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Jack Clark Poem
Of the items in the store,
All were second hand
An old computer did I buy,
With a broken stand
One side was badly scratched
Two knobs were missing too
But that’s not the story
I’m about to tell to you
T’was about the second week
Of the ‘puter at my place
Sitting there against the wall
Near the old staircase
I recall the night was late
As I readied me for bed
When I turned the ‘puter off,
The screen … it turned blood-red
The appearance caused a start
I gasped a gulp of air
I couldn’t turn my gaze away
I stood right there and stared.
Then a low murmuring
From deep within the set
Cold chills ran over me
I’ve not forgotten yet
A voice, low and menacing
Containing graveled rasps
I could not then stop again
My involuntary gasp
I stood there mesmerized
My gaze remained transfixed
Emotions racing through me
And all of them were mixed
The Voice on the other side
Of the blood-red display screen
Issued a command to me
So ominous and mean:
“Place your hand upon the screen
And repeat these words to me:
Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
I felt my arm move upward
Powerless to resist
I felt a burning in my palm
As the display screen it kissed
I heard a voice and realized
The speaker it was me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
As the words transmitted,
Involuntarily,
I could feel a change come on …
Overwhelming me.
As I stared in disbelief
My hand – it disappeared
Absorbed into the blood-red screen
As the burning onward seared …
Through my wrist, up my arm
It’s hotness I could feel
Inward was I screaming
Not believing this was real!
In reflection from the screen
I was being pulled into
I saw a face, and then I screamed:
“That horrid face is YOU!”
The rapid assimilation
Continued then until
All feelings were extinguished
And all was calm and still.
A trillion beings there transformed
To tiny bytes and bits
And ‘tis every part of us
All websites now transmits
Now here I am deep inside
This computers’ display screen
If there’s disturbance felt
Oh so sharp and keen
Just place your hand upon the screen
And read these words to me:
“Where you are right now,
Is where I need to be.”
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
The traveler reeked of weariness,
His companion was Fatigue
Wear upon his clothes suggest
He'd come a million league.
Gaunt were eyes deep set and brown
Above his cheekbones high
His being was pure somnolence
And I heard his silent cry.
Hard roads had been his travel
The pains chiseled on his face
In lines of furrows on his brow
Permanently enlaced
Around I saw no motion there, then ...
His head began to rise
Finally he looked at me ...
Suffering in his eyes.
So quietly I attended
And with a heavy heart
I wanted so to speak to him ...
But knew not how to start
Within his labored breathing
He then began to speak
His words, when finally spoken
Were truthful and unique
His lips worked to form the words -
Then said; "My name is: Common Man,
I'm a father; I've worked hard;
' always done the best I can.
"The road's become uphill and steep with
Burdens I can't propel
I've tried to move on forward -
But, I stumbled here - and fell.
"There are others on me
Who so do depend
I must move on forward,
This mustn't be my end.
"Now I must reach out to you
'Cause before I've never failed
I'm turning now to you
'Fore on hardships I'm impaled".
A calloused hand then extended
Toward my outstretched hand
And I want to heed the call
For this Common Man.
But, Greed and Avarice have won
And assistance can't be lent -
Wall Street, you see, owns me now:
I'm Your Government.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
In the park, I’d been all day
Reading all my time away
On a park bench did I sit
Until the sky became twilit
As light for reading began to wane
I heard the tapping of a cane.
And looking up, to find that sound
‘T was an old man which my eyes found
Bent of stature, with shuffling gait
And cane helping support his weight
He moved toward me in twilight glow
The beard he donned was white as snow
His hooded cloak there in place
Hid from view his bearded face
But … he moved on steadily
And closer then he came to me.
My gaze shifted to my book
As his passage overtook
My presence and my train of thought
On that park bench I had sought.
Then, unexpectedly,
I found the man right next to me
The hooded shroud was still in place
Preventing me to see his face.
Without a word the man sat down
And to my face that brought a frown
This bench I wanted not to share!
Yet he sat down without a care.
In protest was I about to speak
When he lifted his hand antique
And then in voice commanding low
“I’ve something you should know”.
By his voice was I hypnotized
My entire being was tranquilized
I stared at antique hands so pale
Then began the old man’s tale:
“You’ll find a house not far from here
Filled with loathing, filled with fear
And you might wonder how I know
My presence here makes it so”.
“The house, it sits on Wilsons’ Hill
All abandoned, cold and still,
Trees stay barren, grass won’t grow
And constantly do ill winds blow.”
“Birds won’t fly, dogs won’t walk
Stray cats don’t even stalk
Across or near that House of Hate …
Listen now … it’s getting late!”
“From deep within that house at night
Emits an eerie, glowing light
Oh, that light … I know it well,
It’s emitted - straight from Hell!”
“Once a man of youth was I
Having aspirations to the sky,
And senses of immortality
And those of curiosity.”
“‘Twas one summer long ago
On a dare I was to go
Walk inside that House of Hate
Then return to re-instate,”
“My belief and then decree
The house contained but normalcy.
