Featured Poems

MAKING PLANS

by on September 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

The phone rang and I picked it up
From the other end came a near hysterical female voice
I thought, fuck who have I pissed off now?
But this one turned out to be another of those damn automated calls
She told me in no uncertain terms that according to her records
I hadn’t arranged a much-needed funeral plan!

I hung up immediately but suddenly felt my own mortality
At 44 am I already on the way out
And do they know something I don’t know about
On this gloomy, near death Thursday morning
When the only thing to look forward to now is work

editors note:

When Death calls on auto dial, HANG UP! – mh clay

Easy as 1, 2, truth.

by on September 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

You see
You’re Everlasting like the essence of bread and wine.
When you read forever My grandfather’s cheeks were Scarlet with eternity
And I have fervor in infinity
When your heart gives into divinity
And I like to play with heat.
I’ve been watching you. You’re a stop sign.
Your face red like war, And in this trench
With his brothers murmur radio signals like crime.
When calisthenics take hold my tongue
High in a fever and young
My lips cracked and dry
Like mother Earth after Phaethon’s joyride.
In the glass of time and the
Pearl in their ocean eyes
Play with me two truths and one lie.

– Rachael N. Sanders

editors note:

A burning truth, fueled by mythology and maybe. – mh clay

Destitute dreamer

by on September 19, 2017 :: 0 comments

Who
Is gonna think?
Her vague presence
Buried in the
Womb of silence,
And I weep for
Her beauty.

Got drunk,
In my madness,
Spinning her dream;
In the haywire.
Loitering in the streets
In search of poetry,
Collecting sights
To stir, in alleys.

Sitting
On a temple porch,
Pondering night,
Did not meet any thought.
Melting by the temperatures
Of: emotion, kissing whose
Unkissed lips.
You create a current,
Oh! Volatile.

Dancing with
The caressing breeze
For the droplets of dew
Distilled tonight.
Surprise of a turn
With sericeous head
And seductive smile
Disappear within a wink
Flying to the world:
Of nymph.

And as a
Destitute dreamer,
Staring at her flight
I wait for an
Early plane
To catch.

editors note:

Another flight of fancy. Boarding Dream Air, now! – mh clay

the fall.

by on September 18, 2017 :: 0 comments

I.

i fell hard enough one day to break bone,
fell flat on my back.
i kept doing it over
and over,
until the weaker protrusions
growing out of my scapula broke clean off.
then i buried my hollow bones,
my shriveled little wings,
deep down in the barren earth,
and i waited.

II.

i waited so long,
a lifetime,
a long and lonely time,
for them to be uncovered.
just so someone could finally
call any part of me a miracle,
and mean it.

III.

i never said i could fly,
lord no,
i’m not an angel.
but oh,
i can grow wings,
and i can fall.

editors note:

Wings or no; with the right words… (Bear has a new set of chapbooks out, Time Travel for Daydreamers. Get’em here.) – mh clay

Storm of Sound

by on September 17, 2017 :: 0 comments

Sound.
Such a funny thing –
the intricacies of the voyage.
The waves that lap at your ear,
drift through the canal,
like an ocean barge
being guided swiftly
yet carefully
through a narrow passage.
Once through,
the beating of a tiny drum
Thump, thump, thump
like a Viking ship
encourages the
stroke, stroke, stroke
of oar-hands
gliding it further, further
tickling the barnacles
in a whirlpool of sound;
a complex vortex
swirling through
a twisted ride
before a fast-moving current
picks it up and delivers it to port.

It’s a funny thing.
Sound.
The complex ride to port.
Amazing
how the passage can be
smooth and swift
uneventful and fluid,
yet an unexpected storm
can turn the tide
change the current
and reroute the journey –
the sound doomed to drift
on an empty ocean,
Lost.
Forever.

– A.D. Hurley

editors note:

Storms of dismissal, disinterest and pride. Watch the weather when you speak. – mh clay

The Flight That Disappeared

by on September 16, 2017 :: 0 comments

Robert E. Kent Productions, 1961

the future judges
all of us

who set out
to write history

who learn to carve
a bomb from granite

we are
those butterflies

fanning their wings
in the Amazon

snuffing candles
not yet lit

those who follow us
will see

we leave bloody
footprints in the sand

– Ace Boggess

editors note:

They will judge us, but they will not learn. – mh clay

Which Window?

by on September 15, 2017 :: 0 comments

After the lava dries behind my
Eyes, and thoughts calcify my pupils wide,
The sky still has space for all of

The planets’ volcanoes. Not just my

Brain’s bleeding rage to stay Spirit-high.

– Mark Fleury

editors note:

In that day, hope we may find refulgence in the fumes. – mh clay