Featured Poems

the ramson in fall

by on December 1, 2020 :: 0 comments

the ramson in fall
I would need tender feeling
of the meekest world

the dead bear’s garlic
in me fantasy blossoms
of marvelous dreams

enchanted autumn
wild garlic needs bewitchment
in some fantasy

autumnal buckrams
the last roses dreaming of
flowering seasons

some fallish roses
weird of my eternity
awakened – ramson

– Paweł Markiewicz

editors note:

Five haiku, a sweetish stink. – mh clay

glass beard

by on November 30, 2020 :: 0 comments

I am a circle in the broom room
I am the random floyd of the feathers

normal ice and we are earrings
were you a sponsored chicken?

the secret age of the heavens
the shape of the canceled apple

the rotten wink
this beef is the arthur of the dollar

this is the ness
the dallas glass

editors note:

To get -nost, you need more -ness. – mh clay

BILLBOARD WOMAN

by on November 29, 2020 :: 0 comments

I was thirteen
and in love with the woman
on the large billboard,
that the bus passed on the way to school.
I had no interest whatsoever
in girls who were my age.
My billboard love
had long wavy blonde hair,
bright blue eyes,
and lips as red as the plums
that showed up in my lunchbox
come summer.
Girls had pigtails.
Their eyes were brown.
The only time
I noticed their lips
was when they
opened their mouths
to give the teacher
the right answer.
Billboard woman
also had the right answer.
I was thirteen.
The question
suddenly occurred to me.

editors note:

Seeking a credible source; truth in advertising. – mh clay

Maskless in Dallas

by on November 28, 2020 :: 0 comments

Having overslept yet again, I wander
the aisles of a Barnes and Noble
that magically expands to an art gallery,
a toy store, a supermarket, all
without selling the book I want,
nature writing set in the hill country,
all that I will miss on the flight home.

Without that book, I walk out
to the shores of an artificial lake
large enough to be an ocean
with saltwater taffy and a Cyclone
at the end of the boardwalk.

I walk past the bare-chested men
and high-heeled women
who clog this path,
singing, smoking, swigging
beer from brown bottles.

I wake up gasping.

editors note:

Eyes open with loss not lost. Whew! – mh clay

Paraffin

by on November 27, 2020 :: 0 comments

Early morning is the first paraffin
of the sun – white, clear like a headache;
It melts down the earth
and softens the grass
I am lost

Lying face down in the tender
furrows of my soft green pillows like
the furrows
in the grass, I am the end of this all

This is my home
I listen to
endless morning chants
of worms and millipedes

I am one of them in the morning,
hiding
for some more darkness

editors note:

Dust to dust is all just dust. Snuggle in. (We welcome Sekhar to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

my cat watches in silence

by on November 26, 2020 :: 0 comments

my cat watches in silence
as i pace midnight floors of agony
and trace shadows with stiff fingers
and lean against painted walls

my cat watches in silence
as i take post at the dirty window
and gaze at the ivory moon
and examine validity of memories

my cat watches in silence
as i dance with madness and terror
and talk to ghosts unseen
and work through ideas not yet formed

my cat watches in silence
as i walk the dark hallways
and whisper words aloud
and begin to slow down

my cat watches in silence
and without judgment
and awaits the snap of my fingers
calling her to bed at last

– Tohm Bakelas

editors note:

On the brink of pandemic panic, feline friends bring peace in a purr. Sleep well. – mh clay

On the Drive to the Shaman

by on November 25, 2020 :: 0 comments

Over the edge
And straight on through
Into fields
Of ancient geometry
Our inner reflections
Dangling high
On the wandering wing
Of a condor
A helix
Of humming shapes
And cascading colours
Sweeping over
Holy pillars of grandeur
Down the paths
Of the cosmos
Beyond time
As I shrink and expand
Hanging tight to the tail
Of a spirit molecule
Leaving behind
Only the echoes
Of a lone monkey’s
Scream

– John P. Drudge

editors note:

Scream as scat in the zephyr zoo. Keep the windows down. – mh clay