Richard St. Clair
Biography of Richard St. Clair
Richard St. Clair is a noted composer of modern classical music with over 130 compositions to his credit in all major genres. But he is also an accomplished poet, excelling in haiku and tanka (waka) from the Japanese tradition and Western fixed forms such as sonnet, cinquain, and sestina. He resides in Massachusetts (USA) .
Richard St. Clair Poems
Having no interest in resolving my life's pain, Ponderosa pines... towering far above me,
Chill In The Air
A chill in the air: painted across the sky, heavy clouds moving in high winds-
Half melted snow soaking into my shoes- circling seagulls swooping near my head:
Sestina: Reluctant Spring
When days of winter rain return to snow And midwinter thaw reverts to ice, Retreating into sleep I dream of warm And sunny times when music fills the air
Sestina: Revolution, Resolution, Revelat...
Knowledge sweeps our mysteries away, Disproves attractive theories left and right; It undermines the grounds for firm belief, Impoverishes the visions and the dreams,
The snowflakes of the winter night Crown the land with regal mien; The driving wind seems to incite The snowflakes of the winter night
Triolet: The Robin's Song
The robin perched atop the tree Signals spring his warbling song; How long will I be pleased to see The robin perched atop the tree?
Sonnet: Twelve-Step Litanies
Recovery through deceit, intimidation, Peer-group pressure, cracker-barrel values, Higher-power contemplation rationed Daily, weekly, served up with a callous
Circling crows fighting among each other: An albino appears and leads them off,
How desolate these first forsythias look in the cold wind; where they grow in the shade
A bug is bugging me: it is not time To die just yet. How gray the winter sky This solstice beating down on me, oh my, Just time enough to spin another rhyme.
Shrill barking of the fenced-in fox terrier: The bright sun in the cold spring wind
Three feet deep the snow catches light- the gibbous moon in the starless sky
The snow having melted, there is only a high wind blowing cold rain in my face: Instead of new blossoms
A bug is bugging me: it is not time
To die just yet. How gray the winter sky
This solstice beating down on me, oh my,
Just time enough to spin another rhyme.
Far off a church bell mournfully is pealing
Monotones appropriate to this day –
I’m tired: too sick, too weary – though I may
Yet find within myself some comic feeling
Neither cynic nor harsh critic could resist: