It's November and it's alright. I only want to be here now. I don't long for Christmas. Pure existence in the Here and Now will do.
Hereby another poem, another work of my own. It's about the colour green, of verdure; I have a green period now, as it were. The poem is something of a borderline piece, bordering on the parodic as well as the fantastic. You choose where the emphasis lies.
I hit the sack in my four-poster bed
with a four-leaf clover under my head.
Then I trail off into lands unseen
with a clarkashtonesque, jewelry sheen...
There I dance with a heavenly sprite
on a flowery meadow lush, green and bright.
Starry-eyed I sail over ground
to a secret pool where I can’t be found.
I dive in the water, I’m finding a stone,
a crystalline object, an emerald throne.
I sit on the throne like a submarine king
and I’m falling asleep as the fish start to sing.
The next thing I know, I’m awake in my bed
with an emerald gem lying under my head.
The four-leaf clover has somehow been changed
into a precious stone – am I deranged...?
Or maybe it’s so, that what we see in our dreams
is more than meets the eye, more than it seems?
The Poetry and Purple Prose of Clark Ashton Smith
Ascended Masters: Some Info
Caza: The Ark
More Poems on This Blog
Pic Åke Ehrenberg