My French friends nurture the empty spaces
Laid bare by malignant ideologies and guns
Young and old, no sorting out of creed or culture
An aged priest of religion gently praising his God
A teddy bear witnessing the child’s life ended.
Music as painkiller, music as memory, scents
And coffee, and croissant crumbling like death
Hot sun blazing on cold bodies breathless
And still we need to make eye contact continuing
The conversation with those with whom our difference
Need never be a death sentence.
editors note: Imagine that; eye contact, conversation. Difference without death. Are we listening, America? - mh clay
Night stalks like common man
with a fisherman’s hat pulled tight
no one talks, as bats scream awake,
They know the consequences of
finding solace in an end game of reaction
of believing in the social media life of others.
Night stalks in all its guises steaming
in sweat filled fields of wild poppies
exciting senses dead to reality
oblivion the only thank you.
The circles closed as carefully cloven
dreams clung to crass Orpheus
and night begins its stalking again.
And again. The ball bounces over
and over as well dressed officials
rule in well lit cabinets. No night
stalks rulers elected or not
Life is a halo ringed existence.
They know nothing about the life
of the fisherman with his hat pulled tight
They know nothing about you and me.
We know that night that stalks.
editors note: Sheighle says, "My poem takes you into the realm of sleepless nights and the actual reality of our existence. As night stalks, we meet the poor and the lonely..." We say, "Insomniacs unite! Sheep for sleepless! Sheep for the sleepless!" - mh clay
Such joy being the Spirit of Light!
a new incarnation of the self
sprightly, joyously residing
in a presence full of light and air
and the breath of forgiveness
and everlasting love.
The Spirit of Light dawned on the world
with a wispy gauze of breath
waking Sun who rose above the mountains
and smiled warmly on the Earth.
Trees felt the rising sap and trembled
in anticipation. Butterflies accepted
their existence as birds opened beaks
to receive their daily feed. Flowers
opened their cups and danced their petals
to the humming bee as clouds raced
across blue blue skies never stopping
to dull the golden vista. Amen. Amen.
A paradise waiting to be observed
by the clear eye of the beholder.
And all the earth breathe deeply into the core
of being and awoke singing a hallelujah song
of joy. Deep in earth’s heart, a boy raised his
head and whispered lowly to a girl, his shadow
of delight. They held hands and to the moving
sweep of the wind they swayed sensuously
to the click of the cricket’s music. The Tango
of Life had begun.
Sun shone full on the turquoise ocean
warming its waves that lapped their bodies
as they were cleansed by the healing
waters of calm and serenity.
Gambolling in different levels of ocean
heads submerged or feet barely insisting
their way into the playful shallow trickle of
an ocean that communicated with them
and all other beings nearby and distant.
The ocean spoke to them of longing
of fluidity of mind and cleansed souls
in a world of divinity available to all.
The mighty wind strengthened the quiet
ocean as they wondered at its changing
and they learned that the ocean’s might
was great indeed when joined to the strong wind.
The Spirit of Light smiled on the boy and girl
and curled the sand in the desert far from the ocean.
The sand rose like a whirling dervish and danced
to the exhalation of life and clarity of thought.
About rocks it crackled as cold descended
and split pieces in multiplication. Spirit of Light
moved on letting Shadow enhance the desert
with its stillness. Sound awoke as rocks screamed
out their existence.
Small animals filtered through
the oasis drinking from little pools of water
sparkling in the light of the full moon.
The desert was a lively concert of living things moving to
the music of the cracking rock. Shadow spread
its cloak further and further until it met the
Spirit of the Dark and they embraced.
As Shadow and the Spirit of the Dark touched
silently and gracefully the Spirit of Light took
ease and rest and slipped gently into a sleep
low beneath the horizon. Shadow shook its
edges and left the gentle Spirit of the Dark.
And gently now as sound was still
The Moon Spirit began its slow ascent
into the sombre sky speckled with the
spell of sparkling stars. Reflection gazed
from the setting sun as Moon Spirit became
full of joy and burst forth its light in exaltation
All was at peace in the hands of the gods
The boy and the girl embraced sweetly.
editors note: Embrace these words as boy embraces girl; a better world, a better world! - mh clay
How to pale a red hot anger
When rods of pain stroke
And all day long it grows stranger
Beholden to stronger folk.
An anger that knows no voice
Born nor bred by choice
Leave me die in a quiet corner
Seize the day and all of that
Close your eyes insipid mourner
Remove your mask and raise your hat.
editors note: Open face, cool head; take on the after instead with laughter. - mh clay
I listen to trees.
There are sounds
Living within roots
Knowledge and knowing
Spreading like fingers.
My mortality hit me
As I awaited sleep
I made a prayer…
To see next morning
To see and hear
My tree of choice.
It grows in my garden.
A French tree
That unites me.
To the earth and sky.
I listen, laugh and cry
When my tree whispers.
Poetry allows me freedom
To vent my difference
I hate the chopping down
Of trees, it stills a voice.
A voice that I still crave
It is the call of a universe
I knew long ago
In the land of sighe.
Dancing in circles
Trees gilding silence
Of dance and Druids
As tresses guide the
Fairy longing for life.
Birds come for wisdom
Red squirrel exercises
Sun plays with shadows
As raindrops cry.
The French tree unites
With roots outstretched
To a myriad of forest.
The whispering continues
It transmits to home
It transmits from home
And nourishing earth
With longing, stretching
To the sky in jubilation
At being alive.
editors note: When the Day of days is past, this is the tree for all seasons. Yes! - mh clay
What is it about love
Is it the taste of lips,
Another’s lips on ours
Or the feel of bodies
No, it needs more.
Leading us through
Paths and revelations
Of self and others.
Eyes are special
And body shapes
That please and thrill.
Sorry, must go…
My lover calls.
editors note: Kept on speed dial, waiting for that call... - mh
Walking in leafy wood
Trees felled lie obscenely
Spreading dead branches
Waiting to seep into the core
Of their rootless earth.
The same fate awaits
He feels the drums pulse
In his tired brain
Exhausted from searching.
He feels a connection
He feels and finds
A disconnected tree
truncated lying there
Just a headless tree
Its body gone
A rounded layered
Wonder of the earth
Many cycles of life
Etched in its circles.
The sap still rises
He see this and is
editors note: Merry madness, our dead decorations to celebrate life. Seasonal saps, we be! - mh
You walked into the kitchen
I was busily occupied
With the minutiae of living
I half turn to greet
Blue and green eyes meet
And that was that.
Never was an embrace
So nakedly undressed
Lips on lips pressed
As hungry bodies
Innocent of each other
Found a memory place.
editors note: An amorous angler's kitchen catch. - mh
It’s a small village hiding big lives
Aghast with colour and sound,
Red earth warms the footprint
As green arbours pour
Shelter from the rising sun.
It also rises, day by day
Perfect in structure
Oblivious to the moans of man.
Nature blesses, man curses
The unstructured mind.
The hurting, not knowing
The way to exist.
Who pays the piper?
What pays the piper?
Thirty pieces of silver?
The little person in the village
Of big lives,
Is preparing to go with
The setting sun. The shame.
They sit opposite each other
Counting coins to drink coffee
To keep that aura of sophistication.
So no one will know.
Play music. Keep clean.
Sleep longer each morning
To stay warm.
They read poetry
It is free.
They will be free
If the plan works.
editors note: It's no little thing to work a plan, obscured by the big shadow. - mh