Loose End

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

I don’t like you.
the inside of your head
that we both get lost in
is another story

It’s over.
I don’t want the wrong idea growing
in those contorted dark folds
tangled like sheets

I’m done.
too exhausted
to play games (I don’t want you to win)

I’m tired.
I want to curl up and have my whole head
smoothed in those sheets
by you


I mean it.​

– Andrea Bonaccorsi

editors note:

Body caught in the brain bed; so hard to mean it when you don’t. – mh clay

In a Moment’s Time: A Memoir of the 1947 Partition

featured in the poetry forum December 8, 2015  :: 0 comments

An unearthly silence permeates the room

blue clouds of unease float around

and we sit there for hours, waiting for them to pass


when Nahid asks for cranberries, I tell her to wait till
Rafia chachi
comes/ afraid to tell her she might not/


If chachi was here
she would comfort us with stories/
and tell us we would come out of this rubble safe/ very safe
she would smile/ make us smile/

and then I am interrupted, suddenly, yet unsurprisingly
by the sounds of the bells
signalling us to go,
telling us to unlearn the names of
the places whose names we’ve grown up loving all our lives

in a moment’s time.

– Trivarna Hariharan

editors note:

Changing name and border won’t change place and people; still, we force it, “for the greater good.” (Wiki “the Partition of India” for context; compare to events today.) – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum December 7, 2015  :: 0 comments

Hello, Traveler!
Why are you frustrated these days?
Is it because your dream is swept away?
You will be alone in the future,
Your journey is halted,
Scared of a lone wolf future.

Hello, Traveler!
Disasters are temporary,
Be patient for sometimes
This is the fun from Nature,
There are dancing Earthquakes
and singing Thunders in
romantic moods,
One day they will try
And hope will shine
With the sunrise.

Be patient, Focus!
With your heart and mind target
The mountain of faith,
When the beams of sunrise
finally come calling at dawn
We will get new hopes of life.

In that moment
You should also
Paint in different colors
With your immortal hands,
In these tragic moments
Don’t be overwhelmed,
We should spend some nights
In the open sky,
We should spend some days
In the hunger stomach,
I think you are well-known,
We should lose something
To get something,
We should be patient
For a bright future.

– Saurav Karki

editors note:

A new voice from Nepal to offer encouraging words. We can use some “new hopes of life” about now; how about you? – mh clay


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

Soon, we shall witness
the bleaching of the rainbow,
perhaps the bittering of hopes
by pregnant, yet barren enigmas,
that seek the brew of our tomorrow, today.

Then, we shall see
Impoverished cadavers
scamper over spilt morphines
to nurse the conundrum of their woes. Dutch disease.

Then, dreams shall wear
the shame of sack clothes to
cover the nudity of their sagging breasts.

Then, elders shall break kola nuts
to behold the molars of maggots
feasting on the endocarp of decorum.

Wirra! We shall cry for peace
but it shall be scarce like perpetuity.

Call me a prophet of doom
Lo! I don’t give a damn.

– Ajise Vincent

editors note:

Prophecy from poetry; life will tell the difference. – mh clay

The Weather in my Head

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

is such a cliché to describe mood.
I stand at the gate of a ploughed field,
scavenger birds exploit rows of newly turned ground.

Above me a soufflé of clouds with mottled contours;
the common Cumulonimbus like a head of cauliflower,
a rare Undulatus Asperatus like rough furrows.

I light up another cigarette, watch its contrails rise,
wonder if I will ever witness Lenticularis – Pile d’assiettes,
think cloud watching is an acceptable form of doing nothing.

– John Saunders

editors note:

This much ado is about all sides of nothing… Nothing wrong with that! – mh clay


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

My children want to know
how and I tell them
any how, they want to know
truth and I tell them I have
none, they ask why I leave
when it gets touchy, I tell
them I did not know I did
that, they ask about their
mother and I say too much
or too little, depending on
the day, they want to know
if they look like me and I
say look again.

– Russ Cope

editors note:

If we want them to find the right answers, best to teach them to ask the question for themselves. – mh clay

A part of me!

featured in the poetry forum November 19, 2015  :: 0 comments

The infinite lines
you drew
on my bare back
nailing your way
into my heart
still remain there
unscrubbed and unwashed
embedded into my skin
a part of me.

A part of me
you now ask to part
how could one
give away his own self
come and do erase
those resilient lines
come and take away some
of me and find
some of you in that.

– Gurpreet Singh Rana

editors note:

From every encounter, we carry each others’ imprints; impossible to remove. How could, indeed? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 17, 2015  :: 0 comments

I’m convenient
like a phone by
the bed
like a small man
handing you
toilet tissue when
the roll runs out
and that’s why
this is just not
working well.

– Tempest Brew

editors note:

The best love is a delightful inconvenience. Keep looking. – mh clay

Making sugar flowers

featured in the poetry forum November 11, 2015  :: 1 comment

I like to play God
Sitting straight backed
At my old yellow formica
Kitchen table

Cleaning off the cosmos
Picking the colors and cutters
Of all the leaves and flowers

As I decide what goes in this
Gum paste and buttercream

I think of Adam and Eve
“Naked and Afraid”
After the fall
And decide to leave out
The thorns

But they will come
For try as I may
I cannot compete with the sublime

Spending Hours
to roll out the petals
Of a single rose
Veining and curling each one

But His
Of perfect blooms
Formed at the speed of light

And not a single wire exposed

– Maria Sheets

editors note:

Puny petal pusher places second in creation; after god. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 4, 2015  :: 0 comments

Thus came silence

This resplendent animation is a
racket, a Three-card Monte that flows as
a scarlet ribbon but always congeals
as a skeleton in the burial
soil, a cranium broken to let all
the milk doves free. This land of marrow is
a cankerous ruse of resurgence, a
slow dismantling of this concealed reach, like
parents taking down their kids Meccano
set. These bones are a magicians top hat,
you can grab at the rabbit’s ear of spring;
poof! It’ll disappear in a puff of smoke.
Beyond the sky of winter’s chill there lies
a clot of midnight and orchid sunset.

– Grant Tarbard

editors note:

Poetic prestidigitators – we disappear; then come up here, there or god-knows-where. – mh clay