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Helena at Dawn

Helena at Dawn

Sunrise touches her precious face

Paris looks over,

savoring the reassurance of her presence in

their bed of love.

In the faint morning light

He discerns the slightly upturned

corners of her perfect mouth

smiling in her dreamlike state,


a picture of peaceful beauty.

Golden sheets of sun cover Helena’s

goddess-like form.

Paris drinks in her

luxurious countenance,

distracted by her warm and

inviting body.

Her virtue lights the room

like the dawn-

devoted partner,

faithful friend,

passionate lover,

a paean to perfection

wrapped in angelic


Being loved by


Is Paris’

greatest glory

and his

highest praise.

Helena’s lips are

the wine that sustain



her love

gives him


~ vp

It’s Mr. Loser to You

It’s Mr. Loser to You

Me and the boys were out

late on a Saturday night

smokin’ and a drinkin’

and spoilin’ for a fight.

Hobo Row was our bullseye

as we cruised among the lost

searchin’ and a huntin’ for

the bum who’d pay the cost.

Lyin’ still and all alone

at the end of Hobo Row

a vagabond barely breathin’

dead or alive we didn’t know.

Surroundin’ the sleepin’ loser

we closed in for our attack

as the ragged heap slowly ‘wakened

his words froze us in our tracks.

“You boys are welcome in my home

my friends are far and they are few

but to stay you must sit and listen

and by the way, it’s Mr. Loser to you!

My tale is as sad

as it is true

for the man you see now

Is NOT the man I knew.

You see boys, the men I led and loved

were all the family I ever had

but those bastards that surprised us

hurt my family and hurt ‘em bad.

Thirty men walked into that valley

and twenty-nine were carried out

the lonely soul God left behind that day

will help you join them, have no doubt.”

Like lightnin’ on a stormy night

a weathered hand flashed ‘fore our eyes

“Boys meet the cold, steel friend

of a man not afraid to die!”

“You boys are welcome in my home

for my friends are far and they are few

but to stay you must sit and listen

and, oh yeah, it’s Mr. Loser to you!

You boys will never leave my home

The writerfor my friends are far and they are few

so you may as well just sit and listen

and never forget, it’s Lt. Loser to you!”

(Dedicated to the neglected and forgotten

homeless veterans, wherever they are.)

~ vp

Where Dreams Go to Die

Where Dreams Go to Die

Neon lights boogie with empty bar stools

beckoning the mulish patrons to dance

sad songs of the lost spew forth from

aging music bandit in evil putrid prance.

High noon in this hellish, wicked place

hardly noticed by the reeling revelers

bourbon-laced clouds obscure their faces

 hallucinogenic hyenas, heartless predators.

Weary, wayward wanderers salivate

over carcasses of aluminum and glass

Alladin elixirs flow from lamps laced

with alluring lies from a devil’s mass.

As the lost souls are left staring into

the emptiness consuming their minds

wildly rubbing lamps forged in Hell

where the dreams of drunks go to die.

~ Michael Edward Clearman

Austin Film Festival 2015: ‘The teller and the Truth’ is multi-layered meditation

Andrew Shapter is a master storyteller with his eye and his enormous creativity.

I was honored to have been associated with this talented man’s opus.


Golden strands of sunlight locks

illuminate perfect porcelain skin

silhouetting your sensual shape

inviting, luring me back again.

Tasting your touch, sweet heaven
‘tis a brush with angelic wings
makes every mortal fiber quiver
O’ how your lover’s soul doth sing!

Heart that beats alone for thee
seeking, longing for your kiss
leave me not but forever stay
O’ hear my happy soul rejoice!

Golden strands of sunlight locks
illuminate perfect porcelain skin
silhouetting your sensual shape
inviting, luring me back again.



The Lady Behind the Laugh

The Lady Behind the Laugh

 On islands in a far off sea

where sailors oft’ did sail

A tale was told by shipwrecked


of laughter luring back


Brave men of noble, sober heads

who seldom strayed from course

Caught helpless in the sweet refrain

never heard or seen again.

This siren of their soul’s demise

whose laughter sealed their doom

Enchanting mirth with sunset hair

Her lips so red and skin so fair.

Beware young sailors off to sea

no safety in this beauty’s light

I’ll sing to her on your behalf


‘tis my Lady behind the laugh!



O’ Death, Com…

O’ Death, Come To Me On A Wintry Dusk

If Death must come

and come it must

may to me it come

on a wintry dusk.

Soft and sweet as a baby’s sigh

sailing on the bye and bye.

Reap me not on a Summer fair

when fragrant flora fills the air.

Or pry me out of Spring’s embrace

lest love seek solace in some other face.

Yea, if death must come

and come it must

may to me it come

on a wintry dusk.

~ vp

A Poet’s Lament

Pray tell, doth she not know that a solitary word of tenderness uttered through the passage of her perfect lips can appease the wildfires of her poet’s passions? Would’st thou make thy poet a beggar? Then a beggar I shall be! ‘Tis a lowly station to be a beggar but a lower station still to live without thy love! I beseech thee tender lover, thy teasing is truly a cruel handmaiden for such an enchanting treasure as thee!

Unfettered love is the envy of all the gods but to her is folly. She mocks my devotion with frivolity and fancy, making merry while my heart lieth in agony in the fires of the inferno for the unrequited fools! Her poet’s heart is faint, yet a lesser love’s would’st be stilled. And yet thy poet waits. ~ vp

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