World so still
between chaos eruptions
temporary quiet
giving hope a glimmer
memories moving in
heart settling
tranquil breeze
erasing tracks of tears
faraway rooftops
unseen decay
bent trees
appearing like bushes
rush of dread
highway near empty
path of smooth travel
places to visit
when yesterday had a future
promises and dreams
steep sky lifting
a blue moon.
The doomsters deal in reds. The blues are better. – mh clay
The restless crowd
Wearing the cloth of change
Infestation of our own doing
Friendship with fury
The tragedy of blame
Cough stains
A haunting hope
Free-for-all
But no one free
Most in a slow fit
Doing our time
Until done
When the rains come
Washing it all away
In floods and fire.
Playing on our news feeds now. – mh clay
We’re back but not bent
On the bottom list
Darker down here
Stars brighter
Easier to walk streets
Unnoticed and malnourished
Scribbling notes with a sharp pencil
Ignoring background traffic
Our brains on lines of poetry
Words and feelings struggling
On breaths of hopeful wisdom
Never knowing if we’ve started a riot
Robot flesh still kicking us aside
Deleting our factual history
A one-world-click
Ultimate maze of misery
They pass us blindly fixed
As we taste the final fruit of Spirit
They snake higher up their skyscrapers
For a longer lean into a fall
Funny how the few of us
Outcasts to oracles
Usually end up in silence
Sitting on a mountaintop
On breaths of hopeful wisdom
Never knowing if we’ve started a riot.
Prophets or perpetrators; maybe one in the same? We may not know, but we hope so. – mh clay
stillness over the streets
over the land
over the mountains
everyone stops
with a spirit to listen
this hush of sound
telling us
so much we do not know
we bow
asking Providence
our purpose
before the storm
blows our flowers from the fields.
Yes! Listen and let no one else tell you what you hear. – mh clay
Come hurt me
With your stinging rope of an attitude
Stripping me down
Watching your turquoise tattoo dance
In front of a curtainless window to the world
Your sexy smile and sharp teeth white as lightning
You’re a one-night woman
Unbroken by no one
As I die in all my tomorrows branded by you…
Ride the bronco, bitter to be bucked; unrequited cowboy. – mh clay
Off balance
They keep us
From liberating ourselves
Numbing our news
Hyping our games
Locked in with thumbs up
Omission of truth
Covered over with false flags
We’re nonchalantly hijacked
Speed in our milk
Salt on our wounds
Born dream-drugged
Eyes drifting backward
Butt heavy
Brain light
Expendable
At this rate
Waiting for the mushroom cloud
Hell
We’ll probably throw confetti
At the special effects
Stir-crazy for more
Guzzling drinks
Pinching the next-door neighbor
She’s an ample broad
Eagerly kissing the frog
Anything for a sex spank
When we finally fall
On our smug faces
We’ll just call for room service
The guy in red tennis shoes
With an endless appetite
For more and more of our ignorant souls.
Maybe we could keep our feet if we all wore red tennis shoes… (We welcome Stephen back to the fold of our Contributing Poets with this submission. We’re happy to see his mad missives on his own page again – check it out.) – mh clay
Time ticking
Our tilted heads
Only flesh fearing the inevitable
Infinite space the heart of God
Spirits living within that beat
So sweet
Never crying again
Forgetting all of this
That we have done.
An empty slate, all past is passed; God-beat achieved. – mh clay
Bring me down
from my madness
a high
acceleration
pumping
me into more
than I really am
ease into me
my only woman
crying
this time and ever
dwelling in your eyes
where I should
have never left.
I’ll be out
on the street
soon,
living in my car,
trunk full of clothes,
books I’ve read,
a couple pictures of the ex-wife,
sleeping bag in the backseat,
fogging the windows at night,
dreaming of home:
taking a hot shower,
TV on,
curtains closed,
door locked.
Folding inward to myself,
squeezing some emotion free,
something deep escaping,
exposing that
that I cannot contain,
loose in this chaotic world,
it flies away moaning,
declaring
there is more
to us
than a stick stirring a hole,
we have wings
unseen,
burdened with such a great guilt,
perhaps
if we fold inward to ourselves,
we’ll fill the sky.
