featured in the poetry forum December 12, 2021  :: 0 comments

Exactly what on earth is one to do
About the thoughtlessly persistent steep ringing

Of a desultory bell vibrant reminding
You so of stern sharp winds scouring a desolate heath

That starts as scullery-dull loud discordant clang
Admonitory in tone, c!ashing in its dissonance,

Then lo, reverberates all around the house
Like ponderings at a mighty precipice

Startling you into all-ears grating attention,
A test of prime pineapple-like endurance,

And slowly dissipates in its fervour
As afterthoughts gather momentum

And the brink of the cliff perilous situation abates
As it begins to strenuously take on

The disappointed inconsolable tone
Of the dejected ringer, that exhausted

Visiting hand that is slowly but surely
On that verge of dissuasion giving up

Expecting someone to promptly answer
With precision and champion the precious cause
Any time soon.

editors note:

Both ringer and rung, through wringer till wrung. – mh clay

Tiptoe Through Talk

featured in the poetry forum September 14, 2021  :: 0 comments

Loud blabbermouths spout unkind things without e’en meaning to
And you would do well not to take it all to heart.
Compulsive talkers talk their heads off till they strain fatigue you
But they themselves stay fresh lark-chirpy playing their part.

Beware the one that tries to win you over willy-nilly
Going on as though his honour’s at stake
And salesman’s suave polished tones far from wobbly wibbly
That without so much as a twinge sell as ready the half-bake.

While it is good to be open spontaneous, like at booth well-manned,
It being awkward to measure each uttered word;
For conversation sounds stilted when thought, preplanned,
Its beauty lies in the flow’s own twists and turns blurred.

Still, be always right, seldom hurt with careless blathering,
Thoughts clear thought out are preferable to blabbering.
Tiptoe through talk forthright, treat kind the wayside sprig.
Beating about the bush harshly only damages each twig.

editors note:

While weighing your words, might’s well mind your mien, too. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum May 24, 2021  :: 0 comments

Ah for those lazybones all slothful bears
Happily in dreaminess’s hands’ hibernation,
Whereas we lacklustre sans energy enthusiasm
Are confronted by this winter of stagnation.

No strict agendas to adhere to, no disciplinary control,
What’s far from wanted is precision!
Why such a drifter’s vague, lax life many of us would like,
Where we neither make nor endorse or ratify any decision.

editors note:

The perks of being vapid in a vacuum. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 6, 2020  :: 0 comments

Skirting the harsh enormity of the issue,
The hold dynamic of the binding vortex,
Wild violets and vast vermilions wander
Into the upheld rising day
Seeking the sun’s snap equilibrium.

Fluffy like scrambled eggs, sunbeams emerge
Exhorting promises of providence,
Oblivion repositories in store,
Threshold and pressure point of no return.
Extinction’s only for the enemy!

Rehearsals of all possible enactments,
Scenes of and from the piquantly glazed glass
Of fluid rigid mask-like memory,
Commence all vulnerability taut tense,
Utilising all kinds of stage props imaginable,
Slick entries and tactfully managed exits,
All that benignly ushered you straight in,
Well-timed like perfectly oared routine act.

So look inside and wade through the aeons
Of time in a glazed thread flash instant
And see and relish all that there looks golden,
All that cooks and simmers snugly inside.
The pressure of time’s lid is no longer on you.

The obsidian rock observation deck
Stands all oar-locked, stability intact.

editors note:

Steady on deck and smile for the camera. – mh clay


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

Paper clips are not made of plain paper,
Hairpins not thin and woven spun fine as hair;
Lampshades themselves no light sport, but glow taper,
Horseshoe brings luck but doesn’t run like mare.
Bookends in the end yield no twist or surprise,
No happy unions, not a single mystery solved,
No tragic conclusion, no novel surmise,
No character doomed, none whatsoever absolved.
Association here is but a link, quite weak in range
That one to the other connects in manner most obtuse.
In no way is there an osmosis, interchange,
At best one serves, one is of some vague use.
Rely not then upon kinsfolk kindness, on merit strive,
Till at your destination alone you arrive.

editors note:

No links, me thinks; therefore I… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 20, 2018  :: 0 comments

When there is direct active verbal sparring
And people at each other senselessly sharp lash,
Or when head to foot in the thick of it downright jarring
Discordant voices like arrows at war point clash;
And when with frail unsteady rule of tide’s thumb
Unwarned the scales of fortunes startling dip,
There’s always some bright remedy quite close at hand
For that one restless wavering coin to flip.
For who are we to yell and shower blame,
Firm ostracise those left out in the cold,
Who living on shoestring from some strange shores here came,
And slam the door on faces lined with problems old.
May kindness-courtesy be at your threshold,
A smile heralds a seachange in the life you stark behold.

editors note: Heads or tails; winners and losers? Why not combine to see what two can do together? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 12, 2018  :: 0 comments

As veils all slowly lift,
Clouds in slickest swirls shift,
Slide, evenly horizons clear,
Lights flicker, plain and purl,
The shades of biscuity gold wicker.

Thin spikes, each kneading a sunbeam,
Soon gloriously wade the wind, themselves all calm.
In spite of the uproar, like in print an entire ream,
They land pointedly as a psalm.
They land neatly, solidly in my palm.

editors note:

Sometimes, when we catch’em, they look like this; makes us try to catch another. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum July 16, 2017  :: 0 comments

On plates that ring in plenty comes each overture
Like foundling season ready to lavish expand ,
The top patch on which we stand, the beautiful curvature,
Gives but a glimpse of expanse all round, the whole land.
What beauty there is in sheer great doses
Iced, spun like constellations at night at its core,
Our planet’s many mysteries that fathoming proposes
The world idyll we see, the country on its open door.
Like orchestras overwhelm us, all opulence offered,
A banquet’s delectables in huge quantities,
A heady night’s music, all nuances proffered,
In its all-revealing stamp of exalted sanctities.
A colony of gannets in full swing impressive flight
Look as though they’ve temporarily forgotten their breeding sites.

editors note:

Enough to make us forget our nesting site, too. Fair land. (We welcome Saloni to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 28, 2016  :: 0 comments

Equality’s rare
In most regimes, most regiments, work or pleasure,
Where hierarchy comes into play
But in what counts, in combat fair
Giving measure then for measure
They levelly beat the lights out of day.

Sophistication, elegance reigns
In the upper class like sugar crunch caviar munch
Till it’s time for one upmanship
Ah then who cares
It’s punch for punch
All whole swing, free for all, all unzipped.

Exchange of ideas
On the other hand as it ought
Like conversation cool
Is meted out gentlemanlike to peers
Thought for thought
Where we play by the rules.

Businessmen and marketeers
Exploit imagination’s stream.
Silver or gold plated
There they go selling dear
Dream for dream
To all (and sundry) unmitigated.

editors note:

Bottom line growth is nothing funny. Imagination – equality, sophistication, ideas – are great if they make money. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 25, 2016  :: 0 comments

Like words fixed in time on empty page,
Some images tucked away that only we see,
The mind that writes sees all at every stage
And streamlines all till taken is all space free.

A blank sheet, like a pretty face, beckons
Intelligence to give it life, calls for pen’s gold
And the writer a tale to tell that reckons
It’s time for beauty hid to be extolled.

Keeping old fleeting dreams tidily at bay
To get on with the act, there’s a purpose implied;
There’s scarcely any point procrastinating day
When the sun’s overpowering as perfume or high tide.

At such times one wonders, is endeavouring the essence,
When poetry spontaneous has so liquid an omnipresence.

editors note:

We are soaked in our grasping; trying to swim or, at least, tread water. – mh clay