MY OLD BODY

featured in the poetry forum April 29, 2017  :: 0 comments

I wake up all alone
And for once am grateful as
The muscles in my back
And arms hurt bad this morning
But at least I have peace
And time to ease my poor old
Body back into some kind of
Older state back when it could
Handle so much more than just
A night in bed all alone

editors note:

Coming to grips, while loosening your grip. – mh clay

CAN’T WAIT FOR MONDAY MORNING

featured in the poetry forum February 27, 2017  :: 0 comments

I sit and contemplate as I look out the window
The darkness is amassing off the coast and for that I’m happy
Today I hope the beach will remain empty
Whilst town will come down after a weekend ravaged
By pointless consumerist binges of those with money
They’ll spend it on beer they see advertised on TV
And sparkling wine thinking its good champagne
Clothes from TK Maxx that’ll fall apart in a couple of months
Everything is set to break and be replaced
Just to keep the economic wheels turning

Today I want to walk the beach and see no one at all
As if it were winter when the beach can become my private playground
I’ll walk someway before stopping and sitting on the pebbles
In order to smoke a joint and take a contemplative moment
A quiet place I can actually sit and think
As round this way during the summer months all we get is noise, noise, noise
The noise of motorbikes being driven up and down
Desperate to pose and be seen as being cool
Loud obnoxious persons who take up the entire pavement
Whilst screaming at each other about what a great time they are having

I’ve seen young women walking through town on a Saturday afternoon
Carrying a huge inflatable penis and thinking they are having fun
I’ve seen young guys walking through town wearing Jimmy Saville masks
About a week after all the allegations came out and they think they are having fun
Neither of these are my idea of having fun
For me I like nothing more than sitting, quiet, and simply drinking
But round here these days there ain’t many places you can do that
What with music ruling all the pubs on St James’s Street
Whether it is country-blues or karaoke disco-pop it’s all here
But put simply on a Saturday night I don’t want to hear

If I want to listen to music I got enough of it at home to listen to
Sitting drinking and listening to The Stooges or Coltrane or some other lost classic
Whilst being able to do whatever I want, smoke, stare out my window or eat some food
And out there, in this town, are people who I want to avoid
Those screaming hen and stag people who very occasionally lay siege to my local
Before realising that here we like beer and spirits not Jaeger bombs and bloody cocktails
Then they suddenly realise that this ain’t a place for them
So they fuck off to West Street to pass on their STDs
And come Monday morning, a time I love as I never work, it feels as if town exhales
Farting the masses out of their weekend psychosis and back to their mundane little lives

editors note:

Mundane Monday, so good to me… – mh clay

ODD TIMES

featured in the poetry forum December 2, 2016  :: 0 comments

The last few months have been a bit odd
Success has come in some form and now
Well, frankly, it’s all just been a bit odd
With happiness comes a failure of my muse
As I struggle to find the words to describe
How this feels and what it means to me
Because now, as I sit gazing out the much
Viewed window here in the last resort I know
I can no longer be miserable as
For the first time in a long time I actually
Have enough, or will soon do, to get out
But right now all I want to do is remain
As this place has been my world and
I worry that if I move on what will become
Of the muse who came to me in those
Mad, deranged, booze soaked, drug addled
Days when I’ve been stuck here living
This life in the last resort

With the idea of getting out and moving on
I worry as will me leaving here mean I can
No longer create the rough-hewn words I
Laid down here as life becomes
Just a little more comfortable and
With no misery and nothing to hate
What is left for me to do but write about the
Booze but now even that avenue
Down which flooded oceans of primo
Lager, gin, ale, whisky, rum and wine
Have dried up as I attempt to clean up
And survive a whole month without
Even a tipple, surely impossible!

So, if you don’t hear from me for a while
It’s because my muse has become infected
With clean-living, optimistic dreams of a
Life that may very well come real

editors note:

Odd times beg the question: Does environment make the muse or, vice versa? – mh clay

STAYING STRONG IN HARD TIMES

featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2016  :: 0 comments

I’ve got to stay strong and got to maintain
As life right now is a hard thing for me to deal with
Now she has gone and everything seems fucked
Whether it be Europe, my own questioning of life
In this town or just the thought that maybe I’ve been
Right all along and there is nothing for us
Now that it’s all fucked
Now that I’ve realised that
Love is dead
Politics is pointless and this
Life is hard
So, what is there to do but
Find a new way to live this life

editors note:

It’s all we can do… But, we CAN! – mh clay

HOLIDAYS IN THE SUN

featured in the poetry forum May 29, 2016  :: 0 comments

The window is open but my curtains are drawn
A nice gentle breeze wafts through, it is salty yet fresh
I stumble to my feet and peer through into the daylight
The wind seems kind of fresh but the clouds are an ominous mass
But still there are people who insist they’re on holidays in the sun
Determined to lie on the beach until the storm takes hold and hopefully sweeps them away

