Short Clod Poems

Listen to poem:

draught horse tripped on clod
so sure of gait and big hooves
looked for a scapegoat...

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Lizard woman with mellow yellow face
Puts a fellow into a squirming place
I gave her a nod
She sniffed like a clod
We won’t be propagating human race...

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Might Have the Mange

Have heard Trump's hair has the mange,
And his mind they do need to re-arrange;
Rather odd;
Dumb clod;
No wonder he seems to be so strange.

Jim Horn...

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"Claude not a clod Debussy"


elle est chaude if
i could as
if

d'un faune
getting
it on

on and with 
a nymph's 
veil as if 

it was 
the most
holy holiest

grail...

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Curt and Rod were just hanging around..
For they were known as tightwads..
Girls passed on by without a sound.
They stole some money and tripped over a bipod.
Being chased by Clod!...

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Bumbling along in my jumpsuit and clod hoppers
A sight to behold, a fashion statement for shoppers
Stylish and appealing
For the elderly beings
Reminds me of the days when I was a big bopper...

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Listen to poem:

At the center of my orbit,
You were Jupiter, huge, remote,
Surface roiled by raging storms.
I was a dim, distant moon --
A tiny ice-bound clod
Eternally held at bay --
Still, snared inescapably
By your awful gravity....

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Wet grass licks at my feet
Green tongues of flame
I wish for the earth to envelop me
Sinking, without a sound
Drowning on dry land
Every clod of beetle-dark soil a silent goodbye 
To what I’m not sure ever existed
Reborn into root and rain...

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faith in God good 4 the bod,
in ever seeking wonder,
hook line and sinker slightly odd,
the passion seeks the thunder,
but this oaf is just a clod,
from way south, the land of sweet  dowunder.

re: 'a lovers quarrell' Debbie Duncan

Don...

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Oh God
What am I?
Am I just 
A speck of dust
Or only a clod
Of sod
Upon this Earth
That gave me birth?
Lord
Am I child of discord
Lost in an alien land
Under my own command?
Or am I
A spirit free,
With a spiritual identity
Reaching toward infinity?...

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Trappings of femininity
Cagey breasts, Alexandrian perfume
An act of seduction
Not stupid in blunt fingernails
Painted rose a caressing owl
Scratches blood and snatches wallet
In crafty hands Love towels roll
clod in time my flesh intersects
the heat, boot and crawling insects....

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good intention- bondage
bows knotted- time criss
crossed spirit sudden
(whisked off) lost &
gone with convenience-
holy voodoo sermon 
of leniency- forgive me
for your fractured fist
is my bloody wrist-
hallelujah hideaway-
pride likes to play
poses to pacify- quite
a clumsy clod...

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Mosquito you have taken my blood
With a gentle bite, silently
And I am sure it is enough for you to plod
And provide the results of my blood
If you grow big with a clod,
My blood is fine and of good quality
But if you die I must rush to check the blood
Or else I will also die, silently....

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Softly the rain drops fall
Delaying the wetting game
Tricked I may be 
Oh that’s a shame
Beautiful I say it is
And I praise the mighty rain
Oh I brought no umbrella with me
And I am the one to blame
But its rain and rains
Relentlessly 
Until I’m fully flooded
Comes it does for me 
Until I’m clod blooded??...

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He called me a limp-clod.
What is it?
I have no idea.
But it made you mad?
 
I am furious.
I could hit him.
Can we ask him?
Okay.
 
What is a limp-clod?
A limp is my best friend and a clod is his name.
Your name is Claude?
Yes.
 
Are you still mad?
Not as mad, but I have not slowed down yet.
Understood....

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May Be Much Doubt

Even though may be much doubt,
With God we can work things out,
And by Him I have been selected
Knows how things can be corrected,
So should stand tall and very stout.

The more faith that I have in God,
I'm sure the more at me will nod
And to me what all of this meant
Must always first have His consent
Even if I happen to be old clod.

Jim Horn...

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An expanded infinity
       there is in a clod of earth...
       An unrevealed but conscious sky
       in the sweet smile of a flower...
      A whole universe of love,
      in the palm of a friendly hand...
      And for those who notice,
      a total harmony in one
      fraternal hug,
      flawless conformation
      given freely both
      of the maximum
      and from minor.. !...

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Winter Fields Of Laois

Wind song whispered
between drystone wall and hawthorn
morning cold stiffening face and fingers
every clod-n-sod is an obstacle,
my head bowed like a bull 
turning to look down the hill
moments pain and reflection.
A bitter droning voice 
pressing coat to spine...
now curved as an eggshell
Above the trees a crow 
a raggy dancer on the wind
is driven by the music
and rises...

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A treatise on regenerating life
Old Man Winter's residual cultivated by Spring's mid-wife
Into fertile cavity seed with precision did knife
In earth's dark bosom; cauldron of strife
With jolting, painful movements rife
Helios incubated the embryonic pod
Unction sparked from Zeus's rod
Jupiter's vital streams embalmed ingrown clod
With growing pressure swelling kernel did prod
Fledgling shoots pushed through birth canal onto sod...

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Kindred, in your heart, is a flame
Burning in your core, not yet tame
Out is the demon, in you the God
Fanning the flame, in a sordid clod

Words and thoughts fail to claim
All the glory you lost, what's left is a name
Burn in your own fire, if you will
Have ink in a quill but no tear to spill.

Then they came, the souls of saints
Pouring love, until you faint
Mind on desire, like water on fire
Back to a spark, out of the pyre....

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A robin thankful for my work
Pecks every clod of fresh 
turned dirt
A dove call permeates the air
With tones of throaty sad 
despair 

The sun sits fat above the bay
Engaged in light and shadow 
play
Scrub pines rustle in a gentle 
breeze
As if shaking off the winter 
freeze

Daffodils, tulips enjoying the 
sun
Are living proof that Spring has 
sprung
A moment in time to relax and 
stare
As charcoal grilling scents the 
air...

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He could paint the air and draw the winds.
Of course that brief eulogy
was only spoken after his demise;
while alive he was often considered a clod and a bore.
Foreseeing no such post-mortem fame
he kept writing on water
knowing that there was an archive of his works
in an after-life waiting to be discovered
by his wandering soul.
In the meantime, ducks quacked, geese honked
and the little birds in his still beating heart
twittered on....

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An open eye to see you
And moving lips to praise
A dull mind to remember
And a long life to waste
An open hand to hold you
And silent heart to love
A dark place it may be
But beautiful as sky above
A beautiful life not to get you
And the worst part to wait
Some memories to cherish all life
Plenty of them to regret 
A clod wind to freeze my heart
And your soft voice to support
A life in land flown away to distant seas
Left alone to float...

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An open eye to see you
And moving lips to praise
A dull mind to remember
And a long life to waste
An open hand to hold you
And silent heart to love
A dark place it may be
But beautiful as sky above
A beautiful life not to get you
And the worst part to wait
Some memories to cherish all life
Plenty of them to regret 
A clod wind to freeze my heart
And your soft voice to support
A life in land flown away to distant seas
Left alone to float...

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My father showed me how to pull nettles without being stung. 
With a confident and downward grasp and without hesitation, 
To grip and flatten the stinging hairs by following their direction
but I have never reached to do it, or had any to pull in my city garden.
I watched him dig sods with a spade and turn them over row by row 
So that weeds would bury beneath each shiny clod and not regrow
But I have never had more of a garden than a small brick-paved courtyard....

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