how it unravels:

featured in the poetry forum March 22, 2018  :: 0 comments

me. string. disappearing act looking for the starting knot // tongue- // tied like magician’s scarves that amble without end. mind. twirling. riptides causing ruckus & mayday causing mayhem // a phantom limb of preconceived notions affixed to your wrists & feet. it starts with me // absent. turning trickster in the half- // moon. light as a feather that flaunts its impermanence in wind. the beginning is // me. flimsy. wound up too tight to be wrapped around a hand // & unable to wrap my mind around companionship // i don’t cut myself enough // slack.

– Marisa Adame

editors note:

How it comes with “no strings attached.” – mh clay

Better Than Broadway

featured in the poetry forum March 20, 2018  :: 0 comments

“This doesn’t look like Broadway,”
Remarked the man
Boasting a snide grin.
And I was angry
At first,
Because it’s easy to feel
Bitter,
Working front register
At a coffee shop
In a small town,
When you once
Dreamt
Of fame and glamor
On the grand stage
In the big city.

But then I smiled,
Because I do not need
The spotlight
When I see how my lover’s eyes
Light up.
I don’t need crowds
Cheering my name
When I hear how my lover
Whispers it.
Because this is not
What I thought
I wanted.
This isn’t Broadway,
And these red hills
Don’t say
“Hollywood”,
But you can keep
Your greasepaint and glitter
Because what I have
Is better than Broadway.

– Alexandria Biamonte

editors note:

Yes, better; especially if the show goes for a lifetime run. – mh clay

a hanging moon in the west.

featured in the poetry forum March 17, 2018  :: 0 comments

moon starts off heavy and orange
just over the stark naked trees
wintering west of this stand

some idea of where the sun is
some feeling stretching out
a distance to that sun and it
aint in the west or the east

we just hanging here
it hangs out of sight
it’s unfathomable where it’s at
numbers can say it

numbers can make up a length
but it’s out there
in all of this
and i’m out here in all of this

and here, in here, in this flesh
this living thing
this making a sense within speaks
“orange moon, unseen moon”

after that you can do anything
with words – you can make anything up
you can make any place real
but it ain’t, is it?

and as night, something, moves
that moon softens out of orange
climbs into the sky
makes a way towards the west

and i can’t fathom the stars
and they can’t fathom me
and i’m asking for something
and i don’t think it’s there

it is some form alright
in all this formlessness
inhale, breathe deep and look out
i could cry but for what

no one said to go there
but go there i go
all the words run out of themselves.
all the words run out of me.

making up all the men and women.
in this place. so vast. listen to it.
the moon ain’t orange anymore. just listen.
until the next time.

day will come and all this
will seem strange
as everything is normal in the light.
but it ain’t. and it never will be.

and this is where we are now.
the past is gone. the future
is yet to be. listen to it.

listen to yourself.

– Brendan McCormack

editors note:

As words waste away, like the waning moon… listen. – mh clay

rant

featured in the poetry forum March 16, 2018  :: 0 comments

fuck thinking positive
you just have to be insane:
say “cheese” to the gun barrels
of pain aimed at you
give yr demons a piggyback ride
gather all the parts of yr brain
that hate you & make a necklace of them
marry suicide & adopt death
& dress it up like a lamb

– Rob Plath

editors note:

Yup! You carry them, or they carry you. – mh clay

BULLETS

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

When
Darla
deals
bullets
from
the
bottom
of
the
deck…

I
stand
silent
during
the
flop
and
await
the
fatal
turn
onto
fifth
street

– K.W. Peery

editors note:

Do you duck and cover? Or, depend on the luck o’ the draw? – mh clay

upward spiral

featured in the poetry forum March 6, 2018  :: 0 comments

There’s beauty in the breakdown –
maybe everybody says that.
Seems like everybody knows that.

i don’t know.

But what we leave out constantly –

or maybe no one knows it –
or maybe it’s so obvious, it shows –

Is the logic.

There’s logic in the breakdown, too –
it’s just not the first thing calling.

Logic is less primal.

It’s more patient,
in less pain –
and it’s humbled in the presence
of a strength it can’t explain.

Cuz there are just some instances
when things come up
that override the brain.

And that’s when you’re the furthest,

farthest,

fathomest,

away

from being what we think of as insane.

– Tess Hunt

editors note:

Here it is; a logical explanation for all this crazy. – mh clay

GAMES

featured in the poetry forum March 4, 2018  :: 0 comments

get out of your
mind games people
play hard or soft
boiled in oily
bird gets the warm
engine ear nose and
throw the bawl
your eyes outside
chance of rain
man of la munch
kin you hear me
now I layman’s
terms and conditions
have worsened overtime
game winner every
thyme in a bottle
of beer on the
wall of fame
and four chin
music and dancing
contest your knowledge
and whiz dumb
as a posterized him
on that dunk

– Spencer Smith

editors note:

A game on, pachinko poetry slam… – mh clay

At last! A cure for optimism!

featured in the poetry forum February 27, 2018  :: 0 comments

Fifth Dan status in the art of unsleeping achieved,
a school of dead leaves chase each other around the garden
while a three-quarters moon rises like the death star.
These, the night lives of heroic, adventurous, self-deluders,
this, the nocturnal dreamscape of late middle-aged Indiana Jones’
pot bellied Bonds’ still queasy from that dry martini, shaken not stirred,
or was it the kebab that took the wind out of your sails and ruffled the duvet fiercely?
The theatre of other-self, beginning to feel like an emotional lock-in
for sadists, psychopaths and drinkers of mammies milk.
Could’ve been a contender, could’ve been an accountant,
a Hun, a Vandal, a Visi-Goth, a Cossack, an Engineer, an En-tre-pren-eur,
a smiler who waits with a blade up his sleeve, for those he believes to be less,
or any other symptom of a good school and nuclear self-regard.
But the file and rasp of early shaping, the ruin and render, roil and moil,
of all things planned and unplanned, taken and undertaken,
leads to a blackbelt in sleep deprivation and the happy knowledge
that finally and at last there is a cure for optimism.

– Michael Corrigan

editors note:

A prod for the downtrod(den). – mh clay

A Promise To Break

featured in the poetry forum February 26, 2018  :: 0 comments

What I’m
asking is
for you
to break
me AGAIN,
break me
all the way OPEN.

(I don’t care
if it hurts)
as long as
you promise
that you’ll
keep break-
ing me, OVER
and OVER.

Sadly, even
a promise
to break
was not
the kind
of prom-
ise you
knew how
to KEEP.

– Elizeya Quate

editors note:

Such cads, who can’t be trusted, even to be untrustworthy. – mh clay

Red Stuff

featured in the poetry forum February 23, 2018  :: 0 comments

Esau said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red stuff,
for I am famished!”
–Genesis 25:30

Red snapper fish and red velvet cake—

The famous red apple; the slithering snake.

The blood in God’s creatures—the sunset at dusk.

The Indian corn concealed in its husk.

The communist cadre—the red-headed girl.

The socialist padre—the Eurasian red squirrel.

The crimson tide and the precious red rubies.

The color of nipples—on some people’s boobies.

The planet called Mars—the sports car for sale.

The fox in her den—your friend Abigail.

The stop sign on First St.—the pimple that popped.

Mao’s little red book—the tomato you dropped.

The cherries and peppers—the grapes on the vine.

That sweater for Christmas with its horrid design.

The cat in the window—your heart and your kidneys.

And good old St. Nick—coming down the red chimney.

 

– Daniel Klawitter

editors note:

Can’t get enough o’ this red stuff! – mh clay