Sorcerer functioning
Beyond the depths
No one knows nor accepts
The magnificence held
Then released
Because of you
And yes
Because of me.
Sorcerer held to the soul
Grasping, breathing life
Where no one goes
End of nothing
Knows no bounds
Stepping lightly upon the ground
Soaring heavy beneath the skies
Swimming sweaty before my eyes.
Sorcerer functions
Knowing no bounds
Living with us
On hallowed ground.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Tell me something
I don’t know
Open up my heart
Let my soul know.
Don’t go down
The street of hurt and anger
Or God forbid
We don’t know the answer.
Tell me something
Tell me something
I need
I need to know.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Some things are hard to remember.
They crush the spirit, they crush the soul.
We’ll never know what would have happened
If they never had been told.
Muster pass, remember this
They are not your whole world
Only a small part of it.
The beauty of the rest will still unfold.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2011
We were walking along the road
In the quiet dusky light
Robins sang, frogs croaked
In the evening with delight.
When we heard
The roar of a mighty engine
Back beyond the curve
Still far, far out of sight.
The roar sped nearer
Louder, round the corner
Charging cross the country road
A blaze of gold appeared in our sight.
Pistons pounding, wheels spinning
A golden Maserati flashed by
Neighbour’s chickens squawked in horror
Our dog cringed, fearing for his life.
My husband muttered
Something like
“A idiot racing a golden Maserati
On a country road tonight”.
He was gone in a second
Like a flash of golden light
No regard for any other
Driving his golden Maserati tonight.
Only feeling Maserati power
Roaring by on a quiet night
Driving a golden Maserati reckless
Thru quaint country life.
Too fast to see his face
Slumped down with little grace
A flash of golden auto
Flew pass us that night.
A golden Maserati
With a idiot at the wheel
Roared by us
Disappearing out of sight.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Butterfly
From my window I see you fly
Crossing by
Butterfly
Your beauty is exquisite
Coloured a wondrous earthy brown
Butterfly
Never growing old
Nor flying far away
Butterfly
In winter’s frozen cold
You fly, butterfly
Butterfly
Etched forever in cedar wood
My very own
Butterfly
Thou I imagine one day you will come alive
Flying with other butterflies
Butterfly
To far away places, warm, full of beauty
Butterfly fly
Butterfly
That’s when I’ll say goodbye
To my precious wooden
Butterfly.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Little Tom Thumb
Has passed away
This I learnt just yesterday.
His brave bold heart ceased to beat
He dropped to the ground
Quietly.
Magnificence reigned from the start
He was the leader
He had the heart.
Raced pass the others
Mane flying, hooves a blur
Into history a giant you see had occurred.
~ Patrice
Rest in peace giant little man
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Turn to the right side of life
Feel strength in midst of strife
Dedicate your life to those that need.
Feel life breathe.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
In the near future and the past
Everything was aghast.
Not so liked but tolerated
Sad to say, that was my past.
I am aghast I let it past
Say no more and move along
My life is worth more
Than a sad, sad song.
See you there
In that happy place
Full of joy, full of grace.
You will bow and I will chase
All the butterflies that giggle
And face the troubles
I’m trying to erase.
Maybe now it does not exist
Because I showed them
I will resist.
Be ye happy.
Be ye pleased because together
We brought them to their knees.
Here, in the near future
And most likely in the past
With absolute ease.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2011
Such a wonder to review
Such a time we had we two.
Nothing came to pass
That hurt or tested our resolve, our view.
Such a time we had we too
Such a wonder to review.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
Stingrays flying
In a most beautiful place
In awe, inspired by their beauty, their grace.
Leaping from the sea
Are they jumping in fear
Running from danger beneath the waves?
Not known for sure
For they may be just washing mites
From their smooth, dark face.
Stingrays flying
Leaping
With a particular ballet grace.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson – 2015
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