Mister Arrow

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

Mister Arrow
may your aim
not stray to
my eye or
to my heart;
may you split
the apple
on my head.
Give Mister
William Tell
I do not
like pain or
would like to
go blind like
all the folks
to work for
us and not
for themselves.
I have too
much trouble
to worry
about than
to face life
with a hole
in my face.

editors note:

There’s no Tell-ing, here. I say, “Duck!” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 10, 2018  :: 1 comment

I will not go crazy
when my wish is granted.
I may be generous.
I may burn some bridges.
I can’t say what I will do.
Blood is thicker than water.
I hope that turns out to be true.
I could keep it all to myself.
I could go off on my own.
I feel vengeance for no one.
I forgive, but sometimes I cannot forget.
I could leave it all to charity.
I could leave and not look back.
I am uncomfortable with forced smiles.
I will listen to my heart.
I will listen closely.
There is great bitterness in the world.
Everything is going to be fine.

editors note: Wish well, win maybe; whatever is fine as we make it. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 18, 2018  :: 0 comments

Who wants to be the cold shoulder,
that thing that fills the heart with snow,
that thing that wounds your dearest friend?

The rain makes it much colder.
You feel it in the organs of your body.
It leaves your heart frozen and raw.

The cold shoulder leaves you beaten up.
It draws a different kind of blood.
It becomes emotional abuse.

It is brutal like the monkey’s fist.
It’s a silent killer, a slow burn.
It takes you to the ground if you let it.

The gaping wound gets wider.
It plants its roots deep inside you.
It makes your life a living hell.

Walk away from the cold shoulder.
Save your heart from the discomfort.
Go about your business and breathe.

editors note:

Yes! Would much rather bask in a warm smile. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 31, 2017  :: 0 comments

Only the ground could break my fall.
Only the ground could cover my bones.
Only time will tell where and when.
Only time will buckle my knees.
My feet will go out. My torso will weaken
and slink into its coffin. I will fall
headfirst into the darkness or light.
I have no idea how it will end.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
eternity will meet its finality.
Only the ground could break my fall.
Only time will buckle my knees.

editors note:

We’ll all land in land… in time. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 5, 2017  :: 0 comments

I feel like a human experiment.
Thieves have stolen my brain.
I have no sense of timing.
The mirror does not recognize me.
I feel a dimness of sight.

I walk the streets confused.
I lose myself in these streets.
I am in search of my brain.
I am stuck in traffic.
I am deaf to the sounds of birds.
I am at a loss for the simple things.

editors note:

Yes, petri dish denizens, we be. No brains, no reason; just drive. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum December 17, 2016  :: 0 comments

The old house is haunted
by things that should be
tossed away. It holds
on to memories and
turns on the nostalgia
of broken dreams.

The old house needs a
new owner or a good
cleaning. It pulls you
in and throws you out.
It makes you long for
things that worked,
but now are broken.

editors note:

In a depressed market, maybe renovation is best. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 2, 2016  :: 0 comments

Each lemon
I bring you
is a rose,
a symbol
of love. I
bring you a
bagful of
lemons. I
bring you eight
or seven.
I lost count.
Each lemon
is a kiss.
It is a
message of
love to you.
I want you
to know that.

editors note:

When love gives you lemons… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 20, 2015  :: 0 comments

The spring sun can be
very pleasant when
there are no hands on
the clock and no job
waiting to be done.

It is so very pleasant
to know there are no hands
on the clock and the job
comes with vacation
time and holiday time.

The spring sun shines on
as I lie in my couch
at home having a
very pleasant dream
about handless clocks.

editors note:

Let’s make Big Biz this way; install handless clocks on every wall and a couch by every desk. – mh


featured in the poetry forum September 19, 2014  :: 0 comments

She carried out my execution.

She was dressed in red.
I nearly ate my heart.
There was something about her.
I slipped into nonexistence.

She was dressed in red.
Perhaps it was foreshadowing.
I nearly ate my heart.

I was speaking in tongues.

She filled me with anxiety.
I could not move to save my life.
I was speaking in tongues.
She made me disappear.

I walked in green pastures.
I laid down in a meadow.
I found a peaceful end.
I disappeared without a trace.
I tired of myself.

I could not blame her.
She was kind enough
to end my misery.
I felt her hair brushing on my face.

I found a peaceful end.
I ceased to exist.
It was useless to resist.

editors note:

Ethereal, external executioner to carry out our self-sentence; assisted suicide. – mh


featured in the poetry forum March 8, 2014  :: 0 comments

Youth is not immortal,
though a heart can remain young.
One July morning
I called her beautiful and meant it.

She thought I was silly.
I thought I was brave.
I was longing for acceptance.
My heart was weighing a ton.
I was far from Don Juan.

She was the woman of my dreams,
the most beautiful creature.
I wanted to shout it out.
She made me face reality.
She brought me down to earth.
She beat sense into my heart.
I live with a curse ever since.
I continue my journey.
I still believe she is beautiful.

editors note:

This beholder is the best Don Juan; a true believer. – mh