Clifford Hunt
Clifford Hunt is a husband, father, poet, writer, editor, and teacher in Half Moon Bay, California. He’s lived and worked in Bethel, San Francisco, Seattle, Arcata, San Diego, and Beirut, Lebanon.
He and Tim Badger are co-founders, editors, and publishers of Just Press; small press publishers of poems, poetics, art, and ideas.
Clifford’s publications include The ⊄omplications, Chapter Ø, Outside & Elsewhere, 36 Days in Bethel, The Weekly, Dispatches from the Field, and You Amuse Yourself You Amass Yourself (1983, with Tim Badger).
Poems on Belonging
TIME
Nights go by; the moon, planets, stars. I walk on this bluff, look at this sky. Sometimes I see the west and everything that isn't tied to this coast. Sometimes I see another shore, peopled with monkeys and folks who have more of a clue than I do, who dance to music few of us hear. These waves make me think, and I think. I dance with you around a fire nobody sees, under light from a moon this love defines. No night goes by without knowing tonight; tonight just these stars, planets, the moon, and wave after wave wanting you in my arms.
Copyright © by Clifford Hunt. This poem originally appeared in Chapter Ø. Used with permission of the author.
LOVE IS
Tonight Venus makes perfect sense - this is February after all. Tonight everything else in the sky draughts to the might of that planet. Love makes certain the planet outshines whatever is around it. Tonight Venus lets us know we're only here as long as we know love. And the light that planet throws across our short attention span insists we pay attention. Love makes sense.
Copyright © by Clifford Hunt. Used with permission of the author.
PUT IT ON THE CALENDAR
We all fill our days thinking of something - love, joy, God, pleasure, reflection, the Devil, or regret. We fill our days with what we imagine we’ll get done today, or maybe tomorrow. We think we have all the time in the world. But the day slips by, like days before, and the days before that, when we managed to avoid whatever we needed to do. Right now a nap seems right, between August and September, when weather changes and we’ll have different chores to do before we wake up and remember what we all forgot to do. For now, just rest.
Copyright © by Clifford Hunt. Used with permission of the author.
@ WINTER SOLSTICE
How spectacularly morning rises out of night, and leaves us here with each other. How today differs from yesterday, and all the days before. Maybe the pain we've suffered will bear fruit, and we can just fall in love, turn to one another and notice what's really going on. Maybe this morning means more than anything we've known, and brings hope out of the cold, long night’s moon; hope to cherish this morning, this day, more than the sum of all the days before.
Copyright © by Clifford Hunt. Used with permission of the author.
OCTOBER SOMETHING
We were all on the side of the road when the girl walks up half-clothed and confused. Training tells us be cautious and we are, all of us. She asks for food, directions, and something to cover her. We're all looking for something, we just might not know how it looks or what it’s called.
Copyright © by Clifford Hunt. This poem originally appeared in Dispatches from the Field. Used with permission of the author.