Silently she almost hung
with a noose about her neck.
Grimy grating behind her contact lens,
the salt amid the wet.
Sometimes amid the sunshine
and in whispers of the dark,
the netted dreams of aeons
weave tighter -
the nooses long forgotten
in shallow pools of doubt.
They wreck, they tangle
capture the flailing source
of hope. They twist and jeer
and torture --- drown me
in the night.
© Eleanor Clark
25 July 2013
26 July, 2013
18 July, 2013
Winter Triptych: Part III
At sombre
cloaked
midnight tones
a woman
slumbered
turning fitfully
in haunted
dreams
by daylight
unremembered
where rain fell
and wind blew
And where
hope lay -
frozen -
buried deep
within the
earth.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
cloaked
midnight tones
a woman
slumbered
turning fitfully
in haunted
dreams
by daylight
unremembered
where rain fell
and wind blew
And where
hope lay -
frozen -
buried deep
within the
earth.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
Winter Triptych: Part II
A woman sat
at winter's eve
where fire
cracked and hissed
with embered spark
and spiraled up
into the night.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
at winter's eve
where fire
cracked and hissed
with embered spark
and spiraled up
into the night.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
Winter Triptych: Part I
The rain,
it fell in
torrents
down
the windowpane
and splashed
in tinkling
cymbal sound
on guttered
eaves and
to the
leaf strewn
pathway
behind the
house in
where a
woman sat.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
it fell in
torrents
down
the windowpane
and splashed
in tinkling
cymbal sound
on guttered
eaves and
to the
leaf strewn
pathway
behind the
house in
where a
woman sat.
© Eleanor Clark
18 July 2013
16 July, 2013
Love is Mundane
Love is mundane
all wrapped up in
a tender caress as
you pass by to
unload the dishwasher.
It's giggling over
soap bubbles
and squeals when
I turn the garden
hose at you while
watering the roses.
It's folding socks
late at night when
only we are awake
and little feet no
longer patter through
the house and leave
their shoes lying
on the stairs for us
to trip over.
It's dirty handprints
at knee-height
and messy kitchens
with cookie dough
crumbles on the floor.
It's conversations
late at night about
love, the universe,
the latest electric bill,
and how we want
a cat next year.
It's the moment we
stood waiting and
watching the storm
roll in and you turned
and kissed my cheek.
It's Saturday mornings
all twisted up in sheets
and reading stories
to the children
half-awake while you
make breakfast
and then we do the
laundry and hang it
out to dry in the sunlight.
It's those crazy
evenings when you
spin me madly
dancing to oldies
in the living room -
so much so we're
both crying with laughter.
It's winter evenings
curled in front of
the fire roasting
marshmallows and
reminiscing about
the time we found
a secret dell
and picked buttercups
to be arrayed in jars
along the mantlepiece.
It's growing old
and forgetting to
water the plants
in the window boxes
and laughing because
we look all wrinkly
and faded like old letters.
It's looking at a
grandchild and
seeing a mother's
eyes and father's
hands in someone
young and new
and vibrant with life.
It's waiting up for dawn
holding hands with
someone crossing the
bar and then weeping
folded in each other's
arms.
Love is mundane.
It is life.
© Eleanor Clark
15 July 2013
all wrapped up in
a tender caress as
you pass by to
unload the dishwasher.
It's giggling over
soap bubbles
and squeals when
I turn the garden
hose at you while
watering the roses.
It's folding socks
late at night when
only we are awake
and little feet no
longer patter through
the house and leave
their shoes lying
on the stairs for us
to trip over.
It's dirty handprints
at knee-height
and messy kitchens
with cookie dough
crumbles on the floor.
It's conversations
late at night about
love, the universe,
the latest electric bill,
and how we want
a cat next year.
It's the moment we
stood waiting and
watching the storm
roll in and you turned
and kissed my cheek.
It's Saturday mornings
all twisted up in sheets
and reading stories
to the children
half-awake while you
make breakfast
and then we do the
laundry and hang it
out to dry in the sunlight.
