Sea Change

December 12, 2020  :: 0 comments

Maybe now is the time
For putrid waters to
Filters infuse with
Passing pick and put the
Infectious pallor in place
Bring back the color of
Bring it back in stealth
Unseen unknown but
Still the bright cheeks
And bright eyes come
Before the recognition of some
Who would not otherwise
Add their dull shouts to
The rising light of day


December 12, 2020  :: 0 comments

Navigating a glass stairway
One step ahead
Of boot heel shatters
Making a name in cloud blown neon
Those letters need to ever replicate
Name name blinking name
Till memories erode in the constant
Glitter of firework blast and fade
Still stomping tromping
The upward step effort
To reach the oxygen thin apex
For title and steeple tottering
Trip and sway
Steady now ready now
Display the brand
The stand
The primeval prerogative
To take the day
To take orders
Bridge commercial borders
Build revenue
Defend your stance
With a billowing bottom line
Marketing will turn your chance
To certainty from happenstance

Goldfish Memory

featured in the poetry forum December 12, 2020  :: 0 comments



No sound
In the bubbly deep
Fizzes and pops
Are felt
To hear
The seashell hiss
In assaulted ear

There was a thing
A happening
Now lost
Now gone
But a sense
Of situation
Carries on

Wishes this

editors note:

All of our thoughts silently sing in the mad fishbowl of existence. (Read two more mad missives from MH on his page – check it out.) – Mike Fiorito

Blue Nun

December 28, 2019  :: 0 comments

12/21/18 Poem by MH and Zim after being in Deep Ellum

I feel the blue nun, she’s on the edge of a ready to harvest field of bounty.
The sting and sizzle
Of sister’s swizzle
Ignites the inner eruption
Blink. The fields are ablaze, angels screaming
RUN. (You are the one we love, take my hand)
Run. The stumbling nun
Hands on ears
Eyes agog on approaching ever
In the middle of infinity, we exist now.
A roiling rampaging bull knocking down a shotgun shack
Butting us forward
To fall flat or bounce
Ripping open Heaven, be here now
With our snorkels, parachutes, and helmets
Deep dive, boys
Into it, into it now
Dig a little deeper, dig deeper now
Angel or Nothing

editors note:

Rampaging angels; it’s bliss or abyss. (This is a collaborative work between MH and Chris Zimmerly.)

Cleanup in Aisle 5

featured in the poetry forum February 23, 2019  :: 1 comment

Scratching shadow
Etching black on gray
Groping for boundaries
We press them
We address our questions
To no ears
But ours

Ours is the answer
The voice we hear
Resounds from our own
Stretched chords
A confusing caterwaul
From which we draw
That one thing
That something
To render reason
From an otherwise
Random run

The rest is just mess

editors note:

By talking to ourselves, we invent the universe and our place in it. (See two more new mad missives from MH on his page – check’em out). – Mike Fiorito


February 23, 2019  :: 0 comments

When do we ever
Turn loose
Acrid ash
Nostril twang
Dust to dust off
Shabby shoes
To walk the path
A little more alone
Than before

When do we ever
See light
In dark fog distant glimmers
Of shapes suggested
Slight shimmering
Odd nods to existence
Enjoyed once
And then never

When do we ever
Grab on
To manes engraved
On carousel steeds
In white knuckled
Engulfed in calliope cacophony
Spinning into inevitability
Into unavoidable eventuality

When do we ever
Find peace
With abrupt absences
Untimely ripped
To rieve bereft
Left behind
Left to cope
With one step to follow
After other
Life unkind
Without father mother
Unknown the path
For us
As for them

When do we ever

Spoiler Alert

February 23, 2019  :: 0 comments

This trail arcs through the heart
Of the unsuspecting
This arc is diffracted
Through holes of hate
These holes are dug by blind teachers
This teaching consumes light
Snuffs kindness
Denies tolerance
Confuses truth with lies
This trail goes into darkness
When the heart is spoiled

This arc trails to restoration
When truths are questioned
These questions can free the light
Obscured by doubt
This light illuminates discernment
This discernment fills the holes
Inspires kindness
Teaches tolerance
Refutes lies with truth
This arc resumes the rise of
The unspoiled heart

