The Speed of Light

Richard Wesley Clough

Description

A compilation of poems and stories based on similar material that was still in its gestation stage. Like the title says this book has come relatively fast after shaking off the forces of the black hole resisting its light filled message. It’s this anomaly in the flow of expression that gives the speed of light its unusual texture and uniqueness leaving it to the most perspicuous people to perceive the subtle distinctions between the past Simplicity it is based on the and the present so called Complexity.
In the Simplicity it says I was clutching my therapist Laurie Boxer voluptuously at the end of the Dark Southern Night which in the complexity is the Spirit of the House. One can see how time has brought into focus the warped aspects of light through time.
This book has a sequel called The Maryland Prize.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 30 avril 2008
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781669871040
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

THE SPEED OF LIGHT
RICHARD WESLEY CLOUGH

 
 
 
Copyright © 2008 by Richard Wesley Clough.
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER:   2007908496
ISBN: HARDCOVER     978-1-4257-9951-9
SOFTCOVER     978-1-4257-9905-2
EBOOK     978-1-6698-7104-0
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Rev. date: 03/15/2023
 
Xlibris 844-714-8691 www.Xlibris.com
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Contents
POEMS
Through The Course Of Time
The Last Spartan
The Woods
August
The Gladiator
The Dregs of Poetry
The Spirit of Greece
Once by an Idling Stream
Dark Southern Night
The Best of Whats Left
Cloughs, “Their Death and the Human Spirit”
POEMS
The Late, Late Show
The Army of Glory
The Ivans are Coming!
Between Life and Death
The Duke of Glanville
Man From the Mountain
The Omaha Marathon
Great Stories
What the Reef Sows
The Great Cloud
The Prophecy of the Dead
What escape Wrought
Mr. Hyde is Near
Biodide
PROSE
The Future Past
The Elements of the Game
Life in Price
The Spirit of the House
Escape from the Fat People
Croix de Querre
The Good schooling
The Spirit of a Woman
Only Glent Knows
The Disciplinary Order
That Mysterious Girl
The Black Hole Agent
The real Zombies
Moon Low
What is seen and Unseen
Visions of the Unsuspecting Pauper
What is so Good
A Weather Story
The Return Voyage
Marine Park
Classified
The Difference
The Special Program
The Late, Late Show
Since When
My Room
For Eternity
The Victims
Evangelical
Coup De Grace
Rim of the World
The Dangerous Girl
The Classic Story
The Apex of Time
POEMS
Light Verse
The Drama of Power
The Fields of Waverly
The Fall of Rome
Fortress of Darkness
Glents Redress
Tomb of a Soldier
Rhi Lavrador
Chesapeake
The Kaleidoscope
Great Stories no More
Beyond Chesapeake
Great Poetry no More
Inertia
The Ides of March
For Beast and Man
Buried Among the Dark Trees
Pretorias’s Party
PROSE
Never, Never Land
True Justice
The Ten Bad Ones
The Omaha Marathon
Taking Care of Business
Assassins
Spirit and Physical Reality
The Man From the Mountain
La Bitch
The November Event
The Escape
The Fount of Poetry
The Spirit of the Beach
The Presidency
The Rainbow Trail
Sands of the Beach
Reality and Illusions
The Power of a Woman
For the love of a Boxer turned Poet
When the Weather of Earth Descends
The Beginning of the Dillemma
A Hero
The Law
Important Points
The defendants Statement
Finis
The Aftermath
A Gripping Drama
Carrie
THROUGH THE COURSE OF TIME
Once upon a time
My life shined
In spite of the dearth
I found in the world that I reside
A world far divergent from peaceful
As if the tribulations were equal
To the things we thought were peaceful
So in spite of what people
Say to alleviate the deceitful
The worlds constituency was customary
To the degree it became ingrained
Like we were creatures
Who yet espoused the scriptures
With hopes of what they preached
Would make things peaceful
In vain people tried
To withstand laws that seemed contrarily evil
Forcing me to find the last people
Who were dead souls amid the wasted terrain
That highlighted a valley of death
Marked by my initial poetic dearness
Symbolic of what forces pervaded the people
From which desolation
Like Jesus wandering the desert
I heard the first messages
Couched in simple language like
Hip Hip Hooray we’ve gone this a way
Or Yippee yi yee reflective of the once innocence
Of the west that harbored the desolate
Place in which resided the last people
Who survived by some means
That were divine
Yet t still must tussle
In spite of the enlightening
Whose writhing power Iasted for decades
That answered things from the dark age
With insightful words
Like some epic play
