If good looking men

featured in the poetry forum September 7, 2016  :: 0 comments

If good looking men
Are going to insist
On quoting Octavio Paz
To me
I am not responsible
For what happens
To them

If you want a woman to think
About you
All damn day
Send her Octavio Paz Quatrains
She might not have even given you
A red letter thought
Up until then

Then she’ll read your poems
And think dangerous thoughts
Feel felonious feelings
All damn day.
Even if she’s vowed
To never love another artist
Or writer.

editors note:

Gentlemen? Are you paying attention? – mh clay

Mending Manifestor

featured in the poetry forum October 10, 2015  :: 0 comments

Place the palm of hand
over heart
press firmly and
send white light
like lightning
through the chest
into ventricles.
See it in the top
of the mind
as the chest feels it
through the aorta.
Sense the energy purifying
jagged electricity heals and soothes.
Follow along to blood vessels and capillaries
open awake
true and hopeful.
One knows what they are made of
knew before how to manifest
the materials needed to mend themselves.
Cup forgiveness in hands and bring it to the inner eye
quench the drought-racked thoughts
replenish dried out connections
to the inner healing mother energy
do not linger within
burst forth
reach out to the hands of earth
walk through rain soaked fields
embrace the ground
with sizzling feet
atone to the the muddy earth
Nature floods and cleanses
all worries lift to be burnt
in the atmosphere and fall back down
on loved ones as blessings and prayers.
Dance into the sinking sun
until the pain burns away
caloric fire therapy
leaves the body more
than addiction to a lover
could ever inflict.
First thoughts in mornings
should be part of a practice
gratitude and peace
Do not carry worries
through the day
carry only water
cleansing the thoughts.

editors note:

Here’s a panacea for the sick in spirit. Take it from Dr. Dez; your Main Manifestor! – mh clay

28 Messages

featured in the poetry forum January 31, 2013  :: 0 comments

Why don’t we just quit this?
Before I get hurt
She’s obsessed with falling
Her needs are too intense
No one loves her like daddy
She thinks she’s so special
or willing to fake it until you do
Her mind deserves to fall
into orgasmic chemistry
with yours
From now on, I’m standing up for her
Her eyes get lost behind his walls
Pining again for the emotional
equivalent of juxtaposition
to need and want
She wants the idea
that you need her
you need her to want you
and she wants you to need her
she wants to feel your need
more than rooting around
looking for a hole
to pound out your own satisfaction
denying her the intimacy of climax
crawling around in a dried out shell
molding in salty water
I got so caught up in laying you down
I forgot how to lift myself up
so focused on you giving me the love
that I needed, that I deserved
I forgot that love isn’t always naked
sometimes it’s dressed with a little
humility and grace.
I keep reliving my childhood
trying to find the place where
I missed something
so I can fill it with what it needs
to be fixed
trying to figure out what stage
of my development didn’t get nurtured
or loved enough
And why there is a compulsion to love and be loved
Why it determines my self-worth
Why it controls my actions
Impulsive urgency
almost to the point of
of obsession
I’m looking into her eyes
wondering where she got lost
and why she still pulls at my heart
why it causes me to
need the skin and eyes and hands
of someone else to feel fulfilled

editors note:

That need for love is best fulfilled when we start with love for self, ’cause it’s hard to love the unlovable. You go, Girl! – mh


featured in the poetry forum November 5, 2011  :: 0 comments

I will fight wars beside you
Dig in and perfect myself
So I can stand strong with you
As you slay your haunting hunters
I will wait for you to be brave
I’ll set the example for you
Show you how to conquer your monsters
All those past bodies to which you are clinging
Ghosts of guilt, do not matter; they are illusions-
I am strong enough for both of us
Have faith in my will
My pure heart
I have seen the broken book of stones
See a goddess in me
Believe in my power
Tomorrow I will make your sun rise
With out fear or judgment
I give myself freely to your heart, dreams, and desires.
I will believe and hold you to becoming real
Whenever you go, look to me as true as North
I will manifest love from the creator for you
I will be your little sun goddess
When you are a dark star crying
Into the nothingness of collapse
When all that remains
Is the crave of empty skin
Night I sing to your moon
Ache to your howl
Even if you don’t want to be saved
Even if you are not ready
I will be silent for your weeping
A warrior lion’s heart
Worth beating for
Worth the beatings
We receive.

editors note:

When your goddess offers her strength, it’s time to line up your monsters like shooting-gallery ducks and let fly with her dead-eye mojo. Yup, set’em up, knock’em down… epic. – mh

Lion, Snake, Frog(for Leroy Roper & Tiffany Diamond)

featured in the poetry forum March 26, 2011  :: 0 comments

The words of a photography shaman
from beauty, words of native healing
I shed my skin for them, flayed awake
I am not a sheep
I do not adorn my lion’s mane in wool
I want to paint him
This lion taking over me
His stealth is only equaled
by his roar
I quietly listen
but force my jaws of fangs wide
in a bored yawn
against futility of society
and their attempted sheep dominance
When before, I covered myself in wool
to hide among the herd
but I was not hunting
I hadn’t any clue
I was not sheep, goat, or cattle
I did not belong to a large body of
mindless followers
rather a small pride of equals
instead of stifling and hiding in my roars
I embrace my spirit
scratch my claws in the dirt
raise dust
and transform
into serpent
shedding as many skins as it takes
after wearing them to frazzle
heavy magic I hear my mother whisper
creative fertility awakens
I lay many eggs
leave them to become their own magic
I slither experience and oneness
with the cosmic all
burning off my skins of scaly dragons breath
wholly embracing the fire
becoming rust
I effect and change them slowly
I am frog
My water fuels the cleanse
in with the good
out with the good
all breath is sacred
airs to another
our exahale
the breath of trees
sacrosanct stages
so that I may sing
personal power arias
and call the rain

