It is

featured in the poetry forum April 8, 2018  :: 0 comments

It is human nature to defy nature.
Take what is self-limiting and impose facility.
Anti-entropic.
From the center of the universe wells time.
Improbably patient, like water.
And about that spring the chaos, brambles
Through, we amble
Warm when warm, cool when cold, solid when needed.
Always at peace to flow.

editors note:

That’s us; naturally unnatural. (We welcome Christopher to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

It could have been

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

It could have been any fall Saturday.
When fall was still a season.
It’s for you.
Few constants survive the human scale.
Constancy an illusion.
Even stone elegies.
Their permanence, loose bookmarks in pages of time.
Their certain messages understood through increasingly diffuse context.
Boulders in a stream – eventually worn smooth by water’s improbably patient friction. Deep is the canyon holding the river of time.
With practiced hand, I wonder how its eventuality will represent a black future.
No message, no artifice.
A life to recall through increasingly diffuse context – in a deeply confusing life.
Why does the tree grow?
Wu wei.

editors note:

Our growth rate depends on how patiently we endure the friction; it can be rough to be smooth. – mh clay

Mid Century Modern.

featured in the poetry forum October 25, 2017  :: 0 comments

Lines, blocks, and chambers.
Within this space an unmistakable mass.
The regular cadence of its tumbled edges cast watercolor shadows on a grout that matches forgettably closely. And though these walls have not witnessed the exposure of weather in over 60 years, their brusque marriages of wood, paint, carpet, and metal indicate many lives lived here.
Perfect.
Serviceable.
Gone.
In this hopeless cell, choice is amplified.
Breath, and control.
The subtle din of a fan gives way to graphite spilling its truth.
In this field nothing exists.
Struggling effortlessly, a hand guides its implement, leaving crumbs for a chapter yet written.

editors note:

Home as homily; the poetry of place. – mh clay