My Angel, My Muse

By M. Zane McClellan

A collection of eclectic poetry from the heart and mind of M. Zane McClellan created from miscellaneous thoughts and observations. From love, political, social commentary to whimsical, there is something for everyone here. Several readers of M. Zane McClellan's poetry who insist they are not big fans of poetry have said that his poems are the type of poems they enjoy when they do read poetry.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Zane McClellan
• Release date: Mar 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370268092

M. Zane McClellan

I grew up on Long Island in New York. I attended Adelphi University where I studied Psychology, played lacrosse, and was the freshman class president. There I would have my first success with publishing my poetry when an on-campus poetry contest honored me by selecting all six of my submissions for inclusion in their poetry book. After college, I joined the Marine Corps where I served honorably for three years. In 1982, I was named Marine of the Year for Camp Smedley D. Butler in Okinawa, Japan and then was stationed at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. My poems have been featured in Praxis magazine for Arts & Literature, the BeZine, and in the Felan. I self-published my first two books of poetry, Poetry from a Wabi Sabi Heart, My Angel, My Muse, and recently, Per Mutations of Solace. I am working on my debut novel, a fantasy that draws on African myth, folklore, and legend.

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Foreword

This book is a comprehensive collection of my poetry written to date. It is all original and authentic. By that I mean that it comes from my heart, is genuine, and based on my real and raw emotions. That is not to say that I am the subject of each piece. As I write, I tap into the memories of my experiences, then mix and match to tell a story with each poem. The poem, The Animal, for example, was written in empathy for anyone who has experienced, or is experiencing, domestic violence.

Writing poetry, for me, is a lot like the first time one hears their voice on a recording. There is that brief disconnect and the inevitable question, Is that me? followed closely by, I don't sound like that, do I? My poetry sometimes surprises me in wonderful ways, other times I ask myself what I was thinking, and whether or not it's me.

I hope you will enjoy the experience of reading my poems. I write in many forms, Free verse, Rondeau, and Haiku as well as Tanka. I appreciate the shorter forms as they are succinct and sublime in their brevity. I have dabbled in many new forms I have read about such as, Clarity, and Pyramid. I have brazenly tried my hand at Haibun and even a Ghazal. You will find all of it here, amidst the many expressions of soul and spirit, love and aguish, along with the whimsical and the silly.

The ideas for many of my poems begin simply with a title that I find catchy, or sometimes it's just one word. That leads to a subjects I find intriguing and the rest usually flows shortly after. I write what comes to mind and attenuate it as the spirit moves me. Consequently, I do find some of my poems deep, even profound, at times. You, of course, must decide for yourself.

I have been delighted on several occasions to read comments on my blog and Facebook that describe some of my poems as exquisite, and even sublime. I write poetry to strengthen my craft, as well as for catharsis. In the process, I receive feedback from those reading my former blog that some of my poems resonated deeply, with them. One of my most moving experiences was reading about the way my poems were helping a woman grieve the loss of her, One and Only. The effect is that I am beginning to accept myself as a poet. That journey is progressing like much of life, imperfectly.

The most difficult part for me, has been accepting my own vulnerability as a writer, and as a human being. Opening myself up to scrutiny and criticism can be intimidating, and humbling. While my ego is strong (even in the good sense) the inner demons have shown themselves to be my ego's equal. Consequently the battle is a formidable one, and challenging on all levels.

I sit in the front car of this roller coaster, holding my breath in terror at each steep drop. I sometimes find I have my eyes closed, holding on to the rail too tightly. Each day I move back a car, or three, in introspection and gratitude. I hope to find myself in the last car one day with my arms raised, surrendering to the ride, and smiling.

About You

I write down the words

that grow inside of my heart

all are about you

A Deeper Quietude

How much time is wasted,

each and every day,

worrying about what others think,

or what they might have to say?

How much time is lost,

week after week,

pursuing things outside ourselves,

when it is within we should seek?

How much time is spent,

for months out of the year,

wishing for things we do not have,

not enjoying those that are here?

How much time escapes us,

as decades tip toe past,

thinking that the juicy years,

have all gone by too fast?

How much time remains,

to find your purpose in this life?

Have we positively affected others,

are our best examples rife?

Tomorrow is not a given,

but today we have a choice,

find a deeper quietude,

hear the true inner voice.

Intuition will always guide us,

though the path is not easy or swift.

It will lead us through troubled ways,

and give our spirit lift.

Does our life have meaning,

have we touched others along the way?

Have I connected with your soul?

I hope I have today.

A Journey In Time

Wander not the labyrinths

of self-pity and despair.

Destined for hopelessness,

deaf to voices who care.

Gloom and darkness linger,

expunge them from inside.

Light the shadowed corners

where the enemy hides.

No one can do it for you,

though love's a catalyst,

to help you remain strong,

make sure that you resist.

Vigilance required,

honesty is a must.

Truth to self and loved ones,

the only way to trust.

Tomorrow matters not,

nor even yesterday.

Find what you live for most,

hold on to that today.

Since the soul, immortal,

is part of the divine,

know there is within you,

a way if given time.

All That I Want

Sitting quietly somewhere,

just the two of us,

holding each other tightly

in loving arms.

A nice conversation

about anything at all.

It could even be

about nothing in particular.

Our legs entwined,

our attention on each other.

Feeling your body expand with

every breath that you take.

My face buried in your hair,

your head back against my chest,

nowhere we have to go,

no one to interrupt us.

