This page is solely dedicated to the ancient art of poetry, one of the most powerful and captivating forms of expression.  Periodically I will select a new classic poem wrought with words that will entertain, inspire, and empower.  I am also pleased to offer a few of my own original works, as many readers have requested that I share these.  Poetry, as with many art forms, is open to individual interpretation, so I want the reader to absorb the words with no preconceived notion of what I meant, the message I wished to convey, or to have unraveled for them the subtle allegories and metaphors.  Instead, interpret what you like within the flow of words, and in time I will post my own explanation for each of my poems.

Happy reading!

by Chip St. Clair

With a kiss from the fire of the forge in the sky
They wake from their sleep with a smile;
The warmth dries the sorrowful tear from their eye,
Lighting their way all the while.

To laugh and to play; without care, without fear,
The children of sunlight feel whole;
But then there are those whose paths seem unclear,
Unjustly deprived of a soul.

As a cold wind freezes the tears on their check,
Enveloped by darkness wherever they seek
Comfort and shelter, the future is bleak
For those who woke by the moon.

The veil of darkness soon smothers the meek;
The strong shall endure, swift deaths to the weak;
Groping for peace in the havoc they wreak,
These children who bask in the moon.

While the children of day lay asleep in the sun,
Slowly, crept those of the night;
Averting their eyes, for the light they did shun,
Using shadows to drift out of sight.

The children of the moon so hated the sun
For the hope and the warmth that it brought;
Hope had long died and warmth, they had none,
But now each was graced by a thought-

Raising heads high, gazes fixed on the skies
As cold tears turned warm and flooded their eyes;
For perhaps through the moon, somehow they had ties
To the sun . . .

When finally its soft light had nestled down low,
And the moon in its coldness was soon set aglow;
The blood in their veins, so cold, yet did flow
From the sun . . .

For as the fire of life was extinguished each day,
It beckoned the moon to now light the way;
To brighten the shadows and pale shades of gray
For the sun . . .

Falling to their knees, once cold hearts now torn;
They no longer tasted such bitter scorn,
For although in darkness, they knew were born
Of the sun . . .

Basking in the Moonlight © Chip St. Clair

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by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

If © Rudyard Kipling