For a Stone rolling…

featured in the poetry forum August 29, 2021  :: 0 comments

Rilling a mourning bird morning
The Great Charlie Watts
No longer casts a shadow
Our telescopes trained
On his flight into the Light
Our feet got to move

editors note:

To all our rock ‘n rollers, we salute them with our feet. R.I.B. (rest in beat), Charlie! – mh clay

Milton was murdered.

featured in the poetry forum April 17, 2021  :: 0 comments

Lately it seems
All is lost, all is found
All at the same time
If healing is necessary
Ask the Traiteur for help
No payment needed
Milton wishes to hold her closer
“She is light on water to me,” he says.

editors note:

Before his end, Milton sought healing, switched to haiku. – mh clay

Regardless of Consequence

featured in the poetry forum April 1, 2020  :: 0 comments

The old poet’s writing hand lay
Curled like dead songbird feet
On the August sidewalk
The boy pushes on the songbird’s chest
One last song snippet
Then quiet bagpipe
The tune forgotten, the blue period of late
Went blackout, new moon allegedly so low
A torn-up paper drawing of a cake
I’ll have a slice she said
Pursuing happiness as fast as we can
Each step approaching death
Pursuing happiness as fast as we can
One breath, one heartbeat from rising angel
Pursuing happiness as fast as we can
Tend your fire! You are the signal now
Pursuing happiness as fast as we can
One breath away, one heartbeat away
Another leaf in the street
A phone call unanswered
Oh, you are such an Angel
Here is your participation trophy

editors note:

Cookies and kool-aid in the clubhouse, after. – mh clay

Blue Nun

featured in the poetry forum December 28, 2019  :: 0 comments

12/21/18 Poem by MH and Zim after being in Deep Ellum

I feel the blue nun, she’s on the edge of a ready to harvest field of bounty.
The sting and sizzle
Of sister’s swizzle
Ignites the inner eruption
Blink. The fields are ablaze, angels screaming
RUN. (You are the one we love, take my hand)
Run. The stumbling nun
Hands on ears
Eyes agog on approaching ever
In the middle of infinity, we exist now.
A roiling rampaging bull knocking down a shotgun shack
Butting us forward
To fall flat or bounce
Ripping open Heaven, be here now
With our snorkels, parachutes, and helmets
Deep dive, boys
Into it, into it now
Dig a little deeper, dig deeper now
Angel or Nothing

editors note:

Rampaging angels; it’s bliss or abyss. (This poem is a collaborative work by Chris Zimmerly and yours truly.) – mh clay

Don’t Imitate Hemingway

featured in the poetry forum October 5, 2019  :: 0 comments

One red husk shell, the smooth barrel gagging

Newly dead Ernie throws his scrambled brains
Quick into the sky as hummingbird turns
Red the predominate color, the second in command
Is green, sick green looney bin locked rooms
Long hallways with echoes
The window’s grasping fluctuations
Touchy inside seconds of electroshock therapy
For a minute, only banshee shoulders for the lightning struck

One shell releasing
The last waterfall of thoughts
Swimming in shark jaw water
The warm motion of the falling pieces
Diving to the knees

Nostrils flatulent with snotty brain bubbles
Pupils staggered in terrorizing mirrors
As the soul looks at the body bag
“I love you.”
In the last molecule exchange
In the last biting fire

editors note:

Out with a bang. Farewell to the bag and the cleanup crew. (See another mad missive from Chris on his page; something on the lighter side of lust and horticulture – check it out.) – mh clay

American Disarray #54

October 5, 2019  :: 0 comments

On the two legs
Of a lightning struck sea
An odd dancing scarecrow
Taps out a Morse Code mayday
Poet musing on
An empty glass
The liquor running its legs
Watching her legs
In the last light of the barroom
A witch finger vine stretching
Binding in memory
A bee’s map of the world
The monarch proboscis
The ruby-throated hummingbird tongue
Lapping her bell held nectar
The clear tone ringing in the wing beat
Hearing her heartbeat
Earring machinery clanking
Her breathing rhythmic
Faster now,
The stamen brushing
New colors on her dawn

Obstreperous

featured in the poetry forum May 1, 2019  :: 0 comments

The sky is angry mouth where a plum used to be
Quick color the departure walls
O! Lord, I can’t believe the news
Everywhere shimmering sudden light

Hey! Do you want to go the Featherwood Hospital?
Anodyne stat!
Hey Doctor! Nothing touches the tired spot.

Clip the clouds from the fingers
Everywhere simmering sudden light.

Let’s check into the Featherwood Hospital.
A tin man, do I have a heart?
Oh no! check my pulse
Quick call a nurse
I’m getting worse!

Wood or feather?
Doctor! Doctor!
What do you prescribe?

editors note:

Diagnose the malady ‘fore dashing off the remedy. Recover or reverse. Yes. Call a nurse! – mh clay

Oh, Not Again

featured in the poetry forum December 15, 2018  :: 0 comments

She has a halo you can
Always almost see
Her kiss will not set
You free
It lingers like a hook
Now you wriggle on
The line
Tasted
You are rotten fruit
On the vine
Wasted
The problem
Wasn’t your
Bad advice
It was
That I took
It.

editors note: The dupe after the dare. (See – and hear – another mad splash on Zim’s page – check it out!) – mh clay

Flamingo

December 15, 2018  :: 0 comments

Hooker spit in my Listerine,
Magic fingers of the professional
We found each other on Bourbon Street,
Got together for a little party
In a rented room around the corner from the old selling block.
The ghosts blinded Satan
Tabasco sauce pooled in eye sockets.
Jesus drunk with Buddha in the alley
Behind the bar smoking a spliff.
God is with his harem.
Oh friends, Feast!
Eating chilled Jim Morrison brain
As an appetizer.
It’s just all a flamingo lobotomy.
Just a flamingo lobotomy.
Flamingo.

Mad Wet Elves

featured in the poetry forum December 22, 2017  :: 0 comments

The unhappiness of sleep paralysis thoughts,
Straitjacket of seaweed and jellyfish tentacles,
A sea hag, heavy as an anchor, rusting on insomniac breath.
Stronger than sleeping pills, trying all the sweat wet pillows again,
What lie will we tell the children
When Santa’s Workshop falls through the thin ice at the North Pole?

Will History label us Stupid or Mean?

What lie will we tell the children
When Santa’s Workshop comes to rest on the Arctic seafloor?

Santa Claus entombed. Mrs. Claus in Tucson sobbing.
His mad wet elves coming ashore
On the backs of the last polar bears.

The Mont Blanc glacier in reverse has no brakes.
The hotel bar is now on the rocks.
The fighting Poets shout at each other with broken noses,
Blacked eyes, bloodied knuckles, spitting loose teeth at each other
“Stupid!”
“Mean!”

editors note:

Another holiday donnybrook; this time between poets for the right to lie and to write the lie rightly. No “L”. – mh clay