C.A. 14 21(for Bryan Embry and Kevin Obregon)

March 26, 2011  :: 0 comments

If there was a beginning
She was of emptiness
nimble hands created her skin, and
she existed as geometric perfection
even yet, this was not the beginning
bare planes of existing space
cantilevered between
oeuvre revolutions
his gaze and hands move over her
A lacuna in perspective
attempting to stroke
waves of sound
between the white
stubbornly staring at each other
instantaneously spending
twelve lifetimes
waiting for god
their names devour obsession
fervidly arguing over language
Her denial cuts across his mouth
and he bleeds on her bones
tip-toe dancing
torture and passion
visionless white eyes
thought whose chains are blank hands
We write our minds naked
until blinking and rubbing our eyes
finally see her stretched skin
permeating last light shadows
defining contours of her shape
his hands become her eyes
they sway into a triumphant rhythm
he moves around her
fixed on naming an idea
though she is not yet born
he sets his feet
he relaxes them again
languid paces back and forth
folding into the all of her form
writing pieces of himself
in a layered language
only they can understand
unspoken promises
in pales of a whisper

Shut Up and Fuck Me

featured in the poetry forum November 13, 2010  :: 0 comments

Don’t tell me about your childhood
Shut up and fuck me
I don’t care who your family is
Shut up and fuck me
I don’t want to know
how old you were
when you got your first
fist fuck
Shut up and fuck me
I don’t care what you do for a living
What kind of car you drive
Where you went to school
Where you work
under what tree where
you did something with or to someone
at some point in time
Shut up and fuck me
I don’t even give a fuck what your name is
You don’t have to buy me any drinks
don’t even look at me until
your cock is in my mouth
Shut the fuck up and fuck me
We don’t have to kiss
I don’t need your number
You can’t be serious
Shut up and fuck me
Pull my hair smack my ass
put on a condom
and pound it
the only sound I want to hear
is you shutting the fuck up
and fucking me.

Giggling Mantras

featured in the poetry forum September 10, 2010  :: 0 comments

I carry no water for
Thunder moon
The evening star
dances prophecies
into the phantasm
of the epic all
A celestial princess
Diamond eyes
Moon belly
Hair of the sun
Streaking light pillar rays
Tip-toeing secrets
Across your dream sky
Hiding them with whispers
Giggling mantras before
Daybreak Revolutions
Set my heart on fire
Sitting and talking
Blue twinkling
Distance is relative
Compare the heaven’s
heart beats to mine
Meteorites wish their lovers
were that close.

The Rules of Stones

September 10, 2010  :: 0 comments

I carry no water for
Thunder moon
The evening star
dances prophecies
into the phantasm
of the epic all
A celestial princess
Diamond eyes
Moon belly
Hair of the sun
Streaking light pillar rays
Tip-toeing secrets
Across your dream sky
Hiding them with whispers
Giggling mantras before
Daybreak Revolutions
Set my heart on fire
Sitting and talking
Blue twinkling
Distance is relative
Compare the heaven’s
heart beats to mine
Meteorites wish their lovers
were that close.

Blistered Guitar Fingers and Broken Note Blues

July 2, 2009  :: 0 comments

(If you were meant to save him you would have)

Mississippi at midnight
How many times have they been through here?
How many long night rides to gigs?
Smoking cigarettes, giving each other advice
avoiding the cops
avoiding the KKK
Broken jaws heal so slowly
When all you want to do is blow
Mystics in their own right
ex-wives, ex-dealers, and groupies
whittling the miles away
bullets fired by warm hands
compelled to ricochet
town by town
dive by dive
Cadillac’s with wings
into an unknown night

Something soothing and melodic about passing through small towns
The mystery of voodoo promises whispering broken bone harmonies with foggy lips
The man driving has a sweetheart in Dallas and a wife in Wilsonville
This is the road
where he leaves it all behind
the guilt, the desire, and all the tragedy of life
Perpetuation, destination, free and nameless
With out any identity
if only for a few nights
he can become someone else on stage
he can be a god looking down
Bedroom eyes and wagging tails
Send praises up to him
glinting in the lights
of lust and admiration
But it’s just another demon
with a pretty face
Even if it does look like her
it’s not the real thing
She’ll never
leave Texas for him
Just like he’ll never
leave his wife
for her
But sometimes,
The planets get together
and are aligned just right
and those two artists
become more than their separate lives
They become more than
sinners sneaking around behind god’s back
They meet at midnight
They meet like teenagers
Foreheads meet and inner-eyes kiss
Fog on the windows
Violins and guitars sing
A train keeps the rhythm
and the only witness
is some nameless and forgotten gravel road
just outside Montgomery
He begs for her words
Lyrics from a silver moon tongue
She knows those songs
are the only children
they will ever have together
He knows that their music
lives and breathes
the only life worth living
So he keeps on driving