featured in the poetry forum September 5, 2020  :: 0 comments

I press the bell
Check out my reflection
And throw the key upon reception

It’s now time
To forget about the time
To strip myself of clothes
And to wreath these bones
In plumes of opiated smoke
And bathe them in the cheapest whiskey

It’s time to drain another glass
To stroke the disconnection wider
To lie back upon the unmade bed
And watch the door open

Of course she doesn’t need to knock
How many times
Have we been here before?

My full pair of parting lips
My paid for company

“Come here, darling…”

Come join me in this loneliness
Come watch it bend and buck

See our shadows join and writhe now
Across the heavy breathing walls

“So big…”
This lie we pay to procreate

“So hard…’
These low-lit nights
We burn away
With pornographic repetition

The money is all there
No more need
To keep up the act or pretense


But for now – I think not
As the door closes on her figure

Stood alone
Naked fried
I think only of the dawn

As it comes in – creeping uninvited
Through the cracks
In the pale-skinned curtains

Its too loud cars and turned up rays
Lay bare
The alcoholic sweat and blackened sheets
Of this tin foil mind

The outside world may be waking now
But I am still inside a dream

A concrete view
A red-eyed reflection

Neither here nor there

editors note:

Alone, with or without company. Sheltered in place, but never from self. – mh clay

Les Papillons Noirs

September 1, 2020  :: 0 comments

‘ …La nuit, tous les chagrins se grisent; de tout son cœur on aimerait, que disparaissent à jamais, les papillons noirs, les papillons noirs, les papillons noirs…’ From inside his black pea-coat, Jacques took out his phone and looked at its cracked screen. Why he hadn’t changed the ring tone, he had no idea. It had been over seven years …


featured in the poetry forum June 9, 2020  :: 0 comments

It’s raining today
And yesterday was fine

The Masters
Know the way of heaven

The green jade melody

Strung between moments
Flushed with the dawn

The sun comes and the stars go
That is the way of things

To look out of my window
To burn paper with the doubt

That is the dew of clouds I lead

Back through midnight
Back through worlds

The rain falls harder on the morning pass

I will not proceed

editors note:

When moving is not being, and being is not moving. (J H says, This poem is “very much in line with a digital pamphlet of poetry I have made available for free through my own page here.” Check it out!) – mh clay

Standing Here

April 4, 2020  :: 0 comments

Jack didn’t know why, but over the last year he’d been thinking about that day a lot. It wasn’t a day that had been out of the ordinary. And it wasn’t a day that he could recall that he’d really thought about for more than thirty years. But there it was anyway. Just as it had been for the last …


featured in the poetry forum March 4, 2020  :: 0 comments

I do not recognise
My city
I do not recognise
My country

Not because
I do not have one
But because I have too many

But isolated
I do not have the poles
Or the canvas
To build my own tent
Only a bag

To roll up
To move on
To flee

This dead city of mind
This barren country of mind
This long tall history of mind

With its flags
And its books
And their songs
And their words

Which can only fill holes
In its ash ridden borders
And not the vast depths
Of its fathomless heart

Still alive
And yet distant
Like the faintest beat of its waves

Still here –
In this blown speck of dust
Caught in the bright rays
Of its piercing light

editors note:

We’re all refugees on this rock. – mh clay


December 10, 2019  :: 0 comments

“Brother, calm down. They will be here. Twenty more minutes, OK?” I don’t want to hear that. I really don’t. I have already been standing here in this two-bit DVD store for over half-an-hour. I don’t need it then. I need it now. “First, I fuck you, then my friend fuck you, OK?” And, no, I don’t want to hear …


featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2019  :: 0 comments

A savage beating
With a monkey wrench
A spine smashed in two
By a scaffold pole
And a mob waiting outside
All of them armed
With sticks bats and knives

Last night I dreamt
Of all of these things
And many more besides

But this morning
When I awoke
I found that nearly
Eight years had passed

Now –
I don’t want revenge
And I don’t have
A magic double-edged sword

All I want
Is to stop this mind thinking
That it understands
And from willing this fool
To do what its
Brief blossoms want

To eat this fresh peach
And to keep on eating it

Until its shape
And its colour
Its skin and its taste
Become no more than a peach
And still no peach at all


That’s all any fool dreams

editors note:

The beating and the balm, a fool’s dream. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 22, 2019  :: 0 comments

A small bag
A torch
A tin box and pipe

These are the tools

To present my past
To rescind the guilt
To connect to the source
Of what I am not

Some call it magic
An other

But names are misplaced
On this false print of paths
And easily pierced
By their own savage thorns

Forget about this
And leave behind that

Crossing the bridge
Flies buzz on the burn

Kill the mind child
Return this earth to the dust

editors note:

The magic we make, in time, unmakes us. Naturally! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 24, 2019  :: 0 comments

Leave summer there
To bleed into the sea
Autumn is coming down hard

The mountain retreats
The backstreet brothels
The street photographs
The excuse that I was drunk
The boxing titles
And all of the countless blood baths

All of them are gone
All of them are done now

Like that springtime record
And all of my government names
I have one stone cold alibi
That needs no rehearsing
And needs no fake feelings posed
When winter comes knocking
With its unasked for inquiries
About whether
This was indeed that
Or that was indeed this

September 26 1972

That is all I am saying
I have no further comment

Let them state for the record
Whatever they want

I have already said –
No further comment

The footage has long been deleted
And all the evidence burned

By the crematorium fire
By the valium blues
And by this disrupted sentence
That now breaks and then falls
Like the leaves and the ash
Around my blistered feet
Lapped by the last rays of
My own summer’s breath

editors note:

In the end, our best defense is none at all. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 29, 2018  :: 0 comments

Next week –
Ten –
A new set of bones
Old and burned white
By the dead tiger moon

Will I climb up?
Or will I stand down?

I don’t think there’s a choice
Or a need to explain

To wise men
To fools
To doctors
To books

All they carry is baggage
More grist for its teeth

Leave it alone
And leave it all there

Look to the distance
No need to look back

I have seen the carnage
And it’s far safer here

The clean sun of my shelter
Covered not casting
Any more blood for the trail

editors note:

Keep a cozy cover, a clean count, and your blood to yourself. – mh clay