Featured Poems

Wet Radio 2015

by on June 27, 2017 :: 0 comments

Rain has no gender.
Why are tears then often assigned gender roles? We, who defy, cry immersing
ourselves in rivers, for life is but a long hallucination of memory and miseries we cull. Love
and loss are often one and the same- they eat our brain cells like ants swarming over
stale, decayed bread by the side of your garbage bin, early morning.
I have lost count of my lovers in imaginary strawberry fields, now purple in evenings without
crowing crows. Often, I have tried to lose my memory. Sometimes by falling
in love to seek pain- sometimes by disappearing a little every winter.
And escape came running down the green paddy fields, through a broken shortwave
radio whining in pain
Or, in guitar solos that illuminated my lamp lit, power-cut evenings. Other times, in lyrics
we gathered from the album covers.
Skipping lunch, biking for hours under the hot, arid sun, saving
to buy, to listen to the songs that remind you of your favourite lover, the punishments you
received at the school, and so on. May be, crying was just an excuse.
I was probably just longing for some goosebumps.

editors note:

It’s a retro radio wasteland. Tune in to your favorite triumphs. Turn off the tragedies. (We welcome Goirick to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

To the dregs

by on June 26, 2017 :: 0 comments

life is poison,
yet I must drink it.
there is no other beverage
that gets me so drunk.

editors note:

We hope to build immunity to its poison. Daily doses; drink up. – my clay

Contradiction Of The Doctrine

by on June 25, 2017 :: 0 comments

Free thinking
don’t cost a thing
come to think of it
it’s on the house

The negation
of asceticism
and display
of my appearance
may be of dubious
nature to you

But that doesn’t grant
you the right
regardless of how
righteous

To jump to the
conclusion
that I need help
from the almighty above

I’m close to him
in this precise moment
the pills have taken effect
I’m soaring like George Soros

Be that as it may
I don’t deal well
with missionary
interlopers

If you hand me
one more
of those self-help
biblical pamphlets

I will show you
how hostile I am
once the tranquility
of these pills
begins to wear off

editors note:

What’s bank for one is bet for another. Keep your sure thing to yourself. – mh clay

That Is Not My Future

by on June 24, 2017 :: 0 comments

School was a difficult maze and prison
to manoeuvre and struggle through.
It was curious to see others
working towards future plans,
set goals and structured inclinations.
Even the girls with no business ambition,
knew exactly how many babies they wanted,
already had the names picked out
and decided which Council Estate
they would like to have their homes upon.
Meanwhile, she only knew for sure
what books were next upon her reading list.
That Reality TV Shows were almost painful.
Her parents were ‘Black And White’
whilst she was ‘Colourful’
and would never actually understand her.
Solitude, vibrates and liberates.
Boys are silly and clumsy
but, in a different way from herself.
‘Chalk And Cheese’ is the best phrase
that was ever invented.
That everyone only focused upon the obvious.
No one thought about the soundless,
ethereal arc of a barn owl’s flight-landing
or found petrichor, old parchment paper
and dying bonfire smoke romantic.
That everybody has eyes but never uses them
to see the Magic which lies in between things.

editors note:

Wonder is the wand we wave, while pondering those differences. – mh clay

the end of times

by on June 23, 2017 :: 0 comments

whispers
of the
final
days

the end
of times

everyone
is looking
for their
advantage

anything
to avoid
taking the
last shot
and failing

i want to
go out with
a bottle in
one hand
and
knowledge
in the other

that should
surprise
everyone
who
expected
nothing
but my
penis
in
either

editors note:

Yes! A gentleman’s hand-job. – mh clay

IN TIMES LIKE THESE

by on 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

The Smile of Emptiness and Nothingness

by on June 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

Fifteen thousand years ago
You were a king.
And thirty thousand years ago
You were a slave
Your past life was a long scroll of times
And the next life? How short ten thousand years are!
Yesterday is emptiness and nothingness,
Tomorrow is emptiness and emptiness
Where are you at this time?
Emptiness and nothingness, emptiness and nothingness
Buddha halo, the smile of emptiness and nothingness

– Hongri Yuan

editors note:

No pain in nothing; shine up your halo and smile. – mh clay