featured in the poetry forum May 5, 2015  :: 0 comments

Absence of heat
Absence of life
Absent from class because I could care less
About particle physics
About my future
About anything other than this warm bed right now

I saw you last Tuesday
You walked right through me
Oblivious to my existence
I stopped when you passed
To feel your breeze
A Breeze that still smells like tulips
And sticky whiskey midnights
A breeze that still leaves me

Spring is on my porch
Patiently waiting to come inside
But I’m not sure that I’m ready for guests
Spring will bring summer
Summer will call autumn
Autumn will invite winter
Warmth can only lead to more

But there is toughness
In ice
In Snow
In winter
In the

– Mike Schwanke

editors note:

Sleep in warm bed, love in cold breeze; applied physics. – mh clay

in absentia

featured in the poetry forum April 30, 2015  :: 0 comments

twisted in kind agony,
awash in hurried beats – I escaped walls to lectures
on how to stand knee deep in antiquity,
waiting for love to plumb, make whiny.

we’re all merry, enough – to forget a year we’ve passed.

we’re to ratiocinate vagrancies, with remorse.
but seduced by shapes, wanton geometry makes
me pluck it with my lips like a pin off a grenade,

and at times close to touch meaning, like a man, I spot faces hidden with powder cowering.

I am held back spying upon – by their anger curt,
wilted by abundance of light and no dirt.
they’ve jumped to the first age – their flesh truant.

doom struck at noon, lurched back to life,

done away with the nasty, we stuffed our troubles away.
we’ll continue to borrow our fellows’ stories.
we’re done for today.

– Shibaji Ray

editors note:

Interactive archeology; emotion as artifact. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 23, 2015  :: 0 comments

Peering at words that left a mouth so saintly,
Gleaming the conspicuous motive,
Breaking every ivory tint bone once carried,
Shaking a fist at the sky above, the faulty works
Who created such monsters dressed in skin so pure
Disguised from sickening smirks, poisonous touch
Uncover yourself, rip the veil preventing your true guise
Face the sky once more, breathing its ecstasy
Only human alive in this realm of disguises

– Mahabba Alhaushabi

editors note:

Acquiesce to constructs of convention, or risk nakedness for ecstasy; alive and true! – mh

Under The Hummer Tree

featured in the poetry forum April 13, 2015  :: 0 comments

The Hummer Tree,
Sacred pillar of our school community.
Site of countless hummers.

All-season hummers.
The Hummer Tree bare
And party to blue-lipped, quick, cold-trembling hummers.
New growth, new blowers and blowees.
Hot, sweaty, teenage-fumble hummers,
Welcome cool shade and relative darkness
So as not to showcase the hummer too much,
Or get too hot.

And of course, dry, scratchy leaves falling on my head,
Both heads,
All the heads,
Giving head hidden from the Head
And her Deputy Head hummers.

No matter the season it was always
Cool to be given or to give
A hummer under the Hummer Tree.


– Simon Pinkerton

editors note:

Hum, um. If you don’t know this tune, ask someone to blow a few bars for you. – mh

Heavy Shoe

featured in the poetry forum April 9, 2015  :: 0 comments

Coming back in the darkness
after the match
through old pit villages
with the light from newsagents
illuminating the pavements
and the lads on the bus
strike up a chorus of
‘footsteps on the dancefloor’
slamming down their boots
on the top deck
and chanting ‘heavy shoe’
The laughter, the beer fumes,
heading for home
and a night in the local.

– Jon Tait

editors note:

Light in the head, but not on the feet. Home is home enough. – mh


featured in the poetry forum March 31, 2015  :: 0 comments

Sleep between the leaves
in the secret dawn
of summer’s fallen shanty town.

They drowse in the clasp
of veined, watery leaflight,
in nature’s frail golden eggs,

In shells and tatters and curls
spun from the coin-washed sky.
In the quiet, cold,

Clinging to the damp walls,
red tinged their houses rattle,
turn over under the rake.

And suddenly they are trembling.
Because it is the season—
smoke swirls across the yard.

They are the meek, the helpless.
Baptized by the rain, they will not inherit.

Too small this town.

– Russell Brickey

editors note:

Too often meek is mauled, raped by the rake of mighty. – mh


featured in the poetry forum March 29, 2015  :: 0 comments

Never thought I’d live to see
My own Octo-gen-er-ity
The daily complement of pills
Have staunched so many ills

I am the first in my line
To reach this magic time
As I stand to face
The finish of the race

Each day I go anew
To confront life’s brew
Of ache and tired muscle
Amid our diurnal bustle

I take my quotidian stand
A toast to Medicine Grand
For a long and healthy life
Buttressed by my loving wife

– Milt Montague

editors note:

Better living, longevity and love – through chemistry. Viva, Milt! – mh


featured in the poetry forum March 27, 2015  :: 0 comments

An orange jumpsuit
Fiendish rogues
Stung by zeal
White-hot iron
In measured
doses of pain
I hang off a rock
In a storm of stardust
My soul clings
To desert winds
No smokes
For fifty years
I crave a cigarette
Red lights flash
A siren blasts
Fingers bleed
Teeth fall out
My tongue
has disappeared
I gasp for breath
My headless body
no longer belongs to me
I’m a pebble
Kicked down a road

– Milton P. Ehrlich

editors note:

A sorry plight; cravings addressed with a kick in the teeth and roll on the road. – mh

The Tear on the Cheek

featured in the poetry forum March 26, 2015  :: 0 comments

There it goes,
There it overflows,
There it wanders

In a swift feather-like manner
When wind blows
Running thither

As if to be forgotten
To be the dew
Inside a book bitterly written

To moan in silence
To hurt to torn
To be doomed to an everlasting mutiny

– Ilhem Issaoui

editors note:

Write the book sweetly; squeeze that tear from joy, instead. Write sweetly! – mh clay

Tumbling Tides

featured in the poetry forum March 20, 2015  :: 0 comments

The ocean waves,
consistent, slow,
as your dark eyes
slide down a-wash.
They touch me now,
they spin my stars,
I go from child
to woman’s roll
like running tides
becoming fluid.
From warm to hot,
a racing sea.

– Barbara Franzen

editors note:

Erotic riptide roilings; bubbling bumptious boilings. Love going to the beach! – mh