featured in the poetry forum November 29, 2014  :: 0 comments

Battle wary, ready for rest, to shelter.
Close this sorry chapter; relax, restore.

No space to listen, reflect, learn how
we could peacefully heal.
Its all teeth and claws, everyday wars,
every night prayers of repent. Every
penny spent to hold back the blame,
shame, certainty that all paths forward
lead to more of the same.

Earth spins; we want answers that
assure us yes, so wise, we are Messiah’s promised.

Wealth of starlight, bed of Earth.
Every miracle seeking birth.
Behold, welcoming evening lights,
drowsy trees, cozy homes, familiar rites.
Abundant feasts, merry meets, gift of returning friends.
Deeply desired peace, belonging, generous amends.

I send you a bubble of better days.
Ease of peace in contemplation, bliss of
transcendent imagery, artful conversation.
Feel complete
if only for this moment.

Caught up in days’ parade; now take it in.
Peaceful moments safe with friends and kin.
Joys of open grace, sad tinge of loss.
Simple blessings, call of goals beyond.

Taste the bittersweet of long accumulated earth,
carbon bonds descended through time and dust.
Skeletons broken to rebuild from waste
carry potential energy into ancient deserts that tomorrow
we learn to bloom.

editors note:

From this wasteland will come blooms in the desert. Poetry is prophecy! – mh

Inner Circle

featured in the poetry forum September 30, 2013  :: 0 comments

There is no exit here
No sweet release of sleep, no prayer to soft salvation.
There is only death and degradation of soul.
Not life, no properties of love or fond relation.
Trial of existence with no end.
Yet in this ceaseless horror, in this carnal Hell,
in this my filthy home, cold, without mercy,
in this cage of unrelenting dark,
a spark, a circle of red and black calls to enter.
Here, where awareness centers, threads of rotten vein
play at art, at shocking beauty.

editors note:

If no art, ugliness; if no songs, frustration; if no verses, monotony – no play. – mh

Imagine May Day

featured in the poetry forum July 1, 2012  :: 0 comments

Brazen witches fly, legends say,
dark Moon nights; arise, stealthy, silent
in their joyous revelry.
Bonded to Earth’s creation;
learning at mother’s breast
to manage life’s gifts and lessons.

Historic Man may proclaim, may murder
for fealty, to swear allegiance to
their hunt’s command.
They may elevate their One True King
to kneel and obey. They may employ
counting measure, ceremony and sacrifice,
taunting and torture or other trials
thus finding for each loyal swan a pond
to plunder, to parade in royal colour,
their place of pride.

Cruelty descends, more master than tactic;
it is the enemy of joy, of flavor,
bonding, works of love and honor.

Yet men, on real ground, work companions
to soil and rain, engineers trained to each
moment’s urgencies, philosophers of stone and mud,
reason and toil, persist. Their sinew and bone feed
the ages, build clay and richness on which
wealth relies.

Wisdom knows the sweat of practiced movement,
flexible to unexpected obstacles, able to modulate
quiet or loud as the crowd ebbs
or grows in credulity.
Where wisdom seeps through, counters
prevailing poisons, invigorates blood to nourish
minds and hearts, look there for blessing.

Arise, lovers! Bring forth better days,
ours to play in open revelry,
neighbors enjoying shared labors and our fruit.
Accept truth of magic; imagine life into this world.

Beltane 2012

editors note:

A day for change is not restricted to a date on the calendar. These sentiments inspire us to “bring forth better days” today. – mh

Speak in Peace

featured in the poetry forum April 30, 2012  :: 0 comments

Useful communication requires common metaphor
(Divided by myths forged to unite within our tribe)

When I feel alive, rooted yet wild, outside of frame
a dancing child, free of security derived from shame
able to rise beyond the schoolyard game of divisive naming

I see within my eyes distant seas and shores,
forest folk blinking in the haze,
journeys rending years into days,
Hear the whistling, touch the swollen fruit,
amazed — counting down as I tumble

How do I explain in this tongue we mumble,
barely getting through a random chat that
gives no exit wound to that ache beating inside
to grab a hand, touch your mind, bring to being

Yet, why would you want to see what I am seeing?
It’s only peace; only curiosity; it’s only
miracles of sand, twinkling, breath of fire
blended to glass, twisted into culture, class,
Beauty survives each blast, more adored for her
scars, allured by her charms, may we doze
and stumble into sweeter dreams

