Insomnia Rules & Regulations

featured in the poetry forum April 15, 2017  :: 0 comments

If you unleash anger and frustration
without any set purpose or target
they will fuse together in self-hatred.
Add four or five sleep deprived nights
to the mix and any moderation gauge
has flown right out of the window.
Leaving behind a snarling rock face
to repeatedly climb time and time again.
The mind becomes an inescapable enemy,
it’s like being chained to an LSD
crazed wolverine with an hard-on
for cranium carnage and self destruction.
Those inward pathways are a delicate
set of tightropes to traverse
and you’re banger car racing around them.
Drugs and alcohol smile their wicked lies
and the Devil’s in the small details
and the small details are all you’re left with.
Millions and millions of the fucking things
to dissect, analyse, inspect and reshuffle
until it’s either Meltdown or Explosion?

editors note:

Seek emotional heavy water; keep those reactions from critical mass. – mh clay

Credible Urge

featured in the poetry forum February 22, 2017  :: 0 comments

He skippers down nightly
under an old piece of tarpaulin,
connected to two trees,
off to the right hand side
of the beach
in the warmer months.
When Winter comes,
there’s the 2nd floor
of the derelict Fire Station
up on the North side of the city.
Busks the harmonica for pennies
outside of Boots the Chemist
most mornings
up until around noon.
Soup-runs evening meals
and bathes in the ocean
no matter the weather.
Carries no trinkets or reminders,
wishes back nothing
which he has lost.
Apart from survival,
is directionless and purposeless,
were never his forte anyway.
Only haunts this city
because it’s far friendlier
than the last couple of places
he tramped.
He’s neither happy nor contented,
just chilling patient,
in his own roundabout way.
For a ‘Credible Urge’
to raise up its head,
as strong as the last one,
which set his footsteps
wandering far away
from that life, wife and children,
his nature bade him leave behind.

editors note:

It  takes focus and determination to stay in the same place. – mh clay

Aye, Funny, Innit

featured in the poetry forum November 27, 2016  :: 0 comments

How you can drink yourself sober.
Love someone too much.
Be in the wrong place at the wrong time
and not even realize it
until Fate’s sealed up all boltholes.
Get out of bed on the wrong side.
Wear that smile on the other side of your face.
Why kicking a dog when it’s down
is to be applauded these days.
How everyone loves a Winner
but everybody wants to stop them getting there.
Solitude and Loneliness
have absolutely nothing to do with one another.
End a ten year marriage by squeezing
from the wrong end of the toothpaste tube.
The Left is wrong, the Right is wrong also
and the sensible answer
is sitting somewhere in the middle
but no one’s ever looking there.
You get in trouble for retaliating.
Most murders and rapes will be committed
by someone you’ve already
smiled at and shared a coffee with.

editors note:

We were laughing, until it happened… Not so funny, anymore. – mh clay

You Told Me To Blow My Own Trumpet… So I Did (Ignoring Your Sarcasm Completely!)

featured in the poetry forum September 3, 2016  :: 0 comments

I’m really glad that I took your bitchy advice
… I might never have left
that little bum-fuck Town.
Missed out on my travels, adventure & glory.
I might have remained there in a job I hated,
the same council house for years,
life nothing but a practical monotony… sigh.
Living solely for the unfaithful weekends
where I could pretend that I was hot shit again
for a few pathetic, desperate hours.
Then crawl home shamelessly to my other half,
hating them for reminding me, constantly,
that I had settled in life like the coward I would be.
No, I’m glad I stood up as you mocked
and bravely blew my own trumpet
whilst you merely resigned yourself to that fate!

editors note:

Practical monotony or impractical autonomy? Choices, choices… – mh clay

The Revenge Of The Dirty Laundress

featured in the poetry forum June 7, 2016  :: 0 comments

“Aye, but did you ever hear this one about them?
… come closer… shocking, I know… but there’s more.
And it wasn’t an isolated incident neither,
there’s a crooked streak running through that entire family.
I’m only telling you what’s already common knowledge.
Yes, really… give her an absolute dog’s life,
I know, butter wouldn’t melt and all that kack
but you know what they say about the quiet ones.
The Grandfather was also a nasty piece of work by all accounts,
I never met him personally, I’m picky with the company I keep.
There was also a wicked rumour going around about her…
yes, the other one… there’s no smoke without fire.
I don’t care what anyone says, once you’re a whore you stay one.
Anyways, I haven’t got all day to stand around here gossiping
it’s time I got back to minding my own business
and don’t you forget, you never heard a word of it from me!”

editors note:

