DESIGN

featured in the poetry forum July 15, 2018  :: 0 comments

When he whispers incantations
Across the ceremonial pit
In late winter
The last snow-drift orbits
The tree tops
Like smoke
On a morning stroll
Headed towards
Infinity’s skylight.

Praise abounds. The sun soars.
Raven gives
A jocular
Caw matched only
By the smiling Elder
Who has
My father’s eyes and more.

With hands wide open – we
Spread the wealth.

editors note:

Add double the bubble to your toil, no trouble. Magic as money to spend on you. – mh clay

THE VOID

featured in the poetry forum March 25, 2018  :: 0 comments

If my hand hadn’t trembled so
I’d not have
Let go of the moon.
Pluto and Mars
Wouldn’t be
Warring it up
And I, I needn’t be left
To conquer
One dismal room
With a fountain-pen,
Four off-white
Walls – and
My head aside
As paper-weight.

editors note:

Had it, just a moment ago… Paper-weight? Maybe doorstop to keep it open for the gods’ return. – mh clay

INSOMNIA

featured in the poetry forum December 2, 2017  :: 0 comments

Consider the ash
In its 3rd degree,
The Partisan
You’ve
Made of me.

I succumbed, but
Only when
Someone had to
Lead the band

Out, over the walls
Of the Infirmary –.

Biographers,
Aspired, will fire
A line
So slick:

Was there no
More to this
Than
The music?

editors note:

Maybe, if it’s got a beat you can dance to… – mh clay

GRAPH

featured in the poetry forum September 6, 2017  :: 0 comments

Walking the rainbow’s trellis,
Sun slung to my right arm,
Moon on my left…

Whoever says
Impossible
Does not offend;

Levels of sanity
Extend;
Bend…

Just take that rainbow,
Heaven’s
Hunchback,

Beautiful
To a fault.

editors note:

Beauty abounds for the open eye; it’s all possible. – mh clay

THE SONG OF THE AZURE CAMEO – MT ETNA

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

Now, finally, I want to carry the clear corn
Resurrected in my grandmother’s veil.
I want to place the selenium where
It must sustain the object
Of this most cautious of customs;
Retain forever the bread Host’s transmutation.

Smoke is rising from the chimney. I will.
Bounteous mother, treat our guests
To a wake of your finery. Figs,
I have gathered.
Tomatoes and crushed almonds!
Sweet yellow wine is to be shared with
The herdsman’s son,
The Carabinieri and those

From the grotto. Not wastrel nor saint
Should forget how you sang
And nurtured here. Concordantly, the eyelids
Will be covered by the palms of your
Confettied hospice. Crickets hum
In nearby thickets. At yuletide I’ll toss

The sachet of camomile into the lava’s
Compendium… then
Lay down
With the corn.
With the veil.

editors note:

Take what’s passed until we are past. – mh clay

THE PACIFIST

featured in the poetry forum February 24, 2017  :: 0 comments

Beyond reasonable doubt
There’s an entrapment
The lesion
Of the spirit
Contorts to ~

The abandoned echo,
Distinctly
Brine-dipped,
Hewn into
A judicial
Stone kiss.

Perversity preys upon itself.
Humankind is not
Kind… fevering
The white-washed hands
Of faith’s tactician

Where hearts, hung like
Bedouin relics,
Are made
To be
Crushed.

editors note:

Makes a combatant’s mouth water. – mh clay

ANTI-POLITICS THUMBNAIL

featured in the poetry forum December 8, 2016  :: 0 comments

… Whoever’s prophet material
Had best seek counsel
From the nation
Of ‘The Northern Lights’:

No velure head-hunter need apply –

No Moulin Rouge mudslinger –

No tyrannous protoplasm
Batting an evil eye –.

Lucidity epitomises
The cold ground’s
Imminent banter;

“Where man ends
The flame begins” *

And we will never
Put Prague
Or Jan Palach
Back together, again.

{*Miroslav Holub}

editors note:

If self-immolation was the required imprimatur, we’d have damn few prophets. – mh clay

UNDISTORTED EXPERIENCE

featured in the poetry forum July 28, 2016  :: 0 comments

It’s Growing up diagonally
At 64 and remembering
September 11
(Not specifically because
Cousin Ricki
Was there…).

It’s the tick-tacking accuracy
Of whether anthrax spores
Are absorbed
In our
Hung-over
Morning coffee…

Pseudo market forces.
PC hackers:
(Con amore)
Or – tri-lingual brokers
Ensnared by
A crust of
Bullion rising

That collars the phrase
… We become
What we
Deplete.

editors note:

With less and less of us each year… – mh clay

JUNCTURE for C.B.

featured in the poetry forum May 13, 2016  :: 0 comments

Distance, how far away
You’ve wandered
From the maladies
Of attachment.

From the quiet room where
We read Kafka’s tribulations,
My head resting
On your chest,

The clatter of pine-cones
Scudding the roof
… And the wind
At half-mast
Soulfully singing.

Distance. A derivative,
Brought with it
An unbridled
Dark steed

To infiltrate
The yellow night.
The red comet.
The absentee –.

editors note:

A distance crossed in the firing of synapses. – mh clay

THE LAST DAY

featured in the poetry forum January 22, 2016  :: 0 comments

… After I have conquered some of the world’s ills
In my fashion.
After I have climbed what’s left
Of the parasitical plot and attempted
To bring it down.
After the unwanted-wanted posters
Have yellowed and curled – so that
My name’s been struck off
The records, the too human records…
And I’ve greyed a little –
And shrunk a lot –
And my hands have lost
Their bitter cures…
Will you, once again, take me in!
Take me in and not mind
This new stranger
As your lover of old?

Once I’ve been pensioned out – Yes! I’m aware
That it will happen.
Once it’s known that what seemed
Scholarly and spectacular was no more than
Someone held
Hostage by an every-day innocence.
Once I design… the final line
And I’ve nothing left to do,
Say, or display – will you
Find it in you to forgive
The neglect
I shelved for you alone!
Will you
Forget that I served
But one light; and that
It was your ‘light’!
Will you mind, mind my return
… And keep this gypsy poet
Company?

editors note:

Old poets never die; they just rhyme ad infinitum. – mh clay