From Sound to Words

featured in the poetry forum February 19, 2019  :: 0 comments

Traveling at a high rate of speed
Like the wings of a humming bird,
From fruitful melodies
And higher cliffs,
Where music reached into the clouds
And mingled with the
Voices of the rain,
It followed me into the darkness
And touched my silent wits,
Myself without substance or worth,
A pebble washed up upon the shore,
And illuminated my soul
With a liquid flame
And drew open the
Curtains of the universe
As I peeked into its pulsating heart
And saw the alpha and the omega,
The gardens of pure thought,
Voices not of this world
But of a sound that touched my spine.

As I wrote the first word
I could sense that my hand
Didn’t belong to me.
It was part of another planet,
A sphere of dreams and higher thought.
I was a genius who knew nothing.
I could feel the words
Flowing into my body,
My prison, my inhibitions, my world,
Hammering them into my mind,
My child of seasoned thought,
Looking into the world with big eyes.

I, of inherited thought,
A manufactured genius,
A child still lost in the wilderness,
Tried to understand what I wrote
As I stood amazed at
What the music did to me.

editors note:

A man, no script, to manuscript; muse-ic man. – mh clay

The Rage

featured in the poetry forum November 19, 2018  :: 0 comments

Out in the wild where danger lurks,
She curses and stomps her unholy feet.
She moves ahead at a speed unmatched,
Without warning, striking like a viper,
As she devours everything in her path.
She sings to the Sultan of the wicked wind,
To the glory of Mother Nature’s strength,
To the power beyond all earthly power,
And whistles from her colossal pipes,
A song to the devil, her romantic fling,
Her love affair with the macabre,
An ode to disaster and what it brings,
A digging into the bowels of the earth,
And dragging out the life once lived,
Stuffing it through her fat salivating lips,
Swallowing it like the hungry seas,
Laughing at the way it goes down and down,
Like a dying ship on the way to its fate.

She is a lady with no love nor tears.
Her perilous beauty is in her vortex.
She plays with life as if it were a toy.
She hides high up in the skies,
Then strikes without warning,
And sweeps up everything in her way.

She’s that wild twisted wind,
That impenitent tornado,
That unwelcome guest,
That devil’s whistle,
That hungry child,
That bestial one,
She is, she is.

editors note: We can only hunker down, till she passes; clean up after. – mh clay

Airs Trouvere

featured in the poetry forum February 19, 2018  :: 0 comments

That force that came in search of me,
From the city streets and from the sea,

From heated passion and raging fires,
From solemn melodies and melted lyres.

It came into my house, my frozen palace.
It slipped through the guards, the hallway past.

It took me prisoner with its own silent words.
It flavored my breath with its exotic herbs.

It threw me into the ocean and set me adrift.
It hovered over me then gave me a lift.

It dug into my heart with its gilded shovels.
It dragged me thru’ stately mansions and hovels.

It took life and hung it over my rusty eyes.
That I may see the silent words of the wise.

It dressed up the rhetoric in flamboyant suits,
And marched it in front with drums and flutes.

It swirled with the tempest and played roulette.
It climbed in my dream and brought the sunset.

It broke into my house in the name of poetry,
That power that came and left me be,

As my feet were implanted in the ground therein,
My heart broke loose and danced with the wind.

editors note:

Sweet reverie, come dance with me. Thanks, Robert! – mh clay

Air Dancers

featured in the poetry forum October 23, 2017  :: 0 comments

Where homes are houses
And shoes are anchors,
Bound to the earth that
Sings out of tune,
The flight of music is a wounded bird
And dancers all have weighted wings.
Poetry is the hub of assorted data
And stories are lists of vital instructions.
Sleep is a refuge for all the rebels
And dreams are for the disenchanted.
Sound is an obstacle to the flow of music
And the passion is for heated lovers only.

Air dancers leave the earth while they dance.
They roll with the sound of the silent clouds.
They twist their bodies to the mood of the rain.
They fly into stories of space and beyond.
They kiss the angels and jump into heaven.
They sing with their feet in the mystical air,
As they dance with the poetry
Of their playful minds,
And laugh with the wind
As they sail into forever,
While disconnected to that rocky sphere,
That planet of various
Weights and measures,
That earth that touches the dancers’ feet.

editors note:

Yes! For the dancers who have broken free; may we follow them, rejoicing. – mh clay

Beautiful Danger

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

You with your dark knights in the wings
Dancing to the rites of the macabre
Your sweet arsenals on the alert
Your honeyed poison on your lips

Your sensual arrows pierce my stone heart
Touching my blood with their blazing torches
Watching it boil with their scheming eyes
While my nervous breath races with the unfamiliar

You climb inside of me with your perilous charm
Your devious smiles that quicken my spirit
You sing love songs to the dark side of me
In the shadows of my forbidden dreams

