You've discovered my secret realm. This garden contains my own poetry. The part of myself that doesn't come easily to the world.
Riverside
Withdraw
Within
From exhaust and flattened cigarette ends
Refreshing smells of Winter showers
Now enclosed by rumbling sounds,
Machinery and wavering trolleys.
Squeeze past another
The transformed alley
Introducing the scent of bloodless flesh
Through whingeing doors;
The bowels of the creature.
Sounds of life then fill the mind
With tedious tunes and belly screams.
Tired clerks, pigeon-holed
In crisp white shirts and lurid ties.
Behind the pleasant smiles and greetings
Lay sleepless nights and hateful repulse.
Foot slips accross the patterned ground
To endless, pointless days of bore,
No company, but others scared
By enthusiastic smiles and stares.
Escape the sickened pastel skies
Below, the comforting release
Of exhaust and flattened cigarette ends
And rain, the earthy smells, to home.
By Christina Clarke (1998)
Mirror
Don't want to look
Don't want to see
Hideous lie I've learnt to be.
Confuse my anger,
Tears know why I hate.
Those lost forbidden thoughts
Lull and give me peace.
A sight to soothe
A pain to kill these foolish beliefs.
Belief in myself is the end of the truth.
The truth was never there,
The truth to never care.
I don't want to know
How it all comes out.
I don't need to know
Or to believe what you've shown.
I don't feel the reasons that I know.
The beauty isn't there.
The truth to never care.
By Christina Clarke (12/98)
You
Why know when it will never be?
Why believe if I know I'm lost?
Faith lost in the truth I believe,
The truth I believed.
Your eye, your mind, you knew the truth.
Do you know as I know?
I know you see as I see.
We're lost, never to know
How it could have been.
Our destinies misplaced
In cowardice and stupid youth.
By Christina Clarke (12/98)
nb: These last two poems probably don't sound quite right. They were actually written for songs, so try to allow for the music of your head.
Untitled
Withdrawn and dejected
My mind has rejected
Beliefs held as truths
And darkened soul-soothes.
Afraid I've mistaken,
And let me awaken.
Tomorrow I'll see
It was not up to me.
By Christina Clarke (1/99)
I'm not trying to claim my genius to the world. I write poems to let out what I feel inside, not so that you will think I am a master. Maybe you think my poetry is crap, but remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
