Change is a coming

featured in the poetry forum December 21, 2023  :: 0 comments

Change is a coming…

In the vast blackness that envelops the day, vicariously balancing the yin & the yang, feeling a rebirth as midnight’s darkness slips away welcoming the dawn of a new day

Change is a coming…

In waves that alter shorelines, waters lapping at your banks, remapping a lifetime of routines and ruts, shifting directions of tides, realizing you are the moon swaying the waves that bring this change

Change is a coming…

In this ever shifting orb we live upon that’s always transposing faces from beautiful to horrific, from bountiful to anemic but always different, always evolving every moment

Change is a coming…

In the fluttering of hummingbird’s wings frantically peeking around trees & clouds to find a peaceful place to finally land and get a much deserved respite

Change is a coming…

In broken brush strokes that break the vastness of the canvas’ colliding colors swirling together in a harmonious cacophony of complementary hues swirling views that speak of mad dream scenes

Change is a coming…

In flashing thoughts that form into words that team up to find a rhyming timing mate to create a verse that transforms into a poem that you no longer own, absorbed into the collective om

Change is a coming…

In these closing words, tidying and tying up these collected letters floating around, my ink sinking deeply into the parchment that is my book; this chapter ends, another now begins…

Change is a coming…

editors note:

This Holiday Harbinger says it’s coming… ready or not! – mh clay

Bah Week

featured in the poetry forum December 28, 2022  :: 0 comments

Spanning the Yuletide and the New Year sits an odd and awkward limbo week in which the shimmering of glitzy Christmas delights dulls and the glimmering of fresh starts teases our hope-filled dreams of things to come.

I’ve grown sour and cynical of such musings that bookend this suspended week. Perhaps it’s my advancing age. Maybe it’s the years of dashed dreams and underwhelming scenes. It’s probably just the bold-faced fact that in the grand scheme of things it’s just another week in another year trying to survive another spin in this grinder called life.

So drink up yesterday’s Yuletide wine. Relish in the fact you spent a whole lot of money you don’t have to buy the artificial smiles you’ll smile to fill up your chosen social feed just for the sake of others to see. Grow nostalgic as the lights and bows and cheesy holiday songs fade away. And get your new year’s cheer ready to sing and relish in your delusion that THIS new year will undoubtedly be shittier than the last. Write your pipe dream resolutions and recite the toasts you’ll boast and pretend any and all of this ceremonial sanctimonious bullshit will make any difference at all.

It won’t. At best it’s hallmark-inspired eye wash. Fairy tales and pipe dreams. You know it. I know it. We all know it. But I get it. Who doesn’t like the distractions of make-believe to make our dying days a dash more desirable? Cheers!

editors note:

We’re in the middle of it (holiday hump day), so let’s get this out now, folks. The coming slate is blank, yet. – mh clay

Our Crumbling House

July 3, 2022  :: 0 comments

Things are getting out of control. The black hole hold these dark souls have upon this Nation is alarmingly disheartening and certainly sickening.

I sit in shock as I watch the headlines crawl by. Sound bites I’d expect on a cheap MTV2 reality show come flowing from the pork chop jowls of the fat cats appointed to destroy these Divided States. To think that these ignorant, arrogant sociopaths are the one calling the shots for this Country in the midst of so many pots of catastrophe simmering on our collective stove tops sickens me. Disheartens me. Breaks me.

I’ve grown disillusioned with my own homeland. The same land I wore the Corps uniform and willingly went to war for. We’re a fucking embarrassment. A regular laughing stock. Open your fucking eyes… before it’s too late. In case you need a reference on what too late looks like, it’s a spitting image of today’s top stories:

Police brutalities
I-can’t-breathe
Crumbling icecaps
Dying oceans
Extreme hurricanes
Drinkable water shortages
Allied Genocide
Endangered species
Floating island of garbage
Mass murderer shootings…

This is not a National problem. This is a Global problem. This is not the time to let these fat-cat short-sighted fools and money-grubbing cronies steer us clear into oblivion. This is the time to wake the fuck up, remember what this Country, OUR Country, is all about. But instead we make it an internal tribal war of us vs. them and we are imploding on a global scale.

Each generation thinks it’s the last. Except for the last generation who knows that it is. I gotta hunch it just might be us. Maybe it’s the fatalist in me but it seems all the signposts point thataway. Maybe I’m being a pessimist although I think I’m more of a realist. Maybe I’m just a paranoid GenXer who was born with the fear of nuclear nightmares. Or maybe I’m just right but hoping I’m just wrong.