My adrenalin is a river of rage and romance
It sings with dark angels on lofted grounds
Of crimson sunsets falling through black holes
And nervous palms raised toward the sky

You lead me into dark forests with your smiles
Your beautiful hands that scorch my blood
Danger is a love poem from the lips of the departed
Eternal stories sent down from perilous cliffs

Beautiful danger, you smell of sweet perfume
You grasp my heart with your silky fingers
And cast it into raging rivers and quiet interludes
You are a love story written by restless hands

Beautiful danger, take me with you
You make my spirit rise to your heights

editors note:

Breathless bumpkins, we; longing for larger lungs. – mh clay

Spinal Kneading

featured in the poetry forum June 11, 2017  :: 0 comments

Oh sweet music with thy soft fingers
Come and knead me as heaven lingers
Run up my spine on angel trails
Roll with the waves and burrowed swales

Bring thy melodies to love’s holy feast
Riding on the sun and rising from the east
Prepare me for the sacred fire where love goes
Into an exotic world as heaven only knows

Move inside as tempests flow and flowers sing
As love takes up residence and residues cling
Command my limbs to dance with the sound
Release my tired feet from their earthly bound

Thank you music from your heavenly depths
My spinal kneading followed its dreamy steps
The language of the spirits took form inside
From this day forth I shall abide

Music, sweet music, oh sweet music!

editors note:

Massage by muse; a little lower and to the left… right… there! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 9, 2017  :: 0 comments

Random words scattered into space
An empty book, no name, no face
Of hungry chasms waiting to be filled
Room for fallow souls to be tilled

As tasty words long for confinement
Of sacred thoughts for their enshrinement
Each go to their own proper places
As empty music pines for uplifting basses

Words are the calming of all-out rages
Or the riling of too tranquil stages
Each combination serves its rightful mood
A savory platter of passion’s food

An ode to words and their influential power
Like nature drawing a bee to a flower
Combinations gather up the best they can
For the spirit to flourish since time began
To love, to fight, to laugh, and to cry
An ode to words and their rousing combinations
Words, you have served me well
I thank you from the bottom of my
Poetic heart

editors note:

Yes! No words, no wonder. – mh clay

Ameba Pride

featured in the poetry forum October 10, 2016  :: 0 comments

Lift your heads high amebas
If you have heads to lift
If you don’t have heads
Then what do you have?
If you lift your feet
Will you fall on your butts?
If you don’t have butts
Then what do you have?

No more jokes
Will be aimed at you
You do have feelings
That we overlooked before
For that we’re so very sorry

Ameba pride is what you deserve
You can walk? or march?
Swagger? swim? or ride?
With fortitude and confidence
If we laughed at you before
We take it all back
You deserve much more than that
You will always remain
The most noble
Of all the nobles
Ameba pride is what you deserve

editors note:

I say “amoeba,” you say “ameba.” Either way, say it proudly! – mh clay

Damn Those Poet Gods

featured in the poetry forum July 17, 2016  :: 1 comment

Sleepless nights and distant days
Through thorns and sordid blinding haze
Pushed through comfort and rest about
Steady hands molding faith in doubt
Stopping when hell is a sacred place
And earth is a lofted planet keeping pace

Those damn poet Gods and their pushy ways
I’m a rag doll losing my way thru the maze
My own thoughts are sufficient words unheard
A ragged warbling from a song-less song-bird
My pride is an anchor wrapped around my feet
A sweetness dipped in a sauce made bittersweet

How beautiful those commanding poet Gods
I hear their words, their palpitating vocal throbs
The overbearing ways they enter my mind
Their passionate journey to find what they find
Their dashing to my heart like a shooting star
I stand amazed in awe for what they are
Those damn poet God’s, please come again
I beseech thee to blow your breath on me. Amen.

editors note:

As we are damned by them. Amen. – mh clay

Little Slot Boy

featured in the poetry forum April 18, 2016  :: 0 comments

Little slot boy that you are
Running through the middle
Lost among those big ferocious giants
Who eat little boys for breakfast
As lions eat Christians
And missiles overpower spears

Life made giants for football
And made you for knitting sweaters
Don’t venture onto the gridiron
Life is short enough
You are up for the kill
Stay home where it’s safe
Little slot boy,
Where are you going?

Oh no, you’re lining up in the slot?
Or hiding in the backfield?
With all those giants all around?
Now you’re getting lost in the middle
And they can’t find you
When they see you, you are dead
You, you little needle in a haystack
You little Speedy Gonzales around the bend
You greased pig, you invisible little brat
You’re in for a great big spanking
When they find you if they can
What is that you got in your hands?
Is that a football you’re carrying
Across the goal line?
Hurray for little slot boys!!!
Hurrah, hurrah!!!

editors note:

Underdogs everywhere, arise! Hurrah! – mh clay