Habitual

featured in the poetry forum March 8, 2017  :: 0 comments

I shall find a rock
big, hard, cave-like,
home.

Small fire,
a cat or two,
weave moss for coverings.

Crawl space,
one stand up in the middle,
a hole to the world.

There I shall make a life,
dream a fairy world
and venture out feet first.

editors note:

A happy habitat; good for a stand or a dirt nap. – mh clay

The list

featured in the poetry forum June 15, 2016  :: 0 comments

Bread, some milk of human kindness sorely lacking,
Edward Sotomayor Jr,
teardrops, wails, earplugs for the sirens, screams,
Stanley Almodovar III,
buckets, mops, plaster, artists at the door,
Deonka Deidra Drayton,
roses, balloons, teddy bears, the sound of crying, laughter
Amanda Alvear,
bricks, mortar, rainbows, solidarity, hate thrown into stale alley bins
Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz,
soup, candles, empathy where none exists, where people come together
Oscar A. Aracena-Montero.

There’s something I’m forgetting
something I will keep forgetting,
maybe pieces of a lunatic, a pine box, shovel,
anonymous one dug to hell, thrown in an unmarked grave.

More music, laughter, dancing, singing, painting on the walls
Mercedez Marisol Flores,
Enrique L. Rios, Jr. and so many more,
balm for broken hearts, some thoughts and prayers,
a promise made that cannot be acknowledged,
to Do, to Be, and not to be upon a list,
and paper, I am running out of paper,

And some Kleenex.

editors note:

A list to make statisticians cry! Orlando, for all the stricken… – mh clay

Definitions

featured in the poetry forum February 2, 2016  :: 0 comments

No book
of magic,
spells misspelled
or simplified,
uncommon use
brings out
much more
than common in us,
common wrong.

Back doors,
libraries
are locked
to certain people,
admittance gained
by those
speed read
between some lines
who realize the secrets.

Speak
in words of code,
bald rules
were never meant
for anything but broken,
when an “x”
is not an x,
except when used
in obfuscation.

Wrong
the right of
others, flaunting
flagrante delicto,
gallows hanging
outside churchly squares
and never any holy there.

Taste water
on your tongue
know feast from thirst
as liquid becomes holy
from belief, suffused, one body
of ability who walks on water
frozen, trial by fire and ice,
believers grasp the truth
that’s closest to the chest

and
always
get it wrong.

editors note:

When answers abound, the trick is to ask the right questions. – mh clay

Reflections

featured in the poetry forum July 3, 2015  :: 0 comments

Notice the non mirror image,
stripped backing, a window
and you are a tree, a bird singing,
a car goes by with the boom, Boom, BOOM,
you are an irate citizen writing letters to the mayor.

Fixer of stare back, black paint
and the picture changes, it is you,
but not, your mind knows who you are,
it is not this reversal of fortune, sag eyed
wrinkle in time, you wave and the beast waves in turn.

Smile, the flake from breakfast, she ate the same
in that other universe, does it come back to haunt
her in her old age? Or maybe she lives forever, through
the membrane and you try to step, she places her palm
against yours, sad smile, maybe a tear for what might be,

You both turn away.

editors note:

Turn from one parallel universe; walk smack into another. – mh clay

As Tears Go Nowhere

featured in the poetry forum May 28, 2014  :: 0 comments

Can I cry if I want to?
Here within the confines
of nowhere, crepe covered
mirror a shrine to coveted strength,
I am party to appearance, look
to not a semblance of a tear.

Red eye flying through the night,
in dreams I fashion reasons, postulates
of failure, standing in the rain’s emotions
waking to primeval glisten into ducts.

These ducts line up in rows, feathers
act as substitutes, the downy softness
of a face in dark repose, absorbing blow
to blow redundant, dry the by and by.

I sit and watch as others slough the moisture
from the air, my air, dead air lost without
a sound, I will not wail, I will not weep,
only sweat of brow, a reference to the weather.

editors note:

Eye drops to get the red out, but not the rend. No tears for the tear. – mh

Free at Least

featured in the poetry forum February 12, 2014  :: 0 comments

Something about the melancholy,
“fuck you” comes out as a strangled cry,
call for help and a declaration of no war.

Armistice heavy at my side.

Wheat waving at the end of
gladiator life, walking into fields,
a road that leads to heart’s content.

Maybe not.

Old age and ears close to the harsh
sound of mouths’ invective, I can pretend
to never hearing and it brings me peace.

Perhaps.

Close eyes and blood disappears into
the memory of red drip falling on my
sword, lips mumble saying I will fight no more

Forever.

Plowshares, I can farm out goodness
like a co-op, the million monkeys typing
out my last will and testament, beneficiaries

Amen.

God is in the silence, the Devil
is in the details, a clean sweep with
a dirty broom, excrement excommunicated

And I find religion here.

Knocking on a battered door,
I can do little less than answer.

editors note:

Pious pretense? Whatever our conscious constructs, validity is vetted by the most expedient illusion; so long as we’re free… at least. – mh

Editor

January 24, 2014  :: 0 comments

I am not a morning person. That being said, most weekdays I am up at five o’clock to make Alex breakfast. Somehow, the eggs are not broken, the scramble is light and fluffy, the bread is perfectly toasted, the myriad of pills Alex takes are all laid out in the right dosage. I lay the food and accouterments on the …

Fighting

September 28, 2013  :: 0 comments

Sometimes it gets into my dreams. English/Italian words, one language turning into see jack fuck you geloso cagna asshole và a farti fottere! run. Someone’s hammering nails, soda bottles are falling, marbles are rolling on the floor. Then I wake and I know just what it is. They’re fighting again. Mommy and Daddy screaming around the house, doors slamming, Daddy …

Faith

September 26, 2013  :: 0 comments

You cannot, cannot mislay something this empty. ~ Kushal Poddar

Placed in clear bags
visible to a chosen few,
put in freezer’s frosty mists
it leaves a stain forever wet

Turns red within our hands
fingers falling one by one,
a useless glove appears,
a net to catch infinity.

All around, a square foot
of space captured, we know
not what it is, but keep it safe
until we do, eons spent contemplating

Zero, absolutes are what we
believe in, we dug through cosmic
sand and this is what we found,
we saw it there, we never saw a thing,
but we believe, oh, we believe, in emptiness,
in nihilism, worshiping what no one says exists.

Daguerreotype

featured in the poetry forum September 26, 2013  :: 0 comments

She fell in love with a picture
from a thousand years ago
of green eyes smiling (but it was a smirk)
she didn’t know it was yesterday
a day that never was, a time she’d never know.

The man behind a painting well reversed
lay sleeping under cover, red eyes shut
that would be bright, long hair greasy
under guises of the night, voices raspy
gasping out history, her story in his sight.

She was young but much too old.
He shivered in the heat, sweating
in the cold of winter days, gathered
women, lied of youth and lithe visage
and they were dazzled, drugged by shot matte.

She was growing younger every day
and he resembled photos fading
in the way old photos do, sepia
browns and grays, she found one
hidden up his sleeve, he died that way.

She was born again, he never was,
into a land where souls were golden coin
and clear as glass, she saw everything,
revealed at last as what was true and
what had never been, she loved a photo,
left a photo hanging in a room, no windows there.

editors note:

When in pursuit of picture-perfect love, love a perfect picture. – mh