I read the news today. Oh boy. I’m not surprised any longer by the shit show this country has turned into. I try to stay neutral, seeing both sides of the proverbial politics coin. But in this polarized land, it’s hard to stay in the gray middle. I really try but I’m finding myself picking a side and battling, baffled by those who oppose my own points of view. Too much tribalism happening inside of what was once one tribe has left us divided.

Abraham Lincoln once said: “A house divided against itself cannot stand” I watch in sad awe as we the people quickly begin to crumble and fall.

What. We. Do.

featured in the poetry forum June 4, 2022  :: 2 comments

We are man! Watch us fuck some shit up! This is our finest art. Fucking. Shit. Up.

We knew this was gonna happen. We were warned. Now we’ve gone too far. Was just a matter of time when the stovetop got so hot that all the pots would boil over all at once. And here we are, at the precipice of our own death and destruction, bubbling with rage.

We are man! Watch us fuck some shit up! This is our finest art. Fucking. Shit. Up.

And now we have to reap the consequences of our fucked up world and have no one to blame but our damn selves. Yet still we squabble. Yet still we war. Yet still we divide. As Rome burns, we blame the flames we stoked, all for our own selfish ignorance, for destroying this magnificent freeloading journey upon this heavenly blue orb.

We are man! Watch us fuck some shit up! This is our finest art. Fucking. Shit. Up.

They told us it would be too late when “They” told us so. We didn’t listen then. We’re not listening now. Still selling off tomorrow with the meager profits we gain today. It’s an empty win. Yet here we are, professing…

We are man! Watch us fuck some shit up! This is our finest art. Fucking. Shit. Up.

We wicked fallen beings deserve the fate that awaits us. Maybe we’ll be saved at the 11th hour. But sadly, last I heard, Superman skipped planet. And Jesus? Word is He got sick of hearing His words twisted by hypocrites. He was heard muttering, “Save your damned selves.” as He ascended back to heaven. Perhaps aliens will swoop down one of these days and hopefully they’re of the friendly kind. But even if they are, we’d fuck shit up.

It’s. What. We. Do.

editors note:

Is this a sad fact or a witty whack (at us)? Hmmm. Don’t quite feel like laughing… – mh clay

Tick-Tock

featured in the poetry forum December 31, 2021  :: 0 comments

Tick…

Playing these time games with the rocking ’round the clock mocking us,
a reminder of our collective fate as we hurtle towards the final gate
not knowing what awaits when this time game finally catches up with
us.

…Tock

Praying these time games with the falling of the seasons will find
reasons to these rhymes and riddles in this cosmic song, singing in
the fallen leaves believing this dream scene in this time game will
never end.

Tick…

Delaying these time games down the long winding road, driving towards
the horizon finding the highway lines blurring by us till we realize
the end of the line will get here soon and the brakes, well they just
ain’t working.

…Tock

Obeying these time games with the year change believing the flipping
of the digits will bring much-needed evolution, revolutionary
solutions to make this year better than the last, hiding the shadows
that it casts.

Tick…

This game don’t stop.

Tock…

Around the clock.

Tick…

Time is up.

Tock.

editors note:

We can pray to play, but no delay, we will obey. So, let’s be happy, anyway. – mh clay

A COVID Kinda Christmas

featured in the poetry forum December 24, 2020  :: 0 comments

Tis the night before Christmas,
When all across this land
A pandemic is raging
Foiling Yuletide plans.

We, in our face masks,
Nestling six feet apart.
While silently praying
This cough ain’t the start.

The stockings were hung
With sanitized care.
In case we’re infected,
That guilt we can’t bear.

Presents sit sterilized
Under fake plastic tree.
Medical-grade cellophane,
Insured COVID-free!

Hand sanitizers, face masks,
White latex gloves…
Gifted with care
For good health & for love.

The cookies & milk?
Nope, not this year.
One sneeze or sniffle
Brings irrational fear!

When what did we hear,
It brought such a shudder!
The sounds of St. Nick
It could be none other!

By the chimney we waited
But he broke down the door
As he pounced he announced,
“Santa’s merry no more!”

“Give me some meds! (cough)
Some cookies! A beer! (cough)
It’s 2020 for me too
And it’s been quite a year!”

The Fat Man kept coughing
His sickness was fast
We panicked & hid
Behind plexiglass.

The North Pole, it seems
Isn’t nearly as woke.
Santa’s unmasked?
This must be a joke!

