Featured Poems


by on October 25, 2016 :: 0 comments

I got the spirit of the world ninja tuna
I will stay poor my life to experience life
I have dreamed of you so much my sound

My jitney flies and I want to touch bloodbuzz
Blueberry body into the persuading coolness

I don’t have money to enter forgetting
I don’t have money because I don’t like it

The photograph hung against the blue world
Blue pain buzzing bee-bowskidee-doo-beep
Would you like to take a walk and sleep

The morning with simple kindness and bells
Tintinnabulating like my heart church crisis

Come away getting rich what we are not
Before you know it the dream is gone

Logical squares finally squawking
And thinking freer then freezing free
Like a perfect circle caking corners
Crooked imagination and begonia skies

You may be thinking I am limitless
And I have nothing to offer
Yes I have nothing and I’m proud of it

But there’s music in it full of love lions

Looks like it happened again you got them
All capital magisterial magic numbers

Still got the sensible wear-me-out blues
Of moneyheads undervaluing poetry
Of the breeze knifing through shades
Of the thousand blue get real

I will stay poor my life to experience life
Who’s going to disappear write forever

Who’s going to change I say, Go do!

editors note:

Yes! Do! Cuz, before you know it… – mh clay


by on October 25, 2016 :: 0 comments

You, me, ripped jeans,
cigarette ash, beer, iPod.
That was seventeen years ago
and that is seventeen seconds ago.
Nothing much has changed
except those superficial
wrinkles next to our eyes,
the rings on our third
finger and the slight
loose fat on our arms.
Nothing much has changed
except when our song
came, we felt a tingle
imagining our future and
now we feel nostalgia
imagining what could’ve
become of you and me, us.
Nothing much has changed,
except that our previously
clandestine meetings are
now known to our husbands.
Nothing much has changed,
except that I’m afraid to tell
you how I still feel about
you and that you are now
afraid to hear what I may
say, even though you know.
Nothing much has changed
in these seventeen years.
It is still a small party.
You, me, ripped jeans,
cigarette ash, beer, iPod
and our unsent vestiges
of love, received.

– Akanksha Varma

editors note:

A love, once given, once received; still given, still received. – mh clay


by on October 24, 2016 :: 0 comments

you thought you saw
red in the autumn foliage,
fraught with seeds of
spilling pomegranate –
a concentric witness to
the same gravity that kept
seasons fed in aviary
restraint and embryonic
tantrums, you had been
introduced well to
this old story that became
new, while palace of young
leaves burst into blades
of grass, cold spells snaked
through roots, stitched
runnels from beads of rain –

editors note:

A whole world constructed from what we think we see… – mh clay

Empyreal Heart and Soul

by on October 23, 2016 :: 0 comments

O Nebulae of Heart and Soul!
In infrared portrayal WISE,
your colors grace the stellar skies.
Have you a core celestial role?

Supernal presences you seem
that steal one’s fancy unawares,
far-off from earthly human cares,
inspiring a soulful dream.

Does music of the spheres resound
in utterness of heavens’ art
to beating of a boundless heart
we seldom hear here on the ground?

You bring to mind the vintage song,
where lovers fell in love and kissed
one magic night in moonlit mist —
a classic tune, still going strong.

Six thousand light-years from our Earth
is where you two evince your charm —
part of Perseus’ spiral arm —
in cosmic womb for starry birth.

That limb is in our Milky Way.
Cassiopeia holds the Soul
east of the Heart, to make the whole
of the mosaic on display.

Your archetypal names evoke
Cupid and Psyche myths of old,
tales allegorical untold,
poetic visions you awoke.

In concert you’re a perfect pair.
Befittingly you reign on high.
Lest we forget wherefore and why,
our true humanity is there!

editors note:

Again, these storied stars tell tales of us. What tales do we tell of them? (Another ekphrastic poem from Harley. Well done! See the image which inspired the verses here.) – mh clay

I want myself back, my crescent moon

by on October 22, 2016 :: 1 comment

My crescent moon, I was like you
Many, many years ago — idyllic, and free
Of dirty treads, of wounds and pain.
You’d beam bright upon my being
When I’d be down in disturbed liquors,
Pull me closer to you, my crescent moon, you’d
Create havoc in hell and heaven,
Calm me down, my crescent moon, you’d
Wake my soul up from extreme exhaustion
And I’d see you riding on dinosaurs,
Up and high in spirit to win the world,
My true warrior, you’d show myself
Calm and compassionate in the beasts’ eyes;
Oh! I want myself back, my crescent moon.

editors note:

Yes! Bring back the days when the Man in the Moon was you! – mh clay

Math, you, and I

by on October 21, 2016 :: 1 comment

If all the world was a pie chart and all the people
merely percentages of a greater whole number
then you would be a three-dimensional, fuchsia-colored slice
And if life just consisted of sterile integers and barren digits

you would be the picture worth a 1000 pixels squared
I would be the nervous wreck of a train going 90 mph
barreling for nowhere in particular, too soon, too fast
Because some equations never change

no matter how many times you divide and multiply
Divide and multiply, divide — oh you get the point
If the value of you is me to the infinite power
then the value of me is x times the square root of your love

I told you once you were my favorite digit
I lied, you are my favorite improper fraction
so very top-heavy, and by that I mean brain-wise
Compared to your numbers, I am wanting

When simplified, our least common denominator is 1
before you I wasn’t even a prime number
wasn’t worth a notch on the number line before or after 0
I was a textbook manic, a black splotch of a decimal

introducing a most resplendent series of 9’s
And you solved every one of my word problems in short form
But if I could be less than binary with you for a minute
more transparent, and screw the math altogether

I’d tell you that no amount of factors or multiples
will ever lead me too far away from you
Because our differences plus the ratio of your 2 lips to my 2 lips
are the sort of statistics dreams are made of

editors note:

Love in (rational) numbers. (We welcome Samantha to our creative congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Two flowers

by on October 20, 2016 :: 1 comment

Two friends, two days,
Two ways, two lives.
Too late to be like two flowers.

Things were said,
Said was thrown,
Hurt was gifted.
Too late to be like two flowers.

Two friends, one day
One way, one life
To become two flowers.

Fallen leaves,
Dried out roots,
Trampled under dirty boots.
Too late for two flowers.

– Sakazaf

editors note:

Indifference? Betrayal? How fragile our bonds can be… like these two flowers. – mh clay