Imagining
Imagining talking to you face to face,
looking into your eyes and drowning in them.
Holding your hand and squeezing it,
and getting a squeeze back.
Listening to your hopes, dreams and desires.
Sharing mine.
Listening to your laugh.
Imagining listening to your children,
and talking to them, and playing with them.
Watching them grow up,
and sharing in that.
Maybe one day,
hear them calling me Dad.
Imagining you in a gay summer dress,
whirling and prancing across green meadows.
Then sitting down so happy and gay,
to open the picnic basket,
and set out it's contents.
Imagining you in front of a fire,
wine swirling in a crystal glass,
a fine dew of moisture,
on your upper lip,
the firelight highlighting your hair.
Imagining you walking sprightly,
through the autumn air,
talking out plans and ideas.
Asking me my opinion,
and listening to my thoughts.
Imagining the gentle puff of your breath,
on the nape of my neck,
as you sleep,
the soft swell of your breasts tucked
into my shoulder blades,
your long, silken thigh
against my leg.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 3/12/00
New Horizons
She comes into his life soothing balms to his mind,
a friend quickly touching his heart with writing lines
penned carefully to drying ink indelible but last
he wants it to, a sharing of himself, feelings cast.
She writes to him of his life's stories told to her,
in sharing wants to shoulder burdens and were
solutions, fresh perspective not offered to salve?
She absorbs him, worries of his illness, dark path.
She fills him with astonishment, the sheer pleasure
brought with personality changes in some measure
his way of looking at life, of seeing black and white
transforms to colors pastels and luminous bright.
He knows her gentleness in words he tries to say,
but fears inadequate attempting emotions still may
bring the fool to court, as deeper he delves in
the heart, as it lays bare and tender, hopes to win.
Her femaleness lightning strikes into him, a main
nerve to shake his head in desirous awe and feign
control, which is not there. A gnawing hunger sets
his body to rushing need, bewildered, owing debts.
Her charity is voluminous in breadth and treatment
of others, who share not a kindness, but slyly tax rent
on her soul freely given and no charging profit sought,
no bill to answer, no questions, recriminations wrought.
He turns inside himself, shadow to light, black to red
passion behind a calmer pouring, ecstatic, he is led
on a roaming kaleidoscope, what was once hinterland.
He has burst bands of memories, time's bruising sand.
She instills a newness in him, invigorating freshness
blows through his bones and muscles, stimulating fastness.
He squares his shoulders, looks into the mirror to see
a man who may deserve her, poised to capture reality.
He leads himself from a low tunnel, blocking gates
fallen, decayed. Brilliance marks a staircase, waits
no longer, one step before the other, excitement well
accompanies his exodus to a distant pealing bell.
She is a journey through meadows speckled yellow,
blue, red, a rainbow arching in clear skies mellow,
as clean, cold mountain air carries her tenderness
with exotic meaning to clarify his new eagerness.
He knows what love is, a churning rivulet silting hard,
to cut rivers swollen with twisted flotsam from the guard
ship, holds brimming old hurts, sinking on its chain.
He drinks of clear waters from a shore clear of pain.
He feels a pressure, welling force raising him beyond
his noted limit marks to a new plateau and bond
with a telling knowledge that she is the one fate
he chooses, a freedom new, to love, to wait.
New horizons tease before him, full of promise to
make a life he thought had passed him by. Who
he was to gain affections, he marvels, he thrills
to form a union, she to join him as they will.
� 1999 David P. McClellan
Arch 3/12/00
Steel Bullet Gun
Tis not a mocking of the mouth,
hard with desire
with fresh red glint from,
the tip of tongue with fire.
In knots desire surpentine,
it is not fair,
no fair.
There is no divining seed to lay,
not a share.
Rest from the war of battles,
scale the crusted red
from blades bent to purpose,
count the living dead.
The path lies in a bone yard,
old wounds,
fears,
wonderings about things
lost, old doubts, tears.
The new carnation opens
fresh petals white in the light.
Stamen curl in gold dust,
the long green stem to sight.
and root in the firmament,
the earth.
The scent
is redolent of lost Octobers, gray skies,
rains bent.
I will settle the nags,
the old nags,
and build a new trust.
A sense of being with one's own
and a true
creation of contentment with another.
The young
hold the reigns of the charger
that wants racing
to the sun.
It must be my moment in life,
only the moment
of greatest concern
to my happiness, the rent,
I will pay
far ahead of time. There is no stop in
my attitude. It is alert, with
small walls dropping.
