featured in the poetry forum July 23, 2016  :: 0 comments

among the nights i lost:

(1) we are sitting around
the kitchen table
& there are drinks

& we are young & full of hope
& everything is louder
& everything is light blue
(not robin’s egg, but close)

& you are still a thought.

(2) we are at home under the bridge
& we broke our bottles on the rocks,
except for the one that didn’t
& bounced into the hudson river

& we are laughing
& everything else is quiet
& everything is a pale yellow,
except for the water:

a motionless dark blue

& you are closer
& i can almost feel you now.

(3) there is a light
coming through the bedroom window
& we are alone now

& there is no music,
but we are dancing

& everything is glowing
& everything is orange

& you are here.

editors note:

Sweet singular presence. Yes, everything! (We welcome Andrew back to our creative congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his reinstated page – check it out.) – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 6, 2016  :: 0 comments

from my mother, i learned
to be the cat
at the top of the stairs

to lick my lips chapped,
and how to heal them;

to speak less, say more.

i learned a lifetime
of bracing yourself for impact
leaves permanent indentations
in the steering wheel,
handle bars,
your wrists,

and every mark
is a badge of honor,
on your face,
in your palms,
deep in the pit of your stomach,

if you wear it so.

i learned that oranges
are meant to be peeled slowly;

that a watched pot will boil,
but everybody’s afraid
to take the time to see it,


that somewhere,
right now,
the sun is rising
without ever needing to move.

editors note:

Patience and positivity. Yes! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 3, 2013  :: 0 comments

i remember
the weeks i couldn’t stop

biting my lip,

in fear of shame,
or something worse:

dreams of baby teeth
and secrets;
waking myself up
in the middle of the night

to flip my pillow,

to see if you
had hidden anything there.

editors note:

editor’s note: Only a bill from the Tooth Fairy, with the standard disclaimer against toothless debtors. – mh


featured in the poetry forum June 29, 2013  :: 0 comments

i remember, early friday morning is
your scraped knees
pushed through the driver’s seat
& my hair stuck in the headrest
(back before i cut it short).
we & no one else to keep us
from windows down and
heat high, fan on 4:
time measured in afternoon cartoons
moves no faster & all trees
blur from windows at parkway speeds.

i remember you, in savoring gasps
between gusts of wind & the clicks
when cassette tapes flip sides.
it’s those breaths, when you ask:

are we dust in brunch table sunlight?
to float & settle & float again
in coffee/tea with too much sugar,
& stick to the sides of the mug?

editors note:

Roadtrip deconstructions, asking hard questions; accepting no answers but what the wind blows through. Open window, open mind. – mh


featured in the poetry forum July 13, 2012  :: 0 comments

we took the whole day,
(a weekend)

to uproot the trees
in the front yard

and move them out back;

1 grandiflora rose bush,
18 garden tulip bulbs
in 2 even rows,
3 dead satin robes
in 3 clay pots…

we pressed our ears
to the ground,

to listen for worms
and oil;

walked on tip-toes,

so as not to
offend the grass

– much work for a bed
we couldn’t sleep in;

to feed the deer,
come morning;

each little girl in
the neighborhood

to scamper across
our lawn,

with a fist full
of perennials for mom –

just like last year.

editors note:

editor’s note: Pulled from one place to be planted in the other. Salads and souls; same garden. – mh

sir baden powell patrol award winners, 2003-04

featured in the poetry forum January 21, 2012  :: 0 comments

i took off running
with your hand in my pocket

to get a head start

on kissing the revolution
back to life,

because if we give those
meddling kids a chance,

they’ll steal the fun
right from our drinks

and laugh all the way home
with nothing to lose,

to open all the windows
for fear of suffocation,

or waking up
in a room
that smells like sleep;

i took a chance on you
the moment i held my breath

“because luck,

and love

are just walking around
with your eyes closed;”

believe me:

if i could see the moon
from my bedroom window

i would have started shooting
months ago.

editors note:

editor’s note: Blind are both, luck and love. But, blind or not, good scouts keep their guns cleaned and ready. “Always be prepared!” – mh

dwarf pines

featured in the poetry forum February 13, 2011  :: 0 comments

the cold months came and
still you’re out
sizing yourself up against

the saplings in your backyard:

jealous of their roots
and the ability to bear fruit,

shouting at the wind
for stripping all the leaves
from their branches

and waving your hands in the air
like the ring-leader of

a circle of children around
a wounded bird,

poking at it with sticks,

refusing to let it die.

editors note:

editor’s note: There’s more than vicarious voyeurism in this; there is cause and effect. Without the tenacious gardener, the most beautiful roses never bloom. – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 31, 2010  :: 0 comments

and to think, i almost believed you when you said:

that you lost your ring

in the backyard while you were burying bulbs
in the garden,


that it was in the ground somewhere,
probably half way to china by now,


that it wasn’t even worth looking for
at this point,

because if it was you

tunneling through the backyard,

trying to escape,

you wouldn’t want anybody to go digging you up.

editors note:

editor’s note: Maybe, lost subterranean memories should be left where they’re buried to come back in the Spring, as new love or old roses. – mh