Guiding Light

Woe was the bleakness in my darkest time
Heart leaden grey in gravity of mourn;
The light in your soul a haven of love
T’was your grace, for I found none from above.

Thou sowed my soul in the garden of hope
Whilst balancing our lives in tenderness,
Lavenders bouquet scents warm summer air
Reminding always of true love thou share.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Silken Scarf

Only words
bind us together

emotive, powerful yet destructive
hate you, adore you, you’re so Aargh!

just a sound, shapes scribbled down

intangible, yes, but still

scratch hearts with sadness:

only words I throw at you

not fists nor china cups of

cracked mouldy blue:

words are the weave

that wove our love...

to lose myself in you

to be a silken scarf

to warm your throat

whence words flow true;

oh to close my eyes and

touch a memory held so tight,

let words fall in the shape of a kiss

onto my longing lips this winter’s night.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Yellow Rose

I saw a yellow rose just now
It made me think of you,
Even though the day was grey
Its colour warmed the blue.

I felt the prick of blackthorn tree
As I recalled our crossed words,
And then a Skylark sang so sweet
No longer did it hurt.

I once fell down a rainbow
Searching for a pot of gold
A clattering and a tumbling
Now it's you I want to hold.

I saw a yellow rose just now
So radiant in its hue
I pursed my lips and blew a kiss
For it made me think of you.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

The Ballad of Eva and Jack Marella

This is an experimental piece written in the form of a ballad. The inspiration is sourced from, in this case, Germanic folklore; Nixie also appears in Scandinavian, Celtic, Nordic and other mythology's by other names.
The actual story told in the ballad of Eva and Jack Marella is from my imagination.

Note to Poem

Nixie, in Germanic ancient folklore is a shape-shifting water fairy and is infamous for singing enchanted songs to lure human prey to watery deaths. The Nixie is usually a malicious female mermaid, and the Nix is her male counterpart. 

The Ballad of Eva and Jack Meralla

Soft lilting songs from the depths of

yellow and orange sun glazed waters,

Jack’s fishing boat now becalmed

Enchanted by Nixie’s belying charm;

And then the runes were cast so fast

As Nixie sang Eva downed her glass

Eva Marella knows not of sobriety

A raconteur of fables in gaiety.

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de doo

Oh Fiddle de diddle de fiddle de dowe.

Now Jack Marella sings a shanty

Tied to the mast in a bottle of glass

Never again will he hold his soul

Till Nixie’s paid in doubloons of gold;

Mrs Marella head under her arm

Around her feet they swirled

Eva Marella sways to shanty

In drunkenness on gin and brandy.

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de doo

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de dowe.

Nixie why’d you to steal Jack’s soul

You green eyed siren of the deep

Eva she cried, “Oh sing to me”

With all your mystical beauty;

Mrs Marella she danced with Nixie

Never to gaze into her deep green eyes,

Under clear skies that night in June

Vowed she’d win him back none too soon.

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de doo

fiddle de diddle de fiddle de dowe.

Not brandy, nore gin had been her sin

Since she vowed to win Jack back

For pieces of gold she told old fables

In the tavern round cider soaked tables;

As Eva Marella stowed the boats oars

Over the gunwale went the doubloons;

She woke next morning in marital bed

To Mr Marella kissing her forehead.

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de doo

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de dowe

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de doo

Oh fiddle de diddle de fiddle de dowe.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Posted for and linked Poets United

Raven

Friday night crossed the day and
By dawn, sadly, you’ll be gone.
Mist, translucent in hue drift
To minstrel’s tune in auburn air.

I lay feeling your warmth upon
my spirit. Slowly the change
from young to old complete.

Swimming up through rivers of
Time, not drowning and still
Without one single goodbye
You leave the branching hang
From bough and I watch you rise
Through ragged light as day slides
From the night; majestically, gone.

©Julian Clarke 2016

Blessings

Tis a

blessing

to know ones

own limitations;

for may we then show 

due tolerance towards

Others shortcomings.

Summers Dream

You came to me on a sweet summers dream

Passing through worlds of magic and men,

A dragon fly guarded the gate between

You’d sing and dance in this beautiful glen.

Now most of us find it hard to conceive

Of the parallel world of our ancient way,

Listen so hard and you must believe

Open your eyes let your mind run away.

Do not be fooled by her beauty and charm

Her pretty little nose and delicate wings,

Her mystical magic may well do you harm

If you don’t respect all of nature s things.

You came to me on a sweet summers dream

Passing through worlds of magic and men,

I wonder if you will come here again,

To sing and dance in this beautiful glen.

© Julian Clarke

The Legend of Cherokee Rose

My poem is after these photos and short write up.

I took these photos whilst holidaying in North Carolina. Above is the entrance to the Indian reservation in the Great Smokey Mountains in North Carolina, life is shown as it was before the Indian removal act was signed into law by President Andrew Jackson on May 28, 1830.

Below is one of the rivers flowing through the mountains.

White Cherokee Rose found on the trail of tears, 

this image is from the internet,

The following poem was inspired by the persecution of the Cherokee Nation by the white settlers. They were displaced from their own lands and had to walk approximately 2200 miles from here, and neighbouring areas such as Georgia, to Oklahoma. This became known as the trail of tears where many died.

The Legend of Cherokee Rose

In the year of eighteen thirty,

White settlers wanted more land

Congress passed “the Indian removal act”

And so their displacement began.

From Georgia to Oklahoma

Lies “the trail where they cried”

The weather grew bad disease took hold,

Thousands of Cherokee Indians died.

Children perished along the way,

Mother hearts filled with grief,

Prayers for a sign to lift their spirits

Offered up by the five Indian chiefs.

Their prayers had been answered

To help lift the women folk soles,

For where a tear fell to the ground,

A beautiful rose did grow.

Five petals, for the five major clans,

A yellow centre for the unmined gold;

And so a legend was born,

The legend of Cherokee rose. 

© Julian Clarke 2016

Below shows the view looking down onto the morning mists floating over the mountain valley.

Crises

Shocking to think in our advanced world that this is allowed to continue.

In 

abject

 poverty

women trudge

earthenware pots

balanced on heads

fetching water

not fit for

consumption

many dying of

starvation.

Violent conflicts

guns rat tat tattle

follow the red dot

see where it stops

eye sight  down

the rifle barrel,

a young girl

takes aim,

with blood,

her hands

are stained.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Vieil Amour (Old Love)

Note to poem:
Reflecting on years gone by when young hearts experimented with romance. I remember in a hazy daze of pulling white petals from a daisy, saying with each petal,

* she loves me?….. she loves me not….. she loves me?
    elle m’aime? …  elle m’aime ne pas… elle m’aime?

* oui, elle a chanté  je t’aime, je t’aime.
   Yes, she sang, I love you, I love you

And then I got to thinking, why should only the young enjoy these pleasures?
Why not those who have shared long lives together?


Vieil Amour

*Elle m’aime? softly to his wife of thirty years wed
From gnarled fingers slipped a petal of soft rose red
And so serenely floating down to gently rest
On semi naked skin of crinkled velvet breast,
Her young beauty still lay within, on silken bed.

Elle m’aime ne pas, he whispered full of tenderness
Knowing each intimate want with confident caress
Soft music and fine wine with his charm she’s entranced
Oh to the song of his moist lips her nipple danced;
Elle m’aime? he said his voice full of romantic stress.

Elle m’aime? . . . Elle m’aime ne pas, . . . Elle m’aime?
Bathed in sunlight, petals of red and virgin white
*Oohh la la oui, elle a chanté  je t’aime, je t’aime.

Posted for Poets United mid week motif, the song of a single word