I am the laughter,
a deep-seated song to sing.
I am pure enjoyment,
what can this bring?
Contentment, sense of being
with, not without.
I take comfort in your presence.
Just being, shout.
Just being is enough
to excite me, enhance
the seeing
and deliver to
your happenstance
the compilation which is me.
Pardon,
the line in the sand is erased. It is
our mutual time.
There is one moment,
a picture of family,
of someone that is wanted.
Can you see
that my thoughts
remain on you?
I've won.
Love is a steel bullet gun.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00
He Wants
He wants to see her, look at her, gaze into crystal green eyes,
losing self spun in whirlpools, rush the current, find what mystery lies,
fumbling for questions, find the voice, lost to speculation,
galaxies in emerald depths, confusion, emulation.
He wants to drink her, absorb her, a thousand voltage lace his brain,
blood prickling inside, his face grown hot, forehead waxy paper plane.
Her arms, her legs, her body speaks in photos of poetry in stillness,
begging motion, face winged grace, flows projecting selfless.
He wants to touch her, slip the smoothing surface, follow
cheek to ear, throat pulses rhythm, falls sloping through a hollow,
ends so near the swelling bosom quivering with each sweet breath taken in.
Helpless stare traces curves and roundings, flaring tempest within.
He wantsto taste her, savor her back of the tongue, pungently
flavored richly bodied, of summer wind and winter fire smoke, urgently
savoring the tang of perfume, the salt and soap of scented fresh air,
swallow her as a whole gorged deliciousness sating hunger fair.
He wants to know her, listen to her thoughts, believe her will,
understand wants, needs and desires when the mind stands still.
Peruse personality, discover depths in kindness, good caring empathy,
pathways to anger, sorrow. Study reason, passion, burgeon sympathy.
Time is out of focus for him, it matters not except when she is gone,
he roams the pastures of his heart to ease the emptiness. Then dawns
as she arrives in spiriting miles of stretched black cable lines.
He raises his head and blooms to ready wit and purpose finds.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 3/12/00
It is How
The surging is tremendous, incredible in strong pangs,
The power is of lightning, it shouts with groaning strains.
This is not pain, but there is confusion of normal thought.
This is a gripping cacophony beyond what can be taught.
There is a folding soft pressure, almost a bursting sigh.
There is rushing in the veins, the flushed skin raises high.
There is no weaving logic thread to this plain blatant thrill.
There is no way to move around it. It will not be still.
It is almost pure motion, a rounding, curving closed wheel.
It follows one direction, one bold notion of tempered steel.
It brings a flame to flare in the night. It lights the way.
It is a stone that strikes a pond. The ripples stay to play.
It is the wind that blows the sands of the desert dune.
It is the fair mother of desire. It clamors to be soon.
It is like an autumn day, reds and golds in death
live on. There is no stopping of its sultry breath.
It is food for me, the thin hungry child, learning of it.
It is of nature found at last. I must gather to my wit.
It is a star glowing in the black, to my path it shines.
It is the dew to slake my thirst, it is the best of finds.
It burns in its demands, shearing away all concerns.
It strikes with sure aim into the heart and it returns
every day with the sure coming of sunrise. It is hot
with driven need. It cuts the core to panic wrought.
It is elemental and ancient, known through the ages.
It has fought the battles of men, it turns the pages
of life and what we know of it. It follows me now.
I can call it love, but that is a small word. It is how.
� 2000 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00
2 Meeting
Gliding yellow petals move pale overheading stretchs
ghosted marshmallow floats drift aimless on the whim.
Underneath not the two see the ragged,
but meld in place, time.
Aching seeking niche,
trial matters ever,
closely heralding,
a delicate junction.
Emerald brushes splay currents speaking scent unplayed
blossom now. The trumpets errant rooting had
cause to bed now softly laid, she
touched the other, light.
Trailing glossy skin,
treat fibrous hardening,
maniacal edging,
smiling entropy.
Tips his fingers orchestrate in form a yielding feather.
Silken rushing belied frustration steps
the creaking, knotted wood in
junction rattles hoarsely.
Long rushes sighs,
eating very sun,
swallows essence,
surrender's peak.
The bodies upset passioning emotive script left wanting,
the tides swept ever closer. Warmed
expression claws a surfacing
to grappling to tolls.
Ends meet, center.
Voice lacks substance,
shallows, dried shores,
blood swells below.
Entwining forms pulsation sweeping remnants forward,
fallow rearing dark horse rising ashes
resting brings triumphantly to
bay requited love.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00
An Explanation
It drifts step by one step, specific drops of water on a white page.
