tournesols

featured in the poetry forum May 26, 2017  :: 0 comments

after Vincent van Gogh

make it alive, I said,
give them the sun and a parrot
if you think right

at least some gay, yellow shine

wish he was listening to me
while he painted the sunflowers on canvas

life would not have stilled
had there been water in the vase

– Kiriti Sengupta

editors note:

Nothing still about this life. – mh clay

Cubby Hole

featured in the poetry forum May 24, 2017  :: 0 comments

I crawl through the extremities of a cubby hole
Sheltered through the cracks of a lonely shelter
Repeating myself through the stark crevices
A story to be told over baseless tea.

Watching the Catholics watching
The prim waitresses milling about
An insult overheard, though, blank to offers
Of salvation through works, cussing the wasters.

Buttonholing the professors, slick with complements
The plagiaristic soul skims the laptop
Scans his grievance to the highest bidder,
Probably chuckling at his desk in his office

Ghosts remain in their territory. All I know
Is he didn’t vacate this earth soon enough
An exile from propriety, offering my honour
The orgasmic grail never settling matters.

Enough money to eat and drink
Some satellite watching eats at your soul
A limiting barcode sends you to hell
All your persuasions burning in your brain.

I sit in the cubby hole, darkened, safe
Until what’s over with comes around again
Never loving you, in stead of research
I crawl out again, wiser and better.

– Patricia Walsh

editors note:

Exposed or ensconced, exile is imminent. Might as well stand in the open. – mh clay

To my child-eyes

featured in the poetry forum May 21, 2017  :: 0 comments

from The Baseball Key

To my child-eyes
The gear looked like knights’ armor.
The implicit danger of the aptly titled foul tip and
My nads covered by a reinforced plastic cup
Filled me with a godly fear of death: still I yearned for invincibility.
I liked the heat-too-hot for others. Sweating under the mask,
Spellbound by the illusion no one could see my eyes,
Taking, interpreting, and giving secret signals to the elect.
I had knee-pads like lobster-tails and my shins were painted blue.
The chest I wore let me take blows that would kill grown men.
My mitt was a shield. My right arm a whip-sling.
On the field I was a war-machine.

– Chigger Matthews

editors note:

From a knight of the no-hitters. – mh clay

read

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

you write down
all my excuses
page after page
publish them
in a cheap pocket edition
now you say
you can read me
like a book

– Jim Bennett

editors note:

Barely enough for a back cover blurb. – mh clay

The Pennsylvania Hotel

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

The mantis sat staring right at me…
Eyes bulging… hypnotising
No funny movements the
World is watching… there is no encore, no time to lock the ten locks shut
No time to hammer the windows shut
No time for the newspaper clippings to be taken down and moved for the press
The parrots are watching from the high wire joined by crows of higher spirits
The lizard king has joined the mantis on the window sill they are moving in on me
The knife that was hidden under the desk is gone…
There is no more air left in the room
I could crawl but their eyes still follow my every movement
The crows circle the outside street light waiting for the door to open
I’m not turning on the light
The mantis knows where I hide
The crows peck at my thoughts, this is the morse code to the dead
Technically I am still breathing technically I may have a pulse
But the laughter is getting louder from the spider of the damned
If I am very still they may forget I am here

– Diana Rose

editors note:

Need a check up for checkin’ in to be checked out. Yeah, don’t move… – mh clay

Rebuilding Him

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

Today the chaff begins
its skyward drift
as she sifts through

a lifetime of photos
that become a few moments’
montage at his funeral.

This is the widow’s work:
constructing a mythic man
from his finest qualities

and most handsome profiles,
gilded with every scrap
of accomplishment.

He is the better version
she will recall
all her remaining days,

a polished monument
she can visit
without regrets.

– Kathy Lohrum Cotton

editors note:

We’d all like to be the best memory of us we can be. – mh clay

Dreaming

featured in the poetry forum May 11, 2017  :: 0 comments

it never stops.
this bass that’s
boom—boom—booming—
constant running
heaving breathing
infinitesimal worry
break—break—breaking—
now it’s done.
wide-eyed, searching,
updown updown updown
there
she sits. with her notebook
filled with crimson—teeth?
looking up, she spots me—
smiling little wings
she’s gone—my gothic angel—
gone to the Haudenosaunee—
why?
close eyes, comes this yearning
pangs of mortality did
pierce my gut, now this
flowing—this essence—
my entirety—flowing, gushing, bursting—

now dry
and so, I cry, salty
tears of jejunity
paradoxical lust
to mean something
to anyone, but—no—
–don’t leave this room
–don’t step out this cage
–stew in this pain
–you deserve this
youknowyoudo—
now quiet.

open again—slight chirping,
sun kissed cheeks ever warming,
on soft, calm, green—
turn to see you next to me,
you’re smiling with two missing teeth—
no worries—
ephemeral tranquility
disturbed by a
BEEP BEEP BEEP—

– Sarah Karowski

editors note:

Let the Jungians have their fun. Better to wake to a beeping alarm and a gap-toothed smile. – mh clay

movie night

featured in the poetry forum May 9, 2017  :: 0 comments

in 1998 harry stamper saved the world
when he detonated a thermonuclear
bomb on an asteroid i witnessed his
demise unfold from my couch with a
boner because his daughter grace
really tripped my trigger back then
i closed my eyes with a firm grip &
waited for the explosion

– Victor Clevenger

editors note:

Sating self while others save the world. Now, popcorn… – mh clay

Fleeting Muse

featured in the poetry forum May 8, 2017  :: 0 comments

The stench of our sheets
Haunts me longer than my vice.
Unconsummated.

– Eliah Medina

editors note:

Open window; grit teeth… – mh clay