Christmas is an empty thing

featured in the poetry forum December 24, 2017  :: 0 comments

(with thanks to Irving Berlin)

The season ‘tis!
The reason is
Anybody’s guess
This yuletide mess
Is a neon Noel
Market place hell
It’s an empty shell
With no content or core
Lights strung
Jingles sung
Libations poured
Meaning muddled
Paganized for some
Who think it should be pure
The rest of us aren’t sure
This annual affliction
Our sad predilection
For routine capitulations
Of spontaneity
This spell
Of greed and gaiety
This contrived community
Of givers on the take
This holiday break
To stimulate and validate
The market prerogative
“No interest for 90 days”
An interesting immersion
In commercial collusion
To propagate the illusion
That all is calm, all is bright
A negligible credit risk
To make giving good
Good for business
Good for nothing
If not good cheer
With good will to all
Good gracious, god in heaven!
Good night!

Christmas should be white!
White, like nothing!
White, like emptiness
Waiting to be filled.

Rip away wrap and ribbon
Take off top and tilt to side
Shake it out
To spill on floor
Leave no more
The stuff which stifles your
Your presence
Your possibilities

Christmas should be white!

Empty with anticipation
Hollow, but hopeful
A happy readiness
A welcoming wait-fulness
Waiting for you to fill it
With your
And company
And consequence
And dreams…

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know…
May your days be merry and bright,
And may all your Christmases
Be white.

editors note:

Thanks to MH for shinin’ a fine yuletide light on the righteousness of divine whitenesses! (“Hey Siri, play Bing’s ‘White Christmas'”…) ~ Johnny Olson

Christmas Quandary

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

In the beginning
There was god…

Then came questions

Man likes answers
Likes invention
There’s the devil in our dogma
In our absolutes, oppression

Our best rubrics
Have the best marketing
All our attentions are captured and directed
Where the market needs them to be

Then someone tells a joke
And we laugh
Sings a song
And we’re filled
With happiness
Good will

So, why not a handshake?
A kind word?
Yes, this season manipulates merry
Into goods, for the good of commerce
Which is, of course, good for all

But, let’s make it what we want
Warm wishes

Turn our myths to mirth
Our markets to magnanimity
Homogenous happiness and harmony


An elf, a reindeer and a rastafarian
Walk into a bar
The bartender says,
“We don’t serve reindeer in here!”
The rasta says,
“Dat’s OK, Mon! I’m not hungry.”

The elf says,
“I don’t get out much these days,
It’s nice to get away.”
The rasta says,
“No, Mon? I’d o’ thought
Workin’ for da Santa Man would be
A walk in da park.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” says the elf.
“We work ‘round the clock for no pay.
Santa says we should be happy with the knowledge
That we are bringing joy to all those children.
Well, I got lots of joy,
But, you’re gonna have to buy the drinks,
Cuz I’m broke.”

The rasta says, “Wow, Mon!
I thought you elf types were rich, rich, rich.
Santa don’t pay you?”
The elf says,
“Santa may be jolly, but he’s a cheap bastard.”

The reindeer says nothing,
Because reindeer can’t talk.

That would be ridiculous.

Merry Christmas!

editors note:

’tis the season to give ’til it hurts. But it doesn’t have to be? Can you imagine putting bows and ribbons on homogenous happiness and harmony and calling them gifts? Yep, I can too. Thanks for the cockle warming, MH! ~ johnny o


featured in the poetry forum May 4, 2016  :: 0 comments

Gently lift the quivering quelled
Slowly peel the shivering shell
Expose the wound
Raw revealed
The hurt inflicted
Mercy appealed
But not granted

Pain long borne
Long dulled, forgotten
Actions bent
And misbegotten
Scars, bled badges
Spoils spent
Benefits rotten
Wizened wisps of smoke
Long smoldering
Now stanched

The air is dank
And thick
The deeds darkened
No more quick
The rain-washed slick
No more
The light of avarice and greed

What’s dead is dead

Now, move on

Or be still

editors note:

We can wallow in our sorrows but in the end all we get is a whole lot of grief & bottomless regrets. Best to do what Poetry Editor MH suggests & move on… ~ Johnny Olson