Stares at its stripes. Takes away
strict purpose.
Taps the pipes keening.
Strips it to the bones.
Flags fall to clatter stiff. Tilts, clicks and sifts.
Two times it ticks to take, talent cannot speak, cannot take time.
Tears the bricks. Turns to
past tasker.
Scales the blotted test.
Tailors a kind havoc.
The pointed marks tide. Seals the rift frost.
It tolls, yet tolls the tolls, patterns to a permanence a bold splice.
Keeps the called. Parts the
cold protection.
Shatters brittle shells.
It teems a new thing. Tracks the healing tendrils.
It etches pretty, tunes to sensativity a whole bright light, basks
in heat trustful. Carries the tight weight,
tiered, sectioned.
Carts up the talus.
Talks to active subjects parsing the sentences written.
There is the thinking, left threadbare, toils at reflection masked
in the birthing. This is a tapestry
untorn, fresh to
the interpretation.
It is romantic, taut in nature, barren of duplicity.
It is innocence not tarnished, it ties serpentine, predictions
lack substance. It is pleasure,
hedonistic, tall.
The can'ts are torn
from thick sockets. It is riches, trepidation glints.
It coats the coating, scrawls in cryptograph the rest of
tales in truth. Tends infatuation
as the tartness.
It towers, tames
taunting scripts. It takes, cries to give. It is love.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00
What We Will Be
We could call it a river of light,
shining rivulets spread fingers
to cautiously shield
a delicate find.
There is a special current,
sensitive in bright ripples
that play into pools
of clear shelter.
The sun glides across wavelets
with a pulsing warmth,
lays in crystal depths
so revealing.
We could call it a grain of sand,
each one of a thousand
unique and bold
in the structure.
It can build the most complex of cities,
carve the hardest woods,
transform into glass,
a work of beauty.
It graces the shores of the seas.
It is desert simple
and clean with majesty
of whitened grace.
We could call it a mountain,
rising to meet the sky,
shoulders forested
in redolent pine.
The ridges rise in purple
to meet the new day,
the call of the songbird
a greeting.
The peak is a lonely place,
but the ice has melted
and flows into a fresh stream
to give life.
We will call it your heart,
that asks for nothing
but the returning
of gracious love.
Tender is the placing
of trust broken more
than once. A
hard tragedy.
I will place it next to mine
and care for it
with all that I am,
what we will be.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00
Social Street
They walk along the streets in sunlight
shadows pass and leave no mark on
cracked sidewalks bear their weight,
can't complain of standing, waiting
still peruse the crowding gaggle
that gathers for the accident to
soak the pain to fearing's bitter thrill.
Mothers, fathers, children wander,
heads in brown, crumpled paper sacks,
not pausing to reflect on blindness
learned from generations turned
over in their sleep and farting loud,
keep it secret, cover the offensive action,
pretend it didn't happen, not one day.
Young men and women, and not so young,
drape the corners street lights sucking in
moths to land and burn gossamer
thin wings not caring in their
desire to find themselves a place,
a voice in the babble speaking nonsense
doesn't wear a jacket from the cold.
"I don't know you," screams the monkey
gesticulating frantically in his space
violated, can not hear with hands to
ears, eyes jerking to a jitterbug,
face blanching flat a forward
frown, smell the trepidation oozing
best left to be a creature of the zone.
The child is angry in his running, jostling
legs with shoulders bent, not afraid to
screech his discontent and kick away
the unsolved dilemma that
picks away at love he thought.
Do not touch him. Leave him to his
enchanted misery. Labeled prurient goes to jail.
Liveried in light blues, silver totem on the breast,
the hand rests securely, 9 millimeter butt,
the gaze is serenely hiding the
itching pictures turning whole
scenarios of futures, fate still
a question,"Who will be the one to stop
me in my tracks?," snorting banter, Why...go home.
I select myself a racing stall for rats
and launch into red frothing piles of
ants bundling and mouthing gut
somethings to create cacophony.
Riotous reticulation bears a mantle
far ignorant, yet simple in repression, must
escape beyond the walling, grappling nesting tribes.
Faces blend a gritty tableau struggling lost
in shifting mazes clutching sands traversing
pungent masses hither gaining still.
A scaffold erection sprawls repeating
foisting welcomings to straddle
lonely players fetching to collect moments in
the sun. Night's dream-wrapped solitude a gifting.
� 1999 DPMcClellan
Arch 4/21/00