B.S. (Before Sobriety)

featured in the poetry forum January 24, 2019  :: 0 comments

‘This is bull-shit’,
I thought to myself,
as this burned out
record producer poured
most of my ‘blow ski’ into a
vial of water and baking soda.
When it had coagulated
into solid form,
I took a hit from a
small glass pipe…
Heart pounded…
couldn’t swallow…
got the fear!
The others took to it like
flies to shit and started
handing him their vials.
I needed air.
I stepped out on the balcony.
There was a girl passed out in
a lounge chair, whom I didn’t
even bother to try and wake.
In the cool and clear of the
evening I could see the LA skyline
from Boyle Heights downtown to
Santa Monica Beach.
I opened my shirt against the
misty-cool night in an attempt
to un-alter myself.
When I could swallow again it
took me over a pint of Scotland’s
finest to feel normal again.
No more of that crap…
This could lead to ruination.
I didn’t touch that shit again…
even when it became fashionable.

editors note:

Sometimes, it takes “the fear!” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 16, 2018  :: 0 comments

Crazy like that time
drunk on the high seas
with no life jackets.
Or seeing how high
you can count while
driving with eyes closed.
(Got to 64 once).
Enough about me.
I don’t know if she’s crazy.
She talks as if so.
Seems like some ‘lord’ or
another has got her
lock, stock, & barrel.
Got her believing in…faith;
stuff not seen or known.
Crazy like Russian roulette
with an automatic.
Bucking the odds in a
disreputable casino….
drinking without thirst.
Back to me.
Maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe I’m crazy.
Maybe I’m too crazy
to realize I’m crazy.
Maybe I do come from dust
and not from amoeba.
From women, not apes.
I’m not crazy!
I know those voices aren’t
real…especially the one
that says it’s G-d.

editors note: Everyone is normal when crazy determines crazy. (We welcome S.A. to our (normally) crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Long Wait

November 23, 2014  :: 0 comments

A swim at the beach by night
and a bottle of cheap ‘Port’.

Beans and weenies at the hotel.

The muted sound of a Sax from
an open window across the alley.

An orange moon begs to share
light despite the drawn curtains.

Love lies dying in the dark
she exhales like a deflated balloon.

Alone now—

Once again, fighting the long
wait until dawn.

Out of drink…
Out of smokes…
Out of luck.

Losing the fight thus far.

editors note: “All good things come to those who wait!” say those who got what they waited for. – mh clay

Perfect Isolation

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

Hiding out in the mid-night blue.
Old school cool jazz blowing hot.
Felines present purr their own songs,
in the smoke-filled room.
Peanut-butter and honey sandwiches;
more coffee and smokes.
Fingers on the keys, unconscious dictation.
The wind rustling through the chimes
outside sends a momentary chill to the blood.
The machine takes another call;
don’t feel like talking right now…as usual.
Let nothing intrude but the senses.
Hiding out again…and always.
Bless this perfect isolation.

editors note: When “unconscious dictation” comes best; when it’s only you, yourself and… – mh clay