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Nova Annum

Ring in the Nova
Reverberate through
This cosmic chasm
A primal song of joy

The very first chord
Struck at the very first
Of the divine baton

Stare confidently forward
Up to a star filled sky
Each a frenetic
Photon prophet

Future portends
Inevitable collision
With past
A clash to cancel
Both sides of the equation

Into null
Into now

Now is a beginning
Now is a first step
Now is blinking into an early dawn
Now is the first tongue-stammered word

Now is Nova Annum

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 01.01.15)

editor's note: Let the countdown begin! 10... 9... 8... on course for a head-on collision of cosmic proportions between what was and what will be happening. When? Right here and right... 3...2... 1... - jo

Marvelous Days

Mundane, yet marvelous
These days, these hours
These distasteful diversions
They, too, have taste to
Broaden the palate
Bring each day to light
To linger on the tongue

Learning is limned
In my luminous limitations
These shackles adorn me
Then, cold splash, face slap
They warn me -
Alive be, awake!
"Should the night
My soul to take"

Quotidian quiescence
Effort's required
To open sleepy eyes
The day is bright
The hours ahead, right
And rightly met

These are marvelous days

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 11.02.14)

editor’s note: 'tis marvelous days indeed when our Poetry Editor puts on his porkpie hat & prances thru our poetry forum speakin' upon the pompitous of keepin’ that eternal party goin’! - jo


Would you like to give me a gift; something special?
Something which cannot be boxed, wrapped, returned with receipt
Or re-sold to the highest bidder?

Give me:
• Your attention
• Your concern
• Your acceptance
• Your tolerance
• Your laughter
• Your trust
• Your best wishes

Any one of these is a gift I would treasure
Any one of these would make me happy beyond measure
Any one of these deserves my best in return
Any one of these

So, would you?
Not sure?

OK, I’ll give you mine first…

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 12.25.13)

editor's note: Wait… you don’t want the latest e-gadget? You really don’t want us to spend lots of money to show you how much you mean to us? Whoa! Oh wait... me thinks our Poetry Editor gets it! The truest gift we can give is the giving of ourselves to our family, friends and fellow mad ones. What a concept! Hopefully it catches on… - jo

Cold Turkey

Cold turkey is a bitch
For the addicted epicure

Take away the wonder
Of art
And all that's left

Is bug infested mattress
And cold cinder block

© 2013

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 12.07.13)

editor's note: Is this a case of being sick and tired of eating yesterday’s chilled leftovers? Or, perhaps the public’s palate has been spoiled by processed sustenance disguised as art? Either way, their fat belly's are rumblin', their hungry mouths are open, and their cold, steely knives are pointed at you! - jo

Earthward Plummet

There's an eagle
Talon tethered
To a rotted roosting perch

No place to play
To the safe crowd

No one watches
Nor cares
For a fizzled out
Failure of foisted fears

Packaged and imputed
To predestination

© 2013

- MH Clay

(added 12.07.13)


There's always a reason
For red-striped notoriety
And shopkeeper recognition

Not always guaranteed
But more likely indulged
By the clout
Of one's credit card

© 2013

- MH Clay

(added 12.07.13)

Fakin' It

Half gypsy
Half Geronimo

Half grown
Half drunk and
Half hearted
Half hoping

Half means it

© 2013

- MH Clay

(added 12.07.13)

Running from a season while chasing a muse through a mall

She disappears through the doors
while I'm still trying to find
a parking place

Her sweet scent wafts
around the kiosk
"You are here," it says
I think that debatable

A fat guy philanderer
smiles at her recent depression
left in his lap
I decline to follow suit
suspicious of his red & white suit

A shop keeper gives me
a receipt
says she left it in her hurry to elude me
didn't say what she bought
but the last four digits of the credit card
are mine

A choir sings standing
I glimpse her face
her voice hear
harmony hangs reverberates

Look again into every face smiling
Hers, not hers
not anywhere

I am here
apparently, she is not

Might as well shop

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 12.23.12)

editor's note: On the 11th hour of Christmas, my true love gave to me... a trek to the mall, a dash for a parking spot, a map of the madness, a scent of perfumed gifting, an impostor in a fat suit, a Xmas caroling choir, a gaggle of grimaced faces... and a receipt showing all the damage done! 'Tis the season... - jo

a christmas pome

the fool considers
the construct of the season
myriad noels
god rest ye merry
ad infinitum
yuletide eternum
ever glows the fire
heating the outer chromium shells
of jingling bells
dangling jangling from the nape of the neck
of harlequin
covered in black and white checks
yin and yang contrast
twixt blindness and sight
holiday opulence
or occasion for thanks
we make the choices
annual opportunities
to be numb to the game
or look around differently

the fool embraces
the good and the soft
the kind and the caring
with angels aloft
fair messengers singing
a heavenly tune
rejoice in the notion
the faint possibility
that one day a year
can proliferate multiply
into every and always
and peace on earth
good will
good will
good will

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 12.25.11)

editor's note: Why do we limit this feeling to only once a year? Let's make everyday a holy-day! Come one and all, let's put on our jester hats and be enlightened fools! Peace on earth... can it be? Who knows, perhaps someday... - jo

Run On

I’m gonna spill a lot of words
In rapid succession
Articulate angst
That everybody feels
Say out loud the imperative
Not Now!
Not Me!
Not Here!
Not Ever!

Ever goes the swing and sway
The spit-fire words of
What the Fuck?
You wanna do that here?
Without a net?
Without preparation or education
And research?

Shoot syllabic spider webs
This is connected
To that connected
To you connected
To the unraveled
Unorganized orgasmic obnoxious
Run on sentence

Sentience can’t be proven outside of anxiety
And honest introspection
Spin on spill out
Prophecy forsooth
For who can tell
What happens next?
Elbow to elbow hip to hip
To drop and drip
And scoop up circumstance
To dance
And look askance
At you reflecting me
In your private pupil agony
No worries no waste
No hurry no haste

The peace will come
In time in time
The peace will come
For you and for me
And for some
Running on
Running fast
And stopping never

© 2008

- MH Clay

(featured in the poetry forum 10.01.11)

editor's note: Yes now! Yes you! Yes here! Yes... always! Oh, and a big ol' YES to never stopping! We gotta keep on running on 'cos if we stop we just might drop. Hats off to poetry editor extraordinaire MH Clay for spilling a lot of wonderfully mad words upon us all. - jo

A bit about MH Clay: ...MH Clay is a poem writin', harp blowin', corporate beast dodgin', lover and husband and father and son, etc, etc, etc. Who can't help but write "out loud" the things he knows that many of us are thinking. It's a compulsion, a condition, a possession. If you read and identify, well, "howdy, pardner!", we have connected. If you read and there's no resonance, "I owe you the time (or a beer, or somethin'). I guess we were thinking something else..."

Work featured in:
Mad Swirl VI

Other Mad Works from MH:
Chocolate Fate & Pinball Circumstance

P.A.O. Productions Open Mic Project:
M.H. Clay