featured in the poetry forum March 15, 2023  :: 0 comments

Stuck at the crossroads of passion and pleasure,
whispers withered, as minutes vanish into hours.
While dancing under moonlight’s warm white glow,
meandering minds are lost in sentimental songs,
flaunting fantasies, eyeing shadows on the wall.

Heartstrings were wound tight, much too tight;
wary, restless souls lost their magnetic charge,
no longer electric, couldn’t light up a clear night.
Each longed to breathe liberation’s infinite air,
cravings and reality became dissenting forces.

Twirling tongues failed to fuel beads of sweat,
fervent desires and loving strains now expired!
Onetime shared dreams no longer wished upon,
juicy tempting delights suddenly turned bitter,
cherished bonds faded in their rearview mirror.

Out of rhythm, they can’t keep time to the music.
Sensual notions and capricious carnal escapades,
fleeting as a cool breeze on a sweltering dog day,
slipped precipitously away, lost in numb impulses,
their souls are stripped; lifeless, lonely and still.

editors note:

A sad end to an old romance (or, maybe a lame party). – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 27, 2022  :: 0 comments

Love happens, it cannot be explained,
it’s realized in many different ways.
They say love at any age is a delight,
but rules of the game have changed;
it may not be walking hand in hand,
in a park or on a beach of cushy sand.
Love used to be a face to face thing,
now it’s become a virtual experience,
starting with an IM’s addictive ping.
Lovers wait for that annoying sound,
takes the place of a doorbell’s ring.
Whatever its case, just give it time,
it needs to be nurtured and shared.

editors note:

These days, best swipe right or be left… alone. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 10, 2022  :: 0 comments

Searched for a rainbow,
found a lump of coal.
Wished for a pony,
got a broken fishing pole.

Tried out for football,
never made the team.
Hoped to catch the spotlight
never felt its special gleam.

Dreamed of a lovely woman,
dated a conniving witch.
Desired a night of passion,
came home with a nasty itch.

Bought my first new car,
had it stolen in just a week.
Discovered water in my TV,
when my roof began to leak.

Traveled congested roadways,
just fueled my aggression.
Narcotic prescription drugs
only masked my depression.

Changed my way of thinking,
slowed down my daily grind.
Rejection of ludicrous goals
brought me peace of mind.

editors note:

“You can’t always get what you want…” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 3, 2022  :: 0 comments

Our childhood home was barren and bleak,
not a safe haven or a refuge for the weak;
a sullen mist pervaded the air and space,
there were no fancy curtains or dainty lace.

The upstairs hallway was dark and dreary,
there was no sunlight to wake the weary;
each daybreak brought challenges anew,
clouded memories we’d woefully accrue.

Fractured family confabs, emotions askew,
nervous perspiration wet as morning dew;
the same old tired song played in our heads,
shocking our spirits, turning us onto meds.

The basement was cold, dark and chilling,
a viable scenario for a frightful killing;
my brother was young when we moved
never knew the pain of being abused.

Parents are gone, it was time to go home,
and show Jimmy the dungeon I’d roam;
he’d never noticed a door there before,
nor the room that we’d come to abhor.

editors note:

A door we would keep shut, swings open sometimes. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 3, 2021  :: 0 comments

You’re like a hangnail, so annoying,
can’t seem to get rid of memories of you.
Your soft skin was like sweet cream butter,
now the wrinkles match your surliness.
Your lips were like a lambert cherry,
now they taste like an unripe persimmon.
Your bed was a bastion of fervent desires,
now it’s where fantasies take their last breath.
You were a wildflower with tattoos to match,
now your once sweet blossoms have wilted.
Your eyes, a mirror, reflected our passions,
now it’s smeared with snowy residue’s insidious grip.
Your body was the envy of a long line of lovers,
now it’s beaten, battered, used, older than your years.
Your orgasmic rivers once drowned my spirit,
now dried up, into your ravine no one takes a dip.
Cravings numbed, out of place, they walked out the door,
delusions dead, raunchy images in my mind expired,
no longer communicating by seductive touches,
a harsh reality flushed my threadbare senses,
not even Valium-filled veins could quell this aura of evil.

editors note:

All the more evil when a reflection of self. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 2, 2021  :: 0 comments

A relationship can spawn stinging frustration,
sometimes crazed, it can put you in a trance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

When one squanders a passionate sensation,
does it pierce the veil of true romance?
A relationship can spawn stinging frustration.

Idyllic imagination is a sure source of inspiration,
but you can be distracted by a seductive glance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

Wishful fantasies sometimes kindle a fixation,
horizons before us are an unlimited expanse,
a relationship can spawn stinging frustration.

Fevered emotions evoke feelings of elation;
as twilight unfolds you want one more dance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

Affection and devotion have no limit, no expiration;
in love, you have to be willing to take a chance.
A relationship can spawn stinging frustration,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

editors note:

Can you hold it if you try to mold it? (We welcome John L. to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Crazy Morning

October 10, 2020  :: 0 comments

My wife and I are new residents of an over 55 community on the edge of the Pine Barrens in southern New Jersey and are still finding our way and learning the rules, regulations, and customs of our neighborhood. We feel as though we are living “off the grid” as a simple trip to a grocery store, mall, or restaurant …


featured in the poetry forum May 21, 2020  :: 0 comments

The twilight elicits images of Erebus.
Wicked fantasies overwhelm mind and body.
A twist of fate incurs a state of despair.
I need to fill my veins with a floating euphoria.
The waitress brings me a menu…
So many choices, so many highs and lows
“I’ll have opiates for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Coffee and oxy are a kick start I need the most.
But night falls once again and soon I’m tormented
Demonic delusions, they summon me.
They seek to devour my soul, infuse me with a depraved dependency.

editors note:

Best described from a well-lit room, “I have been to the other side, saw the light and have come back…” – mh clay

Drifted Away

January 21, 2020  :: 0 comments

Off like a shot, the years just drifted away for two young men. John and Nick grew up together on Harrison Avenue. Their fathers worked at blue collar jobs and the mothers stayed at home. The moms didn’t all bake cookies but they were there to put band-aids on the scrapes and cuts and cooled the bruises with ice cubes …


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

They braced for the age of turbulence,
felt betrayed by current extremes,
society changed too fast for them,
proud traditions were cast aside.
Feeling weak like vulnerable prey,
fearing their voices no longer heard,
soon to be victims of the deranged.

Angry, they pointed fingers of blame,
hopeless feelings numbed their senses.
Maddened by loutish talking heads,
touting pompous principles,
boomers have become strangled
by dubious run-on threads.

Eloquent ideas enlightened their views
as they fueled turmoil and unrest,
their voices shouted from Chicago to LA,
today, fiery debate is but a dim flame.

As flowers wilt, hair turns gray,
they want only one more chance,
to taste the truth, dismiss the lies
refute the lows and ride the highs,
realize starry dreams without remorse,
find sparkling sunshine in which to bask.

Cold, steel gray days of the millennium,
are a wasteland where clarity has to wait,
and a prophetic sign may come too late.
Peace love and protest of the sixties,
remain their monuments to the past.

editors note:

How it came to be. OK, or not! – mh clay