Sunday, 27 November 2016

Journal's Entry

Inside a café, from a worn torn place:

Balanced on upturned palm and held high one has to sigh in amazement that even in these anguished times you manage to glide like a ballerina ‘tween your chipped tile topped tables. Perhaps to an imaginary adagio where the tempos set and with lyricism your hips dip to your own metronomes click with not a drop spilt from the glasses full of illusion, using the term illusion lightly as by contrast in distrustful times can so often bring euphoric disillusion. 

To understand the hardship of life here is hard. And so to respectfully observe your selfless poetical grace, your smile and general bonne-amie of which you reserve for all to see; when deep within, like all in this nerve twisting place you must feel that tonight, tomorrow may never come. But to digress and to confess it’s easy to succumb to terrifying thoughts, however, this evening outside the café the sound of the guns have stopped, and since daybreak no bombs have dropped, for now, at least…here’s hoping tonight we can rest tired eyes, hopefully sleep in peace.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Sunday, 20 November 2016

Young lady from Diss

A delightful young lady from Diss
A night on the town she did miss
Her boyfriend Jim Tucker
Who was my good mucker
Wanted more than a cuddle and kiss

This delightful young lady from Diss
Would only give Jim Tucker a kiss
Put his hand to her breast
Only to feel a hairy chest
He thought something’s gravely amiss

Jim Tucker was definitely not pleased
With what resembled a carrot and two peas
She said "I think I'm in luck"
Jim said "I don't think so my duck"
As she tried to give his thigh a good squeeze.

©Julian Clarke 2016
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Monday, 14 November 2016

Man in the moon

This is one that I'm re visiting from 2015, I thought it rather apt as today the moon is about 30,000 miles closer to earth than normal.


The evil witch jealous of our love cursed you to a life on the moon. I caught a glimpse of you while you looked down in the light of its silvery halo. I wanted to hold you one more time and play with your soulful mind. And then you were gone as dark clouds of the night obscured my view of you.

Unshackling the chains of my earthly bonds I climbed the tallest tree. The lunar light back lit the cloud showing off its silvery lining. I heard you cry from way up high, a silvery thread has come lose, catch it as the cloud sails by.

Nearer and nearer drifted the cloud as the thread unravelled to the ground. But to my dismay the dark witch of the night started sewing with all her might. A gust of wind blew the cloud away as the dark witch made her final stitch. I could see a tear in the corner of your eye as you slowly came back into view. I sat in the top of the old oak tree my heart aching, Oh what can I do.

From the bough of the old oak a deep voice spoke, you once saved me from the woodman’s axe. To you, my dues I shall pay now climb onto my broad green leaf. A little unsure I held on tight as the night sky kept changing hues. With a shiver of his trunk the old oak said, good luck and fare thee well.

How the wind blue and carried me away. Up and up, swirling around right up to the stars I flew. You reached out and took my hand and pulled me into the white light of the silvery moon.

We skipped and danced upon the dusty ground, and then I looked and found I was alone. I crawled to the edge and saw you on the leaf floating all the way back down to home. To break the curse you had to return to earth and seek the white witch who dwells in the Spring Lands. For only she could break the spell and send the evil curse down to the depths of hell.

But meanwhile on a bright night if you look to the skies in June, you may just see a rugged face. For now; I am the man in the moon.

©Julian Clarke 2015

(to be continued with part 2 at a later date)

Thursday, 3 November 2016


Tugging on a
memory of hope
living a lie smoking
too much dope
became paranoid
gave it a name
called it Flloyd.
Flloyd was alive
out to get me said he
worked for M.I. 5;
in my solitary cell
called it despair
no one comes
no one cares;
 of hope
fade bit by bit
in a sneering way
I heard him say
Just get over it.
Hey Flloyd
I’m not letting
you out to play
but I roll a spliff
pull some tokes
Flloyd knocks on
the door of my mind
giggle and laugh right
in his face....yo, Flloyd
try and be nice today.

© Julian Clarke 2016