My literary musings and creations
Carl Shakey married Becky Tree
became my parents
so I was
Chuck Shakey-Tree
a few months ago I married
the beautiful daughter of
George Dull and Brenda Axe
my new bride, Charly
told me today of our pending child
I ponder the burdensome name for a child
to learn to spell
Carl or Carla
Shakey-Tree-Dull-Axe
O, let America be America again –
The land that never has been yet –
And yet must be— Langston Hughes
Children are foolish
to be born of parents
with no parenting skills
or the temerity
to be sick or malnourished
or to have nothing
and come to a land of plenty
or commit the crime
of darker skin, different tongue
as a nation proclaiming God
and rejecting His will
can we provide
for the least of these?
Say Rick, old partner, old hoss
it’s about time
for you to pack up your bags
and ride on out of Austin
I grew up thinkin’ I had the smarts
to decide a few things for myself
Maybe others feel the same way
Maybe folks with darker skins want
to vote and have it count
Maybe some women
don’t want you running their lives
You got your tail in a bit of a crack
when you tangled with Wendy Davis
fussed at her like your wayward kid sister
when you didn’t get your way
She put on her runnin’ shoes
and stood up for us commoners
The third point I want to make is ….
well hold on to your britches while I think of it—
I guarantee it’s important
just skipped my mind
If world leaders had ears
they could hear people crying
not for want of treasure
but for their hunger
for need of care
for desire of equality
and for the children
If world leaders had eyes
they could see their people hurting
not for opulent mansions
but for freedom from oppression
for freedom from brutality
for freedom from humiliation
for freedom from ignorance
for freedom to find a better life
for their children
If world leaders had arms
they could reach out to their people
not for purpose of boast or brag
but for want of bringing comfort
for want of aiding the aged
for want of embracing the sick
for want of lifting the fallen
especially the children
If world leaders had hearts
they could feel their people’s need
not turn their backs and glance away
but be filled with compassion and grace
be filled with knowledge of what is right
be filled with love for people, not wealth
and have the wisdom of children.
Hal C Clark – June 5, 2011 rev
Our world is still filled with violence, terrorism, hatred, and other maladies. I wish it wasn’t so, but this is where we are. In spite of what we have, I still like to imagine a better world and solutions to our problems. Saying they don’t exist doesn’t solve anything. For me, a major problem is in what there is too little of.
We are here, on this earth
In this life,
for one purpose:
to love and be loved.
Any activity which does not
promote this purpose
is wrong.
We all differ in our opinions, and that is as it should be. I see no constructive purpose in attacking the person who doesn’t agree with our opinion. Discuss the differences, yes. Try to work out a solution, yes. Attack the person as if he is the enemy, no
We have enough enemies in our lives, among our nations, without recruiting new ones. In my dream world, I imagine living life with peace in my soul. There are others in the world who believe as I do. It is time to stand for our beliefs and speak out.
How sad to see
so much humanity
filled with green bile,
masked in seething sneers,
wrapped in the cloak
of hatred, and
shod with greed and avarice,
delivering pain and humiliation
in the name of righteousness.
–
Where does love
grow its gentle tendrils
among such stony soils?
–
Where can they find
a valley within
for the vivid flow of compassion?
–
How can they force themselves
to live in this prison;
their own creation
of wretched hell?
–
Hal C Clark – May 21, 2011
This is a strange land,
A tumbled, upside-down land
Where our economic woes are caused by
the elderly and the poor,
the sick and weak
and the children.
Where the elite on Wall Street,
proclaiming total innocence,
harvest great wealth and power
from our financial losses.
Where we demonstrate our peacefulness by
spending our resources waging war on other nations
and killing more civilians
than soldiers.
Where we boast of equal rights for all
while denying rights
to the impoverished
or those of certain
races, cultures, religions.
Where speaking freely of your dreams or opinions
can brand you as
a traitor.
Where we can dream a dream
of the Constitution’s America,
the United States of America,
and hope someday we can all
make it real.
Hal C Clark – April 21, 2011
I get very tired of hearing how the lower and middle class are the reason we are having economic problems in the United States. According to members of congress, if we could just eliminate spending on education for our children and let the elderly die off instead of taking care of them, our nation would create more wealth. I, for one, am ready to move away from more wealth for the wealthy and set our sights on prosperity for the nation.
The poorest Americans pay the highest percent of their income on taxes. I realize they often don’t pay Federal income taxes. I have heard it said that half of all Americans pay no Federal income taxes, but that is because their earnings put them below the poverty level. But they do pay the property taxes on the apartments they rent, sales taxes on purchases, and any overhead and taxes from the services they use (utilities, transportation, etc.) These Americans tend to spend almost all of their income each month at the retail level.
The middle class pays most of the income taxes in America. My tax rate, all considered, is about ten percent higher than that of the Koch brothers because they can afford the tax attorneys to hide income and defraud the system. The business expenses in this “small” business include several private jets, numerous houses and vacation lodges, and any cars they might want.
Cerrtainly, we need to increase revenue and reduce spending in order to catch up with our debt, but why put all the burden on the lower and middle class whose splending carries our economy. The top three percent, who control seventy percent of the wealth in this country, spend less than one percent of their income at the retail level, whereas middle income families spend most of their income at the retail level. Ninety-seven percent of americans are working with 30 percent of American wealth, which is why the income of lower and middle income families continues to drop while the income of the wealthiest climbs at an exponential rate.
