Author Archives: abclarke

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Thought #32

Those who are reckless 
Rarely end wreckless;
Those who are careful
Often end cared for.

But the dance 
Before the crash
Warms the blood
And stirs the soul.

And the cautious man
Is the forgotten man.

Poems For Her #4

It’s possible,
That you know
When Edgar visits
Pancakes and toast
Are off the menu.

It’s conceivable,
You miserable, vomitous mass,
That you know
Shaking brooms and
Golden eggs
Are rituals of love.

And that to the pain
Is the inevitable end.
But perhaps
We have the strength
To stand together
After all.

Keep Going

They say when you’re going through hell,
Keep going.

But when you’re in heaven,
Keep going too.

Because while now is forever,
Your time is not.

And I promise you the divine
Is just around the bend.

Almost, But Not, Symmetrical (6)

The point of life is to die a good death;
For the time we spend dead
Dwarfs the time we spend alive
And a good death is sung of for ages.

The best odds for dying a good death
Is to live a good life,
So that in the final moments
Those alive sing of your life for ages.

That measure is taken at the last breath
Which brings hope to the vilest of villains:
A bad life can be eclipsed with
A single act of momentous selflessness.

That measure is taken at the last breath
Which brings fear to the purest of puritans:
A good life can be eclipsed with
A single act of petty selfishness.

Almost, But Not, Symmetrical (5)

Infinite sets can be of different sizes.

The set of integers in the universe continues ad infinitum.
The set of real numbers in the universe continues ad infinitum.

Yet reals are more infinite
For reals are manifold between integers
If you know how to look.

The set of ugliness in the universe continues ad infinitum.
The set of beauty in the universe continues ad infinitum.

Yet beauty is more infinite
For beauty is manifold between ugliness
If you know how to look.

Concrete Maladies

Our concrete maladies, edifices of misery, rise from foundations of trauma.
Our masonic rituals pile rock upon rock through habit learned of our fathers.
Some cry, “tear it down,” as though absence of sorrow is what we seek.
Others landscape parks amid towers, flowers amid caves, and weave beauty.

I wish nothing more than to apprentice in the dirt.

Poems For Her #1

We are not destined to be together.
We are not lovers foretold in song.

No word of gods proclaim our union.
No golden chariots parade
Our perfect marriage across the heavens.

No promise of music ordains our kisses.
No cameras zoom to capture
Our love for iconic posters.

There is no guarantee this all works out;
No security proffered by future time.

All on offer is the prospect of work.
Of my commitment to bear the yoke.
Of your steady hand to guide the share.
As we till the ground with backbreaking labor
To plant love amongst the dirt of our lives
Until the day we die when they will say…

We were destined to be together.
Our love was foretold in song.

For the gods blessed our union
And placed our souls
Upon a shooting star.

So frenzied maestros, with our kisses as muse,
Could compose ballads
To bring hope to the world.

And of course it all worked out.
For no love was ever more certain than ours.

Give & Take

Take the good when it comes.
Take the bad when it comes.
Take it easy,
But take it.

Don’t give as good as you get —
Give the good that you get;
Take the bad that you get
And breathe as you let go.

Stuck in the Middle? | The Coconut Chronicles