Mad Poet?

Oh! for the madness of John Clare
to hear the angels on the air
and the music of their wings
to scribe the poetry they sing.

I yearn for blessed insanity
lost Edens in the world to see
to picture them in rhythm’d rhymes
and paint them with such saintly lines.

what fear do passing seasons hold
when such stories have been told
of beauty’s scars upon the earth
and how from death comes rebirth.

Oh! for the madness of John Clare
to mark the sacred everywhere
despite dark Hell’s corrupt intent
such souls define the heaven sent.


I saw you in a cloud today
painted silver
as the afternoon sun
hid himself
from the coming storm

I fancy time stood still today
that the planet
had its measure run
parted as we were
from each other’s calm.

I held this thought of you today
in this new serenity
of a world now gone
‘cept for treasured memories
and their gentle balm.