Mutterings maybe Muse

featured in the poetry forum August 12, 2015  :: 0 comments

Bluebird calls,
his raspy sultry tones,
almost teasing,
just there,
right there
there,
Ohh there
I..
words spin,
wink as if stars out of reach.
From dust to burning
burning deep,
burning red,
I stand meek, feet toeing frozen earth
longing for green grass,
flowing manes or just flow,
Spluttering mutters – he calls.
Stripped to inner core,
empty, half full
or momentarily sane?
only just seeing for sake of
seeing but not seeing,

Bluebird’s calling,
perched on dead wood
calling,
I write, hear
his words
necking inner voice – this voice, amongst
his whores
the barmen,
fucking madmen,
penned in his lines
couplets, verse
puffing last fags.
His gesturing wing beckons
my parched lips cradling inner wars,
pours another JD as if mothering
this poet flying half full – just,
gulping in
spinning words
spinning – trying.

editors note:

Bluebird of happiness or missing muse? Maddening for all purveyors of verse. – mh clay

From The Shoe Box

featured in the poetry forum September 16, 2014  :: 0 comments

Expired vicious sharp tongued
-still staring through the key hole,
Waiting to pounce.
Fury green mould never stood a chance,
Old hag.

You hid buried,
In depths of yellowing pages.
Amongst spit fixed stamps,
Undisturbed dust, dried flower heads,
Forgotten valentines, Seeped in black ink,
Faded slight.

Like you,
Reeked stale.
Stale in compassion;
In life
In dreams
In all less perfect,
Perfect for you.
Even from your old scrawl
My hands felt your sting,

Years of verbal lashings
Dousing in vinegar,
You left a bitter taste,
After placing your thorny crowns.
I thought only Christ haters did that.

But you a lover of the cloth!
To grottoes you flocked
On knees you rocked
Mouthing your praise,
In practice you mocked
As the cockerel crowed three times
You drove the nails into my
Cross over and over.

Now in my own glory,
I sup the finest of wines,
Diluting your bitter taste.
Queen of my throne
While you fade at the
Bottom of the forgotten box.

editors note:

A keepsake only for the sake of keeping? A lose-sake, ready for discard. – mh

Full Moon

featured in the poetry forum August 10, 2014  :: 0 comments

If time stood still
It would be the perfect calm,
No storm could build
Push
Or rush in.
If time failed to tic,
While quietness played
Lulling perfect calm – I’d wake
Lie in moon beams,
Watch light dance through darkness,
When all’s hushed
Except for cows!

Fucking noisy cows
One’s always out of sync
Higher pitched, gurgling as if squeezed,
Is it choking on regurgitated time?
Lone fox calls, echoing. Almost duets.
Everything stills, mad dogs come to heel
Low grumbling growls meander,
On guard – In case she knocks – Wailing.

editors note:

Lowing, barking, moon up high, growls beneath; still for time, calm forever… – mh

Closing time

featured in the poetry forum October 27, 2013  :: 0 comments

Somewhere in between verse and ballads, in the depth of words,
You’re alive!
On what was once blank, now full of emotional torment and wit!
In between the lines, eyes see, drink in what swirls and spills
From the mind that creates and brings its images to life,
Almost lyrically rich, a rawness that only you can hold,
We dance this dance you and I every time a page is turned,
As your story journeys down a new path,
Into the deep playground of your mind you go
A title is born,
Long after closing time.

editors note:

Poet and poem converge upon poetry lover until words and wonder wind up into one. – mh