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

This half way borrowed no-man’s land
of an attic suite
feeling so high, so bitter
on our correspondence
between truths in
this compromise facility
filled with rags, pets,
and uneaten takeaway foil.
Was it Indian or Italian love we had last night?

I only remember later my jealousy of your dreams
watching your eyelids flicker a future.

My own sleepless self
smoked on the balcony of this diced up lighthouse
above the Medusa wrangle of addictive tracks
running like bowels during the night
held by timetable glue
we all have our departure dates to think hard on
in our temporary tarot house
built with shards of light
from smashed glass
reminders of the latest fight
slamming doors and pirouette paper
strewn round the rugs like childrens’ drawings
in a Samson blinding day planning our exits
for a day, for a life, still somehow egging
for the child who’ll decorate
your own flat’s doors and fridge
Contrary or perhaps aware
of our listened to Walls and Bridges.

– Phillip O’ Neil

editors note:

A knock-down-drag-out encounter in solitude; apart from together. – mh clay

the stories i was whispering to you while you slept

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

we are in a back room
at the old library
where they stack piles of books
on the floor

our palms are buried
beneath ash and dust

your eyes peer at me over tall stacks
of half-torn pages
like twin black holes

you bear the sulphuric scent of the void
in space

we pretend we are somewhere else
all the time

– Panos Panagiotopoulos

editors note:

With nothing but words to define our place. – mh clay

Easy as 1, 2, truth.

featured in the poetry forum September 20, 2017  :: 0 comments

You see
You’re Everlasting like the essence of bread and wine.
When you read forever My grandfather’s cheeks were Scarlet with eternity
And I have fervor in infinity
When your heart gives into divinity
And I like to play with heat.
I’ve been watching you. You’re a stop sign.
Your face red like war, And in this trench
With his brothers murmur radio signals like crime.
When calisthenics take hold my tongue
High in a fever and young
My lips cracked and dry
Like mother Earth after Phaethon’s joyride.
In the glass of time and the
Pearl in their ocean eyes
Play with me two truths and one lie.

– Rachael N. Sanders

editors note:

A burning truth, fueled by mythology and maybe. – mh clay

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