featured in the poetry forum August 10, 2020  :: 0 comments

Timorous by design
is my default setting.
For me: enfilade is an empty promise.
In unkind times
experts are called in
to put forward a playlist.
This never works.

Make your menu.
Let others respond
with a moue.
Unrecorded chronicles
buried in bushes
of forest-time
will disappear with the debris.

editors note:

All determinations will dull in time. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 10, 2020  :: 0 comments

Raising a question
is sometimes the solution.
When answers provoke
an examination,
it’s onset of perspicuity.
It is the makeup of the mighty:
government and its gyre,
personages and the pecunious
to circumvent scrutiny.
It’s in our interest
to doorstep with intenseness.
Talismans of truism
must wax under our watch.

editors note:

Some are calling this sedition. Others are saying, “It’s about damn time!” – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 2, 2020  :: 0 comments

A trillion or more herberts
from the heartland
need to be harnessed.
Can any religious structure
actualize them?
The commentariat leads
the way by simulcasting:
politicos across the scale
illude these folks
to the yield of ruptures.
The horsewhip of hate
has the sharpest wallop.
One requires no dopester.
There is no champion in the chase.

editors note:

It seems that what’s common in our denominator has dipped too low. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 22, 2020  :: 0 comments

Google and other griefs
chase my working hours.
Nights are cut out for
graphology. In temple of
needs my pelage seeks
your petting. My god
it seems is huffy.

editors note:

Demanding doggies, we nudge with nose for muse attention. Pet me please! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 22, 2019  :: 0 comments

The past is a wedge holding us
from being metagrobolized by
benefactions we’re wont to-be
offered. No rehearsal awards
these. Those on the waymark
of karmic meter encounter

The report card is cabalistic.
Faith in versal truthfulness
mows the grassplot.

editors note:

Though dogma dazzles the blind to blindness, confusion keeps a cleaner lawn; no pattern, no patter. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum September 11, 2019  :: 0 comments

There is distinction between palilogy and
paternoster, artificial flowers and real ones.
Ah! the niceties of nuance. Play the piano,
paint, or indite. Otherize negativity in self.
Pick-up parities with the otherguess. These
are baby steps to bliss.

editors note:

We achieve blessing when we stop guessing. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum July 1, 2019  :: 0 comments

Within an indicium
of imperfections
we have to seek
our peace.
If the search
is only for fault lines
our chase
will never cease.
It is the tempo
of waves
never to tire.
Altering tidelines
is their anthem.

editors note:

Stop faltering on flaws. We gain character with every crack. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum April 23, 2019  :: 0 comments

Firsthand accounts frozen in the mind’s igloo
require fieriness of touch by words or vestiges
from tunesmiths of our time to thaw into stanzas.
Past, however unclean has admission. Flip-flop
of feelings censure a sense of stasis. There is no
need to disclose maelstroms. Stillness is smoke.

editors note:

Fan flame, melt from mind’s eye into memorandum; mildly, now, no tempest torn. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum February 14, 2019  :: 0 comments

Far away from voluptuary urges
I’m an exemplar of austerity, of
sorts. Justification is a justificat-
ion. Perceptions fly quicker than
any makeover. We’re what we’re
in our minds.

editors note:

Hard to decipher when perceptions come faster than the speed of mind. – mh clay

At the Drinkery

featured in the poetry forum December 6, 2018  :: 0 comments

Predictability of patterns cry for yawings
of earlier phases. Comfort of certitudes
are like broken down loves or authors and
auteurs who once stirred our sally but fail
to quicken. Colors of my canvas aren’t of
my making. Rigidity is an enterprise of the
spirit. Hierarchies aid and aggrieve. Moon-
shine dulls sensory aches. Lips widen when
liquor soaks the esophagus. I’m an argument
against myself.

editors note: The inevitable skewing of self-pasts depicted by other painters, as tears in our beer. Or, regrets, straight up with a twist. – mh clay