Lydia Leigh Clarke

gedichte/ poems


brown shadowed stone wall
clothed in sturdy rose bush green
stretches to the end of this unknown garden

every few minutes a crow sails by
his efforts’ tempo
contrasting with the slow waving ochre below

I know there are seagulls near
searching for ocean fruits
laid bare to the rhythm of the day

-july 2018


just wait

and listen

like a muscle slowly loosening

out of an unnatural stiffness

stretching again





Wir haben unser Innerstes
und geliebt


mit den Widersprüchen
die uns nahe sind
das Schimmernde
in der Weite gesehen


die Stimme
wird in meinen Kugelschreiber gelegt.
Mein Körper,
mein lebendiger Körper
muss warten,
die Energie verwandeln
in denkende Worte
mit Stille umgeben.





after the winter solstice
and candlemas


it’s been a mild winter so far
biking under blue skies
not as a must

but because the crows are gathering
calling and dancing in prenuptial rites
over the newly plowed fields

robins appear again searching for worms
throwing wet leaves aside
digging frantically
like dogs


if we can’t forgive
then we’re forever bound to the past

move on through the seasons
from light to dark and back again

and smell the plowed earth





winter is here. the sun has been shining this week and makes the cold bearable.

I’m reminded of last winter, the end of it, when the grey skies didn’t lift for weeks and it felt as though a weight lay on my chest and my heart could hardly stand it – sombre and restless.

now I look at the coming winter and the past summer and the extremes.

the gnus are migrating by the thousands into kenya because the rains in the serengeti are two months late and there isn’t enough water or grass to live.

the wind blows through the cracks in my apartment, fire in the oven.