It's those crazy
evenings when you
spin me madly
dancing to oldies
in the living room -
so much so we're
both crying with laughter.
It's winter evenings
curled in front of
the fire roasting
marshmallows and
reminiscing about
the time we found
a secret dell
and picked buttercups
to be arrayed in jars
along the mantlepiece.
It's growing old
and forgetting to
water the plants
in the window boxes
and laughing because
we look all wrinkly
and faded like old letters.
It's looking at a
grandchild and
seeing a mother's
eyes and father's
hands in someone
young and new
and vibrant with life.
It's waiting up for dawn
holding hands with
someone crossing the
bar and then weeping
folded in each other's
arms.
Love is mundane.
It is life.
© Eleanor Clark
15 July 2013
14 July, 2013
To You
I have felt a longing
for you, who I have
never seen or held.
In moments of
quiet, desperate
contemplation -
and on wings of
promise I have
traced the lines
of cherubic cheeks
and little hands
in mine. In fevered
dreams and midnight
hour - awake with
teardrops welling
in my soul,
my yearning heart
hears your whisper -
Not here, not now.
© Eleanor Clark
13 July 2013
for you, who I have
never seen or held.
In moments of
quiet, desperate
contemplation -
and on wings of
promise I have
traced the lines
of cherubic cheeks
and little hands
in mine. In fevered
dreams and midnight
hour - awake with
teardrops welling
in my soul,
my yearning heart
hears your whisper -
Not here, not now.
© Eleanor Clark
13 July 2013
Missing You
They said I could
never miss what
I never had, but -
I do.
I miss the moments
where you hold
me close, to
say goodbye
and then hello.
when you stare
at me in
abject wonder
and I at you.
when first we hold
hands, and kiss
beneath the
cherry blossoms
in the spring.
in moments when
we hold each
newborn child
and cry with
newfound pain
and heart's-longing,
love.
when we sit at
breakfast table
holding laughter
in our hands
and weeping betimes
at midnight hour
when life's sorrows
blow in their way.
and after, when
time has spun
its web into
the bindings
of our hearts
as one
I will miss you
when you are
grey and gone
before me into
the cold earth's
embrace.
© Eleanor Clark
13 July, 2013
never miss what
I never had, but -
I do.
I miss the moments
where you hold
me close, to
say goodbye
and then hello.
when you stare
at me in
abject wonder
and I at you.
when first we hold
hands, and kiss
beneath the
cherry blossoms
in the spring.
in moments when
we hold each
newborn child
and cry with
newfound pain
and heart's-longing,
love.
when we sit at
breakfast table
holding laughter
in our hands
and weeping betimes
at midnight hour
when life's sorrows
blow in their way.
and after, when
time has spun
its web into
the bindings
of our hearts
as one
I will miss you
when you are
grey and gone
before me into
the cold earth's
embrace.
© Eleanor Clark
13 July, 2013
13 July, 2013
Whimsical Walk
For my friend Sarah ~
Life is strange
in little ways,
in countless
hours and
many days.
A word we
speak in
casualness
well-meant
is to another
more than
kindness felt.
A whimsical
walk in
sunlit rays
across green
grass and
up the stairs.
Daydreamed
steps meandering
through life's
smallest joys.
A moment
spoken -
taken twice.
A warm
embrace
and friendship's
heart
continues true.
Life is strange
in little ways,
in countless hours
and throughout
the years.
© Eleanor Clark
12 April 2013
Life is strange
in little ways,
in countless
hours and
many days.
A word we
speak in
casualness
well-meant
is to another
more than
kindness felt.
A whimsical
walk in
sunlit rays
across green
grass and
up the stairs.
Daydreamed
steps meandering
through life's
smallest joys.
A moment
spoken -
taken twice.
A warm
embrace
and friendship's
heart
continues true.
Life is strange
in little ways,
in countless hours
and throughout
the years.
© Eleanor Clark
12 April 2013
12 July, 2013
innocence regained
with youthful
eyes unclouded
in worldly
cataracts of
time and
waste, she
gazed into
the eyes of
bleeding dawns
where innocence
lay --
shredded
embalmed.
she wept
at loss and
knowledge
found as
tears
ran
down
and cleared
the way --
somewhat.
that cost we
pay, so dear
comes with
the price
of eden lost
and yet
regained.
