featured in the poetry forum August 3, 2021  :: 0 comments

You’re like a hangnail, so annoying,
can’t seem to get rid of memories of you.
Your soft skin was like sweet cream butter,
now the wrinkles match your surliness.
Your lips were like a lambert cherry,
now they taste like an unripe persimmon.
Your bed was a bastion of fervent desires,
now it’s where fantasies take their last breath.
You were a wildflower with tattoos to match,
now your once sweet blossoms have wilted.
Your eyes, a mirror, reflected our passions,
now it’s smeared with snowy residue’s insidious grip.
Your body was the envy of a long line of lovers,
now it’s beaten, battered, used, older than your years.
Your orgasmic rivers once drowned my spirit,
now dried up, into your ravine no one takes a dip.
Cravings numbed, out of place, they walked out the door,
delusions dead, raunchy images in my mind expired,
no longer communicating by seductive touches,
a harsh reality flushed my threadbare senses,
not even Valium-filled veins could quell this aura of evil.

editors note:

All the more evil when a reflection of self. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 2, 2021  :: 0 comments

A relationship can spawn stinging frustration,
sometimes crazed, it can put you in a trance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

When one squanders a passionate sensation,
does it pierce the veil of true romance?
A relationship can spawn stinging frustration.

Idyllic imagination is a sure source of inspiration,
but you can be distracted by a seductive glance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

Wishful fantasies sometimes kindle a fixation,
horizons before us are an unlimited expanse,
a relationship can spawn stinging frustration.

Fevered emotions evoke feelings of elation;
as twilight unfolds you want one more dance,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

Affection and devotion have no limit, no expiration;
in love, you have to be willing to take a chance.
A relationship can spawn stinging frustration,
not knowing if it’s intimacy or just a flirtation.

editors note:

Can you hold it if you try to mold it? (We welcome John L. to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Crazy Morning

October 10, 2020  :: 0 comments

My wife and I are new residents of an over 55 community on the edge of the Pine Barrens in southern New Jersey and are still finding our way and learning the rules, regulations, and customs of our neighborhood. We feel as though we are living “off the grid” as a simple trip to a grocery store, mall, or restaurant …


featured in the poetry forum May 21, 2020  :: 0 comments

The twilight elicits images of Erebus.
Wicked fantasies overwhelm mind and body.
A twist of fate incurs a state of despair.
I need to fill my veins with a floating euphoria.
The waitress brings me a menu…
So many choices, so many highs and lows
“I’ll have opiates for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
Coffee and oxy are a kick start I need the most.
But night falls once again and soon I’m tormented
Demonic delusions, they summon me.
They seek to devour my soul, infuse me with a depraved dependency.

editors note:

Best described from a well-lit room, “I have been to the other side, saw the light and have come back…” – mh clay

Drifted Away

January 21, 2020  :: 0 comments

Off like a shot, the years just drifted away for two young men. John and Nick grew up together on Harrison Avenue. Their fathers worked at blue collar jobs and the mothers stayed at home. The moms didn’t all bake cookies but they were there to put band-aids on the scrapes and cuts and cooled the bruises with ice cubes …


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

They braced for the age of turbulence,
felt betrayed by current extremes,
society changed too fast for them,
proud traditions were cast aside.
Feeling weak like vulnerable prey,
fearing their voices no longer heard,
soon to be victims of the deranged.

Angry, they pointed fingers of blame,
hopeless feelings numbed their senses.
Maddened by loutish talking heads,
touting pompous principles,
boomers have become strangled
by dubious run-on threads.

Eloquent ideas enlightened their views
as they fueled turmoil and unrest,
their voices shouted from Chicago to LA,
today, fiery debate is but a dim flame.

As flowers wilt, hair turns gray,
they want only one more chance,
to taste the truth, dismiss the lies
refute the lows and ride the highs,
realize starry dreams without remorse,
find sparkling sunshine in which to bask.

Cold, steel gray days of the millennium,
are a wasteland where clarity has to wait,
and a prophetic sign may come too late.
Peace love and protest of the sixties,
remain their monuments to the past.

editors note:

How it came to be. OK, or not! – mh clay

Hands of Steel, Not Today

March 16, 2019  :: 0 comments

My urologist recently asked me, “John do you know where you are going and have you found the right path to clarity of expression and urination?” As I looked at him with a quizzical expression, he directed his nurse to schedule some tests for me at Community Hospital. I thought I was feeling fine, but I guess my doctor wants …