This Is What Love Is About

September 2, 2017  :: 0 comments

“You see, there’s always an increase in stake and a gap and a back up against the wall. Now, look…” He flicked his cigarette. “No matter how much you write, you want more.” Lilly was just listening. Herb was in one of his moods. “It was cool, so clever, the way that thing just arrived in me.” Herb lit another …

sunglasses

featured in the poetry forum July 15, 2017  :: 0 comments

something about this guy’s glasses,
hiding
in his glasses,
his shades
and me sitting writing
nakedly,
not concealing,
bearing it,
embarrassed over the
weaknesses
and inefficiencies
and flaws over
my body of work –

his body
concealing
in
shades
thinking
he’s getting
away.

yet
the only way to build a body
is through
shattering it in nakedness
in vulnerability in uncertainty
in naïvete.

the only way to destroy it
is in protection.

editors note:

So, take off your shades. I dare you. – mh clay

blue guitar

featured in the poetry forum January 12, 2017  :: 0 comments

there’s a musician
falls in love with a blue
guitar
not
a blues guitar
just
a blue guitar.
THAT’S
a poet, a heart
of music,
a beam of light.
bought it in
a pawn shop.
somebody
with plenty of
blues brought
it there in
exchange
for rent
cigarette money
clothing
transportation,
maybe a nip
of wine and
received far
less than its value.

then sold to
my friend
way over
the denominations
of a fair price
by the seller
over the glass counter,
saxophones on the wall,
toasters on the shelves,
trinkets in glass counters
with wrist watches, slacks
on hangers, jackets, skirts.
who falls in love with a blue guitar
in a pawn shop window?
somebody wanting to pluck
the strings for jitterbugs
across long, wood plank dance floors,
like the poets running to puddles
to record the raindrops,
while everyone else
misses the dance.

editors note:

Best when played with eyes closed. – mh clay

ANOTHER MARK AGAINST VANITIES AND BOOK COVERS

October 8, 2016  :: 0 comments

Never judge a book by its cover. I learned this from a small incident that would almost disappear into the shadows of history, were it not for the power of memory that can’t help wanting to retrieve it, and others like it, and, too often, does. I was a handsome guitarist in a late-teens, 20’s and 30’s bar called the …

i do not want to lose

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

my keys
my mind
my favorite trapeze
a guitar string
the warmth of coffee
friends of the past
nor my coat
nor my hat
in the snowy blizzards
nor the functioning of
the a.c. in the summer
the buttons to my shirt
nor the hair on my head
loved ones

just
the one
immovable
that doesn’t
budge: weight.

editors note:

An endless conundrum; let go, hold on. – mh clay

Internet Dating

May 20, 2016  :: 0 comments

Mick went out that evening. There was the Purity Restaurant over on 7th Street and 7th Avenue. Mick was a little down on his luck, figured 7, 11…dice, numbers like that. Walked into The Purity. The place used to be owned by a couple of Greeks and is now owned by a couple of Italians. It also relocated from Union …

starbucks coffee brands

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

bold is stronger
taste
less caffeine as
the roasting burns
the buzz.
pike is a stronger
buzz
less roast
as
preservation weakens
taste.
so you
get a nice high typing
in the morning if you
systematically
arrange your sequence
at a reasonable
price too, without
the cabal murdering you.

editors note:

The price we pay for free wifi. – mh clay

For Rosealie

January 8, 2016  :: 0 comments

Outside, the chair was right in front of the building, and they were drinking rotgut wine. I noticed two Latinos and a West Indian with one of those high caps with yellow, green and red swirls. One of the Latinos wore a waist length, brown army jacket. The third guy was in a big, overstuffed armchair, springs splitting through. He …

perfection

featured in the poetry forum December 5, 2015  :: 1 comment

this poem’s not going down
the way it’s supposed to be.

your reaction will probably
not be
the way it’s supposed to be.

my life is not
the way
it’s supposed to be.

my job…

the moment is not
the way
it’s supposed
to be.

my meditation is never
the way

it’s supposed to be.
every rule i read in a
book. they never apply to me –

they’re not the way they’re
supposed to be.

the food,
the drink,
the air
are not the way
they’re supposed to be.

agreements are not the way
they’re supposed to be.

expectations are
never, never, never the way
they’re supposed to be.

vacations,
recreations,
anticipated fun – they’re

not the way they’re supposed to be.

whoever made up these pictures
sure didn’t do it
the way
he’s supposed to be.

and yet
everything’s perfect
because nothing is the way
it’s supposed to be.

and THAT’S the way
it’s supposed to be

editors note:

We suppose so… – mh clay

King of the Nighttime

September 18, 2015  :: 0 comments

Nick was in the bedroom, occupied with a musical question. He held a red, Guild Sunburst acoustic guitar. Nick was a musician, and contributed to the support of the small family, along with Donna, the wife. She worked mornings as a kindergarten teacher in a private school. The school was one block east, on Utica Avenue. They were on East …