My tears of love

gently sliding down my face,

to fall onto your fingers

clasped in mine as I kiss them.

Falling asleep just like this,

waking to do it all over again.

It may seem like too little,

that my dreams are too small.

For me it is more than enough

to last me a lifetime.

Because I want you, that’s all.

All That Makes You Her

All that I ever wanted

All that I ever had

All that makes you happy

All that keeps me from being sad

All that you ever dreamed of

All that you wished for too

All that I dared hope for

All that I found in you

All I ever cared about

All that became my bliss

All we ever laughed about

All that is in your kiss

All that I could ever imagine

All that I could divine

All that goodness that is you

All that makes you mine

All that makes life worth living

All that makes it better

All that is in my heart and soul

All that makes you her

Almost … almost

Every day … every day,

we talked almost all day, every day.

Now I speak to no one

almost all day, every day.

Instead, I write the words

I want to speak to you,

and almost ... almost,

I know what you would

say to me and do.

I almost hear your voice,

sing inside my head.

I see your sweet smile, almost.

Its absence is what I dread.

I know what would come next ...

your cute mouth, and the pffft.

I remember your laughter clearly;

you collapsed in my arms in a fit.

Your giggles almost drowning

my heart and soul in ecstasy.

I remember it like

yesterday …

almost.

Always Flawed

If it is a flaw

to be tied to an outcome

such as loving you,

sharing our lives together,

then I will always be flawed.

Amidst Rural Fields

Shimmering thermals rise from the asphalt.

A curtain that distorts our sense of sight.

The cars disappear behind the sheer veil,

melt in the distance of the black ribbon.

The flanking fields teeming with assorted life.

Sentinel stalks only witness and wave.

Conscious of inevitable scything,

they stoically await the dark thresher.

The hum of beating wings, cacophonous.

The crunch of mandibles inaudible.

I can feel it as I weigh the moment,

the micro and macro of this life.

Balanced on the edge of self-destruction

growth ordained by the strong will to survive.

Interspecies war, a conflagration,

to rise and to fall with the tide of time.

A Most Lucid Dream

This actually happens to me.

Though not often,

it is commonplace.

Occurring in those few

slender slices of time

between wakefulness

and dream.

My eyes are closed.

I know this,

and yet,

I see through

translucent lids.

They slightly obscure

my focus.

Limited in perspective

to a plane parallel

with my eyes

I travel,

otherwise unencumbered,

away from my Self.

Exploring my surroundings

with wraith-like

abandon.

Upon informing my

spirit guide of this

I was asked,

what I looked like.

I didn't look at myself,

I replied.

And why not?

she asked.

"The thought never

entered my mind.

Surely it was a dream."

"Yet you knew

that it was not,

but did not look

at your Self."

Frustrated I exclaimed,

"I know what I look

like.

I want to see

everything else."

Shaking her head

smiling sadly

she intoned,

"Your lens has been distorted,

by life, and the lies,

told to you

by well-meaning

people…

some not-so well-meaning…

as well as by yourself."

Anger percolated

as I put up my mental

hands.

What do you suggest?,

I asked, perturbed.

Next time, surrender.

I realized my mouth

had been hanging open.

Sweat on my brow,

I understood.

I have always tried to

control.

I have fought the current.

I tried to guide the path

not follow it.

Next time,

when I look for

answers,

I will start looking

at my Self.

Anachronistic Love

Out of time

I came to find

love remarkable

love divine

Waking from sleep

a feeling deep

love to cherish

love to keep

eases my mind

a feeling sublime

Intangibly touches

with feather soft brushes

A heart now open

pure adoration spoken

do what you will

I love you still

Angel's Touch

An Angel's touch, gossamer.

As gentle as a whisper

Moves within, a mountain's weight

Wandering souls are set straight.

Another Kind of Mother

I have not enjoyed Mother's Day,

since, when ten, mine went away.

Callous sense of maternity,

a bitterness where love should be.

My memories of brighter days,

Jergen's lotion and Jean Nate',

are spoiled by cards I could not make,

for Mother's Day, each year I ache.

Though gray of beard, the boy remains,

missing my Mommy, my heart rains.

Maybe a better man I'd be,

but no … I guess I'd still be me.

An Old Pair Of Shoes

You wore me like a pair of old tennis shoes.

I was comfortable and familiar.

Always ready if you needed

to slip into me and go about your day.

I fit just right once you broke me in.

Where once I was stiff and unyielding,

I loosened up, and over time, you made me softer.

You knew I had some holes in me in places,

knew that my sole was almost worn through.

Walking with me was easy, no abrasive edges.

When you were done with me in the evening,

You tossed me aside with such nonchalance.

I waited in your closet until you needed me again.

No matter how brief my stay in there,

it seemed like an eternity to me every time.

Between the gaps, I watched you sleep peacefully,

with a little girl type of snore,

you tossed and you turned.

Day dawned and you woke up to yourself.

Realizing that you wanted something new,

more fit for your elegant soirées in the garden.

You put on something more delicately fashioned,

more classical and refined,

stepped out to rub elbows with the Glitterati.

I imagined your smile and I ached.

Listening to your laughter rise,

clear above the din.

Nightfall came and you retired,

kicked off that unforgiving heel.

Wiggling your toes as you walked barefoot,

choosing to put on nothing for a while.

You were rejoicing in your newfound freedom,

finally feeling it.

For the first time in a long time,

you stood defiantly

on your own two feet.

Gazing in the full-length mirror, naked,

you danced,