Featured Poems

I’m Through

by on September 23, 2017 :: 0 comments

Things aren’t like
They used to be
These days
Simplicity is a rarity
Complications cloud
Our minds
Distractions of all kinds
Threaten to sway
The things we say
Or dare not
To declare
These pointless
points of view
Dulling all our
Shining hues
Just trying to cope
And hang on to hope

Nope. I’m through.

Things don’t look like
They used to look
These days
It’s rare to find
An open book
We’re mindless drones
Noses bent to phones
Oblivious to the swirling
Mad world that’s unfurling
All around us
Hypnotized by the eye
Of the corporate beast
Who feasts on our meat
And pickpockets our souls

No. I’m through.

Things don’t feel like
They used to feel
These days
The fuzzed up line
Between fiction and real
Has got us twisted
In some unreal reality
All the while technology
Messes up our psychology
Creating prescriptions
For made-up maladies
Manufactured by the pharmaceutical
Companies owned and
controlled by this so-called
Society we call democracy
It’s a fucking travesty.

Not me. I’m through.

It’s due time we
Let loose of the line
Cut the tie
That binds our minds
And blinds our eyes
Make us a society
That’s yours and mine
Say enough is too much
Kick this crippling crutch
And touch reality
Taste it and see it
And really feel it
Be all up in it
Seeking and finding
Colliding the new world
We got duped into buying
With the old world
We thought was dying
And was long lost
and forgotten
It’s not

All we need to do
Is say we’re through.

editors note:

Yes, we are! (Thanks for these encouraging words from our Chief Ed.) – mh clay

the stories i was whispering to you while you slept

by on September 22, 2017 :: 0 comments

we are in a back room
at the old library
where they stack piles of books
on the floor

our palms are buried
beneath ash and dust

your eyes peer at me over tall stacks
of half-torn pages
like twin black holes

you bear the sulphuric scent of the void
in space

we pretend we are somewhere else
all the time

– Panos Panagiotopoulos

editors note:

With nothing but words to define our place. – mh clay

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