I took the dare - I walked inside,
And since then … I there abide.”
“Now, ’tis only once a year
That I’m allowed to quickly veer
Outside it’s walls, and rusted gate
And find someone to share my fate”
“To embrace the horror I’ve endured
To expand the evil I’ve assured
To return with me and be my mate
And share the Evil House of Hate.”
The old man then turned his head,
And as I looked, with growing dread,
His hooded shroud moved in place …
At last I saw his bearded face.
Within two hollows dark as night
His eyes were embers burning bright
And just before he cast his spell
In those embers I saw Hell !
Reaching forth his ancient hand
Whose touch would be my deadly brand
I jumped back, as I screamed
I was quick, but slow it seemed.
I grabbed the cane, swinging hard
And caught the man quite off guard
I heard the thud, and filled with fear
For his status was now unclear
But … for all the things I feared
I found the man had … disappeared.
No shoes, no cloak … it was plain
Left only was his walking cane.
Many years of time have passed
And I can tell you now at last
‘T was the cane that held my fate:
I live now, in the House of Hate.
And now, too, I will stride
Through that park and take a ride
On a soul of someone there
And to you, dear reader, I say … PREPARE!
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
It was a party like most, I guess
And not a “fun” one, I must confess
But our hostess I adored
And I just couldn’t say: “I’m bored”,
So, I milled around, and said “Hello”
And tried to fake a “party glow”.
Through my third glass of cabernet
I tried of something “cute” to say …
To those persons I’d never met
And find a place for me to set.
In my search for a seating place
I glimpsed an unsettling face
The man to which that face attached
To me appeared most mismatched
With the guests there milling ‘round
T’was from his presence that I frowned.
His forehead high, his hair was dark
His eyes in-set, his skin pock-marked
His cheekbones prominent in their place
And sunken cheeks in his hollow face
His mouth was wide, his lips were thin
And he possessed a jutting chin
His jaw-line strong and not discrete
But that made his face complete.
From ‘cross the room this man I watched
My impression? “The man’s debauched”.
Then I thought: Absurd! ‘Tis the wine
Which makes me think the man Vulpine!
The hostess produced a deck of cards
For playing card tricks and canards
And for tricks, she performed a few
She was skilled, accolades were due.
The cards then she handed to
The very man that I had viewed.
O’re the cards he quickly pawed
His card skills were great and awed
With manipulations lighting fast
Everyone watching was just aghast
And I’ll admit, I was too
Until at last the man withdrew.
I began to light a cigarette
Then realized I would regret
For filling this crowded room with smoke
A chastisement would be invoked
So … I walked out to the patio
To have my smoke … but didn’t know
The man with the hollow cheeks stood there
And held my eyes with his calloused stare.
Tho’ not a single word was said,
His thoughts were transmitted through my head:
“There inside while you watched
You thought me to be debauched”
“And I am, and as you shall see
I’ll verify that painfully”.
Then cards he held out in his hand
I knew I must do what he had planned.
“Pick a card, any card,
As you can see – none are barred”
I saw my hand as it stretched out
I picked a card mid-deck, about.
I touched the card - there was a singe
An imperceptible tiny twinge
Between my finger and my thumb
I began to be overcome
As I looked into that hollow face
A vision I wish I could erase
His transformation from manly form
Around my being began to swarm
His eyes sunk backward in his head
The whites of them turning red
With burning centers of yellow hue
‘Tis then I knew my doom was due.
I watched his evil face contorted
By oozing running sores exhorted
Evil retched rotting worms
As back into his nose they squirmed
And in my assaulted mind the pain
Was already driving me quite insane
The last thing I heard – his yell:
“You’ve just met the Prince of Hell!”
And now tonight I’ve met you,
Let me show you card tricks I do
Don’t worry it isn’t hard:
“Pick a card … any card …”
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
On the dance-floor they did a zigzag
But he was an ol’ scallywag:
- “If you feel something hard
- Pay no regard …
It’s just my colostomy-bag”
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
They’d …
They’d cuffed me when in error
They’d hold me when I’d be ill
They’d calm me when in terror
They’d wave to make me still …
They’d smooth my hair back on my head
Before the camera’s eye
They’d touch me when I went to bed
They’d sooth me when I’d cry
They’d wash a million dishes
They’d fold a ton of clothes
They’d help me with my wishes
They’d warm my freezing nose
They’d point at things for me to do
They’d help me with my plans
And that is why I miss so much
My Loving Mothers' … hands.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
It was a magical time. It was youth and exuberance; It was excitement and discovery; it was innocence. It is now just memory, ah, but once it was the reality of sunshine and butterflies. The seeming timelessness of youth is a realistic illusion, when no thought of such days ever ending or even slowing, would enter young minds.
And we were there when …
Whistles of steam locomotives were heard clear ‘cross town as the enormous engines puffed their way along steel ribbons … in the winter months, sled rides, snowball fights, and ice skating … the summers brought sunshine-filled days of bicycle rides, swimming holes, fishing, and sandlot baseball games …
In the fall school started again, and both old and new faces illuminated our days … there were football and basketball games … cheerleaders … after-game dances … and, finally, the garnering of a drivers’ license.
