Featured Poems


by on March 26, 2017 :: 0 comments

I have one, a snapper, one man named it. I was at the apex of my powers; so I thought. I was an old man’s pass around; he gave me a place to lay my head that weekend, much better than sleeping in an abandoned car. I got paid $20.00 and a new nickname; catfish, make a man’s nature rise like that r&b song extols.

I was hooking; selling ass out of both drawer legs, my momma called it. The narc looked like a drunk trick. My pimp Cornbread and his main piece Caroline were, unbeknownst to me, clipping tricks in the alley. Married men wouldn’t report them. I was finally caught underage at a club; spent the night in a drunk tank, told I was pregs by my cell mate and deposited back to my mom’s. So I could give it away for free to all comers.

I preferred married men; 20s, one child; one thug as a part time lover/jailer; one milquetoast freak as my semi regular man. Momma ran the juke joint next door, had 3 men rooming in the front room of our one bedroom apt duplex.

Married men gave formula and diaper money. One man had a chain of convenience stores; momma pushed me toward him; he was a regular in the joint and he liked them young. I had a snapper, he called it. I kept it lemony, I even used honey. It was sweet and sour; like life. I finally got an awareness of the pain I was causing the women. The saints who were raising their bad ass kids, washing their stank ass drawers. The drawers I was pulling down, my shame and anger was unrighteous. The nerve of me.

My 30s and 40s found me in a so-called sanctified marriage. He knew the score; I was hiding my bi-ness, hiding my same gender love. I ate gay related books and magazines. We had a threesome with my neighbor. She wasn’t into me. If the Lord is just, may he forgive this Jezebel; before I paid dearly with my girl child’s innocence for my moral sin, he was into my and her daughter. He went to jail. My snapper did not save those girls.

My 50s find me heighted. I have been called hot natured. My ob-gyn told me my cunt cramps are because my vaginal walls are so thick they constrict of their own accord. My last partner was jealous of my vibrator. She could not put her whole hand in me; damn baby your snatch is tight, wish I had my dildo with me, I’d wear you out. Or get sore trying. I grabbed the lube. We have honey on our lips, honey stains on the bed. I still do my kegel exercises. I touch my dark pearl and laugh. I got a snapper.

editors note:

A genital history, openly disclosed… Honesty? Honestly!- mh clay


by on March 25, 2017 :: 0 comments

I’ve sure you’ve all heard about it by now–
That Crazy Wrap Thing by It Really Works!
Before you roll your eyes and scroll past this on to pictures of kittens and babies, please just hear me out.

I’m a brand new representative, and,
I gotta tell you, I love working for It Really Works! It’s a great career for me, because I’m a busy mother of three kids, and I get to be my own boss!
But most importantly, it really does work! Just look at the pictures below and see for yourself.

I gotta admit, though, I was skeptical at first, so I tried it myself, and the results are astounding. It’s so easy too!

You by take one of our wraps and affix one end inside the front door, securely.
Make sure the door is shut firmly. Take the other end of the wrap, and wrap it around the outside of your house. Be sure you are working counter-clockwise.
Walk in a complete circle around your house, pulling the cloth firmly so it doesn’t sag. When you reach the front door again, carefully open the door, go inside, and attach the other end of the wrap.
Do not open the door again.

You can see results in less than three weeks.
You can lose up to 200 square feet. (I only lost 150 feet of house, because I’m such a klutz and didn’t wrap tight enough.)

The results will be slow, at first, but dramatic once you take it all in.
The first thing to shrink was that purple abstract I have over my armchair. The lines got smaller. Then the couch got thinner. The unflattering lumps went away.
Other things in the living room, too. Books you’ll never finish became as slim as volumes of poetry. The faces in family portraits became closer and closer together.

Other rooms, too.
My king-sized bed became a twin.
My bathroom lost its extra sink. Whole rooms got tightened, tidied.
My kitchen is now only one foot wide and can barely accommodate my ample hips. Whole cupboards’ worth of dishes got smashed, chairs look like something from a dollhouse, and my spare room shrunk so much that only the cats can go in and out with ease.

I became a giant,
surrounded by objects so small and easily stored.
Everything tidy and still.

