“I feel nothing but contempt towards him,” said she, her lips curling in revulsion involuntarily. “Contempt with intensity,” responded he, after a long contemplation of her very expressive face. “I never thought unrequited love could engender so much hate. No, it’s rather malice of a rare breed,” resumed she, with apparent difficulty. “Did you break his heart?” asked he, in …
An Elegy
featured in the poetry forum November 21, 2023 :: 0 commentsI view two carcasses lying in a murky blot.
Despite many wars,
I never get used to the sight of death.
I wonder why they so readily embrace perdition
just to lick the diluted traces of our food
on this very busy washstand.
We tread on them
and they march in files
with indifference,
never heeding gigantic footprints,
or the steps of those who crush them to feel
their greatness.
editors note:
Their ant-ics are unnoticed until irritating in some way. – mh clay
The Geostorm
September 16, 2023 :: 0 comments
It groans in the West-North corner of our apartment. I do not know why its wailing brings Wuthering Heights and the Irish banshees to my mind. Only this household is without a child. The lightning flashes as in some Hollywood horror episode. We wonder whether to stay or depart. We opt to spend another night in our not-very-spacious car. I …
Who Said!
featured in the poetry forum September 11, 2023 :: 0 commentsWho said I cannot abort your wayward words
before they attain your vocal cords!
and who said I cannot abort the smile
with which you aspire to paint your mouth!
Who said I cannot de-fraud the air
that each belligerent lip exhales
and who said I cannot de-shroud the intent
of every evil you contend.
Who said I would not be able to contort
the beautiful mirage your verbs extoll
and who said I could not expose
the vermin that lurks within discourse.
Who said!
editors note:
Your answer is not required. – mh clay
In the Wake of the Earthquake: 6 Feb 2023
featured in the poetry forum June 12, 2023 :: 0 commentsMy eyes mirror the cracks in buildings
and in hearts,
in the pupils of children
who now dread sleeping in their beds.
My pulse beats louder than the bowels of the earth
and fear wrenches my quietude
like the gale that preceded the earthquake.
The ground beneath my feet quails
like a giddy quicksand
for gravity has departed from this region
that is benighted with wars,
with disease,
with seismic unrest.
editors note:
Wake walkers, beware. – mh clay
All Men Kill the Thing They Love
May 27, 2023 :: 0 comments
I do not keep birds in cages. People resent my attitude as a type of sheer sentimentalism. They remind me that fauna were created for their service and entertainment. As for my vegetarianism, it is a blasphemy against the generosity of a god who sanctioned animal slaughtering. Sheep are kindred spirits, admit the animal-loving, but they were born to be …
Medieval
March 18, 2023 :: 0 comments
It all started with an essay that one of his students wrote for a composition test. It bore no relevance to the topics proposed, so it naturally got a zero for being off-point, but it was easy to recognize who wrote that irrelevant piece because that test was preceded by a CD that introduced the topic to a very unsuspicious …
Metamorphosis
featured in the poetry forum February 20, 2023 :: 0 commentsWhen Simon had lathered with lavender my branches
and smoothed entangled twigs with massages,
a pair of scissors advance to subdue
the wild overgrowth of my unruly wood.
With no rape-of-the-lock sort of attitude
only the weeds lose livelihood.
I shed no tears on beheaded boughs
nor sing a requiem for severed parts.
I observe his hands in masterful orchestration,
neither gripping
nor clutching the maestro’s brush,
his fingertips waltzing in full concentration,
caressingly reshaping the complying locks.
In the mirror we gaze
at my altered face,
the fringe that vies with Cleopatra’s.
With ‘Merci’ and a smile
he bows out of view,
with metamorphoses all day to ensue.
editors note:
A trimmed tree, tickled. – mh clay
Dribble
January 28, 2023 :: 0 comments
I paused to cast a subtle glance at my facade to check if something looked awry for the public eye. I quickly looked at my zip whose little ring sat snug beneath my belt, safeguarding the intimate part of my fabric. I searched for any prints that my doting dog might have left. The upper part of my cardigan was …
Frail
featured in the poetry forum December 6, 2022 :: 0 commentsFrail is the nail
which can’t make me shriek,
the hail that pelts
my petals and speech,
the gale that rips
my roof and peace
for I shall know much better days.
Frail is the pen
whose ink has congealed,
the veil that shrouds
a veracious tale,
the spam that haunts
my fertile mail,
for bubbles will burst in the air.
editors note:
Almost no trouble to burst a bubble. Frail, indeed! – mh clay