Fox thought

featured in the poetry forum November 12, 2017  :: 1 comment

low, stay staystay – sssh scurryscurry
low, leaving earth worm screaming,
Pant pantpantpantpant pant, hold ! sniff sniffsniffing -( lisssssten)
Chest burst almost drumming drum ming, back to damp earth
sinking paws un- rooting -Bolt ! leftright rightleft,
Fucking houndsfucking houndsfucking – Still!
Hoofing thunder horning rumbles earth dust snow blanketing eyelids
What to do whatdo do dodo think thinkthink,- Oh come the rain
Mud mudmud on face sinking whiskers, roll roll zigzag zigzag,
– Bolt!

editors note:

What they do when the man shouts, “View Halloo!” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 4, 2017  :: 0 comments

Out of
Darkness comes flight
In skies, beautiful dawn
raise head towards nearly moon,
Hush, the breeze wraps arm around
stretched palms south, holding, holding, release to
feel rushing nothing, invigorate the mind, blow creases
north, cheek to ear, feet to earth dampness falls.
Reach inside the work undone, clasp it and dance dance,
Spin like it’s your last breath, last love, last time, spin.
Turning sods smile under knocking toes reaching deep curling, release, beetle
stills, hear silence sing-songing and love doesn’t beckon this time despite clacking loud and all turn to cows, swinging udders regurgitate notes get back, get back in
time, to love and yellow boots hip-hopping the yaga monster holding hands singing Marvin Gaye. The fields part grass, lowering meadows to leave dew drop hover in her matrix reaching low aching to greet moon-shine casting shadows as curling toes fondle still, moments imprint


turning insides out facing clouds and brace, brace against the force and smile, smile to brighten decades carried in eyes that find themselves on lowering hills, swinging cows in hailing all as if last chance
last chance to embrace it all and sway as if never
out of


editors note:

Yes, take it all; as much as two hands can hold!  (Congrats to Polly, who is a featured poet at the  Blackwater Poetry Festival in County Cork, Ireland this weekend.) – mh clay

No Ordinary (Mutant Rodents of the Third kind)

featured in the poetry forum May 16, 2016  :: 0 comments

Damp earth marinated with spruce mulch, waft and console
sinking roots in waves under silence stars,
Synchronized turning bodies roll – inhale.

Ghosts of bullocks mooing and welly-boots
jump hoops in windy whiskey seas,
And I’m white horse flying, flying till
Starlings awaken with rising sun, again;
like herds of mini elephants cracking bark
bursting eves of this creaking house to life.
No ordinary,

Nestling upon nestling disperse sleep, dreamy hooves
and his shouts of ‘get off tracks, train’s coming’
as he moves in between snores then spoons,
Even in slumber he saves this stubborn soul
No ordinary man.

Heavy eyes remain
roll in lids longing to doze.

I possess no ordinary (so I’m told)
In mind, in body.
Perhaps obsessions
of marvel explain gnawing disappointing pangs felt;
it’s not Mutant Rodents of the Third kind
or meta-human left behind by old Doctor who walked these aged floors
or The Flash in bird form vastly splashing shit bombs perfectly launched
when cat leaves by back or front door,

But extraordinary feathered spite fire Starlings – the mothering fathers stealing my dreams.
Ah still, there’s always the phantom phone ringing!
No ordinary
Spine tingling chill.

editors note:

Extraordinary images to tingle ordinary spines. – mh clay

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
Ohh there
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
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
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