That said owed itself to 187,000 miles per second
A figure that evil couldn’t equal
In allowing me to dispense
Words that might cure the lament
For those who wanted to be peaceful
So much so the original inspired lines
Became translated into real golden ore
The kind people wanted more
As it showed the greater Gods church
Held covenant overall
The necessary pace to free us from the adiabatic lapses
That had formed from our ashes
So much so it created the undertow
Carrying the evil scion Lord Skin
Away from the now hallowed shores
That became apart of the greater Gods bible
Something that spanned the universe
No longer shrouded in the nebulous
Bringing light on Galaxies near and far
That proved I had more than the power
Of two million
Which was just a estimate of the forces
Pervading the vast reaches
Of my literary firmament
Like how people swore in summer
About being swore
From the winter solitude
That always warns us of our dire reality
That needed something greater
To find solace
Even as death made some cry
The way it happened to Jesus’s life
Which was more than meant
To mean a temporal trite
This was just part of my chore
Where what I construed
Of losing freedom annually was true
Despite the illusion we lived freely
But then this took some greater complexity
From the prevailing simplicity
This is what the spirit of Anna Lee told me
As the rain last summer finally like the snow
Came pouring down on this Glent wasteland
THE LAST SPARTAN
From the deepest declivities of history
Condensed mans final symmetry
Around the time of Alexander
With women brimming with naiveté
And men derogatorily mean in their mentality
This would change either by Gods design
Or just men transforming time
Theirs was a Spartans reality
That angrily took women’s’ virginity
Setting them forth to sail more than from Troy
But into the dark ages
Fully testing their mean and agile chemistry
For the most part they’d emerge unscathed
Just for Hitler to throw most of them away
It was this sacrilege
That started to turn the weather into a unlivable gale
Just as the last Spartan commiserated
Over how all the honor of the Spartans was forsaken
By a world that rebelled
Against the imperial bell
That rang for all
Until all were smitten by God
Who could never condone their law
That said they were the greatest men of all
This the last Spartan saw
When his gallant girl made him recall
All the ardor before this winters fall
From her image he knew he couldn’t know those women
Unless he was back again with them
Lucifer most of been listening to him
By disguising the fact he thought I merely meant
Marble busts of those women who relented
To the passion through the ages
That brought Gods wrath upon us like mere pages
Now the vision is clear
That God was going to send all of us back to our dears
Only the last Spartan had a deaf ear
Since the girl was his mission
He knew he wasn’t carried off the field of Thermopylae
Just to forsake a even greater vision
To fulfill her evil mind
That had arisen
As strong as his fallen armies
This is why he used his last strength
To keep her from failing her mission
So the last Spartan stands precariously fastened
Hoping she’d love him for his passion
This was the end of the Omaha marathon
Begun thirty years ago
When the last Spartan didn’t know his position
THE WOODS
Sturdily they stand sentinel
Guardian of the sentimental
Including even venal acts that weren’t incidental
Their stoic posture is like a prism
Refracting light in different quantities
Making them appear light or darkly
Depending on ones peculiar personality
For instance the stranger from Philadelphia
Is a perfect example showing their moody nature
Of course I shall transcend the stranger
To look upon the woods again
Decades later to be refreshed as if by some cleansing wind
I can still hear that melancholy song
Like some mystic rite
That began my literary life
It seemed a losing fight
Only salvageable by their reassuring sight
No wonder there are those who throw flaming embers
As if to erase this Godly blight
This they do to cover their wounds in clothes
As they see me a maniac amid the woods
Whose only hope is the tom boyish girl
Who flirted here years ago
This the sullen woods promised
As the woods survive their fiery summit
AUGUST
How is August known
By summer or something
Cloaked in historical form
Yes Caius Augustus of Rome
Who arose from the primordial mess
Thanks to the swords
And the wisest men on Earth
Who knew the sunlight today
Was akin to that a thousand years ago yesterday
Particularly for August
That was always warm
In line with some climatic norm
Which is how August came to be known
Even if men didn’t fully conform
Like the barbarians