Inquiring Minds

featured in the poetry forum October 22, 2017  :: 0 comments

Where do photons go to get some sleep?
Away from all that light?
Where are the “W”-rays, the “Z”-rays?
How come the “Xs” get to have all the fun?
When gravity waves… should we wave back?
How many PhD physicists does it take to change a light bulb??
“Oh, that’s a problem for a psychologist,” was their reply.
(And the bulb has to really want to change).
What is a gathering of “scientists,” who ignore some facts
but endorse the findings of others who ignore facts, called…?
A Consensus.
Who warmed up the earth?
You know, way back when the earth was covered in ice?
As in the last Ice Age?
(I’m melting!)
How did that happen?
Perhaps from Humans or,
maybe Neanderthals,
hugging to stay warm?

editors note:

Let’s reverse the process; aloofness all around! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 22, 2017  :: 1 comment

Down at the check point they
search us for paper, pencils or pens.
They insist that we leave words,
punctuation and yes our ideas at home.
Safely kept under lock and key. Only
they insist that we give them the key.
Both keys. Sad, but most see no harm
in this. Ideas are dangerous. Ideas should
only be in the hands of those trained in a
rigorous course of socially accepted norms.
Except those whose ideas are an anathema
to those living here. Those go to the head
of the line. And who pays for “free” thinking?
If thinking outside the lines is for-bidden,
why do some want to celebrate those who
color outside the lines? Why is there no
consistency? Please don’t repeat these thoughts.
I still am able to print, with hoarded construction
paper and crayons. I can recall, with fond
memories the click clack and smell of
mimeograph ink and the rocking machine.

editors note:

Not so new. These ideas are old as man; still dangerous, best left unsaid. (We welcome Terry to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum March 3, 2016  :: 0 comments

What can be said or written that
could ever comfort the dead or
the mother holding onto, clinging
to the barest shadow of faith that
her beloved may escape that
which stalks us all? Forever is an
awfully long time yet it seems not
long enough to grieve to release
all hope. Remembering is not life,
not reanimation, still she will go
through the motions, repeating
prayers, rituals and random
conjurings in faint hope that her
faith, her will, can evoke a
different outcome. So it is, so it
has always been. We should feel a
connection to our shared past but
we don’t. Hundreds of thousands
of years, thousands of
generations. Bones laid to rest
with furs, flowers, stone tools,
jewelry, food stuff all bear mute
testimony to our shared hope,
shared failure. Amen.

editors note:

We go through these motions; hoping to create a different future. – mh clay

City Lights

featured in the poetry forum December 14, 2015  :: 0 comments

The ice cream cone perched precariously near the edge of the bench.
It didn’t have the look or feel of an abandoned thing.
Around the corner the old woman lay with her treasures, her home.
The cone was starting to drip over its waffled surface.
Her bottle, wrapped in brown paper was carefully perched in the nest of her arm.
Drool was dripping down her waffled face.
She had the look of something long ago abandoned.
Around the corner, someone had rescued the cone.
It was in the sun.
She lay in the shadowed alley.

editors note:

One lost, not abandoned; the other abandoned, not lost. – mh clay