Archive for June, 2014


June 27, 2014

Touch me if you dare
The God's you follow won't care
 Medea knows your fickle touch
Leaving a red trail on the sea of erotica
Eros aphrodisiac
Of myrtle, poppy, rose and apple, turned magic
Carried upon a single dart to the heart

Was it not I 
In a golden chariot bedecked of rubies and amethyst
Who flew cross the stratosphere
Encased in the vestments of hearts rapture
Night after night
To find silken sheets and honey combs of desire
Wrapped in your arms

Arms hairy with betrayal
Learned in the whoring of man
Scaring each sweet virgin maiden
A red trail of a touch
Once felt, never healed
In death sought Satan gives no pardon
Just deflocking night after night

Its your red life’s blood
Flows cross the horizon
Tossed on the waves of evil frenzy
Suckled and spit into agonies cauldron
As I cast my desperation and madness
After your now dead heart
Wailing the loss of your arms
I'm bound chained and denied

(clarice) 12/08/2011

Count Your Blessings Before They Fade

June 27, 2014

Count Your Blessings Before They Fade

 It was the first Christmas I remember
Maybe because it was 1944 and my dad lay wounded in a hospital
Shrapnel in his back from a German U-Boat attack
My uncles Julius and Louie were on ships in the South Pacific
And Uncles Art and Virgil were sailing somewhere
Their where about’s unknown

 I remember seeing
Against a white shower on a all but deserted road
Reverend Risenhauer’s 1936 Lincoln Zephyr a navy shadow
Emerging out of the swirls of snow
The old folks, women and children waiting his arrival
Had sons, brothers, fathers and husbands battling for freedom
On foreign soils and seven seas

 They’d came in cars, horse drawn sleighs and wagons
Families like the Griffins and their seven passengers
Ma and Pa German who’d picked up twenty parishioners along the way
All bundled up on the wagon bed their carols floating in the air
Small groups of walkers made their way against the stinging wind
And here and there a horse and rider could be seen

 In the Mt Morris Bank’s second story meeting room
We gathered that Christmas Eve
I didn’t know then, that we were one of five such groups
From Our Savior Lutheran Church that the good pastor visited
On a circuit route because gas was scarce then
So he came to us using the gas donated with their ration stamps

 I stood in front of the congregation a wee small girl
Dressed in red and shivering fright
To say my Bible verse
They gave us bags of peppermint and homemade taffy
And I wondered what I’d done to make my mommy cry
She told me she was wishing Daddy was there

 As a  slow tear baths  my cheek
I count my blessings before they fade
Christmas came again the following year
I said my bible verse in church
And mama cried happy tears
The war was over, daddy and my uncles had came home

 (clarice) 01/15/2012

Boom` Boom` Boom`

June 27, 2014





Boom` Boom` Boom` 

The stage door was open, they couldn’t resist

From inside the beat of drums calling

Boom` boom` boom`

ta ta doom,

ta` doom` doom` dooooom!


And through the entrance they quietly snuck

Through maddened inky, voltaic verve pulsating air

Fiendishly alive beating, repeating its throbbing

Boom` boom` boom` ta dooooom!


Onto a stage smokey with film of ebony piceous

Where Magnum Opus stood in Ahriman’s being

His tattooed arms reaching toward the heavens


They hid, this adventurous dual, behind a large stage prop

Not noticing its Mephilesic eyes searing through them

Or its eight arms pulsing, twinging with the drums


“Puuu-waaaaash-sssssssssss boom` boom` hiss

Boom` doom` doom` ta` dooooom!


Their eyes only on the witch doctor as he called

Oh Gregal you, who lives and blows from Mazaal

Hijikisan who rules the Great Seas

Cholerihib fire of the ages

And Shalrth God of the deep

I’ve been calling your names

Come rulers of the elements to this scarification


Boom` boom` boom`

ta ta doom,

ta` doom` doom` dooooom!


The drums echoed all round the room


From all sides came zombies in stage make-up

Their bodies adorned with Tribal African body art

Body painting and art tattoos of fierce power

Dancing skeletons bent on voodoo hoodoo

Gyrating, prostrating uncontrollable urges

Their jungle jitters a ritual dance


To the constant beat

Boom` boom` boom` ta dooooom!


The conjuring ceremonial dance evolves

While the film of smoke dance evil flows round

The Witch Doctor is firm in his intent

Calling out “The body I occupy is my hidden Bolero

From the deepest depths of my spirit

I seek the arms of the elements to accept our offering


“Puuu-waaaaash-sssssssssss boom` boom` hiss

boom` doom` doom` ta` dooooom!

Intensity building


“Brother this guy is high to the sky”

Let’s scram before they know we are here”

Too late, they found themselves bound by eight

Pulsing, twinging arms and laid on an altar of stone

Zulu warriors rung round dancing

The dance of the night of the living dead

In step with the drums


Boom` boom` boom`

ta ta doom,

ta` doom` doom` dooooom!


