Dreams

I took this photo this morning at 8.30 am, the blue sky through the beauty of the tree captured my inspiration; but what was really stunning were the two birds of prey riding the thermals above.

Dreams

I saw you in my dreams last night

I reached out to touch your face,

My hand went through your skin

And then your image dissipates.

Like a reflection in the water

That’s broken by a pebble

The ripples go on forever

Like warm memories

Of lost lovers.

The morning

Chased my dream

Away and there you

Were still sleeping, I lent

Over to kiss your face, and 

You smiled as you were waking.

The alarms shrilling ring-ring-ring

Was I really still dreaming; slowly,

Eyes opening; you were softly sleeping.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Acceptance

Sssshh, listen to the sound of songbirds calling
Vivid hues and melodious tones of vibrancy,
Whirlpools in your eyes, oh my love’s cascading;

So catch me in your truth and trust,
Fine elegance in fun and lust:

Gracefully, you share your soul with no pretence
In simplicity, and unconditional love,
Our hearts entwined and vowed in true acceptance.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Posted for Poets United mid-week motif, Acceptance

For a special lady

Spirits, free, dancing amidst Willow leaves,
Loved ones reach out in hope they will listen,
Bashfull, dainty, for those who know, believe;
As virgin dawns lay soft while dews glisten.

Such beauty of dappling sunlight, warming,
Warmth to the touch of the stone where you lay;
Your naked truth on warm west winds, riding
Free of old chains that bound you to today.

But the destiny of time still takes hold;
Childlike you worry at a loose silk thread
While mumbling on memories now so old,
Lifes tapestry rests, worn, against bedhead.

For your soul to be free amidst the trees,
No more indignity . . . but still you wait
For gentil westing winds to ride with ease,
To rest far beyond the summer lands gate.

©Julian Clarke 2016

Exercise your right

Voiceless, and

bound by chains of society,

no suffrage for women of the day

suffragettes bound in chains

advocating there right to a say;

political, militant, activists

a debt owed to courageous ladies

the free life you have, belief and hope

don’t complain when you don’t exercise your vote.

© Julian Clarke 2016

July 21st. Posted for

Poets United mid week Motiff, Suffrage the right to vote

Lost Childhood

How some children manage to do these daily chores before school, in war torn, or disease ridden conditions that one can not imagine. 

School, well that's if they are lucky enough to be able to go to one. 

Lost Childhood

Sun

scorched

before school,

water drips like a tear drop,

mesmerised by the unfairness, I stop;

your head bows to your reflection

cupped hands break the tension;

and daily,

tear drop, by tear drop

water trickles through fingers… it seeps;

sleight ebony shoulders weigh so heavy,

laden, the vessel’s half the size of,

no matter whether girl, or boy;

now

look from the image on your t.v screen

your youngster plays with a new toy:

and still

tear drop, by tear drop

water trickles through fingers… it seeps;

sleight ebony shoulders weigh so heavy,

laden, the vessel’s half the size of,

no matter, girl, or boy;

my heart weeps;

step by step

they go 

bare

feet.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Happy Days

Granparents have a natural flair for creating family gatherings that become beautiful memories to reflect upon years later.

Happy Days

Summers breeze in lush fluttering leaves,

homemade lemonade, strawberry ice cream;

dappled shade under fruiting cherry trees:

still there, your old rickety rocking chair

and that aged, month eaten straw boater hat,

memories spill of mouth watering fare:

squeals of laughter riding the garden gate 

dip in, dip out of a cold lawn sprinkler;
fine innocence of a summer's portrait.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Should you have a minute to spare you are more than welcome to have a look around, maybe leave a comment, or want to get in touch please feel free to do so.

Princess

This months open mic prompt for July was decided upon;             

click here for open mic details

prompt 

Media,or The Media.

the tradgic emotive events of
 that parisian night in 1997

 inspired this short poem.

I feel the hard jerkyness of this 

piece is needed to help convey

the speed of a violent tradgedy.

Princess

Pap’s
and hacks
hot pursuit
paris night;
shutters whir
lenses blink
cameras flash;
fast she fled
under pass
head on crash;
turbid truth
final breath
final sigh:
early dawn
cascading
flowers
english
rose.

Breath

The best gift ever, for everyone; for without it where would we be.

Breath

Breath is our being, being is beautiful,

being with you is as beautiful

as breath itself;

take nothing for granted

appreciate the love our breath gives.

© Julian Clarke 2016

Beautiful Moments

Being in love with you fills me with pride
Delicate butterflies fluttering inside,
Anticipating your sweet tasting kiss
Feels like I’m in heaven; wonderful bliss.

Breast on chest lips to lips
Physical tension, a heartbeat skips,
Lying entwined in your loving arms
Tranquil moments of peaceful calm.

Ebbing Away

David, what is that ring ringing?

it’s your phone Gran,

oh . . . hello, hello . . . no one there,

no Gran, that’s the t.v control;

yes my fetch my coat it’s rather cold,

Gran, I said, it’s  . . .

my dear now please don’t interrupt,

and what is that incessant ringing?

*

Aggressive,

no matron, I don’t understand

she’s always so caring and kind

with such a sharp and witty mind.

*

Hello Gran, how are you today?

do I know you?

oh Gran, it’s me, come on, you know; 

you run along and get my tea.

it’s me, David;

I want some of those nice biscuits too;

Stupid boy, David is long dead.

Now sad despair etched his heart with dread.