The Murderer’s Dog

featured in the poetry forum May 23, 2020  :: 0 comments

you were happy to see him
greeted him with joy

he put you in a back room
put his finger to his lips

shhhhhh be a good boy
later a sound rang out

made your ears pull back
your teeth taste like metal

you never saw him or
your soft woman again

the son snarled
some watch dog you are

editors note:

Confused in the dog house for (not) doin’ your job. – mh clay

Quatrain of Female

featured in the poetry forum July 17, 2019  :: 0 comments

Arrogance is my state of grace —
I announce I am here
Humbleness is a silent place —
In deference, I disappear

editors note:

No more should this pendulum swing be swung. Be here! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 21, 2018  :: 0 comments

When you blow out
your birthday candles — oh, don’t sigh.
Don’t think another year gone
or that your life is diminished
or how fleeting the flame is.
Think about how here you stand,
here you still stand blowing out
the tiny candles yet again on this
September date with your curly
hair and wild wild spirit and you,
you are not extinguished — no, you’re not.
Despite everything, despite it all.
You burn bright, baby.
You burn bright.
Now have some cake.

editors note:

After those salad days, comes dessert. We’re never too old for cake! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 7, 2017  :: 0 comments

The old Bohemian lady, formerly of Cicero,
who lived across the street slyly claimed
she witnessed Billy Graham fornicating in the
field once where my house now stood, long
ago when he was young, well before my family
moved to the evangelist’s old college town.
It was him alright, she swore. Years later,
I took my Chicago Southsider husband to
to visit the Billy Graham Museum. We saw
the famous Heaven Room; its’ blue cloud-
filled ceiling was rain-damaged at the time.
If heaven has water stains, I don’t want to go,
my husband loudly proclaimed.
   Billy, you couldn’t save everyone.

editors note:

(Cracked) plaster in Paradise? No, say it ain’t so. – mh clay

The Spoon

featured in the poetry forum March 31, 2016  :: 0 comments

You used to tap, tap
your teeth
with this very
while eating
in our dead-calm
silent dining room.

It’s night, the moon
is out. I scrub, scrub
the spoons’
silver face,
then hurl it back
into its place;
I slam the drawer.
The glasses shiver.

editors note:

Cleanliness is next to raw remembrance. (With this submission, we welcome Tricia to the raucous ranks of our crazy congress of Contributing Poets. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out!) – mh clay

The Forever Question

January 6, 2016  :: 0 comments

The next time he asks her
she is floating languidly
in a pond.
Her hair moves
with the rushes,
her eyes murky
and muddy.
As he leans over,
her eyes suddenly clear.
He sees himself
Smiling, her lips part.
Bending close, he almost hears
the answer she
He lifts her out but
she dissolves into sand,
trickling into the pond
where she becomes a fish
that swims away
with a twitch of its tail;
can’t be caught.
He shuts his eyes.

When he opens them,
another thousand years
have come and gone.
Still he wonders,
What does she want?

editors note:

The big one that got away; every lonely man’s fish story. Still no clue… – mh clay


October 9, 2015  :: 0 comments

She remembers
a bird called out
two knowing notes –
Yes, No? Yes, No?

She remembers
the man’s one question.
Too late her answer –
the worm had turned.

She lay
beneath a conspiring tree.
Above her – hung
his reddened face.

She saw
a broken branch
thin bent limbs.
All around – flawless apples.

She rose
left her faint shape
pressed in the wet earth –
her fallen remains.

She does not
remember the man’s name.
Like a serpent –
I cast it out.

editors note:

And he’s been wandering in this wilderness ever since… – mh clay