Magnum Opus smiled a sneering welcome to the two

And raised his arms once more

Oh Gregal you, who lives and blows from Mazaal

Hijikisan who rules the Great Seas

Cholerihib fire of the ages

And Shalrth God of the deep

Come rulers of the elements to this scarification

Accept now our sacrifices


The drums thundered

Boom` boom` boom` ta dooooom!


Green tentacles of smoke driven fire

And wave upon wave of hiiki weed filled the air

The elements dove and beat a rapid tattoo

Tearing the hapless duos clothing to shreds

Leaving them bound by the hiiki threads


And the beating increased

“Puuu-waaaaash-sssssssssss boom` boom` hiss

boom` doom` doom` ta` dooooom!


The satanic dancers circled closer and closer

The elements pushing their fierce powers

As the green tentacles of smoke heated the altar

The heat intense, searing, roasting the duo

Now sweating with fear for their lives


And those damn drums continued

Boom` boom` boom`

ta ta doom,

ta` doom` doom` dooooom!


The audience rose to their feet

Bravo, Bravo they cried

Their clapping in unison to the drum beats

Boom` boom` boom` ta dooooom!

As the curtain dropped.


(clarice) 06/23/2014




June 20, 2014




The shadow  gravely eclipsed in the rapine stained earth
Leaves its cadaverous berth
Still reeling its passing from life to surcease
It   floats above the scene
Watching the detectives
Taking stock of her grisly remains
A grim sight no longer budding innocence 
The once vital breathing waif –  lifeless
Her spirit gone
She grieves for her youth and all that is lost

A vertiginous issuance zephyr of lament and revenge
Her ghostly spirit begins her haunt
She cannot leave her miscreant  assailant
Angered that he is there enjoying his kill
Did they  not see
Did they not suspect
The lead detective flaunting, taunting them all
As he takes charge shaking with raging pretense
Her shadow passes over him and stalls

A keening wind whispering in the harsh twilight
Screaming ” I know who-oo , I know who-oo, I do”
Circled taunting the detective with a punishing bite
And the shadow with choking claws descends
He feels its length begin 
Tightening its long black form around his conscience
Maddening pressing the wind keeps taunting
The shadow tightens its  vengeance
Would it never end?
“When you confess, confess –  confess”
(clarice) 02/22/2014

Where Falls Not Hail, Or Rain, Or Any Snow

June 19, 2014


She was a girl with a suitcase full of dreams
With a ticket to ride for a visit
To a land of kings and queens
A bolting spirit looking to be lost in transit

The wind, the road and the way
And a bus named desire
Lure the young runaway
Pretty in polka dots, ancient expired

Waiting not the wrath of God
Her lament not to see a land again
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

Dark shadows scorpion is left behind
The road home is but a dream
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

Hang on to your hat and carry on
Abbadon’s sword is buried in hell
Nostalgia takes the form of a swan
Graceful satire flight from evils death knell

Now a lady in waiting, waiting at the bus stop
Her golden curls flying in the wind
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow

A waiting game she dare not lose
Returning to Bogan would be the final straw
Greed and lust, thrust, tentacles reaching, black and blue
The road ahead a beckoning freedom call

To a land of kings and queens
Freedoms dream takes her away from the land
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow


The plight of many young girls and boys is finding themselves lost
Not wanting to live in the abusive atmosphere that has been their lot
We all want to say it isn’t so. These desperate children searching for freedom
This poem is written for them

 “Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow”  from Tennyson’s Morte D’Arthur

Pooh Pooh

June 17, 2014


Slightly past tipsy
Waving her glass of whiskey
She declared
“Drinks all around, I’ve been skating
With the devil and survived”
“By any accepted standard I have had more than nine lives
I counted them up once and there were 13 times
I almost and maybe should have died”

A fellow at a nearby table
Laughed and said “Better hitch up your girdle
I think we’re about ta hear a Micky Mouse yarn.”

“Oh Pooh! Pooh!” she sneered
Sipped profusely from her ale-urn
And began:

“My first brush with death was
With a nightmare on Elm Street
An extremely ugly girl who attacked me
Using her pink Jordans like hammers
The volatile manic stomped me senseless
Left me hanging by my pinky finger
Defenseless against any devil’s trigger.”

The motor mouth heckler fell out of his chair
“Tootsie. This ain’t Disney World
And its not worth the price of admission
For a gander of whats under your hair.”