© eleanor clark
12 february 2013
eyes unclouded
in worldly
cataracts of
time and
waste, she
gazed into
the eyes of
bleeding dawns
where innocence
lay --
shredded
embalmed.
she wept
at loss and
knowledge
found as
tears
ran
down
and cleared
the way --
somewhat.
that cost we
pay, so dear
comes with
the price
of eden lost
and yet
regained.
© eleanor clark
12 february 2013
06 July, 2013
Moments Before Dawn
Moments before dawn
we walked
the rain-drizzled
streets and
talked of love
and friendship,
peace and plenty.
We gazed as lightning
flickered beneath
the grey-tinged sky
and shielded the faces
of mountains old
and ancient as
the crystal stars.
We paused to run
our fingers through
the lavender and raised
our hearts and lips
to kiss the falling
rain and feel
the quiet joy of
loved creation.
We talked of Father
Then ascended the hill
and breathed the scent
of grasses wild
with midnight air
and orchestral
crickets.
We saw the expanse
of city lights,
glistening through
curling hair, that
spread beneath our
weary feet.
We stopped a moment
and pondered life
and learning
and mysteries of
the universe.
As dawn began to
stretch her sleep-laden
fingers to stir
the birds and
people slumbering,
We parted on
to dream-filled
sleep and
gratefulness
for the moments
before dawn.
© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2013
we walked
the rain-drizzled
streets and
talked of love
and friendship,
peace and plenty.
We gazed as lightning
flickered beneath
the grey-tinged sky
and shielded the faces
of mountains old
and ancient as
the crystal stars.
We paused to run
our fingers through
the lavender and raised
our hearts and lips
to kiss the falling
rain and feel
the quiet joy of
loved creation.
We talked of Father
Then ascended the hill
and breathed the scent
of grasses wild
with midnight air
and orchestral
crickets.
We saw the expanse
of city lights,
glistening through
curling hair, that
spread beneath our
weary feet.
We stopped a moment
and pondered life
and learning
and mysteries of
the universe.
As dawn began to
stretch her sleep-laden
fingers to stir
the birds and
people slumbering,
We parted on
to dream-filled
sleep and
gratefulness
for the moments
before dawn.
© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2013
05 July, 2013
Reckless Confession
I almost
told you
tonight
about
how I
liked
you
when
first
we
met.
About
the time
we first
talked
and
how
we
both
seemed
to linger
tentatively.
And
later
walking
talking
laughing
friendship
happened
with
potential,
maybe -
somewhere
sometime
and I
was never
really
sure
if you
also saw
something
more.
So tonight
I almost
told you
about
how I
like
you -
still.
© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2013
told you
tonight
about
how I
liked
you
when
first
we
met.
About
the time
we first
talked
and
how
we
both
seemed
to linger
tentatively.
And
later
walking
talking
laughing
friendship
happened
with
potential,
maybe -
somewhere
sometime
and I
was never
really
sure
if you
also saw
something
more.
So tonight
I almost
told you
about
how I
like
you -
still.
© Eleanor Clark
5 July 2013
Fireworks
Entrails
of gutted
smokey
jellyfish
trail the
sky
Amid
shooting
stars
and
flaming
willows
and
sparking
bumble bees.
Embered
gunshots
perforate
the air
in
dazzling
splendour
while
The hours
and
minutes
of childlike
glee
erupt
in squeals
and sighs
of pleasure.
What
delight
is found
in these
moments
of fiery
destruction.
© Eleanor Clark
4 July 2013
of gutted
smokey
jellyfish
trail the
sky
Amid
shooting
stars
and
flaming
willows
and
sparking
bumble bees.
Embered
gunshots
perforate
the air
in
dazzling
splendour
while
The hours
and
minutes
of childlike
glee
erupt
in squeals
and sighs
of pleasure.
What
delight
is found
in these
moments
of fiery
destruction.
© Eleanor Clark
4 July 2013
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