featured in the poetry forum January 4, 2017  :: 0 comments

Rage swallows her heart
While roots entwine her soul
Tearing it to shreds
Yanking at her hope
While she comes up for air

The sun hides behind clouds
Anger climbs the stairway
That circles around those tunnels
Trapped behind those walls
Someone needs to disappear

Torches shimmer in the room
The thief stands with his shadow
This is the night to hurt someone
Edgar Allen Poe would do it
The ink leaks with those dry thoughts

Revenge was never so sweet
The note plays over and over again
Tortured memories amplified
Screams that echo in her mind
He died a slow death with time

editors note:

“Hell hath no fury…” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum March 23, 2016  :: 0 comments

I decked those walls
With lots of honey
Smeared across
Paintings of yesterday
Licking my way back
To sweet sanity and tears
So I could go on

Falling for your
Screwdriver of pain
Evil driven torture
Dark sleepless
Scary waterfall nights
Exploding into my
Broken dreams

Love lost under
A pillow of time
Ripping out my guts
Yelling at the walls
Begging a higher power
For yet another year
Of hell on top of hell

You won with words
Dear master of nowhere
You made me die inside
Like I was supposed to
Born and bred to eat
Hungry for love
I let you devour me.

editors note:

Sometimes love is dog eat dog. – mh clay


January 3, 2015  :: 0 comments

It lurks
In the distance
Like a carnival
Of lust
And pleasure
Loss of trust
It lingers
Like a dream
A reminder
Of extremes
And it covers
The shadows
Of the past
Promises that
Never last
Broken words
That never
Came to light
The shadow stays
It always sways
And it bakes
Like a cake
In the night
Then it reappears
In a blink of an eye
Shadow dust
Is oven-baked crust
With out the pie.

© 2014


featured in the poetry forum January 3, 2015  :: 0 comments

So much honey
Too much money
Sweet corporations
Sticky situations
Stuck it to you
Yes they did
Built a nest
Took the best
Poison Inc
Toxic buzz
Fills you up
With sugar
Injects you
With fuzz
Kill them all
Replace them
Where they
Once stood
And sat
One wonders…
Can a bee
Just die like that?

© 2014

editors note:

Tired o’ the buzz? Make’em sting. – mh


April 12, 2014  :: 0 comments

Like an old movie
A classic B hit
Starring the starlet
The one with
Ruby red lips
Wide, sexy hips
She pulls up
That old velvet chair
Lets down her hair
Speaks about stars
And going nowhere
Mars is not for her
Neither is the moon
She likes it on earth
In the old saloon
Vintage scotch
Takes her up a notch
From here to anywhere
She is like a rocket
That look in her stare
She likes this ride
Makes her warm inside
Takes the curls down
From her dark
Free flowing hair
She is expensive
For a poor and lonely
One liner poet
But she gives him
A sweet, loving pass
With his diamond looks
And his perfect ass
It’s a vintage night
All about the past
These sorts of nights
Are never meant to last


featured in the poetry forum April 12, 2014  :: 0 comments

I sold it
I sold my soul
Like the rest of them
Sucked it down
And went back again
Like the guy
With the shakes
In front of me
Praying to God
For another cup
Another shock
To his system
So he can go on
With his crazy day
“I will take another,”
He said.
I nodded my head
What have I become?
I thought about it
When I got out of bed
Then I sipped my latte
Later on that day
I never listen to what
The health addicts say
I’m a coffee bean whore
All work and some play
I never did drugs!
It’s a brain holiday!
But there I go again
Church of coffee beans
Earth’s corporate share
No one really has a care
They just drink it down
Like a brain washed town
Without a second to spare.

© 2014

editors note:

Can’t stop now! Gotta buy, gotta spend, gotta suck it in – coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee… – mh


featured in the poetry forum December 9, 2013  :: 0 comments

So you think I have forgotten that late night,
a long time ago in that scummy place.
On your office couch reading scripts,
While you sat there licking your lips,
I was only 16 years old and scared.
I was lost even though I was prepared,
Like a deer in the headlights I sat so still,
While you pretended that I was perfect.
For the movie with that Napoleon idiot,
short guy with millions, a home in Malibu.
What a miserable little freaky misfit.

I knew that it was too late to meet you,
But I went anyway like all the girls do.
Even though you were old and full of shit,
I was determined to play and outsmart you.
So I sat there and read all of my lines,
like a tangled puppet with lipstick on.
Tight clothes and in my prime,
I turned you on but I was paralyzed,
By a desperate ego and my need for the prize.
Praying that you would sort of be nice,
But when you weren’t I didn’t think twice.

I let down my long hair and blew out a sigh,
I gave you that look straight in your eyes,
I knew that this could never be paradise.
You would never ever see me twice.
So I stood up with my pissed off starlet pose,
High heels, tight skirt and sheer black panty hose.
I said words that you never wanted to hear,
You never had me or even punctured my soul.
Nothing you had could make me part of your show.
Fucking you would be like killing a baby deer,
You can dream of it until your final years.

© 2013

editors note:

This to be followed by “Castration of a Hollywood Casting Director.” If you piss’er off, you’ll sleep on that couch alone. – mh


featured in the poetry forum June 21, 2013  :: 0 comments

There she is right over there
Wearing those dirty pink shoes
She always looks like she is lost
The only shoes that seem to fit
The pink shoe pill popper blues
Like a clown they make her sane
In a crazy world of glitter pain
The only one’s that she can use

I wonder what she took today
Green one’s and blue one’s too
All that hazy bubble ice cream
Her head is probably swimming
Like a year long lost day dream
Sliding around in green moss shoes
To the pink shoe pill popper blues

Sad to think that she lives in a haze
She‘s not new to this psychedelic phase
Someone needs to get her to the clinic
Gets her kids from school in a daze
Maybe plead to her partner in crime
The snob is not one for grace and giving
Never speaks about what he does
Or how he makes his expensive living

The pink shoe pill popper blues
She acts like someone else every day
When she goes silent I just walk away
There is never anything for us to share
I can never think of anything to say
She hides behind her husband well
On the days that she can’t see straight
Her strung out medical partner in crime
He makes sure that she is never late

editors note:

Suburban subhuman coping mechanisms, “Doctor, please, some more of these – Outside the door, she took four more” – mh