Featured Poems

That Is Not My Future

by on June 24, 2017 :: 0 comments

School was a difficult maze and prison
to manoeuvre and struggle through.
It was curious to see others
working towards future plans,
set goals and structured inclinations.
Even the girls with no business ambition,
knew exactly how many babies they wanted,
already had the names picked out
and decided which Council Estate
they would like to have their homes upon.
Meanwhile, she only knew for sure
what books were next upon her reading list.
That Reality TV Shows were almost painful.
Her parents were ‘Black And White’
whilst she was ‘Colourful’
and would never actually understand her.
Solitude, vibrates and liberates.
Boys are silly and clumsy
but, in a different way from herself.
‘Chalk And Cheese’ is the best phrase
that was ever invented.
That everyone only focused upon the obvious.
No one thought about the soundless,
ethereal arc of a barn owl’s flight-landing
or found petrichor, old parchment paper
and dying bonfire smoke romantic.
That everybody has eyes but never uses them
to see the Magic which lies in between things.

editors note:

Wonder is the wand we wave, while pondering those differences. – mh clay

the end of times

by on June 23, 2017 :: 0 comments

of the

the end
of times

is looking
for their

to avoid
taking the
last shot
and failing

i want to
go out with
a bottle in
one hand
in the other

that should
but my

editors note:

Yes! A gentleman’s hand-job. – mh clay


by on June 22, 2017 :: 1 comment

Down at the check point they
search us for paper, pencils or pens.
They insist that we leave words,
punctuation and yes our ideas at home.
Safely kept under lock and key. Only
they insist that we give them the key.
Both keys. Sad, but most see no harm
in this. Ideas are dangerous. Ideas should
only be in the hands of those trained in a
rigorous course of socially accepted norms.
Except those whose ideas are an anathema
to those living here. Those go to the head
of the line. And who pays for “free” thinking?
If thinking outside the lines is for-bidden,
why do some want to celebrate those who
color outside the lines? Why is there no
consistency? Please don’t repeat these thoughts.
I still am able to print, with hoarded construction
paper and crayons. I can recall, with fond
memories the click clack and smell of
mimeograph ink and the rocking machine.

editors note:

Not so new. These ideas are old as man; still dangerous, best left unsaid. (We welcome Terry to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

The Smile of Emptiness and Nothingness

by on June 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

Fifteen thousand years ago
You were a king.
And thirty thousand years ago
You were a slave
Your past life was a long scroll of times
And the next life? How short ten thousand years are!
Yesterday is emptiness and nothingness,
Tomorrow is emptiness and emptiness
Where are you at this time?
Emptiness and nothingness, emptiness and nothingness
Buddha halo, the smile of emptiness and nothingness

– Hongri Yuan

editors note:

No pain in nothing; shine up your halo and smile. – mh clay


by on June 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

After dark,
in the metaphysical night
rush slowly through Brooklyn
enter Café Bizarro
secret meeting place in Midwood
wearing a celestial crown of electrodes
a bestial brain-charger that I plug into a wall socket,
melt into invisibility & dissolve & drift & dream
Sweet Phantasmagoria my lovely Dream-Lady dancing & descending into non-existence

while sipping French Vanilla Delirium
taste my Lady Divine
into the omphalos of the universe
oval mirror of irreality
I follow her into the deep of nowhere
perhaps tonight I shall find Heaven
Electrode Highway
Hell on earth
a hallucinatory stranger a simulacrum or the Chimera-Manager unplugs me

editors note:

Meet your sweet macchiato of the mind. Your double-shot in that electric place; Alternating Current all the way. (Don’t touch that plug.) – mh clay

Burnt Offering

by on June 19, 2017 :: 0 comments

I await, an altar on the cliff. Desperate
to appease, cutting nimble feet
and nicks until I’ve bled a little everywhere,
I trace my match along
the flinty coastline of your desire.

Come. We make the day,
this blazing instant blinding,
yesterday’s husks blistering to ash.
Fortune and madness in tempest,
a firestorm of ferocious consummation.

By night, we flicker upon waves,
a thousand chipped and tipping pieces
by moonlight, braking and gathering
in endless kisses towards the sky,
rocking golden to and fro.

And at the last, after the too much
and then nothing — for it’s true;
flames extinguish, tempests cease —
and memory is embers,
I will spread your ashes across the sea.

– Aaron Glover

editors note:

All-consuming love burns brightest, fastest. Memory is ash… – mh clay

July Journal: Friday, July 19, 2013

by on June 18, 2017 :: 0 comments

Beyond the sultry gate, evening picks
its way through warm rambling shadows. It
wears no shirt and knows no sun block is
required by the woods’ illusion
of permanence. The dulcet muffled
modulations of this now listen.
Dim orange light guards cautious steps over
rotting fallen logs and wiry swirls
of thorn brambles. Leaf-filled stump holes have
set small trickster pranks. Just beyond the
moments’ failing gray, a pair of Hawk
chicks bickers and shoves. The adults watch
the half-grown young tuck heads down into
the nest and fold wings across their backs.

editors note:

No bicker or shove can arrest the turn of night in summer’s heat. Best settle in. – mh clay