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

… Leaving, she saw them eat
Her words and
The left-over gravy

In that comprised tumbled-
Down shack where
The hawk-weed grows

But doesn’t erase
The colour
Of absence – or

The stony telling
There by
A turnstile gate

As she, still with
Her smiling
Beauty on

Waved an even darker

editors note:

Leave your reveries (and your recipes) behind. Ascend! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 17, 2019  :: 0 comments

… At times like these, I wish
The great slab
Of blue and
Horses’ manes
In the wind to
Their science
To landscape
And sculpture out
A space for living:

The pigeon cowers
By monuments
At times like these.

I pack my luggage
For something to do
At times like these.

Drink un-afforded white-horse spirits:
Imagining Mayans in all Levis
Swishing by…

At times
These times.

editors note:

Our mental Mayans with nowhere to hide. Levis ain’t living space. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 2, 2019  :: 0 comments

In pursuit of the common touch
They wanted to know
If I’d stake
My life on it.

Vive la difference!

What I’m most curious of – is,
Would they then raise
Defiant fists
If I didn’t.

editors note:

To say makes true, but to swear makes news. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum December 24, 2018  :: 0 comments

There are specks of blood
On the freeway.
A dog’s met death.
Met it head-on.
We allow some sort of pity.

There are specks of blood
Of a different kind,
A kind that can’t be seen – when
Someone’s ravaged a forest,
Or a Eucharist’s become a black hole.

There are specks of blood, historic
Specks, left to be gloried at.
Zelda. Lorca. The common lovers:
Anthony and Cleopatra
And all the King’s men.

There are specks of blood
About the satellite cities.
No longer do we believe in the stars.
The planets. Our Milky-way’s
Turned a blood red sea.

There are specks and more specks
Upon your motherly aprons
America! Russia! Your
Off-spring grow weak
With that manic menopause.

There are specks of blood
On the lips of the many ‘saviours’.
Hell is on holiday.
Lucifer’s taken his leave.
Gabriel… he’s armed and dangerous.

editors note:

All I want for Christmas are (2) white handkerchiefs; (1) to stop the flow, and (2) to call for parley. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum October 13, 2018  :: 0 comments

I take it, the crust
Of the moment,
One word
At a time…

Move it
Cross country
Past the livery
Stable, the train’s

Box-cars, all
‘A hoot’
On the half hour
Siding where

… Same as Great
I put it
In a pipe

And smoke it.

editors note: Yup! Ride them rails as far as they’ll take ya. Better to smoke than be smoked. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum July 15, 2018  :: 0 comments

When he whispers incantations
Across the ceremonial pit
In late winter
The last snow-drift orbits
The tree tops
Like smoke
On a morning stroll
Headed towards
Infinity’s skylight.

Praise abounds. The sun soars.
Raven gives
A jocular
Caw matched only
By the smiling Elder
Who has
My father’s eyes and more.

With hands wide open – we
Spread the wealth.

editors note:

Add double the bubble to your toil, no trouble. Magic as money to spend on you. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum March 25, 2018  :: 0 comments

If my hand hadn’t trembled so
I’d not have
Let go of the moon.
Pluto and Mars
Wouldn’t be
Warring it up
And I, I needn’t be left
To conquer
One dismal room
With a fountain-pen,
Four off-white
Walls – and
My head aside
As paper-weight.

editors note:

Had it, just a moment ago… Paper-weight? Maybe doorstop to keep it open for the gods’ return. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum December 2, 2017  :: 0 comments

Consider the ash
In its 3rd degree,
The Partisan
Made of me.

I succumbed, but
Only when
Someone had to
Lead the band

Out, over the walls
Of the Infirmary –.

Aspired, will fire
A line
So slick:

Was there no
More to this
The music?

editors note:

Maybe, if it’s got a beat you can dance to… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 6, 2017  :: 0 comments

Walking the rainbow’s trellis,
Sun slung to my right arm,
Moon on my left…

Whoever says
Does not offend;

Levels of sanity

Just take that rainbow,

To a fault.

editors note:

Beauty abounds for the open eye; it’s all possible. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 8, 2017  :: 0 comments

Now, finally, I want to carry the clear corn
Resurrected in my grandmother’s veil.
I want to place the selenium where
It must sustain the object
Of this most cautious of customs;
Retain forever the bread Host’s transmutation.

Smoke is rising from the chimney. I will.
Bounteous mother, treat our guests
To a wake of your finery. Figs,
I have gathered.
Tomatoes and crushed almonds!
Sweet yellow wine is to be shared with
The herdsman’s son,
The Carabinieri and those

From the grotto. Not wastrel nor saint
Should forget how you sang
And nurtured here. Concordantly, the eyelids
Will be covered by the palms of your
Confettied hospice. Crickets hum
In nearby thickets. At yuletide I’ll toss

The sachet of camomile into the lava’s
Compendium… then
Lay down
With the corn.
With the veil.

editors note:

Take what’s passed until we are past. – mh clay