LINCOLN, LOOK!
A Poem by Alice B. Clagett amongst her early works
The sun is a young man.
How the ocean flirts with him.
How the warmth of his touch rouses her
How she fragments and multiplies upon herself . . . . . . . . in a thousand changing places . . . . . . . . the thousand changing faces . . . . . . . . of his glory.
Lincoln, look!
The sun is an old man.
How he disdains his menstrous wife
for his moist mistress.
How jealous moon will not allow
Ocean to sleep under his hand.
. . . . . . . . No sleep, and mother of so many. . . . . . . . . They should invent a pill for her. . . . . . . . . Would she think it unnatural?
No mind. From time to time a piece of her
Settles in some dead sea
where, for lack of change, it grows more bitter salt
than its changeful aspect ever knew.
Change is her nature and her tears nourish
all her children.
Hold a Candle, A Poem by Alice B. Clagett, Soundtrack and Words
Dear Ones,
Here is a poem written during the monthly creative writing class I attended at the beginning of May. The stance of the poem I feel to be good for me as a neutral observer of humankind.
Elsewhere in my blogs I express the stance I would take were I a transvestite (a crossdresser) or transgender person dealing with the Ascension clearing process through the Incoming Light. That process also involves neutral witnessing, I feel, but of a different sort: In that field ‘beyond right and wrong’ (to quote the great mystical poet Rumi) each of us stands alone with God, and assesses the what and wherefore of our human condition, the causal incidents of our Soul wounding, and that ruthlessly truthful Awareness that leads to an ever brighter Body of Light.
There is a Summary after the video …
VIDEO BY ALICE
SUMMARY OF THE VIDEO
Hello, Dear Ones, It’s Alice. I Am of the Stars.
At writing class last month, we had an assignment to write a story that included certain words. Each person in the class contributed one word at that moment; and the words were: candle, crutch, soar, sadness, transvestite, and excitement.
My gift to the class was a poem that included all those words. Here is that poem for you; the title is “Hold a Candle” ….
. . . . .
Hold a Candle
A Poem by Alice B. Clagett
Soundtrack and Words 5 May 2019
Hold a candle
Find a light
Hold it high
Against the night
What’s a hindrance?
What’s a crutch?
Find the surest
Healing touch!
Soar in laughter
Sink in pain
Sense the level
Strong terrain
Sadness catches
One and all
Then allows us
To recall
How excitement
May sustain —
Double, triple
Each small gain
Trust that
Each transvestite’s fear
May find comfort
Somewhere
Hear their yearning
Sense their call:
I’m God’s child
As are we all.
……………
–from Link: “Hold a Candle,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, written on 5 May 2019; published on 31 May 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-cVB ..
Written on 13 April 2019; published on 14 April 2019
Dear Ones,
Late yesterday afternoon, after Palm Sunday Vigil and communion with the holy congregation, I was driving home, and I wrote this poem …
. . . . .
SHEETS OF LIGHT
A Poem by Alice B. Clagett 13 April 2019
Light came down in sheets and folds . . like cake mix falling into a cake pan . . like clothes-pinned billows of wet sheets . . . . .that fold and snap in a wild breeze . . like Heaven slaloming
. . . . . through the streets.
Now, now is the time.
Dearest of the dear
Nearer than the breath of life
Faster than silver-footed thought
More sure than mother’s love
More curious than cats
More glorious than sunlight . . caroming past Palm Sunday
Oh my Soul, remember!
……………
–from Link: “Sheets of Light,” a poem by Alice B. Clagett, written on 13 April 2019; published on 14 April 2019 … https://wp.me/p2Rkym-c9k ..
Here is a poem from college days, to do with the look of the countryside in winter …
. . . . .
DIAN’S STEEL WHITE ARMOUR
A Poem by Alice B. Clagett amongst her early works
Dian’s steel white armour stilts a jagged landscape.
Flesh dies with winter, colors recess
and the bared bones of bleached children cry to cold winds.
The crotch of the black barked elm, powdered with snow
like a withered woman upturned, flaunts her indecency.
Summer, gentle lover, bee busy decked her with flowers. Fall garbed her riotous. The cold lust of his breath scattered her sage modesty. Remnants wither under winder’s frozen tears.
Age notwithstanding, she tickles his beard with her toes.
Time will bring her newer dresses, aye, but the waiting is dreary.
