featured in the poetry forum January 1, 2024  :: 0 comments

If you ever wanted to
edit your life
see waterfalls
play the flute
swivel your hips
give a rose to an artist
sew a red dress
study canyons
walk narrow trails
swim in wild water
have a cat and grow roses
be passionate
trust your fellow travelers
wake up singing


editors note:

What better day than today? Happy New Year! – mh clay

Suspension Bridge

featured in the poetry forum October 22, 2023  :: 0 comments

In the center of the trembling
narrow bridge, she listens to the water
rush below, white swirls, and to her left
a thin waterfall feeds down from the top
of the gorge. The air is crisp.
A stunning moment. Except
for the trash that has been pressed
to the side of the creek by the dancing
water below. Tin cans, some rags,
a torn sheet of bright blue plastic.
Is it her responsibility to witness
and describe when that happens
to her world? Or can she just turn
her back and walk off into the forest
and create her own dance of celebration,
perhaps with fairies, perhaps with foxes?
The sun breaks through the clouds.

editors note:

If you see something, say… What? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 10, 2023  :: 0 comments

March wind
yellow flowers
is soft
with memory
with desire
this moment
has no flavor
a red vase and
five daffodils
are simply
not enough

editors note:

A plea to better decorate your now. – mh clay

She Did Not Come to Be Erased

featured in the poetry forum November 12, 2022  :: 0 comments

She did not come to be erased
by an invisible thief
a man who writes of love in pencil
as roses standing behind
a blue fence posturing exuberance

She stands
on the far side of longing
where dreams simply don’t translate
and are impossible
to heal on short notice

She wants to be remembered
with music
that has already escaped

She didn’t ask to be born
and now she doesn’t want to die

Leaves drift like snow
slower than the rain that drives
and disconnects them

She stands with her soul in transit
cradled in her arms like a refugee
and the terrible temptation to destroy
so nobody and nothing
gets to do it first

A crimson rose speaks to her
Why would you want to own me?
and she is grateful
for a day without poison

editors note:

More grateful days, longer living. – mh clay

Three Haiku: Detention, Time, & Quantum Fix

featured in the poetry forum February 5, 2022  :: 0 comments


If I don’t finish
my work, will I be allowed
to live forever?


Always remember:
no one is waiting for you.
You can take your time.

Quantum Fix

Quantum fix: what you
don’t examine will remain
the same forever.

editors note:

Work the time to fix what stays the same? That could take forever! – mh clay

Passing Through

featured in the poetry forum June 18, 2021  :: 0 comments

Her library books are all renewed
way into June, when she won’t be here
anymore. The last rent is paid. Her bags
are mostly packed, a few changes of clothes
still in the closet. Her flute stays in its case.
No time to play. One cup, one plate, one
glass, one pot still in the kitchen. A loaf
of bread, a hunk of cheese, three eggs.
She doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to
stay. At the river bend where years ago
icicles froze sideways in a winter wind,
wild roses bloom on elegant, curved branches.
The magenta cactus flowers, where she found
a fox one year, are not yet out. Her favorite
footbridge over churning water has been closed
as unsafe. Once, after an unseasonable snow,
trees broke all over town. Soon she will forget
all this. Perhaps a few stray images remain.
Thank you, she whispers.

editors note:

When you leave it all; also, leave your thanks. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 6, 2021  :: 0 comments

A tourist in the world of form, she stands
in awe. Where to look first?
The hunger and the dancing both feel
like great improvements over silence
of assorted molecules awaiting purpose.
A field of blue flowers, a gate filled with trash,
and the fragrance of just opened lilac buds.
How can she tell what is really important?
There, monkeys and wild roses. A couple
dances tango, smoldering enough to turn
the air to smoke. She wants to taste. She tries
to limit anger and envy to Thursdays.
She is enchanted, inflamed, forlorn, the heat
of longing growing in her cheek. Every face
reflects each thought a person ever had.
No wonder she is not as striking as she wants
to be. She wants to wrap herself in sequins,
to move like confetti, to kneel to yellow
mountain flowers and boisterous women
who light up city nights with laughter.
She loves the mystery of Paris and the desert.
This is not hunger yet, this is just appetite.
When she is truly hungry, she will move.
Her hair will not obey your expectations.

editors note:

Keep your appetite alive (and your Thursdays open). – mh clay

Edge of a Child

featured in the poetry forum August 8, 2020  :: 0 comments

I want the edge of a child
in motion, unafraid
of stumbling, just in
the fair moment of absolute
presence, in the misty claw
of sweet anticipation,
with the world on its knees,
begging to unfold.

I want to walk
the wooden pier
of my favorite dream
meandering far
into an ocean without end,
just future after future.

I want to offer myself
barefoot to the sand, or
celebrate the first blossom
of a snowflake, and never fear
the sweet silence of winter.

editors note:

Oh, this! Yes, this! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum December 31, 2019  :: 0 comments

the world is just
it is time
to listen
and to fall in love again

with a poem perhaps
an unlikely rock star
a tango dancer’s liquid eyes
my husband’s long hair

with snow on ladybugs
all huddled on agave
leaves against
the frost high up
on Eighty Mountain

with crisp scent of pine

while memories skip
over cobblestones
and black paper lanterns
carried in procession
a candle shining through
colored transparency
magic from city center
around the castle
along the moat

and back home

rain slows down
to snow
in silent celebration

editors note:

On this last Eve of the year, the world awaits what we’ll make of what we see… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 21, 2019  :: 0 comments

On the tightrope
of your condescension
I find myself
astonishingly nimble.

editors note:

Lofty makes loose. – mh clay