Vulnerability

Vulnerability hurts more
than blunt indifference
thrust uncaringly
into my penetrable heart -

For in the unguarded
moment - my heart - exposed
to beat faithfully, for you
unfailing always

Seems that it might
bleed out while
waiting - agonizingly for you
to notice this wound

Wound round around this
living we call life -
Defenselessness
They say is strength

To be susceptible
to love and be loved
In return, but all
I feel is numbing, excruciating pain.

© Eleanor Clark
30 September, 2014

Coming Home

You are the
coming home
for me
when first I
stepped into
this place and
into arms
outstretched
and warm -
welcoming
me back to
a place
never been.

You are the
light at dark
when first
Venus ventures
slowly into
the night -
thrilling with
the raucous
choir of cicadas
screeching out
the notes
and conversation
of an afternoon
now passed.

You are the
smile that
meanders
across this
face at
evening's dawn
misting in
with dewy drops
and jasmine
scented air -
at pass of
day and the
coming home
is all I ask
when all else
is gone
and done
that you
always
will be there.

© Eleanor Clark
28 September, 2014

Scattered Boxes

My dreams
Lie scattered
Across the continents
In backyard sheds
And cardboard boxes
Stuck in the garage
Amid spider webs.

Somewhere wrapped
In cellophane and
Bubble wrap is the
Picture I wanted to
Hang and the fridge
Magnets from that trip
I took once.

And the blanket
Bought to go with
Those IKEA cushions
And the china set
Carefully wrapped for
Some future summer
Afternoon tea.

A muffin pan as well
And box of paints
And hopes and
Wishes, dreams and
Pictures - memory packed
Up on temporary hold.

When will I get
To unpack these
Trinkets collected
Over years in
Anticipation of
My home of dreams?

Eleanor Clark
22 September, 2014

Generations

For my grandparents, and those who have gone before

Deep in this
marrowed bone
the ties that
bind this flesh
and blood
to yours
speak deeply
to my soul
and heart
and mind.
In generations
past and future
these eyes and lips
will mark the
passage of time
found in
photographs
and hands gently
cupped, wrinkled
around the new -
With ears and
heart and limbs
bestowed through
double-helixed
twisting
around this
tree of names
and faces
long gone from
earthy shores.
Yet in the fire
of the heart
lies love
still burning
through all
these generations
lost and living still -
Love,
deep in the
marrow of
these bones,
wandering
through the
centuries
to find
again, this
family
before leaving
one day to
meet again
on Heaven's shores.

© Eleanor Clark
19 September, 2014

Addiction

You -
my heady
hangover
make my
head reel
in whirling
dervish
complexity
and
tumble-weeded
emotion
to wonder
why your smile
turns insides
outward-upside-down
into a rapidly
beating heart
and soul to
fall
so
ever
hopelessly
into
love-sick
drunken
happy
stupor.
And yet
I keep
on
drinking
it
all
in.

© Eleanor Clark
15 September, 2014

Memory

Today
We walked
On cobbled
Streets and
Wandered
Here
Then
There -
Stopped
To hear
Some street
Musicians
Singing
La Vie en Rose -
That you whistled

As we walked away;

Watched
The tourists
Dance to
The beat of
Drums -

Their clothing

Gently swayed

In time -

We saw
A rainbow
Made of soapy
Bubbles spread
Across the sky
And sat a while
And watched
The people
Walking by.

We talked
Laughed
And shared
Some dreams
A little -
And really
Just were.

No trinkets
Bought -
Instead
These streets
Of memory
Are souvenir
Enough
On
This summery
Afternoon
Of joy.

© Eleanor Clark

14 September, 2014

Shame

Sometimes I am
ashamed
of my fridge
and chocolate
easily purchased
at the corner
convenience store.
My life in
running water
rivulets and
Internet broadband -

How easily
convenient
these words are typed -

while someone lies
in a hospital bed
surrounded by
flies and
hazmat-suited
angels

Or as a young
girl traces
out the alphabet
in rocket-flared
lamplight -
striving for something
more.

I am no stranger
to suffering,
yet it too seems
privileged
when times of
plenty interlace
like the
puzzle pieces of
my existence.

This casual sense
of privilege
and shame at having
by luck
what so many others
seek -
is privilege as well.

So still I feel
ashamed
and wonder if
what I can do
will ever be enough.

© Eleanor Clark
9 September, 2014

Nostalgia

There was a moment
when we might
have paused
together in the
respite of some
shaded isle
and shared a lifetime
of sorrows and of joy.

Sadly,
though
we passed
like shadows
of a train
dappled
on white-wheated
fields of grain
in sunshine bled of colour.

You and I
it seems
was nothing more
than whimsy
and a thought
within a dream.

© Eleanor Clark
6 September, 2014