Birthday Boy

featured in the poetry forum January 7, 2023  :: 1 comment

He’s 10 today.

He says, “I’m
Almost a

“Take your
I said.

He’s 10 today.

In 2 years, this
Lover of Hot Wheels
And Roblox will be
Seen to the world
As a menace.

His life will be in
The hands of society’s

When the arm of
Racism suffers
From withdrawals,

It could use him
For a taste. And
His death would
Be celebrated.

This is what I
Think about
As he blows out
His candles.

editors note:

May the only candles lit for these boys be on their cakes. – mh clay

Bootleg Therapy

featured in the poetry forum April 8, 2021  :: 0 comments

There’s too much
Pressure to take.
I won’t eat, so
I keep losing weight

I sleep way too much
Cuz I won’t get outta bed.
Just wanna spend my life
In this room instead.

Bae says get help. Get
Therapy. Try my luck.
Hit up Google; made a
Call. $75 an hour? Da Fuck?!

That little ole help is
Too high for me to seek.
But this $20 bottle of Evan
Williams should last a week.

That and some lemon
Is all I need.
Bootleg therapy
Yes, indeed.

Bae says “Get up love!
I fixed some eggs.”
I say, “No.”
Bae says “Try the doctor.
They got some meds.”
I say, “So.”

Gotta pay for the visit
Whether or not I’m sick.
And I heard the cheap stuff
I can afford fucks up yo dick.

I got me some juice & gin,
And some Henny Hen Hen
And neither of them has ever
Allowed my nature to bend.

Making Bae and me feel
Good is all I need
Bootleg therapy
Yes, indeed.

Bae packed her bags.
Now she’s gone.
Don’t know why.
I did nothing wrong.

Now I’m left alone to
Deal with my shit
Oh, and by the way, FUCK
KANYE WEST! Yes, I said it.

Money can’t buy happiness
I guess we all got it bad.
But cash will point you to
The direction of why you sad.

Me? Maybe some will
Spot me some weed.
Bootleg Therapy
Yes, indeed.

editors note:

Delivered in a brown paper bag, behind the 7-11 in the dead of night. Feelin’ better already. Yes, indeed! – mh clay

The Drive By

February 27, 2021  :: 0 comments

In a world where the oppressors rationalized injustice with the cliche “On both sides,” it was always same shit, different day. Until one day Darth Vader slow-creeped toward Earth in his Death Star and beamed down with his stormtroopers. He came to destroy the planet but morning sex put him in a good mood. “Because I like to be entertained …


featured in the poetry forum September 25, 2020  :: 0 comments

Gotta question, bro!
Gotta question, sis!

Ain’t y’all tired?

That constantly
Moving the
Goal post.

It must be really
Heavy, and weighing
More with each lift.

Sitting it just far
Enough to keep
Your ideals in
The game.

Moving the post
So far to the right
That you are too
Far from the right side.

Sports should not be
Life. There is no
Nobility in blind

Yet here y’all are.
Blindly hanging on.

Ain’t y’all tired?

I am just watching you.

editors note:

Answers? … Anyone? … Anyone? – mh clay

Revelation Wars

July 18, 2020  :: 0 comments

For decades anyone in the world who wanted protection from the evil, brutal hands of reality could rely on one hero. That hero is CAPTAIN WHATABOUTISM! Armed with the powers of double-speak, explosive Red Herrings, Cloak of Hypocrisy, the Self-Righteous Shield of Deflection, and his super computer Social Media, Captain Whataboutism is able to protect the people who lives in …


featured in the poetry forum March 12, 2016  :: 0 comments

The older I get,
The longer this is.

Wanting to save,
Them all.

But I’m no god, you
Can say I got it

Bound by the chains
Of reality. Looking
Across a field of hope,
Fenced in the end
By doubt.

So, I look up and I…


When (if) there’s good news,
My soul lifts with
Foolish pride.

As though I had
Something to do
With it.

editors note:

Get him on the main line, tell him what you want. (Damn! No signal out here.) – mh clay

A Juke Joint Christmas

featured in the poetry forum December 28, 2014  :: 0 comments

Here, at Ida Mae’s,
Christmas dinner is
A huge pot of gumbo
Made by the owner.

This is her family now.

And at four-foot-nothing, she’s
Still “Big Mama.” Everybody’s families,
Friends and lovers? Dead or gone.
They drink to their names either to
Praise or curse.

But some just love the welcoming
Fragrance of piss, cigarettes and
Stale beer.

“Hey, Big Mama! If my wife calls, tell
Her I ain’t here!”

And Ida Mae gives him a smile and a wink
As she strolls to the jukebox to play
“Silent Night” by the Temptations.

editors note:

Long after the Day is gone, our Holiday memories live on. This one from Roderick recalls one about (someone’s, everyone’s) Mother Christmas. – mh

The Story About a Dog’s Name

November 14, 2014  :: 0 comments

One day a twenty-something white woman was walking down a sidewalk, in the suburbs, when she bumped into an elderly black man. She was startled because this man was walking the biggest Rottweiler anyone has ever seen. “What a big dog!” the white woman said. “What’s his name?” The man then tied the dog to a tree and told him …


featured in the poetry forum August 11, 2014  :: 0 comments

Run little black boy!
The gun went off; the race began
And the starting line’s still where you stand.
It doesn’t help that you have shoes of concrete,
While the rest got new kicks on their feet.

Little black boy, you need to get to running!

The race is harder for you; no use of complaining
That sunshine’s everywhere, but your lane is raining.
Crying and yelling that this ain’t fair ain’t gon’ help you.
Neither is beggin’, “Slow down!” No! Here’s what you do!


Many have tried and failed. Many already paved the way.
You will help others behind you with the dues you about to pay.
So gotta work harder than everybody if you wanna see the end.
Gotta work even harder than that if you wanna chance to win.

But nothing will happen if you don’t get to running!

editors note:

The Level Playing Field of Life, more level for some than others. (Roderick says he wrote this one “in dedication to Maya Angelou and as always Langston Hughes.” Well done, Rod!) – mh

Play The Role

featured in the poetry forum May 18, 2013  :: 0 comments

We should all be
Like white women in
50’s B-movies.

They screamed to the
Top of their lungs,

Eyes bulged out to
The size of volleyballs

Their hands either pressed
On their pale cheeks or
Extended out as they
Look away.

Because the evil thing
Covered in plastic and makeup
Creeps along to seal their doom.

There might be something
They can do to prevent it
(Such as the logical idea of
Running), but they don’t.

They scream motionless
Hoping someone hears and
Saves them – but they won’t.

Yeah, we should all be doing
That right now. Scream. That’s
The only thing missing.

editors note:

Aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee, helpmehelpmehelpmehe-e-e-e-e-e-elp! (The monster is still there…) – mh