Featured Poems

once upon our love

by on November 24, 2015 :: 0 comments

the cries and smiles we shared in love and dreams
was once a bliss of life enjoyed and gone
our passions drowned unseen in silenced screams…

in graceful dance of feet and fun
we held so close and lipped a kiss so fine
our hands, with mine on yours was two as one…

we loved and promised, ever yours and mine
in stills, in storms until our deaths and ends
to cherish, keep, to love for life in twain…

our love faded soon on stormy beds
we etched the this and that that wrecked our love
and left our lives, our hearts embittered shreds…

it was a love once rained on us from above.

– Ayoola Goodness Olanrewaju

editors note:

Another, once held tightly; now, taken, though not lightly, in terza rima. – mh clay

Unbearable Affliction

by on November 23, 2015 :: 0 comments

Two hundred and one flowers
fill the room,
incensed flames flicker.
An aching stillness hangs.
She longs to be elsewhere.

Warm breath creeps,
like the first time she danced
with her lover-
her soul ignites,
she pirouettes,
across the scuffed wooden floor.

Sweat on brow,
feverish perfumed passion,
fingers trace as if
unsighted and unsure.

she is peeled;
a promise to the night,
she arrives.
The Flower Duet ends.

Love fades…

But memories linger
like watchful ghosts.

editors note:

Dancing to the memory of love… – mh clay


by on November 22, 2015 :: 0 comments

The day is racked and tortured
Its windy spaces tranquil yet stormy;
My silent heart cries out
And I breath deep
To prevent tears
From falling down my cheeks;
For only tears
Can articulate these inner silences
That tear at my being;
Tears only can make sense
Of these longings
That remain illusive and inexpressible.

My heart cries out
And I breath deep
To prevent tears
Welling up into my eyes;
Locked in silence
Each of us must hold
This loneliness to the chest;
I hunger for something
That I am unable to grasp.

My heart cries out
And I breath deep
To prevent tears
Falling down my cheeks;

I yearn for a woman’s embrace
To feel the arms of another
Wrapped around me;
There is no-one.

My heart cries out
And I breath deep
To fight back tears
That threaten
To roll down my cheeks;

I long for that which I have never had:
Knowing that all desire
Must be ship-wrecked by an alien world;
Knowing dreams and defeat form a singularity;
While windy spaces remain tranquil yet stormy.

editors note:

Alone, we enter. Alone, we exit. All seek “together” in between. – mh clay

Tonight is for the Amber

by on November 21, 2015 :: 0 comments

Suppose her eyes were wet,
and the moon was blue, and

fish laid coins at our bare feet.
Terrifying mystery, wondering

how fast a boat tomorrow
rides in, gliding forever across

a glass sea of drowned yesterdays.
We stood at the shore and waved

at thin cranes dark against the horizon,
like music notes on a purple staff.

Some memories are trapped in amber,
others in broken glass, and I can’t recall

those days, and I shouldn’t, because I
put them there. Sometimes we cut our

feet looking for gold. Suppose love is a memory
of unity, and some of us cannot remember.

Suppose her eyes were blue, and the fish
were wet, and the moon laid bright coins

at our bare feet. Fantasy is just reality on its
head. But either way, tonight is for the amber.

editors note:

A fish for a fantasy; a look at the world through amber-colored glasses. (We welcome James – we call him Bear – to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay


by on November 20, 2015 :: 0 comments

My children want to know
how and I tell them
any how, they want to know
truth and I tell them I have
none, they ask why I leave
when it gets touchy, I tell
them I did not know I did
that, they ask about their
mother and I say too much
or too little, depending on
the day, they want to know
if they look like me and I
say look again.

– Russ Cope

editors note:

If we want them to find the right answers, best to teach them to ask the question for themselves. – mh clay

A part of me!

by on November 19, 2015 :: 0 comments

The infinite lines
you drew
on my bare back
nailing your way
into my heart
still remain there
unscrubbed and unwashed
embedded into my skin
a part of me.

A part of me
you now ask to part
how could one
give away his own self
come and do erase
those resilient lines
come and take away some
of me and find
some of you in that.

– Gurpreet Singh Rana

editors note:

From every encounter, we carry each others’ imprints; impossible to remove. How could, indeed? – mh clay

Youth is Wasted on the Young

by on November 18, 2015 :: 0 comments

We heard it said repeatedly,
in adage olden and far-flung,
through springs misspent too heatedly,
that youth is wasted on the young.

Our ‘salad days’ of judgment green
found life a song to still be sung,
a wanton time when slate seemed clean.
Ah, youth is wasted on the young.

If mad pursuits of senseless aims
left us ‘at sea’, burned-out, unstrung,
from revelry in ‘fun and games’,
then youth is wasted on the young.

When ages past maturity
those words oft heard have freshly stung,
we see with blinding surety
that youth is wasted on the young.

Yet, wiser than we were before,
we heed the chimes at midnight rung
and anchor vagaries ashore.
Aye, youth is wasted on the young.

We seek enlightened paths to know
and glory just to dwell among
the blossoms of an inner glow.
Oh, youth is wasted on the young.

And golden years bring different dream,
when passion’s lost her silver tongue,
for lasting peace to reign supreme.
Yes, youth is wasted on the young.

editors note:

Now’s the turn for youth to write; so far, it’s never yet been told. Turnabout, be sharp, not trite; how age is wasted on the old. – mh clay