Storm of Sound

featured in the poetry forum September 17, 2017  :: 0 comments

Such a funny thing –
the intricacies of the voyage.
The waves that lap at your ear,
drift through the canal,
like an ocean barge
being guided swiftly
yet carefully
through a narrow passage.
Once through,
the beating of a tiny drum
Thump, thump, thump
like a Viking ship
encourages the
stroke, stroke, stroke
of oar-hands
gliding it further, further
tickling the barnacles
in a whirlpool of sound;
a complex vortex
swirling through
a twisted ride
before a fast-moving current
picks it up and delivers it to port.

It’s a funny thing.
The complex ride to port.
how the passage can be
smooth and swift
uneventful and fluid,
yet an unexpected storm
can turn the tide
change the current
and reroute the journey –
the sound doomed to drift
on an empty ocean,

– A.D. Hurley

editors note:

Storms of dismissal, disinterest and pride. Watch the weather when you speak. – mh clay

The Flight That Disappeared

featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2017  :: 0 comments

Robert E. Kent Productions, 1961

the future judges
all of us

who set out
to write history

who learn to carve
a bomb from granite

we are
those butterflies

fanning their wings
in the Amazon

snuffing candles
not yet lit

those who follow us
will see

we leave bloody
footprints in the sand

– Ace Boggess

editors note:

They will judge us, but they will not learn. – mh clay

Which Window?

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

After the lava dries behind my
Eyes, and thoughts calcify my pupils wide,
The sky still has space for all of

The planets’ volcanoes. Not just my

Brain’s bleeding rage to stay Spirit-high.

– Mark Fleury

editors note:

In that day, hope we may find refulgence in the fumes. – mh clay

The Scarecrow

featured in the poetry forum September 14, 2017  :: 0 comments

Nothing more than an illusion.
A body I once was
Now stripped and stuffed
For submissive obedience.
Gagged and bound to a pole He raised
Above the rows from which the crows graze.
Guardian of a land that was never my home.
Taken by a man that found me wandering alone.
Living out my days among the wheat and the grass.
Crows ate my mind;
I don’t remember much of my past.
Nothing left for me to feel.
Emotionless I am,
The emptiness is real.
As for the smile that you see upon my face,
He carved it into me to keep me in my place.
If happiness he sees, then happy I must be.
I know the purpose for me hanging.
It is Him I must please.
Caged is my mind; I’m bathed in agony.
To this pole forever bound
As I watch the crows roam free.

– Ash Garza

editors note:

Hung for happiness (whose?). No wonder the crows are scared. – mh clay

when people ask

featured in the poetry forum September 13, 2017  :: 0 comments

when people ask about you the only thing i know to say anymore is that
there was no cure.
you were a disease and i was a body you infected.
listen –
your love came into my system like a needed vaccine. like an answer to all the problems. so i welcomed you into my blood, my proteins, my fucking atoms. i let you in on one molecular level. you felt like heaven in a body that has only known hell. but i can’t put into words how wrong i was about you because, dear god, you fucked me up. you turned into a virus – you invaded all of my goodness. you weren’t a vaccine, you were the virus and i was trying to fight it. you’re the infection and my immune system didn’t even realize it because it welcomed you like you deserved to be there. like you belonged as a part of me.
but you were poison. you were turning my blood purple you were turning my head inside out. i felt like my brain didn’t want to be a part of me anymore. like you hit it with the most wonderful drugs with bursts of dopamine and serotonin but the oxytocin and love from every fucking angle doesn’t help if you just rip them away.
you took my heart away. you took the love from my brain and you sucked darkness into every part of my system.
so now all i have left is a broken heart and the remains of a broken down infection.

– Tara Davis

editors note:

… and immunity, after all. – mh clay

Party Sex

featured in the poetry forum September 10, 2017  :: 0 comments

My roommate Mark
spends the weekend
on a broken flute, pipes
its one note to political friends.
Do they know the Revolutionary
Trotskyite League voted
to prohibit oral sex?

Through a bus window I see
a familiar Party member ride
a rusty bicycle. He stops to staple
Party flyers onto kiosks. Skinny pony,
drab army jacket, tattered Keds,
I admire his thin body, his
self-imposed poverty, imagine
us on a narrow bed, bare walls,
small room, his hand raised
in restraint. “No. Not that.”

He rides his bike from tree
to tree. In my mind, he
is not free. Except of me.

– Peggy Turnbull

editors note:

When it’s time to go independent… Yes. That! – mh clay

2 from, It’s Nighttime in the Big City Haikus

featured in the poetry forum September 5, 2017  :: 0 comments

The Nightshift Krispy Kreme worker sneaks a nap
in the back of the building.
The O in the hot doughnut sign dies.


A chef comes up with a new soufflé recipe,
long after the second shift has gone home.
The IRS agent turns off his light.

– Todd Trulock

editors note:

It takes so many little pics to portray a big city. – mh clay

The Midwestern Guide to Time Travel

featured in the poetry forum September 4, 2017  :: 0 comments

for Mark Shaffer

remember to dance in a 10 ft steel cage
one for every year of your life

to dream of a future
filled with flying cars
and international date lines
that seem as limitless
as homespun wisdom

somewhere a little voice
tells you to drown a mermaid
in 39 ft of water or a hill of dirt

it sings for blood
as the sun
touches your skin.

– John Dorsey

editors note:

Casualties; your trail of crumbs to mark the way. – mh clay

Down to the Ocean in Hopes

featured in the poetry forum August 31, 2017  :: 0 comments

She goes down to the ocean in hopes
Where tidal powers set hearts aglow
Like a full moon off a sand dune
The cycle renews itself

Quietly pulled to the liquid, unleashed
Free from expectations and experience
Universal flow is dancing

The streams and rivers that have scarred her life
Highways and streets, slashing through
Original wilderness, original paradise, original being
All return to where the sun surrenders to waves and depth

Poseidon and a million Sirens blow her hair
Into free-form tendrils
As she faces the maritime horizon

At the wet communion altar rail, she prostrates
With sand caking her knees and thighs
She petitions the ocean with a knowing smile
Her flesh exposed, like a tender bloom, too long in the desert

The elemental sacrament complete
She is quenched and restored
By the totality of Earth’s nursery and vastness

This pilgrimage to the edge of other worlds
Has renewed passions for divine and vulgar things
With the fortitude of sub-Atlantic mountains
And the tenacity of threatened coral reefs

She has never been alone.

– PW Covington

editors note:

For all our self-imposed supremacy, we are always (and ever) tamed by the sea. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 30, 2017  :: 0 comments

Parents of mine gifted me an ancestral gift
Acronym of submissive attitudes and rebellious households
Tired limp bodies from the routines of every night
Roaring of abuses and touches hushed up in long veils of cultures
Invisible stains of countless deaths whose murderer is out on bail
Anarchy of voices, together but always pulling each other behind the curtains for speaking aloud would result in unintended censoring
Ripen spirits to take what has been always theirs
Crushing dominance and reclaiming their own homes
Hands raised at each other and not with each other
Yelling and urging others to break the prison but yet to find their own key to freedom

– Aishwarya Shrivastav

editors note:

A legacy worth losing. – mh clay