Our beach is a shingled mess, invaded every weekend by lager-fueled teenagers
Can’t they just fuck off, leaving us in peace to enjoy our town?
I sat and thought about it the other night, alone in situ at the pub
And it occurred to me we’re only really alone at Christmas when the students go home
It’s then I love this city, a place of peace and tranquillity
Leaving the mind to wander and speculate on plans to escape

editors note:

Remember to bundle up; layers, layers – with a generous sunblock base. – mh clay

ONE CHANCE TO LIVE

featured in the poetry forum February 7, 2016  :: 0 comments

I step through the centre of my mind’s eye
And into the near future of this life
I don’t know where I am and for that, well
Just grateful to have escaped

Glad to be somewhere else
Whilst I experience even more
A whole life of inconsistency
That always seems pleasing to me

This life is meant to be lived
So take it now and do what you will
Because this is the one chance you’ll get
At this craziness called living

editors note:

We all live it; take it or not. – mh clay

FUCK IT, I’M GOING TO THE PUB

featured in the poetry forum November 8, 2015  :: 0 comments

My compadre in chaos has dropped word he’s drunk already
It’s 7.15 on a Tuesday evening, I’m speechless, where are you?

I had a thirst running all day at work from the moment I discovered tomorrow I don’t start until 6 in the evening
So that gives me plenty of time to build up a head of beer before I have to stop, knowing more may harm me and I can’t be dealing with that
Not now, not in this town at those prices even with those barmaids who scintillate and oscillate and make us hand over our money
And then break our hearts when they ignore us in the street after we’ve spent all our money watching her from our stool at the end of the bar
So far just 10 minutes have passed but I know he’s now out for the count, there’ll be no more word from him
Just deafening drunken silence as I decide, fuck it, I’m going out for a beer tonight
Got some money in my pocket and some smoke in my packet so you know what I say?

Fuck it!

editors note:

Knowing more is more than a bar stool can bear. Sit up and straight and fuck it, indeed! – mh clay

NOT LIKE THEM

featured in the poetry forum July 31, 2015  :: 0 comments

Getting here has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done
This life is not for the faint-hearted and I’m just glad to be sitting here writing this little poem
I remember all the obstacles that have been placed in my way
The days at school when the last thing on my mind was education
Back then it was all about survival and avoiding the bullies who wanted me dead
It all started so long ago now I can barely recollect
But I remember being made to walk up and down the classroom by an old teacher who wanted to cure me of my in-step
There was another time a kid I never really liked grabbed my pen and pad and threw it in the pond telling me that our kind shouldn’t be doing things like that
Secondary school wasn’t much better, the bullies were bigger and there were more of them
But somehow I survived, escaped intact by taking them on at their own game
Living so close to school I got all the training the one-hundred metres champion would need
Beating the bullies, even when they brought their bikes, home in a blur of limbs and will to survive
After school I naturally became a Goth thinking that was maybe the way to get people to ignore me
But that seemed unlikely in retrospect, a six-foot beanpole of a lad dressed head to toe in black
Just made it more obvious that I wasn’t like them and whilst now I may dress differently my spirit remains undiminished
Forever until the very end will I remain the one who is simply not like them.

editors note:

To all of you with undiminished spirits – identify! – mh clay

THE MAGICIAN’S ASSISTANT

featured in the poetry forum May 15, 2015  :: 0 comments

I see a drunk out of his mind on life
Who thinks he’s the magician’s assistant
He gazes upon a beauty at the street corner
And decides to flaunt his thing
Hoping she’ll give him some free trade
He begins to entertain the street
The only problem being there ain’t anyone else around
He demonstrates his drunken dancing skills
Hoping for a freebie ’round the corner
The street walker hopes for some genuine business
As her baby lies sleeping at home
Her boyfriend probably still stoned
And she’s starting to get a craving
That won’t disappear until it’s vanquished
Embarrassed she turns but on he ploughs
Unaware of his failure, she prays he goes home
But round these ways prayers aren’t answered
Cos god ain’t listening no matter how loud you ask.

editors note:
Sometimes an imbecile assistant is exactly what a magician needs to see the truth. (Read another one from Bradford on his page; a satisfying conclusion to his missive from March 10th – check’em out!) – mh clay

FORTRESS OF MY MIND

May 15, 2015  :: 0 comments

There was a scaffold around the outside of my mind
For nearly six long weeks before news filtered through
That maybe it was coming down which made me glad
As not a poetic word had been written since it had risen

It was like a fortress of my mind
Smothering my instinct to gaze out my window
At the muse that has been my view
For all these weird years of living by the sea

But there it remained for another few weeks
Continuing to antagonise me and steal from me my view
It got me wondering as to the state
Of my mind by the time it came down

Then finally one afternoon I returned from work
And the scaffold was gone and the muse returned
I got some dinner, smoked a nice one
And sat down at my laptop with the intention to write