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 we see, 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