Private message me for more details!!!

editors note:

Be the first on our block to disappear. (We welcome Nadia to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Not your Mama’s DADA

by on March 24, 2017 :: 0 comments

Two people sitting, facing each other.
One vase stands stoically, silently between them.
Bisected at the sides in neon beige and neon black.
One person sees beige; one sees black.
Both are telling alternative truths.
But neither is telling the the vase’s truth, the complete truth.
Either side could have easily had a puppy fetus stapled to it.

Jennifer and Jack both start with the letter J.
Not implying they are intrasexuals or hermaphrodites.
I like desserts and people
Who bleed out sherry, not nonsense.
Unlike vases, Jennifers and Jacks can’t bisect and live.
That you want them to makes no difference
To those you’ve bored with your desires.

Relativity is the only all-absorbing entity.
If it were a river it would be dry and not a river.
If it were a theory, it would be over my head.
And if it were a floor, only tall people would survive.
Four alternative truths,
All based in my perception of truth, not relativity.

It follows this stanza should have five lines.
But I rarely live up to expectations.
The reason there are three is so it’s not a couplet.

editors note:

For those who don’t give a good zip-a-dee-doo-DADA. – mh clay


by on March 23, 2017 :: 0 comments

the silence that is missing will
come back to us
the womb we were unaware of
with its embracing cave of stillness
only the drum of heartbeat off
through the distance
through a moving galaxy of blood
river upon river
before the lungs invented air
we knew this silence so different
from the lack of sound
we knew nothing of sound
only this silence surrounded
by the hearing of ears not yet
connected to thought
the first born birth of silence
felt through the skin this silence
that is missing will come back
when it chooses
to quiet what remains of us.

– Mark Senkus

editors note:

It’s all womb; from silence to silence. – mh clay

This Clonic Earth

by on March 22, 2017 :: 0 comments

things come slowly
pass the time
at nothing

–>> seizure <<–

abrupt convulsions
grand mal experience

it effects –

“electrical changes in the brain“

she read that on the Internet

she thinks she is dying
debt compounding

she returns to normal
continues on

following day
a 10-year term
life insurance policy
conscience cleared
pellucid sky
waiting for death


the sun sets on an indifferent landscape

– Brittany Griffiths

editors note:

Sweet security, guaranteed (for the insurance company). – mh clay

The Sea of The Golden Palaces

by on March 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

Happiness is the memory of heaven
And the soul is the sweet sun
On the canvas of death
You daub the smile of the gods
Oh, that is light,the honey of light
If you can hear the music of heaven
That is the sea of the golden palaces
Over the space of sapphire

– Hongri Yuan
Translated by Yuanbing zhang

editors note:

Oh, to fly in such a firmament… Remember the honey? – mh clay

Crack of Shine

by on March 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

The sky was dark and dreary
as I trudged along the path,
with vision dim and bleary,
under thunderclouds of wrath,

one foot before another,
plodding onward through despair,
yet knowing of no other
road to lead me anywhere.

With blackness fast descending,
though my journey incomplete,
the trail became unending,
and I gave up in defeat.

Surrendering my proneness
to stouthearted courage prove,
I foundered in aloneness,
too dispirited to move.

Every hope and dream was gone
as I lay me down supine,
having no will to go on…
Then I spied a crack of shine.

Light was streaming through the cleft
in a sort of golden haze.
The impression that it left
was of some illumined blaze

which had kept aflame within
midst my melancholy mood
and a mindless inner din
that begot disquietude.

The fissure in the shadow
letting in the rays of light
summoned forth an inner glow
which was hidden from my sight.

I stayed there lying prostrate
for what seemed eternity,
speculating on my fate
as to be or not to be.

At length I managed to rise,
unsteady but striving still.
For life goes on – great nature’s wise –
it can, it must, and it will.

Yes life goes on – the truth there lies –
it can, it must, and it will.

The vision that was present
has never lost its power.
What I saw plus what it meant
comes back in my darkest hour.

It reappears through thick and thin –
that crack of shine that dwells within…

It’s always there through thick and thin –
that crack of shine that dwells within…

editors note:

Yes, it can, it must, and it will. Thanks, Harley! – mh clay