Factory Girl

featured in the poetry forum October 16, 2019  :: 0 comments

When the fiery orb descends beyond the mountains,
The chug chug of the industrial machine ceases.
And figures, like ants scampering out of its colony,
Spurt from the behemothic gate. Footsteps direct their way to the grocery.
How much is the steak? Tomorrow is Sunday.
I’ll feast upon steak and cheap wine.
I haven’t visited my mother for weeks.
Hope she’s topnotch.
I need to check my brother’s progress in rehab.
Johns’ coming over tonight.
Shall I wear thongs and high slit skirt?
My new bodycon dress will surely erupt volcanic tremors swallowing the purlieus into a hazy sphere.
Tring tring… Tring tring…
Hello!… Yeah, John… oh, that’s ok… really, it’s ok… bye…
I will have to watch TV alone.
I will have to jog alone.
I will have lunch alone.
I might one day dress up like an uptown punk and barge into a bar.
Or put on a bodice and a tutu made of turkey feathers to dance at a powwow.
I will finagle my way to a chair in some corporate office.
Or maybe, become an untrammeled tourist guide.
At parties, I will meet young men wearing musk colon.
I can hear us laughing together over a silly young lady
Dressed funny in sequins sitting on a couch in a corner.
Tomorrow I shall be a punk. Tomorrow I will barge into a bar.
Tomorrow I shall search for turkey feathers.

– Silba R Marak

editors note:

Another day in the life of aspirations for tomorrow. – mh clay

Thoughts on a New Spring

featured in the poetry forum October 15, 2019  :: 0 comments

Over the soft edges
Of curiosity
Into the uncertain woods
Of movement
Spontaneity and light
In an atmospheric shimmer
No actual sky
To be seen
In the wasteland of the real
Delicate and ephemeral
We walk on tenderly
Samplers of experience
Voyeurs of modernity
Grasping new from nothing
Where optimism
Is not naive
In the awe of fresh sunsets
And the power
Of a relentless longing
To be free

– John P. Drudge

editors note:

No! Never naïve to push for “Yes!” – mh clay

Raining in a heart

featured in the poetry forum October 13, 2019  :: 0 comments

I believe it is always raining inside a heart
water brimming up,
and the night
waits for the world to be flooded.

All is an inevitable quotient
between emptiness and memory-flash

Think of a house wending back
and webbed in grey
Think of how time written in a bold font
on the backside of a garden-patio
Endless soil soaked in a water-coloured ink
You can best sense all as you hear the
dying sound of a horn kissed by a horizon
As you open an old basket,
fossils of the vacuum turn into
the continuum of pages and flowers.

I believe it is fascinating
to be lost in the talent like meadows.
Your eyes are the biggest metaphor
The reality is only a secret lane. A bottle of
perfume is lately broken in your name
Anesthetic fogs come out as I tell you, yes,
come, tell me it’s that, that,
nothing can change the sound of
downpour in my heart, but you can at least
know that one sitting deep in me with a
hard acquiescence has nothing to do with love

– Jayanta Bhaumik

editors note:

A dubious drenching… – mh clay

Up To The Minute Mindset Virus

featured in the poetry forum October 11, 2019  :: 0 comments

Hours and hours of escapism…
Numbing videos and games;
Watch as others Sanitize keyboards and surrounding area,
Germaphobe in a Surgical mask.
Choosing the most infested places.
Annoying Repetitious sounds and
Contemporary lingo lacking depth of thought!
They coexist and colink!
Phase to fashion create the next fad,
The only thing I keep saying
Is, Keep your distance!
Afraid of a different type of infection…
Shudder. Shudder. Shudder.
Public place seems the most contagious.
It spreads to different screens in different forms;
Live on the street and escape into the screen.
Plague unleashed mindset virus!
Up to the minute and current conditions.
Engage in Mediocrity and Monotony nothing else given any thought!
Mindset Virus controls the life you live over and over again…

– Mr. Authenticity

editors note:

Stay clean! No screens! (You, too, can fight Subliminally Transmitted Diseases) – mh clay

Miss Interpretation

featured in the poetry forum October 10, 2019  :: 0 comments

“I love you so much,” he said
“you are my rock”

as she thought

you are my rock too
the rock tied to my feet
pulling me
to the bottom of life’s ocean
taking in water with every p a s s i n g day
immersed in disappointment
asphyxiated with regret

the realization of wasted years
caused rivulets of despair and hopelessness

as he thought

she really does love me

– Anthony Dirk Ray

editors note:

