Poems

Lost love gained

You been around all my life,
Yet you’re still a stranger,
The way you treated your wife only fueled my anger,
Your wife, my mother.
She could have found another,
but chose to stay.
I was the one to pay.
Eleven years old the doctor asked,
“Why all the hate?”
“Ha- Is there even a need for this debate?”
Ever been the victim of a strangers rage?
Sit and pondered why I get this type of fate?
You always made sure to let me know how I would fail.
From an emotional Hell,
to this jail cell.
The pain hasn’t stopped,
will it ever end?
Sadly though I think it is just about to begin.
I used to lie awake at night as a child and cry.
22 years old now,
I lie awake at night as a child and cry.
Each time my anger rises up,
it is you I think of.
Oddly though,
it was you that taught me love.

Clinton Young
-written in 2005

A Dutch Rose

A bulb was planted,
from the soil it grew.
Mishaps,
like a weed trampled.
The toil of struggle,
when no wind blew.
With no reason to blossum,
came the beautiful bloom.
To the ground she was bound.
Though rise she did do.
Always a smile for me & you.
To this I profess with prose.
Nothing gives hope like a Dutch Rose.

Clinton Young 5-13-2017

saveaninnocentlife.com
theclintonproject.com

A woman wrote to me from The Netherlands. She told me her life story in so much as a few pages allow. At 5, she underwent surgery. A doctors mishap left her paralyzed. Then additional health problems developed. She struggled to breath, so had to be on a breathing machine. Now she’s all grown up. What struck me in her words, was the beauty of power. The power she had over her spirit & life. Many would weep with pity. She sees it as it is & makes the most of it. As I like to say. ” Shes a go getter!” No matter what, events of life have not broken her! Her full name is such that in shorter form she can be called Rose. I know the Dutch are known for tulips. Also there is many Dutch sayings. ‘Going Dutch’, in Dutch’, ‘to Dutch’, Dutch widow’, ‘do a Dutch’, ‘Dutch it’ & etc. Some are usually a negative. I created not just this poem, but a new saying. A Dutch Rose – One that no matter how much shit life throws at her/him, keeps on going. One that overcomes/makes the most of a bad situation. One that defines the moment, doesn’t allow it to define her or him.

Anyone can be A Dutch Rose. You just got to have the audacity to grow!

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“Arabian Lovers” by Clinton Young

Traditions of the times,
Blood and stones will be the fines.
Forbidden by might,
Hidden from the light.
Two lovers lost,
In the Arabian night.

A whispered secret,
Of a stolen kiss.
Pleasure to touch,
Full of passionate bliss.
Finger tips touching skin.
How can such a feeling be a sin.
Lips to lips, hips to hips.
In loves grip.

Traditions of the times,
Blood and stones will be the fines.
Forbidden by might,
Hidden from the light.
Two lovers lost,
To the Arabian night.

– Clinton Lee Young

www.saveaninnocentlife.com

This poem was influenced by a blend of factors. Both the current brutalities in the Middle East and writing to women of Arabic ethnicity. Which I have enjoyed, due to the uniqueness in cultural and religious differences. Also, I heard a story on the news once. It was a stoning from Syria. A woman was accused adultery and was begging her father for forgiveness. He was just kept saying “no.” Then the clip player her being hit with the stones. I have seen and heard a great deal of shocking stuff that has numbed me far too much. Though that clip really shook me up and truly disturbed me. I thought of a woman, having been forced to marry. She and her love have to sneak out under the cloak of night to be with each other. First they are lost ‘In’ love during the night. Then they are lost “to” the night. (That is why I have that word change.) As they are caught.

An interesting thing is that when the 100+ girls went missing from Nigeria. Millions around the world tweeted #bringbackourgirls. Yet thousands of Yazidi and Christian Arab women get kidnapped and sold. No hashtag and PR campaign for them? Dozens of celebrities petition governments to step in and help out in Africa. Yet ignore the Middle East. (Besides Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. They went to Syria.) Is it fear of Arabic Muslims over black Muslims? Or is it western guilt over past slavery and colonization? Or worst, have the people become numb to it all, because it has gone on for so long, with so many horrible stories being told. That people have fell into the groove of “that’s just how it is?” A good group to support is www.sabatinajames.com if such a struggle interests you.

A Final Flight

To God mankind tasks,
From God mankind asks,
Why so many had to pass?
To mankind God tasks,
From mankind God asks.
Why so many had to pass?

Saveaninnocentlife.com

Older Lover

Old enough to be my mother?

Such is maybe.

Though my mother is not thee.
Surely a lover,

Thou shall be!

-Clinton Lee Young

This poem was written out of a humorous back and forth with
a friend. I would jokingly start the letter with ‘Hey Lover!’ She wrote a
little poem about being old enough to be my mother. My reply was this poem.
Haha!

Murder Became Me

Hollow tips,

Solemn rips,

All through my flesh.

Empty clips,

Bloody eclipse,

Inhale my last breath.

-Clinton Lee Young

This poem is about the perceived nobility that gangsters
adhere to in order to justify their actions. There is meaning behind each line
that pertains to the gang life.

