john clare poetry


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The Moon Fell Down

I have a thin
moon of my own
bent like
a saucer
to catch the
dust of stars

last night
it fell
into a bush
I tried

a rescue but
it slid

into a crevice
in the hillside

maybe
tonight
I'll find
another

The Nightingale

I am the nightingale
and I sing
because I cannot sleep
and so my voice
searches in the dark
for those who care

I am the nightingale
wound up
by the spring of life
that makes me sing
so many stories

to those I cannot see

I am the nightingale
Hear me and rejoice
that I
although I cannot sleep
have found a beauty in my soul
that I can share with you

There were no Goodbyes

death is such a simple thing
it creeps in without a sound
and leaves
like a thief

with everything you have

who heard you call
as you tried to crawl
towards the telephone?
the tipped sideways clock?
the crumpled carpet?
the saliva dried upon the tiles?

  
they are not telling

who said goodbye
to that silent cry
that no-one heard
i look around

at the indifferent chairs

and the bedding on the floor
   but they did not hear

i replace the contents of your bag
shut a door
check the fridge

   but dont know why

a small red light
glows from the worktop
i switch it off and touch a bowl
the coffee's hot

i drink your coffee
slowly

on the verandah

two golden oriels fly into the trees
while the breeze lifts the leaves
like a million miniskirts
but not a single one is yours