“Santa, we’d love to have ya
But onward you must fly.
The gift that you’re giving
Just might make us die”

Coughing & sneezing
& blowing his elf nose,
He saw our fear, grabbed his gear
And left us exposed

When in his sleigh he proclaimed,
Before he swerved outta sight,
“COVID Christmas to all (cough-cough)
and to all a (cough) night!”

editors note:

Don we now our hazmat onesies, Fa la la la la la la la la… – mh clay

Desolation screams

featured in the poetry forum June 7, 2020  :: 0 comments

Desolation screams
Deprivation breeds.
Division leads these
Narrated nightly newsfeeds
Crawling across our TV screens.
Oppressed needs cryin’…

(I can’t breathe)

Treasonous thieves think
Formations of needs please
Corporations’ greeds.
Politicians seek
Division. Feeds these
Agitated seeds moanin’…

(I can’t breathe)

Nation bleeds. Another
Generation squeezed by
Deflated daydreams. Leaves no
Reasons to believe.
Destruction speaks louder than
Asphyxiated pleadings…

(I can’t breathe)

Condemned seeds feeds
Inflated streets.
Suppression leads to
Foundations’ weaknesses.
Revolutions brink with
One voice screamin’…

I! Can’t! Breathe!

One voice speaks…

I can’t breathe.

One voice pleads…

(I can’t breathe)

editors note:

If you CAN (breathe), speak! – mh clay

Johnny Never Came Marching Home Again…

May 23, 2020  :: 2 comments

(view the YouTube video here)

But he did return.

He arrived in a box with a star spangled​
and blood striped flag, draped with care.

When Johnny didn’t come marching home again (so long, so long)
They gave him a funeral welcome then (so long, so long)…

​A warrior’s funeral.​
​Complete with a 21 gun salute,
​a lonesome rendition of ​
Taps, and a
​finely folded​
consolation flag.
The same flag that came draped on Johnny’s ​coffin.

The boys held back tears, the men stood tall,
The ladies, one by one they called​…​

They mentioned Johnny’s name on the news.
They remembered his life and honored his memory.
They said they would always remember their hometown hero.
They all felt the loss

when Johnny didn’t come marching home.

Johnny didn’t enlist to be a cog in the great war machine.
​But he knew the ultimate price
​might have to be paid
when he raised his right hand and said:

“I, Johnny Citizen, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

When his Country called, he did his duty.
With a lump in his throat and with pride on his side,
Johnny went off to ​fight.

Let reverence and remembrance reign this day (so long, so long)
Remember the ultimate sacrifices made (so long, so long)…​

He prayed.
​​
He prayed every day he awoke alive,
and doubly so at night,
to live to fight another day​, so help him God.

God was there on Johnny’s lips as he took his final breaths.
​So were the fading memories of home.
So were mom and dad.
So were brother and sister.
So were friends and lovers.

And so was this final scene –

​A warrior’s funeral.​
​Complete with a 21 gun salute,
​a lonesome rendition of ​
Taps, and a
​finely folded​
consolation flag.

This is what Johnny saw as he looked up
at foreign skies.

He never asked why.
He knew this was his time.
​He knew this was his duty.
Johnny said his last prayer
and his final goodbyes.
​No fanfare, no fame.
Just another life given,
a sacrifice made
in ​this deadly game
named ​
freedom.​

So may we do our patriotic part (so long, so long)
Be grateful and thankful for this warrior’s heart (so long, so long)…

And remember the meaning of this day,

When all the Johnny’s didn’t come marching home.

editors note:

Because this is worth reading on this Day…
Here’s to the day when no new boxes come home, no new flags are draped and folded, no new tears are wrenched from newly aching hearts. Thanks to Johnny O for these Memorial words! May we learn, at last, to practice war no more. –
mh clay

Breathe deep…

featured in the poetry forum April 11, 2020  :: 0 comments

Breathe deep…
Hold it –
hope
{Exhale}

You held
On long
enough
{Inhale}

To last.
Our final
Gasp
{Exhale}

Waits inside
Face masks.
Alone.
{Inhale}

Let go
Cling to
last
{Exhale}

breaths.

editors note:

We know when’s the next one, but never the last. – mh clay

‘t’wasn’t

featured in the poetry forum December 25, 2019  :: 0 comments

Lap sat
Chicago cold
Photo snapped
Seven years old

Catalogs scanned
Wishlist made
Playtime planned
Cookies laid

Christmas scenes
Slept light
Vision-filled dreams
Woke bright

Parents late
Childhood cost
Santa’s fate
Innocence lost

editors note:

Oh, Well! When the truth is out and the spell is broke, we conjure a different holiday joke. Or… don’t forget to eat those cookies. Jingle Bells, Everyone! – mh clay