The End, the Beginning

featured in the poetry forum January 1, 2021  :: 0 comments

On the cusp of a planetary turning, I seek
an oracle. Surely a bush will burn away
the mystery that covers the next year, carve
paths for me to follow. Far beyond, wavering
purple and yellow walls emit auroral noises.
Hissing. Cracking. Barely visible behind
a translucent veil of arctic air, I glimpse
the fluttering wings of a prehistoric bird, visitor
from a land of myth, an intelligence I meet
for the first time on this vulnerable morning.
It flashes and flares, a creature made of fire.
Preening. Stomping. The sky’s vocalizations
fly miles through the atmosphere into dreams,
into nightmares—the random, uncanny groans
of something beyond knowing, something ancient
that lives apart but among us, who cries a warning,
who pleads for existence. A message
not just for me, but for us all. What will we do?
Its language is not ours.

editors note:

As we leave the dumpster fire that was 2020 behind, what manner of phoenix will rise from those ashes in the year ahead? We’re trying to find the words… – mh clay

One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes

featured in the poetry forum August 7, 2020  :: 0 comments

Based on the Grimm story.

I am the lonely spirit
who whooshes among rocky crags
in a frigid wind.

The pulsing galaxy sends
ancient harmonies
and I listen.

The capacious night
that rides with me
avenges.

Starved child,
imprisoned child,
enslaved child,

imagine a ridge or riverbank.
Sit there.
I will hear your tears.

I am the shapeshifting crone
beside you,
wearing clothes spun with spells.

These poems in my pocket—
eat them.

A new life begins
after the first bite.

editors note:

Yes! Bring your appetite. (We welcome Peggy to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Gift of the Autumn Forest

featured in the poetry forum October 4, 2019  :: 1 comment

a cub-sized lump
slumps against
dark asphalt

magenta slit
in blue-black fur—
a goner

six crows make
a hexagonal shape
around him

obsidian feathers
like priestly garb
at this fresh altar

birches release
yellow leaves
glitter from a silver sky

falls on land old as myth
blesses the greedy
with death’s largesse

editors note:

This murder brings no conviction except that greed is good. – mh clay

Party Sex

featured in the poetry forum September 10, 2017  :: 0 comments

My roommate Mark
spends the weekend
on a broken flute, pipes
its one note to political friends.
Do they know the Revolutionary
Trotskyite League voted
to prohibit oral sex?

Through a bus window I see
a familiar Party member ride
a rusty bicycle. He stops to staple
Party flyers onto kiosks. Skinny pony,
drab army jacket, tattered Keds,
I admire his thin body, his
self-imposed poverty, imagine
us on a narrow bed, bare walls,
small room, his hand raised
in restraint. “No. Not that.”

He rides his bike from tree
to tree. In my mind, he
is not free. Except of me.

editors note:

When it’s time to go independent… Yes. That! – mh clay