Featured Poems

Today

by on August 1, 2015 :: 0 comments

A helix of flames spiraled in your eyes today,
As a soothsayer spoke of your demise today.

Beneath Thracian tombs defiled by Romans
Djinns scour crypts seething with flies today.

Mystics decipher koans whispered
In zephyrs rife with lisps & sighs today.

Plumes of smoke are roiling above pyres
From where flocks of phoenixes rise today.

Clans of nomads are possessed by demons
Sages were dispatched to exorcise today.

Cassandra dreams of ships gliding on waves of fire-
An omen of war the sea’s repose belies today.

A wraith’s shrieks reverberate through caverns
In an echo the raving wind amplifies today.

The immense shadows of soaring wings melt
As condors are subsumed in the sunrise today.

The litanies of prophets are echoing in caves
As whirlwinds form in Elijah’s eyes today.

editors note:

A lot’s happening today. Poets, pay attention. – mh clay

NOT LIKE THEM

by on July 31, 2015 :: 0 comments

Getting here has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done
This life is not for the faint-hearted and I’m just glad to be sitting here writing this little poem
I remember all the obstacles that have been placed in my way
The days at school when the last thing on my mind was education
Back then it was all about survival and avoiding the bullies who wanted me dead
It all started so long ago now I can barely recollect
But I remember being made to walk up and down the classroom by an old teacher who wanted to cure me of my in-step
There was another time a kid I never really liked grabbed my pen and pad and threw it in the pond telling me that our kind shouldn’t be doing things like that
Secondary school wasn’t much better, the bullies were bigger and there were more of them
But somehow I survived, escaped intact by taking them on at their own game
Living so close to school I got all the training the one-hundred metres champion would need
Beating the bullies, even when they brought their bikes, home in a blur of limbs and will to survive
After school I naturally became a Goth thinking that was maybe the way to get people to ignore me
But that seemed unlikely in retrospect, a six-foot beanpole of a lad dressed head to toe in black
Just made it more obvious that I wasn’t like them and whilst now I may dress differently my spirit remains undiminished
Forever until the very end will I remain the one who is simply not like them.

editors note:

To all of you with undiminished spirits – identify! – mh clay

National Day, 1 March 2015, The Republic of Abstinence.

by on July 30, 2015 :: 0 comments

In March, Sex is another route through your defences, as it hits from a point beneath your firewall
Capricorn, 2015

I am robed, heavy towelling, belt double knotted.
The gown stops just short of my Achilles.
Sex is already strafing on its belly on the balcony.
The radar fails to pick up the ground-to-air assault.
Sex can see all the way up to my presidential guts.
Sex sprays a whiff of Sex past my ankles.
The scanner fails to detect it.
Sex tickles the hairs on my quads.
Sex evanesces clean through my skin.
Balaclavad Sex Threads shoot spasms through my abdomen.
The stunned crowds below have started to laugh.
I must be pulling strange faces.
Perhaps my peaked cap is atilt.
I remembered to mute the microphone.
My skin is covered in unexploded goose-pimples.
Sex drones lower chains along my arms.
They have flown through my wall of fire, it is a massacre.
Sex raises me above the crowds to heaven’s sanctuaries.
Security is nowhere to be seen.

– Daniel Roy Connelly

editors note:

Here is proof; hallucinations come from lack of this. – mh clay

Mon Dieu

by on July 29, 2015 :: 0 comments

Monsieur if it didn’t sell it went into bins
This is a business, we can’t give food away
Nobody would buy from us again
They’d just hang around outside
Waiting for stores to close
And for the hand outs
We are a country of revolutions
But that would be
Taking things too far

Madame we had to make sure
So we put bleach into the bins
To poison the unsold food
If we didn’t do this
These desperate people
Would steal from us
They would climb
Into the containers
To salvage the contents

Mon Dieu now the stupid government
Has made laws to prohibit all this
How easily they shame us
With their political rhetoric
Caring little for our profits
Worrying only about the votes
Of the weak and sentimental
Whose hunger we must now feed
Breeding our own destruction.

editors note:

A voice from the foundation upon which others build the welfare state (We welcome David to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

32 Poems

by on July 27, 2015 :: 0 comments

After two and a half years
mentored by a famous Beat poet
from the 50s and 60s
he finally produces a booklet of 32 clean
lean poems.

“The title poem – Bouncy House –
was inspired by your daughters”
he tells his son
and his son’s wife
as he hands them the booklet.

They say “Thanks, how nice”
as they put down their iPhones and leaf
through the pages for a minute
before picking up their iPhones again.
“That’s great” they added and that was that.

editors note:

Isn’t there an app for this? – mh clay

Meeting

by on July 26, 2015 :: 1 comment

Today I had a meeting.
I opened my closet door and shouted in,
“What should I wear today?”
My closet replied, in its low baritone voice,
“What sort of meeting is it?”
This was a good question – it was for my adoption.
“It is for the position of son.”
After a few moments of thinking my closet said,
“That’s very odd. Are you not too old to be a son?”
Infuriated I screamed,
“Who are you to tell me what I am too old to be?”
My closet sighed and gave me a collared cotton shirt, overalls, sneakers with velcro
and a pasta stain.
“Begone potential son.”

– John McGinley

editors note:

If clothes make the man, can a closet make a son? Potentially, yes! – mh clay