Night Talk

August 24, 2019  :: 0 comments

He’d seen their eyes stare at him when he read, in front of bars and tables. The eyes looked serious and fixed under the night lights, like he was saying something important. John Hynes had experiences like that reading. A musician called John Hynes over one night. They were in a bar. John Hynes knew the guy slightly. “I like …

He Did Not Shoot the Deputy

January 26, 2019  :: 0 comments

The cherry cocktail sticks jumped on the neon sign outside the 114 Lounge. Inside, the singer was singing of these cherry cocktail sticks as part of a tune he had written: The neon cocktail lights a dancin’ invitations so bright… The place, the 114 Lounge, was located at 114 Coney Island Avenue, Brooklyn, New York. Hence its unostentatious namesake. The …

the aftermath of a rejection letter

featured in the poetry forum December 17, 2018  :: 1 comment

no gold in the air
stahl’s world of
perpetual darkness.
no fields of dreams
in my backyard today.
I’m a gunshot wound
to the head, a blues song
bleeding from broken
finger tips. I’m a
bukowski man instead
of some others.
…some of the others
with cheerier news.
and
no funny jokes like:
after math is English.
aftermath is only sorrow.

editors note:

Sorrow is how some sums add up. Gotta do your own math… – mh clay

NUMB

September 8, 2018  :: 0 comments

George Tango sat on the L train, on the gray, hard seat. He spotted a Liz Smith gossip column headline in an open News, spread wide by a middle-aged man in a slightly weird, off-green Hamburg hat. George got off the train dulled by the headline of Liz Smith, dulled by the weather, dulled by life. He walked one-half block …

lady with a wart

featured in the poetry forum August 21, 2018  :: 0 comments

you see a lady
in a red bandana
turning a corner
wart on her nose

in a busy
wall street
intersection

you’ve been
through 3
board meetings

and meanwhile
your wife demands
you make a stop
at the cleaners

on the way home
to pick up
a white blouse

two of your kids
are down
with the flu

and there are
bills piling and
weekend visitors expected

and dinner’s ready…

and at midnight
you dream of
that lady.

editors note:

Sometimes, things that matter are masked by those that don’t; or… do they? – mh clay

‘monkey mind’ of natalie goldberg

featured in the poetry forum April 3, 2018  :: 0 comments

it’s not the lack of focus
or the lack of a coherent
statement, like they teach
you in the schools and jobs.
it’s the critic jumping around
moreso; the critic sniping
at you, blaming you for
trying, citing your
incompetence,
demanding propriety,
demanding truth, telling
you to quit, telling you it’s
only right, feeding you
stories on every level:
genetics, societal labeling,
innate talent vs. your lack
and ‘let’s get honest’:
the fairness—and you!
stopping the balance
of the scales which are right.

the norms of the old south,
when all understood who
was who and what was fair:
the voice, and truth—
telling what to do.
close your notebook,
shut your computer.
i mean it speaks with
such vengeance, pull
your paper from the typer
cartridge, if you still
use those— don’t get
so poetic: don’t look
at the sun in the morning.

i still care enough to
write this, breaking all
taboos where you’re
not even supposed to
think the thought.

i’ve already made
a mistake against the tyrant.

editors note:

The worst wrench in your works is you; that tyrant has no teeth. – mh clay

Larry’s Karma

March 23, 2018  :: 0 comments

“Kerouac would have hated the computer.” “And why is that?” “It would be too tempting to change things.” They always got into that. ••••••• The story was good. It was about a fight in a bar which our writer had the pleasure of witnessing, having been then employed as a musician in that bar. The owner, named Nicky Holiday, was …

Cubie’s Corner

December 30, 2017  :: 0 comments

Cubie sat at his COSTCO-purchased, black leather folding card table. He began pondering the possibilities of another short work. He was lucky because he sold a crime novel of 38 chapters, and the sale brought him some free time for writing. I’m playing with the devil, though, and soon my luck will run out. The devil of luck with the …

thoughts late at night at an open mic

featured in the poetry forum November 15, 2017  :: 0 comments

the wounded, the limited and the damned
the stage hogs who speak tritely
singers who announce histories of songs
before ruining them
messianic nuts who read terrible poetry
and believe they’re
announcing cosmic events. poets who
dance and scream bile
with drums, tambourines, castanettes
on tapes m.c.’s must play.
tuneless guitarists, cliché-muttering
nuts thinking they’re
doing a talking blues, little birds
tweeting around their
skulls, and more. democratic ideals
are always good
but theory and practice are always different.

editors note:

Yes. Ever seeking to rise above, one’s best is another’s bust. – mh clay

This Is What Love Is About

September 2, 2017  :: 0 comments

“You see, there’s always an increase in stake and a gap and a back up against the wall. Now, look…” He flicked his cigarette. “No matter how much you write, you want more.” Lilly was just listening. Herb was in one of his moods. “It was cool, so clever, the way that thing just arrived in me.” Herb lit another …