One Day

featured in the poetry forum June 26, 2015  :: 0 comments

One day nothing remarkable occurred.
No rivers ran red or economies collapsed.
Not a single sparrow seemed out of place,
the sky still blatantly apparent,
some rather ordinary clouds banking in ranks,
the black-eyed mouse in its usual kitchen.

People prayed for a good harvest, naturally,
or for salvation, or for Jenny’s sore to heal –
as they had since time first began
its long slide towards oblivion.
Women still looked at their men and wondered
whatever had become of them,
entropy’s sleeve continuing to unravel.

And then one day even that didn’t happen.

– Bruce McRae

editors note:

The day when absolutely nothing happens; ’twill be a truly remarkable day. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 25, 2015  :: 0 comments

I look through the softly falling snowflakes
All I see is white cloudy blur

I try to see through it
But, it’s all the same,
White cloudy blur

The snowflakes with the growing falling speed
Begin to look gray
As they mix with the modern city living

But, all that I try to see
Looks pure anyhow…

– Sylwia Borkowska

editors note:

Opacity begs acceptance at face value. Try to see through… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 21, 2015  :: 0 comments

Inject ‘calm’
through sedative drops
to my blue veins
shield wounded core
holding hard
to my fragile life

by the cough of life
bruises, caused
to lick those unspoken words

Night walrus
with tough wrinkled skin
along the long tusks
fought flippers whole of night
creepy and insane, till
the ‘day’,
broke me down:
Calm of space
and reigning clouds drifting around

Injecting calm
to the blue of sky,
the story which never gathered again!

– Tapeshwar Prasad

editors note:

Broken by denizen of deep? No story here… (goo, goo, gajoob) – mh clay

A Little Crazy

featured in the poetry forum June 19, 2015  :: 5 comments

in those days
on the psych ward
where everyone was
a little crazy
she was happy, she says

it was the pure honesty of it
everyone easy about
being off-center
a relief to be herself

now, on the wide outside
of locked windows and doors
she says she doesn’t know
who to be
in this other world
where everyone works
so hard to hide
being a little crazy.

– Kathy Lohrum Cotton

editors note:

Okay to be off-center in the heart o’ the Swirl. Here, all are welcome; crazy boy and (this) crazy girl. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 14, 2015  :: 0 comments

I was cast out upon a gray whale-dotted sea
amidst rolling waves from a storm-wrought breeze.
Upon a floating piece of ship’s debris I did seize
and paddled my way toward a green isle of trees.

Upon the sandy shore I made my tired way
and thanked God for giving me another day.
I would survive this trial; I’d find a way!
And when I was found I’d know what to say.

Thank you, Lord, for letting me survive
and not only that but actually to thrive!
The mere fact that I am still somehow alive
is reason enough to do my best and strive…

Strive to be a better man, a better lover
and not to seek excuses and run for cover.
Always around my wife and child will I hover.
Who knows what together we may discover?

– Thomas L. Holderfield

editors note:

Thank your lord or fate or chance. Make life and love from happenstance. – mh clay

Swirl on Repeat

featured in the poetry forum June 8, 2015  :: 0 comments

Done with the promises
pitch it to me all you want
not going down that rabbit hole
or looking glass
or whatever other magical doors.
Stop just stop
the tears
the stories
the fireworks just ain’t
the thrill of the ride
into the vortex of chaos.
At least some lessons learned
that last time
though always ready
to crumble like sandcastles at the tide
as memories of us in our own private shell
reel me back to the edge of that mad swirl
when I should have known to step back
from you.

– Nilanka Maldeniya

editors note:

More of love’s caprice; titillation and torture. Step up, step up. – mh clay

my philosophy

featured in the poetry forum June 2, 2015  :: 0 comments

I am simple
aye, I am simple
and the half of everything
can remit my ardour
I am a boat made of paper
half sunk and half lofty
and I have dreamt and dreamt
not once
of existing
and not existing
purgatorial essence
is the essence that defines me
an arch-angel
an arch-fiend
nay I am not avoiding thee
O thee who are besieging me
thee who defines faithfulness
By mere presence
and thou who shout
“what a crime
What a crime”
When someone sees beauty
In a marvel
that is half lame
and half sublime
What a nonsense!
My philosophy is not thine
I am my own definition
I am mine
I am mine

– ilhem issaoui

editors note:

Self-definition; divine, not defiant. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 29, 2015  :: 0 comments

Chan chain smoked Camels.
He wore Aqua Velva.
He loved Bebop Jazz.
He was a Marine.
He fought in The Battle of Guadalcanal.
He used to fuck my mother.
My mother was a cunt.
Chan taught me how to fly a kite.

– Larry Jones

editors note:

A father figure to fly above mommy issues. – mh clay

Sunrise after the Solstice

featured in the poetry forum May 27, 2015  :: 0 comments

the stars are gone with the black

without a trace
without footprints to follow

where they fly

starlings are already bright at their perch
singing spells to raise the casing of day

watercolors, salmon and pink, paint
impressions of mountains and cloud-scapes

dreams waiting to be awakened and real

nearby, lumbering shadows flee my room
deserting to the silent hallway

soon, the sun will intercede
the sky be crowned

pure, firm, fearless like fire wild

and there, the slivered Moon, once her own
glory will lose her iridescence

yet, stay at her post

as if she were called to be matron
the sun’s sole pale attendant

– Michael Parker

editors note:

The daily duel; sun triumphant, subservient moon. – mh clay

Summer pome

featured in the poetry forum May 26, 2015  :: 0 comments

My summer pome,
like sunlight off the pavement
hurtin your eyes,
but the trees are singing
and kids in the park
playing ball
and smoking
like mad.
Sometimes I remember
so much about my life
that it seems I’ve
been alive
always wanting
to start over
or at least
with different memories
and such.

And despite everything
I think it’s possible
to be free and easy,
like bugs and grass stains,
if you believe
in nothing
you’ve ever heard
and just go.

– Bud Faust

editors note:

Dealing from a deck of shuffled memories; every hand, a new beginning. – mh clay