Featured Poems

a hanging moon in the west.

by on March 17, 2018 :: 0 comments

moon starts off heavy and orange
just over the stark naked trees
wintering west of this stand

some idea of where the sun is
some feeling stretching out
a distance to that sun and it
aint in the west or the east

we just hanging here
it hangs out of sight
it’s unfathomable where it’s at
numbers can say it

numbers can make up a length
but it’s out there
in all of this
and i’m out here in all of this

and here, in here, in this flesh
this living thing
this making a sense within speaks
“orange moon, unseen moon”

after that you can do anything
with words – you can make anything up
you can make any place real
but it ain’t, is it?

and as night, something, moves
that moon softens out of orange
climbs into the sky
makes a way towards the west

and i can’t fathom the stars
and they can’t fathom me
and i’m asking for something
and i don’t think it’s there

it is some form alright
in all this formlessness
inhale, breathe deep and look out
i could cry but for what

no one said to go there
but go there i go
all the words run out of themselves.
all the words run out of me.

making up all the men and women.
in this place. so vast. listen to it.
the moon ain’t orange anymore. just listen.
until the next time.

day will come and all this
will seem strange
as everything is normal in the light.
but it ain’t. and it never will be.

and this is where we are now.
the past is gone. the future
is yet to be. listen to it.

listen to yourself.

– Brendan McCormack

editors note:

As words waste away, like the waning moon… listen. – mh clay


by on March 16, 2018 :: 0 comments

fuck thinking positive
you just have to be insane:
say “cheese” to the gun barrels
of pain aimed at you
give yr demons a piggyback ride
gather all the parts of yr brain
that hate you & make a necklace of them
marry suicide & adopt death
& dress it up like a lamb

– Rob Plath

editors note:

Yup! You carry them, or they carry you. – mh clay


by on March 15, 2018 :: 0 comments



– K.W. Peery

editors note:

Do you duck and cover? Or, depend on the luck o’ the draw? – mh clay


by on March 14, 2018 :: 0 comments

You didn’t wait for me
at the unfamiliar
fork in the road.

I was only lost a little
while, then found my way
home anyway.

That’s all I have to say.

editors note:

In her search for love, her way is found instead. – mh clay


by on March 13, 2018 :: 0 comments

I don’t know the day it happened
nor the time
I only know
I had a dream
and then one day
it was gone.

Was it age
or busyness, I do not know
when I grew up
lost my childhood
and became

Me who was
is not
me who is,
when did the laughter fade?

Was it pain
or loss
that took the dream
the youth
the me,
and buried them away?

editors note:

Under that dirt lies memory. Keep digging! – mh clay


by on March 12, 2018 :: 0 comments

Your footprints left
thin as ghosts.

Silent branches flower
their glass
through my brittle dreams

as a script
of ice vines its grief
toward sunrise.

Crystal bells ring
as the last star
falls to the treetops

and this lost moment
becomes a drop of frost
melting to earth.

editors note:

Stolen sleep in Winter’s wake. – mh clay


by on March 11, 2018 :: 0 comments

is a dog:
canine, ASBO, punk.
We love her loose wires.
She has extra needs.
I thought I’d stretch
my neck out for her.

She ate my Apple Mac lead:
sixty five quid on top of Michelle’s slippers;
anything but the Ox Blood ten holer Docs.

I don’t get the jogger destruction gene,
or the random furry death squad triggers.
I think she’ll require understanding.
You can get a ‘dog’ MSc.

How she did the Houdini
was a sleight of paw. She just wanted
to tower over terriers.
Dogs have egos too.

I pretend to eat her tripe.
I wonder if she’s smart.
I’m the top dog, however,
at bedtime she divides us: gooseberry.

She has a two ton dog chain.
With skinny jeans and leather
I walk her looking like a CHAV.
I don’t give a monkey’s what locals
make of Angel. She has the best excuse
for how she randomises:
once a stray, now a daddy’s girl;
expect the odd surprise.

ASBO – a UK term, meaning anti-social behaviour order
CHAV – means council house and violent

editors note:

In this world of “dog eat dog,” it pays to have your own Angel. – mh clay