“Oh Pooh! Pooh” she retorted
Don’t rain on my parade you Mort
Turned to the crowd and continued her tale

The Awful Truth of this horror I experienced
Is never trust a Bosom Buddie with your pink ugg boots
When I asked for them back she attacked
Like a mama bear protecting her cubs, the brute
Tore, swore, scratched and left me lying on a railroad track
With a fast approaching diesel in route

She finished her whiskey in one swift gulp
Wiped her brow with a Micky Mouse,glove
The mouthy Psycho had tossed with his bull

Female Trouble she slurred
“Makes one a Topsy-Turvy Sweedie
Seven times I found my self at the point of a gun
Four times a knife wielding jelly had me on the run”

“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity
to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me”
“Cause in every instance I had to fight against their lethality
Pop an atomic fireball from the nearest snack machine
Become a street fighter and fight for my life”

“Is it any wonder I’m not Dancing in the Street
But Slightly past tipsy in this dive
With my buddy the heckler watching your reaction
To this fib I’ve told when you find out –
Smile – You’re on candid camera!”



People Out On The Street.

June 15, 2014

I think that the words here can never be viewed enough

Singingclarice's Blog

          People Out On The Street.
        By Todd A. Carter and (clarice)

        People out on the street..
        walk around in defeat….
        Beggin’ for blankets but.
        settling for sheets
        Tattered and ragged with blistered feet!
        and all the while the media tries..
        to separate the blue from the skies..
        feeding us lies and alibis..
        while the world cries…
        Not the leaders though….
        acting like they don’t know…

        Down in the ghetto up on the hill
        pills, booze and weed give temporary thrills
        Molly’s got a friend who turns the key
        once more to be preyed upon by demons harsh sea
        Fly to the sky in a ship of maggots
        Eating your soul like bandits
        A table of Angel Dust the tea service
        the glass house crumbles into hells thermos

View original post 274 more words

The Pitch

June 11, 2014

Baseball and Buttercups – topic suggested by Larry Kuechin

The Pitch

Crowd roars its wave round Steel field
Two batters retired with heated bullets
Counting the moments till strike three is sealed
Pin drop quiet ensues round the stadium
Pitcher winds and fires a twisting wheel of zeal
A moment`, pause`, ball four`, its goose mania
Mob hell swells sweat beads on umpire and hurler
The pennant is waving just out of reach
Jackhammer bruiser is hovering at the plate
Gestured finger jesture on first base tendered
Caught, held in grimace then returned
War is declared in that instant
The pitch underway, low ball burn
Second fly cruises` middle dominant
Third away, fourth a bender with finance
Ace highsteps lets loose his best
Jackhammer bombs over center fence
No second chances, or victory dances
Buttercups and ticket stubs blow cross the field

(clarice) 06/11/2014


Arlingtons Ghosts , A Soldiers Diary

June 9, 2014

A Soldiers Diary (collab with Stormy Gail Dormire)

Our fallen warriors’ cavalier forces
Proud unbowed, those hallowed faces in crowded traces
Fighting, firing, biting, diving knights
Of valor and honor, in battle midst they duel
Red, white and blue their call to glory
Arlington’s diaries of stories, scary await in this tomb

As the smoke wafts and begins to rise, heads bow while souls lift open eyes
Hold the cries…these were chosen flights…exposing plights
Darkness ran the day, but they owned the night with exploding lights
Woven bright as wings flowed with might, angelic type…coded lives
Read the diaries…they are written in the Lambs Book by lightening
Before hands shook, before their souls were took…it was blessed in writing

In trenches, drenched in blood, death and endless tension they crowd
Their fears, tears and experiences spilled upon lives pages
Outpouring each skirmish, rifle shot, friend lost, death they wrought
Combatants torn, ragged tired, proud…turned eyes and cries to avow wars crimes
As blood ran red, men lie dead, souls part for heaven and damnation through time
Leaving only the Letters home, journals, hurried scribbles…fervid penned phrases
Packed and tucked in black pockets of despair

Pockets get emptied and boxed as bodies placed in flag covered coffins
Screen doors creak; followed by a knock…it happens way too often
Broken down mother read the tales of honor, survival and of fear
Stories of bullets, blood and bombers, she ponders with eyes covered in tears
Families would gladly trade the word “Hero” for “Alive” if only given the chance
Freedom is not free; it’s paid by the lives of those who will not advance
So as the letters and diaries are placed in their final box of memories
We pray for all the fallen soldiers, who defended us from all our enemies

06/08/2014 David LuckyLefty Cardenas and (clarice)

Burn Baby Burn

June 2, 2014


Burn Baby Burn

Lily unsurpassed in lithesome grace
Catching fire in the rising pyre
Color red, Encased in lace all ablaze
Entrances many a suitor into hell fire
Their hearts up in flames
From spontaneous combustion of desire

The devils hand a pyromania of insanity
Undead energy rose from the inferno
The shining skeletal fire stroked her vanity
Incubus of fire and ice eternal
He torched her inner salacity
With fingers of tentacled bliss

He played her innocence
With supernatural spellbound strokes
Burning ice inflaming claiming
Whispers from under her petticoats
I’m all afire burning for you
Rapturous haven of pleasures fondue

Under tutelage a hell-raiser clary
Lily glowed no more for her devil
To late learning hell hath no fury
Her color red, encased in lace all ablaze
Gone with the wind in a flurry
Burnt ashes rued regret


(clarice) 06/02/2014