Then, quickly it seemed, school, college, military service … that first big-time job … meeting that certain someone … little feet running about the house … another job … another high-school class reunion …
Quite unexpectedly, something triggered the conscious realization: Our youth had slipped away. It was a process of erosion … slow … consciously unnoticed, like the melting of an ice cube …
It was then fond old memories began seeping back into our thoughts … Some of those old memories were shared with the newest members of our families … sometimes they’d demand: “tell me again …” and we’d comply …
The Days of Wine and Roses have given way to the Days of Rhyme and Proses as we read days of retirement away … through a Kindle book.
… and those memories are a beautiful reminder of yesteryear … and encourage more memories yet to be made.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2019
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Jack Clark Poem
The path was long and arduous
And night began to veer
O’er trees, and lanes and rusted gates
Its' shadows breeding fear
Unbridled Wind wisped ‘round
Tombstone crosses where
Hissing its’ frustration
Loudly in despair
It sought to nourish fears
The shadows did create
Searching everywhere to find
It’s soul-less night-time mate.
Moonbeam light kissed the Night
Claiming shadows as their child
Together then in lock-step
They bent on running wild
And there, where he awaited
Their cold inspiring touch
With doctrines of all Evils
Firmly in his clutch
The blackness in his heart,
Thumping ‘neath his frock
Soon it’s rancid maladies
The Wind would there unlock
Thoughts of what’s to come
Then twisted lips to smile
Revealing stained and yellowed teeth
Trapping breath so rank and vile
‘twas then The Prince of Avarice
Rose and stood erect
The world would soon be his
To ravage and infect
His eyes of snake, both bespake
Behind their reptile lids
The embrace of the doctrine
For no Evils it forbids
The Wind increased its’ howling
Icy fingers pushing fro
Arranging fallen hopes
Into a dead rouleau
And you and I so un-suspect
Of pending alchemy
Believing we were safe inside
Cocoons of normalcy.
Our naiveté so firmly grasped
Caused us to belie
The chaos we knew not …
‘twas there, and drawing nigh
As Wind fingers touched him
He yelled out his decree:
“ The Prince of Avarice shall reign
And destroy Democracy!”
His school of ghouls, dunce and fools
Clamored to his side
Greed having won the day
Was about to take It’s ride!
Greed, first blessed the banks
And Wall Street did rejoice
The Prince of Avarice then silenced
All protestor ‘s voice
With lies and propaganda
All fabricated well
Then all the bankers rang
The borrowers death knell
Morgan Stanley, AGI,
Then ‘twas Goldman-Sachs
Raking in what Greed gave out:
Billions in green-backs.
Glutted bankers,
Through laughter Greed had honed
Uncaringly showed the world
A prediction - their prodrome
Of broken dreams, foreclosure schemes
Insuring that which failed
But jobs the cost, as homes were lost
And not a banker jailed.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2015
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Jack Clark Poem
(song lyrics)
Verse 1:
Now I can’t go fishin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my rod and reel
Can’t go snow-racin’, ‘cuz ya’ sold my snowmobile
And I got flaws - that’s for sure - and sometimes run amuck
But the final straw that I can’t take: Ya’ sold my pickup truck
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 2:
I didn’t care when ya’ bought that stuff on TV’s QVC
Or ‘cause ya’ always thought of me as your private Money Tree
Or catalog-orderin’ ever’thing from within ol’ Sears Roebuck
But I’ll be danged if I’ll sit still since ya’ sold my pickup truck!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 3:
So I went and saw a gypsy gal, and a curse on you imposed
To put sand in your chewin' gum and runners in your panty hose
And all your clothes and accessories to never, ever match
And chiggers in your bed sheets - so you’ll always have to scratch!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Verse 4:
I seen ya’ last Saturday night at Bubba’s Bar and Grill
The image of you in stripes and checks remains within me still
And them red chigger welts upon your nose and face
Tells me that the gypsy curse is workin’ ever’ place!
Chorus:
You can burn the house, shoot my dog and stomp my ol’ guitar
But when you sold my pickup truck, well, Honey, ya’ went too far
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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Jack Clark Poem
They ring in ears for years to come
As chords of stunning hurt they strum
And resonate on mental strings:
All those spoken, hurtful things.
Those who spoke the hurtful words
Which roll like balls of billiards
Inside our heads eternally
Care not of damage they don’t see
But all the pain, their words have caused
Which haunts us every time we’ve paused
Will form our lives; impact our fate
And of our lives will educate
And of those words we can’t forget
No longer do we care or fret
For there are higher planes we see
Of justified ascendency
For ones who spoke: We've moved on,
And know your words won't be withdrawn.
Forgiveness we may one day let, but …
Your hurtful words we can’t forget.
Copyright © Jack Clark | Year Posted 2014
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