Featured Poems

FOR THE SCHOLAR WINTER’S RESTING PLACE

by on August 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

Drift through Romantic and Classical
computer music
from the nearby desk top
…lying in bed
with sweat pants and tea shirt
and warmed by a heater

…go make a liaison
with that similar dream and mistress
to all sleep
with its narcotic yearnings

…go and lift up
the spirit
to those realms of Heaven
or the underworld

cozied by cracks
in that feral cave

and watch History unravel
in the back of your psychotic mind

…abstract images! with hints of gods and beasts
layer these peopled immersions
in fear
and love
and passion

layer the crowd
which has left its mark on the psyche
since childhood

…places
all sexy
and humid and decadent

…and innocent places
which warm the frightened soul
with a sense
of benign
…indifference!

– Sam Silva

editors note:

Read in the half-light of an eclipse to amplify our sense of insignificance. – mh clay

A Prophecy of Earth’s Final Hours

by on August 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

Comes the night that swallows our feeble lights
And the moonstruck girl who sleeps under a gypsy moon
There is one day and a hundred years
Of the slow death of life
When burns a brazen sun
And howl contemptuous winds
There is a sad boy who
Stands under a broken bridge
And sells his songs
For a sixpence and a memory
There are loves’ contortions: fierce, false
Spawning along a boulevard of broken dreams
And rains cold, that sing one kind of song
The barren sands, another
There are mystic dreads pounding at the door of dark
Songs ringing with the skirling music
That transcends earth and time

And at the far edges of yesterday
On the seaward side of tomorrow
Lamplights are fading
And the heavy-lidded eyes of the moon
Are closing on a fate that dares to dream

editors note:

What we predict of moon is nothing compared to what she predicts of us… – mh clay

Seeing is Believing

by on August 19, 2017 :: 0 comments

Go exist in a decommissioned
missile silo in rural Kansas
for top dollar

for all I
care

I have seen the whole
of the human race
live horribly

and continue
in the worst
of ways

betraying the ones
they love
so convincingly

the moon could land
on itself

and call
foul.

editors note:

Moon landing or man handling; all part of the same conspiracy. – mh clay

OUR BEAR AND OUR WOLF

by on August 18, 2017 :: 0 comments

Our bear and child of bear
Waking us
A fourth time
I woke up and got out of the stained sheets, mattress
Soft and bitter, rind of memory
Exposed
From here to where there was water

Our wolf knew all the things we thought
Not to talk about that day
Eye here and here
With us waking, naked and wondering
Where we left
Everything we knew we knew last night
Or two nights ago or whenever
It was, we decided to cut through the night
Lights lingering in a timeless white lie

Believing over and over
Yesterday–Last year
That one night in January 2013
That spring when I could do anything I wanted and not die
Like those dreams we both had
To lie about to remember
Differently

Like those concrete cows under the tree, empty
Trinity River basin in the dry winter heat
Of Dallas’s concrete asshole still steaming
From last summer and last year and that one time
Electricity sprang from the cables above us and Saunter, black
Angel, in a dark dark moment
We collided with
Each other and all
The things and things and things
That came after the sparks
All ours to destroy
Ourselves with, together as we remembered
Each other for the first time again
And again and again
We ran like the children of bears and of old wolves

editors note:

All our unknown aspirations, howled and growled in animal intent. (Read another from Cheyenne on his page; a companion to this one, an age-old adage from when were young. Check it out!) – mh clay

Choose your name

by on August 17, 2017 :: 0 comments

Wash your lime, peel yourself
Be blue gem,
Never be in hot pursuit
O blunt! Lopsided smile
Your spirit has muster for yourself
So……
Make a bid
Sow your peace seed
Then you will sound
By your fruit name
Set out… !

– Surbhi Anand

editors note:

Know your tree, then fall not far from it. – mh clay

½ Truth

by on August 16, 2017 :: 0 comments

Hey –

(a hand on my shoulder)

Hey –
It’s going to be a short while longer
The machine takes several minutes to warm up

(the modem blinks a red eye after sleep
three-prong stemming
when there is work to be done)

Hey –
Are you okay?
There is water behind the counter

(the mumble rises through my shoes
laughter in the dark
right outside the room
the things they say in secret)

Hey –
This paper is too thin
Try to fix it by keeping a distance

(a woven hum from somewhere below
trapped under boards
made of paper, made of tree roots)

Hey –
It’s 25% off after fifty
More is cheaper

(the backward wire vibrates the cord
of a rubber sole that peels on contact
to toe the water)

Hey –
Remember the time
This looked familiar

(step into the clutch of a close feeling
a frayed, threaded carpet burn
scar of value)

editors note:

What’s going on? Are we conspirators or conscripts; unconscious consumers, coerced and cloyed? – mh clay

THE SAILOR’S HOUSE

by on August 15, 2017 :: 0 comments

a true Danish story

This is the land lot,
while the vegetation around – the only surviving mark
of the house that succumbed once the man did.

Every time he headed to and back from the seas,
the Viking descendant left and returned to his abode
surrounded on every side by trees as high
as his giant build.

One night, alas, he couldn’t make it back,
abandoning home all on its own – first time ever!

All that the following morning witnessed
was a catacomb
of roof and walls and trees flattened aground,
and a flock of seagulls paying their last respects
up in that patch of a mournful sky.

Copenhagen, fall of 2016
English Translation by Arben P. Latifi

– Alisa Velaj

editors note:

The story that place can tell when person has passed. – mh clay