In sleep, relaxed, uncoiled core may cry in surprise
to be free; awakened realigned — speak friend and enter
We have much to discuss

editors note:

A subject common to all, a voice unthreatening. Door’s open. Walk in. Speak, listen – Peace! – mh

True Romance

featured in the poetry forum March 16, 2011  :: 0 comments

The choices we fall into for romance
Must be why they call the moon-touched lunatics.
We let all sense escape us, give in to chance
Seduced, junkies, into hunger for a fix
Belief, a bedfellow strange to reason’s well-trod path,
In fairytale ever after lovers twain
Well-schooled, trained in logic, adept in math
Yet we shed it all to hop that mythic train
Expose our tender souls to cruel deceit
And maybe violence, maybe wounds that slowly kill
Yet we run into destruction, foreswear retreat
For the chance, the hope, the ecstasy, the thrill.

Freedom FOR Security

featured in the poetry forum November 27, 2010  :: 0 comments

Either, by nature, you’re plagued with paranoia
Or you’ve bought pervasive propaganda.
I do understand:
It was so cheap, and in your colour.
It wasn’t labeled “Propaganda”
Sold as “News,” common knowledge,
accommodation to the norm.
And it fits your internal dialog so well
“Danger is everywhere these days of disorder,
scary change.”
Just like all the days
when Freedom seems such a flimsy wage,
a cheap exchange
for sham Security.

November 27, 2010

Your Philosophy

September 2, 2010  :: 0 comments

movie plot as object lesson
boys find valuable object
boys lose valuable object
boys fight to get valuable object back

I am woman born
no source of father’s pride
too early in my days, they
track my aroma
I know not to hide
use me in some back room
until my womb rises with a new slave
for their diversions

I am sacred mother
tit tied to feeding, always feeding
(agonized bleeding in secret shame)
No more than a tether, a trough, and
tantalizer of the profane. I am a wrecked
train, a vehicle left to rust, blamed for
slatternly stagnation,
never quite thrown away.

Reject me; reject hard truths,
long tred diamonds, scuff-polished,
hidden like icebergs in paleolithic mud.
Dismiss prophetic exaltation, work songs,
labyrinthine gardens,
we who are only dreams in your philosophy.

You may well be better
stuck in your own
wheel of clay.
My lesson, when I am ready,
is to leave you to your way;
cleave to the ecstasy
loose, lost, subjective

May 2010


featured in the poetry forum September 2, 2010  :: 0 comments

While the world sleeps
We could delve the ouroboros of dreams
Rampage through Wonderland, Neverland,
cavalcades of roaring dragons,
princesses plucked from flowery fields,
angels dancing, dizzy as daemons, dervish
drunk on coloured rain
atop bright
copper pins.

Surreal circus of pineal circuit
Casts of glorious clowns sparkling
like sequined candy
Proud bears cycling in mid-air,
Amazing feats of flying day-glo trapeze chimpanzees
Wafting popcorn, white scents of sugar delight,
Pansies popping out of top hats as they expand
into darkest space

We could create
twinkling, luminous
sacred place
an anchor for unearthly adventure
a tableau to marvel in grace
if you would

May 2010

Mothers’ Night

featured in the poetry forum July 8, 2010  :: 0 comments

cascading shards uneasy echoes
Rape of Earth, hot spurts of words savage knives abiding Mothers, sacred and mundane twist into harridan cold stars
wailing, hurtling waves Sad, old, crust of ages sliced and screwed, carved up for profit “It’s not the color of the skin, the culture of the smile” the scent of danger, the inborn stranger — all excuses for Us (superior) and Them (inferior) “They are not like we; but lower curs.” we may harm with unfettered glee Cursed to be ours, cut to our requirement. Keep them from our (property)(security) Leave them to our putrid pits cunning jabs, our pleasure.
Thus all treasure that might regale, heal, reveal true worth, of man and Earth sold for pittance of potash to dance a weary jig


featured in the poetry forum May 5, 2010  :: 0 comments

Sally, won’t you go
Pick up some teabag party
We’ll teach ’em tricks of trade
from streets walled in by
Ain’t this nation grand
for glad hands raised in celebration
of shames we dare not name.

Hallelujah Hallelucinations
Hallowed ground baptized
in blood
Saved from the cleansing Flood
by sticking to our kind
however we’re defining us today
If we were meant to live
a different way
wouldn’t He have told us?

October 28, 2009