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POETRY GALLERY

January

                                                                              
 
 
My life-long friend
my crazy goat
has stirred and climbed once more
to the top of the chart.
 
Here, two-faced
we glance
at the dull gleam of triumph
and horrors best forgotten.
 
Here too, peer into the abyss
of what lies ahead
and up to the heavens
for answers in the stars.
 
 
John Irving Clarke


​

​

Christmas Morning, Two a.m.

Picture
​ 
 
In the soft and silent darkness
A shadow shimmers its silhouette.
Awake, I do not stir
But locate the shapes:
Wardrobe, drawers and chair
That speak to me of home.
 
It’s early, I know,
Still a time for sleep,
But childhood remonstrations
Return with comic force
He doesn’t visit boys who aren’t asleep.
And Only if you’re very good.
 
Faint breathings, creaks and turning overs
A few hours before
This house will come to life
And like snow falling from the eaves
I breathe a sigh
For the ghost of Christmas past.



Picture


​  Solstice
 
 
  Winter afternoon
  tree silhouettes
  exposed
  against stone-washed skies
  their bronchiole black fringe
  catching pink breath.
 
  John Irving Clarke

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