Hotel Bedroom 1954

featured in the poetry forum June 12, 2016  :: 0 comments

after the painting by Lucian Freud

The phantom in this scene lurks unseen
Talking in riddles whispering half-truths
to each of them fueling their paranoia.
Was there a storm or is there a storm about to break?
The room: base, hardly ministerial most defiantly
Not magisterial – there is a ‘word’ absent from the scene
As yet; unuttered, hanging in a pregnant seam. Her
Look: she has thought and is musing in white picket.
He in his dark shadow has slipped in to a single dimension
In his dark world.

The play has the missing act, this scene
The link to the mechanism of comedy
Or tragedy. Words have become misshaped
And jagged. Their eyes, her eyes at least,
Tell not just a story, ‘the story’ this scene,
Plotted by them or her perhaps to write the final scene.

editors note:

Another fine ekphrastic effort! Check out the picture herewhere context becomes clear. mh clay

18,515 days today

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

Those counting blocks
From the demographic monsters
Changing growing twittering
Stumbling on new blocks
From those initial bloody squawks
Screams and coughs
Not metered or rhymed
18,515 days ago
Those spent vessels lie
Like cartridges
Smoking for a while,
They rattle on the ground
As they are spent.

editors note:

So, praise the lord and pass the ammunition. (We welcome Jonathan to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out!) – mh clay

A Different Way Home

February 6, 2014  :: 0 comments

A different way home
The horizon has two sides
Each a deity to itself

Taking the other train against the failing light
Weakening states-of-mind decrease
Limbs fall and die – if only for a while

Moons hold us mesmerically
Take one step toward, one step away
Until, until, until…

editors note:

Daily caught in a tug-o-war; we all get home by dark. – mh clay


February 28, 2013  :: 0 comments

The hawk and fox plan their game
Again. The night is another book
Blank pages needing to be written
Upon the strategies that must be fed.

Blind to all but they
Within the mind, real as wants, understood?
The other? To an ideal that will fail
The smooth and soothing black: an anaesthetic

The strange calling fox makes the night grow
Ever stranger – the eye of the hawk is felt
Behind the wish and want for tomorrow
Another space, a chance to relive and forget the errors past.

An eternal want for a moment’s ecstasy
The black veil reveals a griefless new day
As the hawk and fox plan: again. Always the same.

editors note:

Beware the anesthetic lull of bark and burning gaze, the hypnotic happiness which comes from forgetting is fastly followed by the snap of jaw and strike of claw. Fox and hawk dine together; the unwary are picked clean, alone. –
mh clay