featured in the poetry forum October 7, 2019  :: 0 comments

And then came the last of the Beetles!
Indeed, business constantly slowed.
The newspapers cleverly said it,
in proclaiming the end of the road.

I had one, you know, and remember
the feel of its primitive seat
and challenges faced in the summer
to turn off the blasted thing’s heat.

And as for advancement of romance,
at drive-ins or other locales,
I’d venture to blame its compactness
on the dearth of amenable gals.

My neighbor now harbors a Beetle.
I think it’s a ’73.
I’ve thought about making an offer –
ten bucks and my old SUV.

editors note:

Demand died cuz cramped coitus. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum March 12, 2019  :: 0 comments

What sort of chap collects pocket knives,
consigned to basements, sheds and drawers?

Taken out, looked at and put back, sometimes
in an original box with a wildlife scene.

Their service often limited to the laceration
of writing paper and deconstruction of boxes.

Recipients of tiny drops of 3 in 1 oil to assure
smooth opening and a decisive snap,

their owners holding them as time travelers
to youthful and carefree days.

What sort of chap remembers the ancient kitchen
in which he watched Dad smoke, learned
to say “More soup, please,”

and received a red pocket knife, all for his own,
not knowing that he would someday dream of still
having it?

editors note:

The sort who likes to have memories on hand. (We welcome Phil to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

First Steps

featured in the poetry forum October 24, 2018  :: 0 comments

I walked the old street last night
and found your front steps now claimed
by new sweethearts who are probably
ignorant of the historical significance of that
spot, marking as it does the starting place of
our long and harmonious relationship,
except for that rough patch in the late 80’s.

editors note:

Though place forgets us, we remember place. – mh clay

Dollar Store

featured in the poetry forum April 1, 2018  :: 0 comments

Her face, oddly square,
affronted by years of defeat
has an expressive sadness
highlighted by wormlike lips

Her purchase, an ordered array of
frozen things, soups, fruit drink
and packs of knee highs
bearing health claims

“I’ll leave the bleach”
The bleach will stay behind;
for what sanguine purposes
had it been intended?

She bumbles away as I advance
my Snickers and settle,
then drive off, passing her,
walking, resolute, surviving

editors note:

Leave the bleach, keep the positivity. Don’t need white to make right. – mh clay