My frustration at seeing some of the wealthiest Americans being able to buy power to control the government of this country is apparent. I can’t change the direction we are headed by myself. Some corrections must be made. As I said earlier, I think it is time to move away from more wealth for the wealthy and toward prosperity for the Nation.
It is time to speak out about how we feel. A silent majority has no power. Be bold.
I remember that night
when I was just eight
and Mom was passed out with
the glass still in her hand.
It plays in my head like a
scary movie
that never ends.
As I lay in my bed on
the edge of sleep,
a knife of dim light
washed over my pillow and disappeared.
I trembled as I listened to him
breathe in the dark.
*
He had never come into my room,
this man who lived with Mom.
He sat on my bed and the springs
shrieked in protest as
he placed his hand gently on my chest,
driving tears from my eyes,
the breath from my lungs,
and leaving a stain of fear
on my nightgown
where he touched me.
*
Still quiet,
he pulled my hands away from me to
a part of him that was
hot and swollen,
his pumping blood beating a
tempo against my hands
like tiny drums.
I cried out when he pushed his fingers
into a private part of me
and cut me into
small pieces.
I closed my eyes and hid what was left
in a hollow place
deep inside me.
*
He moved my hands on
himself, breathing more quickly until
he made a small sound and
there was wetness on my
hands and arms
that felt like glue.
Don’t tell your mom
what you did, he said,
and left as quietly as he came.
*
He has invaded my room often
since that night,
but using that angry, hateful part of him
instead of fingers and
each time taking away
a small part of me.
*
Three years and
I have nothing left.
He has taken away
all of me
that was me.
I can give no more.
As he comes through my door,
eager,
bare and ready,
and climbs on my bed,
I reach beneath my pillow,
place the blade against his chest,
and watch as it disappears.
Hal C Clark – February 2011
Each year, thousands of children are sexually abused, usually by someone they know well. The children are scarred for the rest of their lives, although many eventually learn to cope with the pain. They don’t understand why these things happen to them, often believing it is their fault or that they deserve such treatment. We are all familiar with the stories of priests molesting young boys because these stories make the headlines. So many of the cases we never hear about, but the victims are still all around us. This is a cancer of our society and MUST be stopped.
I do not believe killing is the answer to anything, so it surprised me when the line “I reached beneath my pillow” came to me and I let the victim have the last word. It says something about the desperation, humiliation, degradation, and futility of the experience. I decided to let it stand. It is time to do something about this problem, and public awareness is the first step.
Please leave a comment and let me know how you feel.
Who were they?
Four young girls
dressing in choir robes
within a church.
What was their crime?
They concealed within their cells
the wrong DNA,
too much pigment
in their skin.
What did they want?
They asked for respect,
their American rights,
to keep their dignity
and opportunity.
Their sentence:
Death by dynamite,
by men shrouded in
white robes
and hoods.
Executed this date,
no appeal.
Hal C Clark – April, 2011
We recently visited Birmingham, AL and explored the downtown area where we came upon the church where the bombing took place. I was saddened by the thought of the hatred that caused this tragic event. These four young girls never had a chance to grow up, have children of their own, or enjoy the progress in race relations to come. As William Stafford would say, it was a failure of compassion.
I have been away from this blog for a while, but I hope now to be posting new work each week.
They haunt me in my briefest sleep,
They’re never far away,
Their shattered bodies stay with me
In the night or light of day.
From somewhere came a storm of fire;
We fired back at the place.
Women’s screams and children’s cries,
Red-spattered on each face.
Mothers and their small children
Lay in gory refrains,
And nowhere can the guns be found
‘Mid twisted, torn remains.
Shards of a loving family,
A grimace shrouds each face,
Embrace in bloody agony, their
Bodies like antique lace.
How can these be my enemies?
No guns or arm held high,
There, children’s cherub faces
Without a will to die.
I’m in a constant battle,
And one I did not wage.
I’m here to do my duty,
Then turn another page.
No stranger, then, to murder,
But like a sin to me.
To take life from another,
Not what I want to be.
In this keen internal strife,
My mind cannot resolve.
The killer and compassion
In acute torment revolve.
And so, I can’t get past the pain,
The noise and solitude.
I see the masks of those I’ve slain,
Feel guilt I can’t elude.
They visit me in briefest sleep.
They do not go away.
Their anguished eyes stare back at me
Through each tormented day.
Hal C Clark – November 11, 2010
Veterans Day
This is a tribute to the men and women who endanger their lives to fight in our wars. Some are killed, some have physical injuries, while others have psychological injuries not easily seen or evaluated. Trauma to the mind is just as debilitating as a physical injury, and to those brave men and women who suffer this kind of injury, I dedicate this poem.
I am an ambassador from Nutopia
And proudly fly our pure white flag
My heart often yearns to go home again
So in dreams I visit and dwell without fear.
But there are no roads to take me there,
There are no armies, no treasures anyone would want.
And we all get along and let all have a life.
Defenders collect aggressors who threaten their essence.
Why do so many hold in their hearts
Hatred and avarice, intemperance, greed?
My thanks to John* for inviting me there
To a homeland sans strife bringing peace to my soul.
So I dream of that day, of that glorious day
When I can go home.
Hal C Clark – Sept, 2010
*John Lennon
I don’t know how many John Lennon fans are in this group, but one thing he was dedicated to was peace. Nutopia was a mythical land of his imagination, and it is a place I would like to visit, if not live. I can never understand why people must hate each other but I feel it must be based on greed, selfishness, or insecurity. I feel sorry for people who do not have the capacity to love unconditionally, as God loves us. He loves us no matter what we do. In that, we can be truly thankful.
Hal C Clark's Blog 