An auspicious event, a job interview, but what was I to wear for such a formal meeting? One suit could do but it needed matching shoes. The allowance money that I received every two weeks would have to be sacrificed. A pair of designer shoes on display met my eyes the moment I entered a grand store. I could not …
He spoke of the menace of ‘embers of Corona’
when coupling with flu in a joined force.
I thought of his use of the word embers
as a very inappropriate metaphor
and wished he’d stripped this hideous topic
of any aesthetic discourse.
The word is redolent in memory with beauty and hope.
When a child, I watched the embers of our fireplace
fade into a heap of paling gold.
Every log unveiled its secrets
in a spectacular, ashen form.
I adored their remnants
because from their midst a phoenix could be born.
The embers of a sunset always linger
for hours in my bosom.
I wait for the embers of a glowing word
to cool before I utter my response.
Even the embers of a dying passion
can warm a lonely soul.
Use pretty to dress pretty. No lipstick for the pig. (We welcome Susie to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay
Thrice you pleaded guilty before
a jury of four:
a rake, two ruffians, and a flamboyant bore.
The charge is feticide
of the puerile mind
that lay un-hatched in its paltry womb.
Thrice you puffed away your yawns
at judge and pawns.
The prosecutor began to snort
at your flagrant contempt of court,
at contaminating nasal ports
with the stench of a voracious tongue.
Thrice you gaped at the bleeding dawn,
awaiting execution on a new-shorn lawn,
no stake or twigs
or a to-be-crucifix
visible within your dwindling zone.
Thrice you felt the dragon gore
inside the marrow of your thoughts,
ravishing your ores,
depleting your wisdom with a bony straw,
dipped through a hole
they surreptitiously drilled into your subconscious core.
Pray there comes a count of four… – mh clay
He invited me to the swimming pool for a dip. I pondered over my bikini of too many low-cut bits. I could not think of myself at Bishopbriggs in such a strip. The name suggested a stronghold of monks that a monastic vein in my heart had always cherished. I deliberated over the matter with a troubled wit then decided …
I live by a harbor in the Mediterranean Sea,
where a breed of mosquitoes with enhanced immunity
has robbed my Summer and Autumn nights of elysian sleep.
I pray for Winter to kill their unhatched offspring
but coldness that relieves brings pain in its wake:
it displaces birds with sparse and denuded trees,
kills butterflies and other fragile species.
We pay for the sins of Adam and Eve,
but what have birds done to almightiness
that freezes the frail on frosted twigs?
I confess thoughts that many would consider blasphemous.
If I were a god, I would keep warm with the palms of my hands every feathered friend;
I would decree an exodus of butterflies to every household that has to have a winter-proof compartment,
where children and butterflies play as snowflakes perform their annual rituals;
I would forbid killing for sustenance,
so no creature will have to feed on the other in a cycle of violence;
I would erase the stigma of Cain from every forehead;
I would allow man to pluck apples that are sagacious;
I would not inflict everlasting suffering because of a single act of disobedience;
I would be more forgiving.
Praise this god for a fine and benign, new creation (but, no mosquitoes, right?). – mh clay
Out of concern her family keeps a constant watch over her, the youngest leaf on an ancient tree, so very eager to flutter with the slightest breeze. Filial feelings dictate on nearby twigs to sermonize the little chick whose veins contain the thinnest blood. Deep-rooted in the soil, her father is keen on having his fretful kid enjoy a gravity-free …
The fighter jet decimates each cloud. Smoke cloaks each house with a pall of dust. The smell of burning tires enhances the stench of smoldering rubbish that emanates from the metal containers punctuating our streets and lanes. A car squeals its venom terrorizing the heart of night. The rattle of bullets rends the air like a snake, ensnared. I inhale …
Not everything in my childhood was forged with gold. We frequently stayed with our indulging grandparents and basked in their trustworthy hands, but I was occasionally entrusted to the care of the treacherous type, a few family friends with whose children I was accustomed to play. We were once driven to a steep cliff that overlooked a vast expanse of …
I eventually change accommodation and occupy a new flat that is an improvement on the first but totally unfurnished. The move is costly for me after surgery expenses. There is no money left with which to furnish two sunlit rooms with a balcony that has tree-fringed villas for company. It is an affluent neighborhood and each family keeps to itself. …
He asks me to count to ten. I am lying in a bare and chilly room on a very high and narrow bed, which he helps me to mount with the aid of a few steps. I’m wearing a pair of feather-light slippers. He looks so ridiculous in his green cap, a strange color for such a muscular man who …
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