featured in the poetry forum March 3, 2018  :: 0 comments

look trouble in the eye
and you’ll be sure
trouble is a carnivore
trouble here for the meat and gravy
trouble here for the guilty, baby

run from trouble
and you’ll hear her laughter
trouble gonna chase you ever after
the things you done
and the thoughts you thought
it wasn’t freedom those things brought

a train to Utah
a cab to Kansas
livin’ on a boat in Port Aransas
you can run around but know by now
trouble gonna find you in every town

open doors for little old ladies
spare some change for the orphan babies
then take a ride in this new Mercedes
trouble gonna drive you straight to Hades

write it down
write it down
its too late to turn back now.

editors note:

So it be, with a capital “T” – mh clay

The Devil and Jim

featured in the poetry forum September 4, 2016  :: 0 comments

fire in the trees on the side of the road
broken glass and a dead man’s home
as children play and grown men run
a bottle of gin and a son of a gun

a murder of crows flee from his bones
a drink and a dance and the devil’s last chance
an old guitar plays a dusty song
well the devil is waitin but it won’t be long

the clouds are full and the moon is gone
thunder and wind and the battle for sin
the dust is cryin as the rain rolls in
an empty bottle and six gun Jim

shadows of women and a fiery light
swan song killer and a pillar of stone
a ghastly sneer and a ghoulish grin
in O’Leary’s bar stood the devil and Jim

a thousand years had come and gone
his garden of lies truth despised
but before the dawn he would retire
the devil spoke a word and the word was Fire

Jim was murder and murderous Jim
was tall and clean quick and mean
he wore leather shins and a colt .45
twas the last the devil saw out his good right eye

the bullet danced out the back of his head
it left a wilderness of blood and mess
and there stood Jim crowned King of Hell
well the devil had his day but on that night he fell

so fallen angel on a cold wooden floor
colt .45 back at Jim’s side
and with morning’s glory yet to come
a bottle of gin and a son of a gun

editors note:

It’s a cowboy movie ’bout a son of a gun… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 22, 2015  :: 1 comment

The heart should hang
from a high wire
in the elements
ready to slip
and fall
and burst
and trampled upon
even then
for some little mess
it leaves
on the bottoms
of strange

editors note:

Love is a no-net, high-wire act; big miss, big mess. Noticed only by janitorial staff – maybe. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 27, 2014  :: 0 comments

I penned you a song
upon an eggshell
in vinegar ink
and put it in
a mason jar
and then
i closed the lid.

the last time that it rained
i threw the jar in the river
and watched it float away.

maybe one day
when you are drowning
that jar will be the last thing that you see

and just maybe
xxxyou know it might
make you smile.

editors note:

Yes, indeed! If we’re gonna go, might’s well go with a smile. Thanks, Jesse! – mh

Flowers by the Bedside

March 15, 2014  :: 0 comments

Flowers on the bedside table
warm bread and coffee
an old man’s memory
as the maid…
she prefers
the title of
he has heard her say
…worries over the children
getting in
the way
of shallow breaths
she troubles to hide
the wretchedness of this
not a pretty death
from the happiness
that lives
and sings
the songs that
swing him off to sleep
if ever be
a place
allows a man

Another Day

featured in the poetry forum March 15, 2014  :: 0 comments

its morning in the trees
with winter coming frosty breath
and the falling leaves
warm kisses planted here and there
near some cave by some river
and some man
smoking a cigar and fishing
the smoke for the tail of a dream
with far away eyes and a faded vision
chasing the sun down the other side
of the hill
out of breath and daylight
two children straying
from holding hands
in a giggling heap
on a beach by a fire
in the rhythm of the moon waves
licking toes wet ankles and knees
write the story of the tide
while the stars sing
from the mountain top
looking down on the sunrise
another day

editors note:

Ah, what a day! Like any other; but, described by a poet, not like any. Poetry makes life unique! – mh

Still Dreaming

featured in the poetry forum January 9, 2014  :: 0 comments

of a sudden i fancied visions of you smiling
directly at me, eyes fixed
to eyes, in a sort of dance
that flowed sensual and smooth
from one yogic position to the next
and gave glad expression of a
separateness without longing
and i spoke to this apparition
with eyes wide and open, and it,
being you, answered reassuringly
and plain and as if it were real,
but real enough that i
spoke to it aloud and
with a peace and contentment
arising from within and pouring
forth as seemingly might
a soul unto a soul

editors note:

If we could bring all correspondence to this level; everyone would be understood and well rested. – mh

Ely Chilskein

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

A haunting brood
on the edge of sleepless
quivering eyes
lucid eight legged
murmurs crawling with
ambitious jaws dripping
foul terror
blackhole screaming
flesh aware and sudden
weeping blood
awakens the long dead
Ely Chilskein

Gravedirt tattered suit
sewn eyelids gushing
worms feasting
on a tombstone smile
churgling laughter
of a midnight memory
the moonlit murder
of cannibal Ely Chilskein

Death rattle
city lights
paved El Dorado
post mortem
car fucking
lip licking
ravens claws questing
the still bagged heart
of child killing Ely Chilskein

Bone thieves lurking
near rotting things
smirking smacking
searching newly dug graves
blood hounds howling
winds and rain clouds
dripping cellos and violins
of memories Violet
who loved and murdered
the loveless child killing cannibal
Ely Chilskein

Fresh dead Ely’s
still beating heart
stopped in Violet’s hands
devoured unknown horrors
boiling guts
and weeping died
eating the poisoned
black heart
of the soulless child killing cannibal
Ely Chilskein

Mud soaked messages
beyond the grave
soul flesh whimpering
death departed
lovers mourn
the taste of the undead
for the flesh of the unborn
torn hand digging hand
pulled toward
the foul kiss
newlywed grave clothes
shed long lusting
the honeymoon outskirts
of near evening
playground children
in silken close
the child killing cannibals
Mr. and Mrs. Ely Chilskein

editors note:

For this Eve All Hallowed, a trick for door banging beggars, looking for sweets; give’m this treat (send them screaming from your door). Mwahahahahaaaaaaaa! – mh


featured in the poetry forum August 29, 2012  :: 0 comments

a wish
a dream
some sort of spell
or sorcery
to turn back the time
move it forward
freeze it
hold you there
forever close
whisper feathers
in your
belly’s ear

editors note:

If wishes were dishes, I’d be servin’ up plucked lovebird stew. Proof of my undying appetite for you… Sweet, Jesse! – mh

Here kitty kitty

featured in the poetry forum June 7, 2012  :: 0 comments

rather i were a drunkard
or a junkie
than poor in spirit
with lack of laughter
or reason
to live each day
while another storm of woe
floods up and over
my dam of hope
a near drowned cat
in an unfamiliar alley
weary and wary
of the sound and shadow
of a scampering
and hungry

editors note:

Tread water and carry a big laugh. Here ratty ratty! – mh