Am I …

 

Am I blood and bone,

skin and muscle, or

water, stone

parchment and grit?

 

I ask because I am

no longer sure what

it is that makes me …

me.

 

Am I just a tool for the world,

or lesson in the making, or

do I have viability, and purpose,

more than just a sharp point

with a dull end.

 

Time seems to hold, be unsure,

yet it veers past, I’m left in

it’s wake, turning to vortex  and

taking me I know not where,

down, up, sideways …?

 

Am I still who I believed

myself to be, or a shade,

veiled from all who travel

this road I find myself

walking, I have never

been really sure.

 

Always have I been lone,

a spectator to the thrum,

the ever mental chronicler,

the gatherer of wonder,

now the shopkeeper of

memories.

 

Am I just to be, once here then …

gone, to have spent of life,

of love, of living and to

have garnered nothing but

the idea of a life lived … ?

 

Maybe in the end, all is revealed,

and then we know … what?

Glenn D. Clarke  10/09

The Need

 

The need is in me,

the need to be one

and two, for that is

what we are; two into one.

 

The need is to meld and

fold, to be in and of,

to warm and cool.

 

Meld and fold like steel

made stronger, be in and of

our world, our life, our choice,

to warm and cool so that

rash is not a word used

in our decisions in life.

 

I have a need to be clear,

my intentions focused,

my mind unclouded only in so

much as it keeps me aware

of us, and our beauty in all things.

 

I have a need to hold

you close, to feel our flesh 

as a glass of wine,

mellow and full.

 

The need is what drives

me to you, it always has,

and always will, for I am

the thirst, you my love

are the river of my life,

and I drink of you daily.

 

Glenn D. Clarke   October  2009

Her Brush of Golds and Red

 

Once again she comes,

with artists flourish

the canvas fills once more

with hues of Fall.

 

The years go by, ever quickened

by time, true to its nature

it falters not, nor by a second

is the brush stroke delayed.

 

Yet do I wish for it to hesitate?

Not by said second, for it is a

comfort to know that the eye

will be treated once more,

that my senses shall be treated

once more.

 

 Her brush of golds and reds,

sweeps across the countryside,

all is turned to raucous tone,

intense,fragrant, the sound

of crackling leaves a reminder

of my youth.

 

Yes, the fragrance of those

leaves, as we rolled down and through

hills of them, not thinking

of the death of Summer,

but the birth of new fun.

 

Now I breath in and memories

do flood my mind, I think

of one day watching new memories

in a grandsons eye … being created,

thankful for the cycle.

 

Glenn D. Clarke  October / 2009

Timbre

 

I feel the connection … shifting,

as if the bonds/fibres that hold me

here were somehow fraying.

 

I really can’t explain it totally,

it use to be so easy to

write it, but of late … what?

 

It’s as if  the fabric of my

existence is being torn from me …

like a blanket used to swaddle is

torn off leaving you cold … remote.

 

It started when you left,

I have never felt so all alone …

so bereft of connection,

this was the beginning.

 

Then, I started to think …

always my worst time; time

to think and feeling alone.

 

And then the cloud descends,

do you still know I love you,

can you feel the bond, the always

soul- teather that has always

joined us.

 

Will you still love, feel, know me

as always, or will that change …

be replaced by — what?

 

The timbre of us, the we of us …

will we survive, I have enough doubts

of me … to start doubting we

is unfathomable, and yet … there.

 

You seem so small now, frail

now, I fear breaking you

somehow, and it drives me

deeper and away.

 

I as always want to be the strength

I have always been … but now

don’t feel, help me, regain me please,

for I feel I have lost my way …

and your light is what I need,

so please shine.

 

Glenn D. Clarke / 09