Saturday, 19 August 2017

A Summers Portrait (Uncomplicated things)

Soft summer breeze in fluttering leaves,
homemade lemonade, strawberries and cream.
Dappled shade under fruiting apple trees.

Grandpa's, creaky, rickety rocking chair
where rests his moth eaten Panama hat.
Memories full of mouth-watering fare.

Squeals of laughter riding the garden gate,
dip in, dip out of a water sprinkler.
Fine innocence of a summers portrait.

Julian Clarke © Aug' 2017

Kerry's prompt, Uncomplicated things in ten lines or under at Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads 

Shall also link this to the Sunday Pantry at Poets United


Saturday, 12 August 2017

The Alley Cat

My latest poem is in the form of a, Terza Rima and to the prompt, Cat, for Guernsey Poets August open mic evening. Link to Guernsey Poets

The Alley Cat

I saw in a shop window’s reflection,
a jazz cat, cool and quite hunky-dory,
strutting with poetical perfection.
                                                          
With an air of superiority,
jaunty yet graceful, hooked tail held high.
By my side he glided confidently.

Mirrored in puddles he kept slinking by.
Yes, you’d be a fine catch, now that’s a fact,
I thought, as I purred a reflective sigh.

Argh! Delusions of grandeur spat the rat.
Whilst washing my whiskers I hissed, think on!
Me? Deluded; I turned my back and down I sat.
Mangy, no way, for I am the top alley cat.

Julian Clarke © Aug’ 2017

I shall link to Poets United, Sunday Pantry

Wednesday, 2 August 2017

Promises and lies

This is the darkest and most difficult piece I've written to date. One of which I did not enjoy writing. However, sometimes a reality kick in the stomach is not a bad thing to make us realise that most of us are not that badly done by. How one human can inflict such degrading pain upon another is beyond me.


Promises and Lies

Body tearing pain forced upon me with
vicious rapes and beatings. I’ve no tears left.

Mum paid her life savings to set me free,
backs of trucks lorries and boats. Sardines
contained inside this hard metal tomb.
It stinks, it’s hot, no water no toilet;
children clinging to their mothers crying,
old man in the corner, undignified . . dying.

A land of dreams, buy new things
You’ll have a job waiting on tables.
Promises, promises lie upon lies.

A cigarette hung from his lips
paid ten quid to ride on my hips,
only the pimps seem to get rich
now I’m just their dirty little bitch.

Today is my birthday and I’ll be 15, yet
I’ve witnessed a life time of such horror.
Promises, promises lie upon lies
all I have now, a life I despise.

Julian Clarke © 2017