Featured Poems


by on April 20, 2021 :: 0 comments

I August 19

The sea beckons this morning,
blue and rippling, but the beach,
when I arrive, is not inviting.
Sand washed away in a storm
left gullies lined with rocks
collecting mats of seaweed.

At shoreline, a shape
sways back and forth
in the tide, the color of a rock
but not a rock, large, heavy, soft,
swollen beyond recognition.

Farther down the shore,
I wade through seaweed over rocks,
until I can swim out in cold water.
Gulls circle overhead. Cormorants
dry their wings on a rock in the sea.

My summer swims are numbered,
but I don’t count them. The ponds,
lake, bay, and ocean I swam in this summer,
the pool at the top of a waterfall—
all welcomed me. All but this cove,
this morning. As I left the beach,
I passed a herring gull splayed in the sand,
its neck twisted at an odd angle.

II August 20

I saw a young stag at the edge
of the lawn, browsing the bushes.
Its antlers wore a velvety sheen
in the early morning sunlight.
We looked at each other
for what seemed a long while,
his liquid brown eyes,
my blue eyes.

We stood perfectly still
until he meandered into a dark seam
between bushes,
waving his fluffy white tail.

Summer is playing with fall,
a cool breath of air, a square of hot sun.
The color of the sea is ultramarine.
These are the most beautiful days of the year.
As I watch them pass, I hold them close.

– Anne Whitehouse

editors note:

Sometimes wonder, sometimes worry; each day a choice to hold. – mh clay

My Private Tutor’s Crows

by on April 19, 2021 :: 0 comments

We know the sky functions like the eye

of the galaxy that has tiny specks of planets moving
near its cornea because
the universe is one-eyed

like my second private tutor in high school and he liked
the Hitchcock movie- The Birds,
with subtitles

and he often looked at the crows
in Van Gogh’s Wheatfield with a magnifying glass
to learn more about life,

sky, planets, birds, and the universe
which continuously looks at us

I take one eye from my second private tutor
and the other from the universe

editors note:

Mindsight is 20/20. – mh clay

All There Was

by on April 18, 2021 :: 0 comments

A moment in time
Brought me to a place,
Where beauty shined
Its light,
Illuminating everything,
And blending all into one.
No longer any division,
Between myself and everything.
No longer was there
This, or that,
But all was all in all.
Love was not a concept,
Love is all there was.

editors note:

Seeking that was to be our is. – mh clay

Milton was murdered.

by on April 17, 2021 :: 0 comments

Lately it seems
All is lost, all is found
All at the same time
If healing is necessary
Ask the Traiteur for help
No payment needed
Milton wishes to hold her closer
“She is light on water to me,” he says.

editors note:

Before his end, Milton sought healing, switched to haiku. – mh clay

Lasting Light

by on April 16, 2021 :: 0 comments

When stars come out in dark of night
they simply reappear in sight.
How would they flee the light of day
or to what reaches fly away?

Appearances deceive indeed
we’ve seen exalted truths decreed
like Ptolemy’s dethroned, amen,
by Galileo’s greater ken.

Are ‘black holes’ what they’re said to be
or something else we do not see?
And what preceded that ‘big bang’
assumed as how creation sprang?

Repeatedly it must be faced
that what we know will be replaced
by deeper knowledge, still in flux,
for certainties may miss the crux.

What thought can fathom vast expanse
of universe’s cosmic dance?
Is death the end, or like a sleep?
Oh may a seeking mind we keep

eternal as our queries seem
thus as stargazers dare to dream
and let imagination cry
there must be more than meets the eye!

editors note:

Cry, Imagination, Cry! There must be more… – mh clay

Without Colophon

by on April 15, 2021 :: 0 comments

When mind wishes for a workout nostalgia
warms up the process. Firsthand fumes
are never on a collision course. Dubiety
does not piggyback on them.

Résumé turns into a register of regrets.
It is not easy to rack up how memory
preengages into a monograph: without
readers. This tally needs no title page.

editors note:

From recall to remorse is a short run when self publishes to self. – mh clay


by on April 14, 2021 :: 0 comments

I play random songs
on my phone,
ran dumb songs

with no connection
to each other,
only connect shun

memories that collide
like heated molecules,
call lied in me and to me

until I cannot tell
what is truth and
what is not, can knot unknot

the difference between joy
and depression,
the deep press shunning

all efforts to understand,
all F forts under attack
with no relief on the way,

no releafing of trees
that have died
but left their roots

while I lie in bed dead
to all but random songs.

editors note:

Open your F forts to ran dumb incursions. – mh clay