featured in the poetry forum March 24, 2024  :: 0 comments

The curb where we let off
was curdled:
there was integrity
even in artifice.
Meeting anew
is to audit fresh clefts
in the marl of our morrow.

The herniation of ugly expression
from your heat and heart
sets a switch for me.
Assertion of political
and pietistic affinities
are the least offensive
parts of the profile.

editors note:

Don’t want to imagine the most. Switch off, please. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 12, 2024  :: 0 comments

Those who’re in concert with all schools of music
are with none in a go-for-broke sort of way. Or they
are paltering. Excellence dwells in exceptionalism.
There isn’t one definition of privilege. It is a pivot
of the panorama. Brusque interjections by the self
to a well-thought-out spiel on future grooves leave
me irate. It’s like theodicy: it hurts no one except
those who are in line for it.

editors note:

It’s excellent if I say it is. GET BACK IN LINE! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 27, 2023  :: 0 comments

Windsocks of weltschmerz
jolt me out of my gaol,
goad me to their jib.
In the spirit of a wiseacre,
I tell myself: Enough of
warmed-over trajectories.
Somehow this gem coruscates
in skeif of autogenic calls.

Sunshine has only one shade.

editors note:

Our self-struck sparks force a downward arc. Enough, indeed! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 14, 2023  :: 0 comments

We mate like mannequins on
the shop-window of dreams.
There is a cutoff point
to skin extending itself.
If it is mine,
it will wrap around me.

Molters exist in another order.
Dermoplasty is for some.
Do those incarcerated
for immorality, retain the right
to take a position
on conscientiousness?

editors note:

Mucked in the mire of debate over what’s skin deep or sin deep. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 26, 2023  :: 0 comments

When a confabulation perches on an awkward crossway
with boyhood chums or a lover whose lane is no longer
a compulsion, I state with all the might I can measure up:
everyone has someone or the other on their map.

Post hoc, I seek eye contact. Most are rapt with the routine:
playing with the ice over their thirst quenchers or reading
messages on their mobiles. A few gaze vacantly at me.
Certain utterances: for the self.

editors note:

Allowing this poem to use your current location. – mh clay

Tavern Tale

featured in the poetry forum February 28, 2023  :: 0 comments

Goaded by grog,
music and machismo merge
to spring pantomimes
of latent desires.

Several schooners later
someone or the other
croons or curses.
The ambient sound
is a brew of idiolects
bolstering me to ideate.

More gulps
this babel is incoherent –
the mind gets clogged.
I am at peace.

editors note:

“A drunkard’s dream if I ever did see one.” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 1, 2023  :: 0 comments

In undulating
to the universe
and its arrangement,
lies the shell
of sapience.

of the breeze
gladdens my innermost parts.
To soak in this synergy
is to be on the beam.

In fulcrum of fecundity
I bow to its bid.
The shorthand
from this steam
pulsates with my punch.

editors note:

Make this your first encounter of the day; set the tone for your year. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 28, 2022  :: 0 comments

I got myself another skin. It is available
in bazaars of the bloated.
It failed to bolster me.

I wrapped myself in shield of words.
Read the script inscribed on scroll
of my prelapsarian phase.

Upon reflection, I favored thought
not thews, song not shekels.
This has its own fatigue.

editors note:

Who can guess where you’ll get? Should you revel or regret? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 23, 2022  :: 0 comments

In orneriness
of laughter
your snaggleteeth
without a bumbershoot
like most of me.

a kerchief of kites
flying nowhere.

editors note:

Rain or shine, we’ll take what likes we can; no umbrella. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 15, 2022  :: 0 comments

The caramel of your eyes as rich as the custard I never had.
Your skin my quilt for years. Your irides mine, yet faint as
the fantasies I could never count on. The spice of your tresses
strong as my subterfuge. We have no cradlesong. Your breath
singes my body, giving birth to many lies and one truth: no,
is your way of saying yes.

editors note:

This after-entree enabling of enablers inflicts sweet suffering. – mh clay