Assurance in one brings angst to another. So sad… – mh clay

this is a list of lists

featured in the poetry forum October 9, 2019  :: 0 comments

i have a list of reoccurring nightmares tucked under my pillow
next to a list of first lines for new poems

i have a list of things to do before i turn thirty –
see Hamilton live, go scuba diving, find my brother –

and a list of things to see before i die –
a clear night sky, the roots of a rainforest, and Shakespeare’s gravesite –

i have a list of tequila brands i can’t drink anymore
and a much shorter list of red wines i actually like

i have a list of things i should buy at the weekly farmers’ market –
radishes, rainbow kale, green onions –

and a list of what’s cheaper at the supermarket –
tofu, strawberries, carrots –

i have a list of chores to do this weekend –
wash the pots, clean the cat box, sweep the floors –

and another of homework to do this week –
a paper on theory to edit, a blog post to write, an article to read –

i have a list of places it’s safe to park around campus
with all the spots i won’t get towed

i have a list of things that make me shake –
heavy footsteps, slamming doors, hands where they shouldn’t be –

and i have a list of affirmations from my therapist
in the glove box of my car for the days

i want to write lists of everything
wrong with me

– Emily Ramser

editors note:

Better list less than listless. – mh clay

Gift of the Autumn Forest

featured in the poetry forum October 4, 2019  :: 1 comment

a cub-sized lump
slumps against
dark asphalt

magenta slit
in blue-black fur—
a goner

six crows make
a hexagonal shape
around him

obsidian feathers
like priestly garb
at this fresh altar

birches release
yellow leaves
glitter from a silver sky

falls on land old as myth
blesses the greedy
with death’s largesse

– Peggy Turnbull

editors note:

This murder brings no conviction except that greed is good. – mh clay

A Day In The Life of Cobra Commander

featured in the poetry forum October 2, 2019  :: 0 comments

Cobra Commander sits in
His ginormous mansion.


Decades of exploiting the
Poor and raw-dogging
Regulations as the CEO
Of everything made him
Countless billions.

Make no make, he already rules the world.

He’s bored.

So, he puts on his costume
Again to play his favorite game.
Fascist religious extremist warlord!

A game to create a civilization
Through the teachings of Apep.

Wednesday, he destroyed a
Third-world country before
Finally losing to G.I. Joe.

“I’m getting better at this!”
He said to himself.

Friday, he puts on his suit.

Goes to D.C. as the All CEO

Demands that his losses
Get returned to him by Monday.

– Roderick Richardson

editors note:

Outrageous advocacy for corporate entities requires reciprocal returns. – mh clay

Door Hinges

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

I am scared that you know how to leave,
how to get up and slam the front door behind you,
leaving me with all the dishes left over from the meal I made in my tiny apartment on West Main Street.

I am hopeful that you will forget what it means to say goodbye,
and that the door will look less appealing over time

I am embarrassed each time I make a joke that isn’t quite funny,
or send one too many messages in the middle of the night,
because then I think you might know how much I really clutch onto you and stand in between
you and the doorknob.

I am excited each time I see your name,
and it makes me want to jump out my window onto the pavement because I don’t like this sense that this is meant to be and I really have something worth losing.

I am unsure of where you stand;
I see you in the kitchen and want to pull you over,
make you come closer to me,
so I can hold your hand and ask you how you’ve been.

I am helpless to you as I watch you fix all the clocks for me,
because I have never been on time for anything,
and now all of a sudden I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

I am overwhelmed and can’t fall asleep because of the fear I feel about the door being unlocked,
and me, unhinged;
you could wake up and realize that I am a nightmare that you dare not stick around for.

I wish I could erase the door.

I wish I could fall asleep knowing that the door is there,
and you are here and neither is going anywhere.

– Rachel Spear

editors note:

If freely come, no will to go. Keep the door unlocked. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 29, 2019  :: 0 comments

When my muse is not around
I stare at empty lines
No need to even pick up
Pen pencil quill

Take out order delivered
Subdue my gnawing hunger
For words & nourishment
Only stains on my notebook

Stale cookie held not
Promise nor fortune
I write with chopsticks
When my muse is not around

– Terrence Sykes

editors note:

Tapped out with take-out, when it’s muse’s night out. – mh clay