My Steampunk Heart

featured in the poetry forum June 18, 2016  :: 0 comments

is made of
galvanized steel,
heavy duty trash bags
and Minnie Mouse
duct tape,
it is reinforced
with moon pies
and hot-glued
with egg rolls
My steampunk heart
will last
for centuries,
I will have
love affairs
with vampires
that have fancy names
Lord Deerstalker
or Count
Peanut-Butter Merriweather
You won’t break my
steampunk heart,
so please don’t
even try

editors note:

Nope! We won’t even… (Another mad missive on Melanie’s page – check it out.) – mh clay

41 Post Mortem celebrity photos

June 18, 2016  :: 0 comments

this poem is not click-bait
there are no hidden ads
for handbags
or ready to eat pre-packaged pasta
this poem is not tacky
it does not invade the privacy
of celebrities,
coke addicted singers,
strung out movie stars,
serial murderers
or the down
& out
this poem will not
the least of these

this poem suggests
you try porn instead

editors note:

Please click here to sign in. ;) – mh clay

At My Daughter’s Beauty Pageant

featured in the poetry forum September 3, 2015  :: 1 comment

They all approach the
to give their
personal introduction,
they all have different
dreams, psychologist,
hair stylist (she states
she will “Tease it to Jesus”)
actress, singer,
but one gal wants to be
a CIA agent,
and I can’t help
but worry that she’s
outed herself,
one girl wants to
be an astrophysicist,
none of them say
they want to
be a stay at home mom,
or housewife,
none of them say they want
to wash dishes by hand
when the dishwasher breaks,
or calm a crying six year
old who lost
his first tooth,
they don’t say they
want to take their child
to speech therapy
and thumb through
glossy magazines
and daydream briefly
about a different life,
maybe in Cuba,
where they learn to play
the claves,
and the light
dances in
the plumeria trees

editors note:

Adult doldrums defer to liberation in Latin rhythms through little girl dreams. – mh clay

A Fistful of Nothing

featured in the poetry forum July 17, 2014  :: 0 comments

my nine year old
socked another boy
in the nose and
made it bleed,
they weren’t fighting,
he was just playing
too rough,
lacked the impulse control
I talked to him about
keeping his hands to himself,
“don’t make a fist,”
I told him
and i thought about
how ridiculous
that request was,
how we come out of
the womb with fists
gloves at the ready,
or heavyweight,
it doesn’t really
we are ready
to go the distance
looking for our corner man
we have fistfuls
of nothing

editors note:

We fight from bell to bell and never want to hear the man say, “TEN!” – mh

The New Paradigm

featured in the poetry forum June 19, 2013  :: 0 comments

At the park with my kids,
I watch as various
children take turns
throwing giant handfuls
of sand at a mural
of Mickey Mouse,
and they never seem to
tire of this, the line
stretching further and further
until I lose track,
their rage becoming
palpable, some of
them smearing the sand
on Mickey’s ears,
“take that!” they scream,
they know
where the blame belongs,
and I smile as
I watch the beginnings
of the new paradigm

editors note:

The “magic” is falling out of the “kingdom” at a younger age these days. There’s still hope… – mh

The Eroticization of Chocolate Chip Cookies

featured in the poetry forum April 19, 2012  :: 0 comments

I read a biography of Anne Sexton
while eating chocolate chip cookies.
and I want to share these things with you.
I want to confess these things
to you. I like chocolate chip cookies.
Indeed, right out of the oven. A soft batch
they melt in my mouth and I don’t want to share them with you.
they are for me alone. I want to read this biography
of Anne Sexton by myself with chocolate chip cookies.
I could never write about masturbation like Anne did.
I would die of shame. I can’t believe I wrote that
word. Masturbation. Oh my god. I better eat another cookie.

editors note:

You keep eatin’ those cookies and you’ll grow hair on the palm of your hand. – mh

It’s Always Dia De Los Meurtos In My Head

featured in the poetry forum December 21, 2010  :: 0 comments

It’s always
day of the dead
in my head,

stay awhile,
and visit,

I have some
sugar skulls,

we can
drink mezcal
and ride
my Andalusian
horse in a parade
down Santa Maria La Ribera,
We’ll wear
tissue paper flowers
in our hair,

it’s so much fun
but you
have to stay

The Savage Skin

December 21, 2010  :: 0 comments

in the darkness,
he reaches under her shirt,
cups his hand under her breast

He calls her his

He has to admit
she looks more
like a carnie princess,
small in his bed

He imagines her,
pouring the
funnel cake- batter
with delicate
nicotine- stained fingers

He whispers
The World bled me dry
and they begin to spin

The Call of the Wild

featured in the poetry forum November 9, 2009  :: 0 comments

I hear the call of the wild
In the morning,
right after I get
the kids off to
school and feed the dogs,
but before I surf the net.

I hear the call of the wild
after I load the dishwasher
but before I call my mom
to tell her about the dream
I had, the one about Jude Law

I hear the call of the wild
right after the kids
get home from school,
and sometimes after Oprah

I hear the call of the wild
between the time that
Bill O’Reilly starts
and the kids are getting
ready for bed

I hear the call of the wild
sometime After the
kids fall asleep
but before David Letterman
signs off

I heed the call of the wild,
I practice nashing my teeth
I growl at My Shih-tzu
but he doesn’t growl back

Panhandling in the suburbs

November 9, 2009  :: 0 comments

Squinting at
the sunlight
and smoothing
back her dirty- blonde
She’s thinking
about her

She waltzes
towards the median
as the morning traffic
performs its best
version of
Swan Lake

The glittered
world rubs it’s
eyes & she sips
her coffee,
as the red light
turns green.