Featured Poems


by on February 9, 2016 :: 0 comments

my hands are freezing out in the november sun
here marks the end of something i wasnt so sure would’ve lasted to begin with
i was just trying to live in the moment and give each day a purpose
but i always believed the days had purpose and i always believed in god
i always had too much hope in my heart
or in my head
but they’re both deceiving and nobody will ever convince me otherwise
the stars in the sky shone so brightly last night
and while i sat on my window sill
i could smell lilacs
and i watched one single star fall out of the sky
and i was so mesmerised by its beauty that i couldnt even make a wish
it was like that with your eyes

– Gilbert Franco

editors note:

When wishing is just not enough; stars and eyes shine forever. – mh clay

Afterwords and Beyond

by on February 8, 2016 :: 0 comments

This is the soundtrack for the life and times of
Lefty Bell. 57 years
the dust still hasn’t settled.
My inner selves seated at my honors table
praised for their resiliency,
Couldn’t/wouldn’t break
Walk w/ dignity through these streets so mean
So mad
Soul De La soul Fela Kuti
wild out music revolution
On the make/semi retired
Loving me immovable
Put the panty drop song on
Sway on the tip
Sway on my thigh
Sway my body
Sip my lemon tea lime
Subversive head
Circa LaWanda Page listening to Wolfgang
pierce the marrow of my heart
Luna sweet like my AfroCuban soul
Big leg hot water sweet potato
honey sticks Smokin hot
laughing at the shadows
big 6
twenty twins
Snapping snapping
I dance the pain out
I dance the pain out

editors note:

Every after has an ever. Dance to your music… – mh clay


by on February 7, 2016 :: 0 comments

I step through the centre of my mind’s eye
And into the near future of this life
I don’t know where I am and for that, well
Just grateful to have escaped

Glad to be somewhere else
Whilst I experience even more
A whole life of inconsistency
That always seems pleasing to me

This life is meant to be lived
So take it now and do what you will
Because this is the one chance you’ll get
At this craziness called living

editors note:

We all live it; take it or not. – mh clay

Sonnet on Time

by on February 6, 2016 :: 0 comments

Is time a spiral stairway that we climb
Whose unendingness we seek to borrow
To the last wrought syllable of our rhyme
Tomorrow, tomorrow, and tomorrow —
The fusion of the future with the past
In dizzying dimensions ever new
Which hurl us headlong in a void so vast
That what we view as false appears as true?
We must peer through bars forever blocking
Upon the threshold of our promised land —
At the gates of eternity knocking —
Outside we stand — albeit hand in hand.

Through the rush of time we’re ceaselessly swirled.
How heartless is the transience of this world!

editors note:

Hand in hand we stand against the great Tick Tock. (Another one from Harley on her page; a birthday present – check it out.) – mh clay


by on February 5, 2016 :: 0 comments

Rich dudes have their run of the place here,
place where low hills press down in earshot
of falling black water and women so fucking
tired of washing garments, they hang
their breasts out to dry on hooks
chiseled from fine fountain stone. These
are the same women who squeeze your arm
in between their lacquered fingers
and then push your fingers into their lips
and far, far further back, just so
long as your lucre be green-and-gray paper
and not some nasty alloy.

– William C. Blome

editors note:

Love for lucre. How low will you go? To buy? To sell? – mh clay


by on February 4, 2016 :: 0 comments

Lips tightly sealed
avoiding eye contact
They sit
in stone cold silence while
tumultuous emotions rage
hurricane like
around them.
Hurt, anger, disbelief make
a Molotov cocktail
just waiting to explode.
Perspiring profusely he stares
at his feet as if
the answer
to her unasked question
lies there.
She shivers
at his frigid indifference
and wonders
how easily
he let a passing fancy rip
into fragments
the fabric of
intimate companionship
woven lovingly for over
two decades.

– Shirin Hasrat

editors note:

Look before you leap or you’ll be staring at your feet. – mh clay

Phantom Pastoral, excerpt

by on February 3, 2016 :: 0 comments

The Christ and the barbed wire,
The musical cigar, wineskin,
Jewel encrusted sirens:
The horizon drying on the factory roofs,
Winking lies at the hero’s funeral–
Last supper of cheeseburgers and milkshakes.
Mother was fair,
Papa died in his rocking chair:
They were the lucky ones.

Forgotten on the bottom rung of a hospital bed:
Is this what it takes to be forgiven?
Unremembered son; every blade is the last, every glance.
Nobody should die young,
But you make the paper.

No more wanted photos
And no hero’s return.

We reach for the mirage that cast us off
As the dressing room consumes her changing.
What can you teach perfume?

What was and isn’t still awaits,
Says a street urchin in an amulet of paradise,
I read all your letters by fog
So my ghost would remain haunted.
Give me your veil–
I once had hope.

The crossed stars on a boy painted with scars.
His crown lit by the unborn part of town;
Who was he? Fires that never burned,
Dragging his fortune like a prince
Who never leaves his war.
Scripture recited in empty bars.
The body of the host
Sealed as the petals of a stillborn rose.

editors note:

All live a hero’s life, all made sacrifice; body and blood. (Read this in its epic entirety on Quinten’s page – check it out. Also, read our review of Quinten’s latest collection on our Blog – check it, too.) – mh clay