Featured Poems

Edge of a Child

by on August 8, 2020 :: 0 comments

I want the edge of a child
in motion, unafraid
of stumbling, just in
the fair moment of absolute
presence, in the misty claw
of sweet anticipation,
with the world on its knees,
begging to unfold.

I want to walk
the wooden pier
of my favorite dream
meandering far
into an ocean without end,
just future after future.

I want to offer myself
barefoot to the sand, or
celebrate the first blossom
of a snowflake, and never fear
the sweet silence of winter.

editors note:

Oh, this! Yes, this! – mh clay

One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes

by on August 7, 2020 :: 0 comments

Based on the Grimm story.

I am the lonely spirit
who whooshes among rocky crags
in a frigid wind.

The pulsing galaxy sends
ancient harmonies
and I listen.

The capacious night
that rides with me
avenges.

Starved child,
imprisoned child,
enslaved child,

imagine a ridge or riverbank.
Sit there.
I will hear your tears.

I am the shapeshifting crone
beside you,
wearing clothes spun with spells.

These poems in my pocket—
eat them.

A new life begins
after the first bite.

editors note:

Yes! Bring your appetite. (We welcome Peggy to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

in my teenage hands

by on August 6, 2020 :: 0 comments

i remember how your panties felt in my teenage hands

kissing away a sunny afternoon, i was certain i was in love

you were certain it was only a wednesday

i always fell in love too soon, not often enough with anyone
by my side

i could blame it on the dysfunction of my childhood

perhaps i watched too much cinemax before the age of ten

as i have grown older, and watched countless years of
misery pass before my eyes

destiny has a way of shaking everything out the way
it was meant to be

and sometimes you simply have to avoid the mirrors
and realize loneliness has another side to it

the last resort can wait for another night

editors note:

So many lonely, waiting for another night… alone. – mh clay

Routine

by on August 5, 2020 :: 0 comments

Grumpy old man I be
morning routine disrupted
wife on the couch
coffee in the bathroom
no sitting on patio
no fresh air, no green view
yet coffee is coffee
love is love
life goes on
decaf routine limits imagination
lack of routine, like caffeine,
stimulates the mind

Pandemic and climate change
the world has decaf routine, its own
caffeine-esque disruption sine qua non
brass band booming
oom-pah-pah, oom-pah-pah

editors note:

How does caffeine drive your quarantine routine? – mh clay

Wizard

by on August 4, 2020 :: 0 comments

The shadow
of a demon
in the eye
of the night
dreams of the wizard
face of angel.

editors note:

Wizard your demon dreams to angel night. – mh clay

MURDERER

by on August 3, 2020 :: 0 comments

Some lines, once read,

are unforgettable, such as:

“For every sin
but the killing of time,
there is forgiveness.“

And I’d like to say
I am innocent of this crime;
I’d like to say
I am no murderer.

But it’s hard
not to draw your blade
when the adversary’s hands
are at your throat.

editors note:

Who’s the real killer here? – mh clay

Disabled Love

by on August 2, 2020 :: 0 comments

Disconnected, vows broken and disrespect running amok; now Sandman carries a Glock, shots rang out now bring the pallbearers out; that clock on the wall still has a TickTock after the Deadly gunshot.

Incriminating words from your mouth need to be incarcerated and your tongue needs to be cut from your mouth and thrown into an incinerator. The reaper keeps a grin for your demise, your end; call the tragedy in tracks of my tears. Let me hit you with these words of precision making your mind fall into a procession, top technician, ink physician; now if you could change something would it be your walk the way you talk or the day you fell apart from your living conditions? These words should make you pay attention, no pictures, pick up a dictionary if any of the words make you weary; revolution, retribution; oh small minds know not of contribution.

editors note:

All that matters… – mh clay