Nothing Special

featured in the poetry forum January 29, 2019  :: 0 comments

I’m not important.
I know that.
But I like to pretend
that I am.
It makes my legs flow
easier into my trousers.
I walk bolder, more upright,
not quite a king
or even a duke,
just a peasant with swagger
and knives in his eyes.

editors note:

It’s all pretend; except when the daggers are real. – mh clay

Bouncing Along

featured in the poetry forum November 21, 2018  :: 0 comments

All the things inside me
real or imagined
only exist as
chemical charges
bouncing along
tangles of neurons

while outside the sun
burns in distant space
and birds flock
into my garden
on this rainy day
snatching what they believe

will sustain them
as I search
inside and out
for manna flowing
from the fingers
of trees.

editors note: We snatch what we can catch; before heaven snatches it back. – mh clay

Exit Chased By A Bear

featured in the poetry forum July 25, 2018  :: 0 comments

No, the mountain will not crumble
If you stare it down.
No, the sky will not change
To a shade of green
Because your palette calls for it.
This is where you are.
The scenery is your life.
If there’s a story to this,
You’re in it,
Maybe not the lead,
Maybe just an extra,
A face along the way.
Where? I don’t know.
I didn’t get a copy of the script.
Did you?

editors note:

Author! Revisions requested. How about the bear will be chased by me? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 21, 2018  :: 0 comments

You cannot look at the flowers.
The sunrise is off limits.
The list will grow tomorrow.

The mask you wear is no longer sufficient.
Blinders and a gag must be fashioned to fit.
Sit on your hands and talk to no one.

Pretend you do not exist.
The rest of us will do the same,
Pretending you are not there

Until you take the hint,
and disappear.
Hurry up. We’re waiting.

editors note:

Even when not intended, to ignore is to dismiss. – mh clay

Two swallows in a yellow sky

featured in the poetry forum February 1, 2018  :: 0 comments

black swallows fly across yellow sky,
morning maybe, or setting sun.
the world seems so small,
no bigger than a postcard.
you feel you could reach out and take
the whole scene in your hand
and carry it away in your pocket,
but all you have is your eyes
and mind and memory and two swallows
flying across a yellow sky.

editors note:

We see (n)one in hand, two in the wind. – mh clay

Looking for Trouble

featured in the poetry forum November 14, 2017  :: 0 comments

The heart wants what it wants
And the cock longs
For what it desires.

The subject is not always
The same,
Though it might

Great if it does,
If not, trouble,
For the heart must have
And so must the worm.

editors note:

Though the heart may not, the worm always will. – mh clay

Throw Away Lines

featured in the poetry forum September 9, 2017  :: 0 comments

There is no future for these words,
No one will mumble and moan
This poem in a thousand years.

Read it now and throw it away.
Add it to the trash heap
We’ll leave behind.

A group project
We’ve created
To outlast us all.

editors note:

Makes one wonder, will our trash outlast our apocalypse? If so, hope the aliens can read. – mh clay

To the dregs

featured in the poetry forum June 26, 2017  :: 0 comments

life is poison,
yet I must drink it.
there is no other beverage
that gets me so drunk.

editors note:

We hope to build immunity to its poison. Daily doses; drink up. – my clay

A little of this, a little of that

featured in the poetry forum April 21, 2017  :: 0 comments

Saints have their warts.
Demons hide their halos.

We’re a mixed bag,
never all of one
and none of the other,

Too much effort
to be pure
good or evil,

Don’t be surprised
by the devil’s kindness,

Or when an angel
Sets you up for a fall.

editors note:

We can’t take life personally, can we? (Say! Joseph’s got a novel out, Labor Day, available from Peasantry Press. Learn more about it here.) – mh clay

Seeking The Golden Bird

featured in the poetry forum March 19, 2016  :: 0 comments

There is what you want,
And there is what you settle for,
The bird you try to catch,
And the one that winds up
In your hands.

One may have borne you
On its back,
Across seas and summer fields
To its eyrie
In the peaks of your desire.

The other, well,
It sits there,
And maybe gives you eggs,
Or just turds,
But it is yours,
To feed and care for,

Or pluck and eat,
If you think you are
Still brave and nimble enough
To grab golden feathers
In the wind.

editors note:

In hand or bush; eggs are for eating, flying is for birds. – mh clay