Tuesday, 21 March 2017

The Soothsayer

I’m a gypsy roaming turquoise sunsets
Fixing pots and pans with artisan hands,
A troubadours quill with poems to scribe
Wandering psychedelic mystic lands:

I way laid a silver haired soothsayer
On the eve of an emerald green day
I bid her to fore-say of what may come . . .
For eight long days she’d not a word to say.

Ferrous wheels turned the hues in her eyes
Subtle indigo blues, violets and red:
As rainbow butterfly’s filled yellow skies
And on the ninth day of the week she said.

See in my globe set in gold filigree
Dark clouds coming from a kings white tower
Libra must set her scales of justice
Play her trump card and balance the power.

Then diamond shapes fell across her bronze face
Her filligree globe covered in white lace.

© Julian Clarke 2017

I shall link this poem to  Poets United for Sunday's panty. 

Sunday, 12 March 2017

Old Rope

My following poem is just a bit of a light hearted nonsense. Hope you enjoy it.


What if we had a length of old rope
What if we each had hold of an end

We both have an end so where does it start
It’s not in the middle that is plain to see.

The length of old rope has no beginning
As you have an end and so do I,

If there’s only two ends and therefore no start
It goes without saying it starts at the end.

Julian Clarke © 2017


Friday, 17 February 2017

Medusa (poetry) The Follower ( flash fiction)

Medusa.(poetry)

In the sanctity of the Minevra temple
Adorned with beautiful golden hair,
The alluring Medusa could be found
Her skin like porcelain pure and fair.

Enamored by her winsome charms
Awakened Neptune’s animal lust,
Medusa mistook his courting for love
Violating her with his body he thrust.

An enraged Athena cursed Medusa
Transmuting her beautiful features,
For shattering Minerva’s holy purity
She’s now a frightening creature.

Deep sea green eyes turned to black
Writhing snakes spitting venom for hair,
No more to gaze into soulful green eyes
To stone you’d turn by her dark stare.

The Follower (flash fiction)

Sally’s heart raced as her quickening footsteps echoed off the graffiti covered walls of the pedestrian underpass. She almost fell as she changed direction to avoid discarded condoms and syringes lying on the ground.  Sally could hear the heavy sound of footsteps a little way behind and caught a glimpse of a blue jacket with a flash of red as she glanced over her shoulder. And then she was out . . . out of the underpass and into the grey afternoon; but it felt like sunshine after her ordeal. Sally slowed to her normal pace and after catching her breath she said “Thank God” as she entered the High Street. It was full of Saturday shoppers and groups of teenagers milling around. Flustered and still a little panicky Sally said “Excuse me” to an elderly couple on one of the many benches. “Ok if I sit here?”
“Hello dear” the old lady replied, “Of course you can.” She said, putting her bag on her lap and shuffling along the seat.
And then Sally saw him again. There was no mistake. “Oh shite” she said, under her breath as she recognised the blue quilted puffer jacket and red scarf the man two benches down was wearing. She fumbled in her bag and found her mobile “Where’s my purse?” she said “No, where the hell is it.”  In quite a state Sally started to text her boyfriend and all the while she discreetly kept looking over at the man as he took the Guardian newspaper from a plastic carrier bag. “Oh my God” Sally muttered to herself when she saw the black patch over his left eye partially covering an angry scar. He adjusted his hat to sit at an angle; it reminded her of how hitmen wore them in prohibition movies. He opened his newspaper and Sally grimaced, argh that’s gross she thought as she saw the deformity where his left hand little finger should have been.  She glanced down at her mobile - I'm being followed - send. Sally pulled her coat tight about herself as she clutched her phone in one hand and folded her arms tightly across her chest as the man reached down into his plastic bag; he stood up and started to walk towards……


© Julian Clarke 2017

Sunday, 12 February 2017

Three facts one fiction

Three facts one fiction

The Provencal sun was streaming through the dining room window when I came down to breakfast. I felt refreshed after a good night's sleep as I always felt at home in this part of France.  But I could not understand why a deathly hush hung over the busy dining room. I was certainly not prepared for what I saw next.

© Julian Clarke 2017

Saturday, 28 January 2017

Riding the dragon

I may work this poem about coming off hard drugs into a song. It's not autobiographical, however I'm pretty sure allot of us have been affected in one way or another by addictition, all be it a friend or loved one.

Riding the dragon

You don’t need that to get by
Do you have to get so damn high?
You shut me out
I scream and shout
You ride the dragon flying high

Steel railings round your heart
Me one side keeping us apart
You slam the gate
I want to hate
Scratch your arm a muddy dart;

You don’t need that to get by
Do you have to get so damn high?
Gave your loved ones a bag of tears
Gave your loved ones a bag of despair

You’ve opened all the rotten the doors
Lain on all the piss stained floors
You run the line
Things ain’t fine
Love’s run raw, hard to stay yours

Crazy trips you’re up like a Kite
Take cold turkey it’s time to fight
You cry for help
I hear your cry
Your soul is safe wrapped up tight.

No more Lady Caine or smoking dope
Rehabs hotel a holiday from hell
No more Lady Caine or smoking dope
Anxiety and pain glimmers of hope.

©Julian Clarke 2017