My ex-husband and I bought a used Winnebago for $111,000. A doctor of jurisprudence, Michael had never gotten over me. The feeling was not mutual. Now in our sixties, I felt sorry for the man. His third wife, Nedra, had died. He’d made widows of every single woman he’d married or dated. He was always a terrible driver, even when …
KING OSCAR WILD CAUGHT SARDINES IN EXTRA VIRGIN OLIVE OIL
featured in the poetry forum December 1, 2018 :: 0 commentsStarving, I wolf down many layered sardines
bathed in olive oil.
The King’s picture is on the papery cover
that rattles invitingly to my touch.
King Oscar would protect you from every threat
imaginable. Hordes of barbarians, with
Spears aloft. Floods on mountain-sides
that seek to squoosh us alive.
Thunderbolts of Zeus that
would sizzle our skin.
Such a hero is the King.
Broad shoulders with
Epaulets like ship
Masts.
Moustaches that sweep downward
A full beard like a roaring furnace.
He is our man.
The Good King Oscar.
editors note: Sardine salvation. Stock up for the apocalypse! (Canned ekphrasis? Uncanny! – check it out here.) – mh clay
Donald Peterson
September 22, 2018 :: 0 commentsThere was a long stopover from the American Airlines flight from Seattle to Cleveland. She wore a loose fitting dress with tiny birds seeming to fly off into the distance. Lucy disembarked with old carryon baggage coming apart at the seams. She made sure her name was visible on the small plastic card as she lugged it to the nearest …
IMPULSE PURCHASES
featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2018 :: 0 commentsTic-Tacs, Orbit Gum,
slimy Beef Jerky.
What’s a huge Hershey Bar
with Almonds doing on the
rack near the National Enquirer?
Stealthily, this diabetic
puts it in her cart, along
with my healthy foods.
Driving home, I tear off the
brown paper wrapping, and
munch on it while the raindrops
pound on my windshield.
Is it worth losing my eyesight,
or having my toes amputated to
satisfy a five-minute taste
extravaganza?
The windshield wipers
sigh.
What doesn’t kill you (now?)… – mh clay
YOU AGAIN, DAMMIT!
featured in the poetry forum July 22, 2018 :: 0 commentsReading the love poems of
Rupi Kaur, I’m forced
Once again to remember you.
Doris said I’d like you
When she sent me to your
Carriage house on Chew Ave
To put you in our magazine
Art Matters.
The love was instantaneous
A cake loving the icing
The clouds, the sun
The moon her earthbound romantics
And so I loved you.
You died without me
Thirty years ago.
Did you bring our shattered love
With you to your grave? It’s still
Inside me, forgotten, for the
Most part, but easy to revive,
Like moonlight when I step
Outside at night.
Memorial moments where grief is gain. – mh clay
Splat
July 7, 2018 :: 0 comments“I wish I could say things are better,” wrote Charlie Anderson, about his wife Callie, “but they’re worse.” The experimental drug for her early onset Alzheimer’s had not worked. “Now it’s like I have no wife. She can’t speak and has a blank look on her face like a dead fish.” I was on his email mailing list and felt …
SILENCE
featured in the poetry forum March 14, 2017 :: 0 commentsBe silent
Be silent when you wake up
in the morning light drizzling
thru your lavender drapes
Listen to the sounds of the world
whether the cars splashing up the
street – oh, so it rained last night! – or
the mournful whistle of the passenger train
Are you afraid to hear the
whispers in your own mind?
Give them room
Give them space
They have a right to be heard!
There’s that squirrel again
outside on the back porch
the same one I saw last week
Peering at me as he nibbles
an acorn – or is it a dreidl? –
as the world enfolds us both, unconcerned.
Again, what we hear between silences shapes our world. – mh clay
Love That Moon: A Poem in Three Parts
June 21, 2016 :: 1 commentOne: Jefferson We sat on the front porch, the whole lot of us, the Washington family, knowing that yes our folk of all different hues of brown, were born of the first father of our country, our country too. Granny, born of a young slave girl, had nearly died today, fell down once again, not good for much, she was …
I AM THE BLIZZARD
featured in the poetry forum January 26, 2016 :: 0 commentsI pace back and forth
refrigerator full
hummus from the
Mediterranean
yogurt with chocolate
and raspberry so I
won’t pass out from
a diabetes low.
I stare out the window
such whiteness
a fresh bridal gown
laced with moon beams.
Slipping on my clogs
I step onto the front
porch. At midnight
an otherworldly glow bathes
my skin a milky white.
Listen! Does snow
sound as it falls? Do
it click or tap or
make melancholy
noise?
Its tiny arrows fall
from the sky, piercing
the peach fuzz on my
warm pregnant
cheeks with
a cold ouch!
Barely protected
beneath my
polka-dot PJs
I land in Siberia
where the cold
killed the right arm,
yes, the frost did
it, to a newly anointed
painter name of
Stankowski, not young,
His brilliant reds,
the oranges, the
Rothko blacks, slashed with
poetry, reach out to
embrace me.
I’d like to have his
work hanging on my
wall. There ’tis:
a painting
Huge –
squares of white
white and more
white
feathery white
Hands on canvas
I take a deep yogi
breath, the paint
smells like snow
as I walk right in
I will stay awhile
If I sleep, do not
disturb. Wake me
when it’s over
a live mummy
with frosty-
white hair and
a body that glows.
As the digging ensues, look out for a poet in a painting. You’ll know you found her by “a body that glows.” – mh clay
HAPPY THANKSGIVING
featured in the poetry forum November 26, 2015 :: 0 commentsI don’t care much what other folks
think, but at my age – pushing
seven-oh, I still can’t believe
I own my own house and my own car.
Yawning, though engaged, during the
film Age of Adaline, my mind jumped
ship to that favorite thought. I – see
me jumping up and down? – own my
own house and my own car.
Own! The sweetest song in
America. Listen to its verses
Property owner. Homeowner.
Homeowner’s insurance. Buy
both car and home for a
“buyer’s discount.” I am doing
cartwheels on the carpeted floor.
Though I speak with the royal “we”
I live alone. Solicitor’s come by.
Before we slam the door in their faces – a red door
I painted myself – I put them through
paces. A black guy named Dwayne
sat on the red couch and listened to
my poetry. Two Jehovah’s Witnesses
dressed in black, heard a tirade about
The God of Israel. Sammy put in the
storm window on my side door. Please,
dear God, I pray, let me not think
who will live here when I’m gone.
Roasted, while dead, like this week’s
Thanksgiving turkey.
Reason to be thankful, no matter how you slice your dream… – mh clay
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