‘Hollow tips’ are a type of bullet that are designed to
create maximum damage, as they burst apart on contact. Gangsters seek out such
bullets, as they have a reputation. Certain bullets and gun types hold status
in the streets. Like how the Tommy gun is associated with mobsters like Al
Capone.

‘Solemn rips’, is about the idea that the act is justified
for some noble reason. Be it the respect of the group, respect of self to prove
the misguided embracement of manhood, or revenge.

‘All through the flesh’ points out that regardless of the
reason the deed is the deed.

‘Empty clips’, is about how in the person,
regardless of his perception and the showmanship he puts on, there is still a
fear in the core. Fear drives to repeatedly pull the trigger until all the
bullets are gone. Trained professionals are taught to shoot just two or three
times, this way they reserve bullets. Gangsters just unload.

‘Bloody eclipse’, is the blood from the wounds leaking over
the eyes like an eclipse, the last thing that is seen.

‘Inhale my last breath’, is because when a person is dying
the last conscious act they make is inhaling their last breath. When it
exhales, it is from the body relaxing due to death.

The poem isn’t meant to be dark. It highlights the
foolishness of gangland violence. I thought of this poem when I made the choice
to denounce my membership. I was thinking about the risks associated with that
lifestyle. How I could have lost my lie, due to some rivals thought of what is
a solemn deed. I analyzed the poem after I wrote it. My poems just come to me,
from somewhere deeper in my mind.

Fire Ant

Tiny yet mighty

A murderous rage they do incite,

with each and every bite.

Pain they inflict.

The skin their pinchers do nick!

Red and black.

O’ how I love to, “SMACK!!”

see them ever so flat.

Dirt, wood, and concrete walls.

The inglorious bastards chew through it all.

A murderous rage they do incite,

with each and every bite.“SMACK!!”

In the day or night,

their victims they do cause fright.

Fire Ant.

So tiny yet so mighty.

A murderous rage they do incite,

with each and every “SMACK!!”
…bite.

-Clinton Lee Young

I wrote this poem during an ongoing battle with fireants
that invaded the cell I was in. They came through tiny cracks in the concrete.

One morning I awoke with my head feeling like it was on
fire. I quickly realized that it was covered by ants.

I repeated a few lines about the ants, to stress the fact of
how they just seem to keep coming!

Thankfully I am no longer in that cell.

Cost of Joy

Down and defeated.

Like a toy,

All broken and unneeded.

Lonely and lost.

Sought after Joy,

Amiss to the cost.

-Clinton Lee Young

I wrote this one while feeling a bit down. I was feeling
such due to the seemingly never ending struggle to achieve what I need.

Murder Killing Death

So many babies losing their mommies and
daddies,

Baby Grace beat to death.

A pregnant mother’s last breath.

All this murder who’s going to be left?

Crooked cop shot that kid 3 times in the
chest.

Gang members dying for their colors,
trying to kill all the rest.

Prison life, prison gang, prison murder.

He kills him because he’s white. He
kills him because he’s brown.

Why we all got to fight? This shit ain’t
even right.

Let’s put these shanks down!

Focus on the oppressive swine, they the
ones got us doing all this time!

Murder murder kill kill.

What you got to deal? What you got to
steal?

This isn’t no game, death it’s all real.

Abortion, abort the mission.

Where’s my brother? Neighborhood drug
dealer says ‘he’s gone fishin!’

Turn the page, still more rage, on roof
tops with pistols and AK’s.

Killing for respect. He looked at that
guys girlfriend, so what could he expect?

Blood dripping from the Royal Crest.
Peasants killing kings.

Kings killing peasants.

Terrorist acts, killing for some
radicals perceived facts.

Child soldiers, child victims.

Why the kids got to pay? That baby girl
just wanted to play!

Riley Ann Sawyer! I remember the first
time I saw her.

Why she got to be in my newspaper? 2
years old, now a heavenly soul.

A cowards deed. Man, what the fuck was
the need?

All murder, rage, and hate.

We got to stop it before it’s all too
late.

The grim reaper smiling saying ‘2008
going to be great!’

Resist the wave, give love and peace an
embrace!

-Clinton Lee Young

I wrote this after reading the details of the Riley Ann
Sawyer murder. She became my little hero. Her step father wanted her to call
him ‘sir’. She refused, so he started beating her. No matter how much he beat
her she wouldn’t give in!

When I feel like giving up, I think of her.

I wrote the title as Murder Killing Death with the meaning
of Murder and Death being ‘beings’. That there is so much killing going on,
that even Death is dying. Death is often represented by the Grim Reaper. All
this killing just doesn’t make any damn sense!

Loves Gone Missing

My heart feels empty.

Something is amiss.

A void fills me.

The joy I miss.

I’ve missed you.

I’m missing you.

I miss you.

The earth can go to the meek,

I’ll raise no fuss.

It’s your love I seek,

For only to be an ‘us’.

I’ll be happy as can be,

So long as there is

You and me.

I’ve loved you.

I’ll love you.

I love you.

-Clinton Lee Young

This poem is pretty clear cut. It’s about a broken heart
from a break up.