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David McClellan

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FOLLOWING POEMS SUBMITTED BY: David P. McClellan -- Poet's Bio

To Be Together

He could gain no ground, distance, the miles harried him.
Laughter born to frustration, clenched fists pounded rim
of the bitter bowl disappointment served, he called
out, with strangled voice, her name, climbed the walls

to find another wall, tall and slick remoteness mocking
him. The crow fluttered swinging low cawing, locking
derision to his heart. Left him questioning his strength
to carry on and not fall exhausted emotion's length

weary, but bolstered with love of her presence. Fashioning
words to flow and rhyme and tell of his silent passioning.
The crow, black as midnight, cawed in his ear, dragging
a wing sharp across his brow, as he turned for the tagging,

a mark on his cheek to remind him he was not the final solution.
He bent his hand to the task, words that must convey resolution
to value each day's conversation, the nuances and sharing
high regard, his adoration. He clung to messages of caring.

There would arrive the day he would meet her, to see her
and touch her hand. He would listen in golden silence sure
of her intention to join him beyond friendship and facing
what the world would offer them together, close embracing.


The Knowing Of You

I am lost in these new feelings.
I have no regret.
But I have fear.
I am not as bold as I thought.
And I am not the same.
I am new with the meeting of you.
I am most foreign to myself.
The days are empty, but those nights
with you
are most amazing to me.

I wish I could keep every moment
in glass.
I am growing
with the knowing of you.
I am pleased with my response.
That I would care so much
within me.
My heart possesses me.
I am beyond the horizon
of my dreams, my dreams.

I want to follow passion in wing.
I find I am strong, now,
with my single desire.
There is a place for me
in love's design.
I am open, revealed.
My need is naked.
I stand at a cliff
and let the wind
blow in my face.

This is my Spring, a newborn time.
There is no winter here.
My thoughts have joined
with my emotions.
I lay down my head
but can not sleep.
Excitement feeds me.
I have found someone
in the vast sea of people.
It is You.


What We Will Be

We could call it a river of light,
shining rivulets spread fingers
to cautiously shield
a delicate find.
There is a special current,
sensitive in bright ripples
that play into pools
of clear shelter.
The sun glides across wavelets
with a pulsing warmth,
lays in crystal depths
so revealing.

We could call it a grain of sand,
each one of a thousand
unique and bold
in the structure.
It can build the most complex of cities,
carve the hardest woods,
transform into glass,
a work of beauty.
It graces the shores of the seas.
It is desert simple
and clean with majesty
of whitened grace.

We could call it a mountain,
rising to meet the sky,
shoulders forested
in redolant pine.
The ridges rise in purple
to meet the new day,
the call of the songbird
a greeting.
The peak is a lonely place,
but the ice has melted
and flows into a fresh stream
to give life.

We will call it your heart,
that asks for nothing
but the returning
of gracious love.
Tender is the placing
of trust broken more
than once. A
hard tragedy.
I will place it next to mine
and care for it
with all that I am,
what we will be.



Imagining talking to you face to face,
looking into your eyes and drowning in them.
Holding your hand and squeezing it,
and getting a squeeze back.
Listening to your hopes, dreams and desires.
Sharing mine.
Listening to your laugh.

Imagining listening to your children,
and talking to them, and playing with them.
Watching them grow up,
and sharing in that.
Maybe one day,
hear them calling me Dad.

Imagining you in a gay summer dress,
whirling and prancing across green meadows.
Then sitting down so happy and gay,
to open the picnic basket,
and set out it's contents.

Imagining you in front of a fire,
wine swirling in a crystal glass,
a fine dew of moisture,
on your upper lip,
the firelight highlighting your hair.

Imagining you walking sprightly,
through the autumn air,
talking out plans and ideas.
Asking me my opinion,
and listening to my thoughts.

Imagining the gentle puff of your breath,
on the nape of my neck,
as you sleep,
the soft swell of your breasts tucked
into my shoulder blades,
your long, silken thigh
against my leg.

All Poems - Copyright 2000 DPMcClellan

Bio: David McClellan originally hails from New Orleans, Louisiana. He is a graduate of Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge, with a BA in news/editorial journalism. After knocking around at add jobs in management fields, he joined the Navy in 1984. He served for 15 years as a Chief Journalist/ Broadcaster. He has traveled extensively. He is currently retired and resides in Kansas City, KS. His web page "Poetry in Notion" can be read at www.geocities.com/kcstargoat/index.html.

Inspirations: New and lost love, Bipolarism, my high school creative writing teacher, too much coffee, the love of good reading and all the people slogging this planet with me.

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