Natural Prey

featured in the poetry forum November 1, 2023  :: 0 comments

After decades of sweet flesh
on demand ripe as cherries
time shifts your branches
thinned out, flashing
lights frighten you now
small animal, woman in linen
afraid the sky will descend
directly on you so scurry,
scurry into thigh-high grasses
lie down and wait, wait
for the stalk, the hunter
boot heels hard as bone
black eyes blank
on your shivering ribs
furry head so deep
in the soft green nest
you’ll miss the kill shot
when the spotlight flickers
goes out for good.

editors note:

A hapless hitch to hide in ditch, turned from hunter to hunted. – mh clay

End Times

featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2022  :: 0 comments

We live on an island
harsh sun unveils daily
our tiny floral cottage
behind the teeth of a fence
red mouth full of holes
bleeding wild roses, bees
fat on dusty pollen
the road comes right up
to our wrinkled faces
sniffs like a friendly dog
shines like a compact mirror
showing off our interior
springs in the old sofa
soft bed like a ripe plum
pink stuffing a fluffy ooze
We are never alone here
bougainvillea pricks us
with its needled thorns
motorcycles scream past
horns blaring a theme song
of last days, lost time
But we turn off the blare
the bloodied, the oozing
and watch the waves come in
closer and closer
to swallowing us whole.

editors note:

How to be at rest as your apocalypse approaches. – mh clay

Poets of Apotheosis

featured in the poetry forum December 14, 2021  :: 0 comments

Ten men for every woman
and she turns heads
fishhooks their attention
with her high fashion, her gee-whiz
Americanisms, her palpitating desires
technically virtuoso, apropos
verse and she’s intense, whirling
planetary. None of them
man enough to share
what they won’t let her do.

Radiant, blood whet, she seethes
with impatience and lusts
for an equal without restraint
the red sun rising and closing
like the eye of some foreign god
a willing disciple in search
of a master, the poet
savage who so easily captures
the terrible beauty of death.

He’s an expert at the Ouija board
astrology, drinking cheap beer
he lures her on forays
in forests of the occult
darkness seducing them both
at one with the drive to violence
clutching, swollen after
he felt her raw bite
the animal blood running
down one chiseled cheekbone
bitten by her power, and
afraid of it he’s from the poor
north, wild and nature bound
living in squalor, practitioner
of the holy discipline she shares
his belief in the potency
the magical power of verse.

Intoxicated, she festers
joining his rebel poet clan
she finds what is missing—
the more she burns
the more she consumes
and him.

editors note:

An imperfect pairing to produce perfect verse. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 19, 2021  :: 0 comments

For many years I carried
all of my vital organs
in a tight sack I called my body
my own little country
where I planned to live out
my allotment of days.

Something puddled inside me
and began to plunder my insides
stealing, vandalizing
what gave me breath, force
leaving my skin-case sagging.

Eventually I dragged to the ER
in a distant land called sickness.
The nurses’ eyes flatlined and
they left me on a plastic chair
stewing in my bile-green juices.
A viral sunset turned bloody
then black, all blackness.

I awoke in a cold white tomb.
My skin had created outposts
for the army building within me
and the invisible soldiers
without passports
made camp, campfire, trouble.

Every few hours medical terror
gathered in huddles in my room
the cells of my body, every organ
responding in kind, building forts
tearing them down again.

Over time the organs surrendered
doctors expanding their territory
brisk teams in white coats
they fought for the side
of full diagnosis
an end
to the unknowns.

Finally with a gasp and a groan
somebody won it all—
mapping my country
with their own place names
and planting a white flag
deep in my flesh, bone
where my life once held forth.

editors note:

We are here to advance medical science, if nothing else. (We welcome Mickey J. to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Parlous Us

featured in the poetry forum September 18, 2020  :: 0 comments

This is not a romance novel.
It’s a short ending
to a long story
you’ve heard before.
Common, lurid tale
of love and something
This is not a whodunit.
The processor is unreliable,
the data corrupt,
the files no good.
Screen version:
You run a move
he follows and lust
follows and ends.
He runs
a move
on somebody else.
You could call this a thriller
but not for you.
There was an intimacy
to our disorder.
Until he killed it.

editors note:

How to love, hazardly ever after. – mh clay

Florida Man Burns Down House Trying To Bake Cookies On George Foreman Grill

featured in the poetry forum April 23, 2020  :: 0 comments

Florida Man opened the door
when the fire trucks arrived
closed the door again.

Florida Man opened the door
when the cops arrived
walked deeper inside
his smoke-filled house.

Florida Man
to the toxic fumes,
in oxygen masks
the furious blaze.

Florida Man
uninjured, unaware
by two liters of vodka,
fired up
got the munchies
got the idea
to bake cookies
on his George Foreman grill.

When orange flames licked
his modest home
blackening walls
Florida Man
of bad decisions
damped the fire
with dry towels
while his cookies
got baked
to a hard char.

editors note:

What crazy thing has gotten away from YOU while in quarantine? Take care, Friends! – mh clay