Fluent and Flowing Poetry in Motion and I’m Letting it Flow…..

I blink January’s lashesand gush down December’s cheeks

A midst deceit I found the truth;there in the rough I found a diamond.And from the moment we met,I think of no one elseToday I choose to be, to live and breathe;to dream, to weep,...

Although I’ve written a few (a very few) poems over the years, I am not a natural poet…and I remain in awe of people who are. The ability to evoke deep emotion, reveal a new...

Logic, when applied to people, fails miserably!

An empty bottle has life.

This wobbly worldhost to insects and lintand a thousand pithy waysto feel unserious each minuteIt brings abouta great softening of the mind, likethe clouded edges of sea glass (thisfilter you could download and apply)A poultice...

Maka pada suatu pagi hari ia ingin sekali menangis sambil berjalan tunduk sepanjang lorong itu. Ia ingin pagi itu hujan turun rintik-rintik dan lorong sepi agar ia bisa berjalan sendiri saja sambil menangis dan tak...

Final DispositionOthers divided closets full of mother’s things.From the earth, I took her poppies.I wanted those fandango foldsof red and black chiffon she doted on,loving the wild and Moorish music of them,coating her tongue with...

Such is true joy’s absolute certainty,Its slow lit fuse that burns holesIn the shabby shroud of death forever.

OtherwiseI got out of bed on two strong legs. It might have been otherwise. I ate cereal, sweet milk, ripe, flawless peach. It might have been otherwise. I took the dog uphill to the birch...

Ha, ha. It will be warmer whenI blow the trumpet (if indeedI ever do; for you are men,And rest eternal sorely need).

The poet is at the edge of our consciousness of the world, finding beyond the suspected nothingness which we imagine limits our perception another acre or so of being worth our venturing upon.

No sun—no moon! No morn—no noon—No dawn— No sky—no earthly view— No distance looking blue—No road—no street—no “t’other side the way”— No end to any Row— No indications where the Crescents go— No top to...

But no matte what kind of an understanding is adopted, whether associated with positivism, which asserts that the truth can only be reached by trial and error, or rationalism, which asserts that everything can be...

Nor is there wanting in the pressSome spirit to stand simply forth,Heroic in it nakedness,Against the uttermost of earth.The tale of earth’s unhonored thingsSounds nobler there than ‘neath the sun;And the mind whirls and the...

I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long...

The FlightLook back with longing eyes and know that I will follow,Lift me up in your love as a light wind lifts a swallow,Let our flight be far in sun or blowing rain–But what if...

HereI’m here-the snow falling.

Poetry is the guardian of love – constructed from truth it is a bridge that can be crossed from either side and it is oblivious of age or gender

Bring a song with you into the darkness.

Dance, Live, Sing, Cry, Love, Travel and Love again, until the day you have to stop

You can tell it’s a poem because it’s swimming in a little gel pack of white space. That shows it’s a poem.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

The first fact of the world is that it repeats itself. I had been taught to believe that the freshness of children lay in their capacity for wonder at the vividness and strangeness of the...

The mystic sees God in everything; the scientist, atoms; the poet, poetry.

EphemeraYour eyes that once were never weary of mine Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids, Because our love is waning.”And then she: “Although our love is waning, let us stand By the lone border...

A tree forms itself in answerto its place and the light.Explain it how you will, the onlything explainable will beyour explanation.” Sabbaths 1999 IV

I place solitude in a frame on my desk and call it, the one I love.