The truly bad stuff about “them” never comes from any of us, right? – mh clay

I’m Dysfunctional Just Like You

featured in the poetry forum March 2, 2016  :: 0 comments

So let us join forces
and create a beautiful mess together.
Mentally handcuffed
to that cellar radiator
side by side.
How very uncommon our love will be,
I’m neurotically
swinging from the chandelier
just imagining
the magnificent affray
we will be causing
by our un-requiting
Convention’s silly airs and graces.
I love your outer scars
and imperfections
(it’s all but oil on canvas!)
and your inner fractures
make me gasp aloud
in ‘Oh Yes, At Last’ wonderment.
You are perfect,
from your insecure fidgeting
right down to your
OCD structure making
(Touch that door handle again
just one more time for me, baby!)
We’ll get married at Midnight,
when all the ordinary every day folk
are in bed asleep and out of the way
and honeymoon in Merthyr Tydfil
(It’s genius, they’ll never find us there!)
And we’ll have the
‘Hookah Smoking Caterpillar’
from Alice In Wonderland
to vicar over the magical proceedings.

editors note:

It’s a match made in Wonderland. “We’re all mad here…” – mh clay

Sick Of Being A Solivagant

featured in the poetry forum December 11, 2015  :: 0 comments

He took two planes first,
then caught a train taking him
from one country to the next
and finally rode a bus
up into the mountains
where his native folk dwell.
Twenty five years away travelling
it had been, he reminisced
as he traversed tenderly
his childhood greens and streets,
then took two back lanes around
to where Maisie’s mother lived.
M-A-I-S-I-E, he repeated
over and over in his head,
savouring each letter as it rolled
across his pining mind.
She had been his Sweetheart,
right up until the week he had left
and she was the only thing
about this place that a photograph
could not cure nor yearn-balm.
He nervously knocked thrice
upon the dark green front door
with cap in hand, spat and fingered
hair to the side and tried in vain
not to smile in greeting too weirdly.
She answered, gasping in shock,
stuttered “You’re far too late!”
And with a grandchild bouncing
in her right arm and a wedding
ringed left hand, she ‘shooo-ed’
him quickly off the doorstep
and backwards dizzy into the past.

editors note:

Can’t see what everyone else does. Reality blinded by his sense of past. – mh clay

The Night Sings Softly

featured in the poetry forum September 26, 2015  :: 0 comments

It’s melancholy lament,
in shifting shades of blue,
moon-white through the middle
and humming like a funny bone
drum symphony.
As your consciousness nestles,
fidgety in the armpit
and your mind drones on and on,
evading sleep like a ninja.
Chuckling mischievously
because those sheep
you started counting an hour ago
now have names, Mohawks, tattoos
and have split up into two rival
gang factions and are about to rumble
down by the Docks, somewhere…
in a place you have never been…
Somehow here’s your old school again,
well, a part of it anyway?
except when you turn this corner,
the corridor leads to Tesco’s,
except what it used to look like
back when you was just a boy…
There’s dice and pears and apples…
and playing the piano, carefully,
even though you never learnt…
And if you listen very quietly
you can just make out someone
slightly snoring… somewhere close by,
I’ll let you into a secret… it’s partly you.

editors note:

No, it’s all you… the whole thing is you… and me… and them… and everyone. – mh clay

Switch Your Groove

featured in the poetry forum July 25, 2015  :: 1 comment

Scattergun out all of those poisonous bullets
whilst sucker-punching that dark cloud
from around your slowly clearing head.
Germinate new energy and adrenalin
way down at the heart and soul’s core,
it’s the middle that matters, always.
Purge and vent the anger and frustration,
then count your blessings and lucky stars,
you made it through and out the other side.
Deconstruct depression, slap apathy away
from your face, put your best fighting foot
forward and brave the brand new day.
Take that bolthole you cleverly kept hidden,
drop the past baggage away from your back.
Time to start over again stronger and wiser,
switch your groove and get onto the right track.

© 2015

editors note:

Anytime you need to give yourself a good talking to, these words would do. Thanks, Paul! – mh clay

Seasons Within

featured in the poetry forum May 20, 2015  :: 0 comments

“But I’m only contemplating…leave me alone.”
she whispered.
Pulling the old, comforting shawl closer
about her salt & peppered hair.
The aching pain became almost unbearable
each second they stood there watching.
She started to rock back and fore, cross-legged
upon the cold, wooden floorboards.
She closed her eyes and listened to the cello’s
playing mournfully within her veins of blue.
Felt the tickle and rustling of the tiny empty nest
perched delicately inside her heart
as the biting winds of her conscience brushed by.
Her brain had long ago given up
upon the agony/humble puzzle…and was instead
busy weaving lengths of longing
into fishnets for catching daydreaming stars.
Temper caught nicely and finally nailed beneath her
as the owl of her soul blinked its eyes slowly
and started recounting the oak ring circles
of the many different Seasons Within.

© 2015

editors note:

Rotations, rings, recollections; the older the owl, the more to remember. – mh clay