featured in the poetry forum February 2, 2021  :: 0 comments

An achy nervousness
among pandemic days
while summer turns toward Fall
and the politics of madness
in the election of it all

and my own old age decays
dully for its sadness
like some disease which slays

with a sleep that fills our eyes
with an image on TV
of dreamy dreamy hot fires
in the skies.

editors note:

Flat screen, flat deal! We are what we watch. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 7, 2020  :: 0 comments

See we are ancient already! We are marble
carved and sealed to fortressed stone
inseparable the way we aged together
and glistening in our polish
like one of your starry paintings.

Or an old rustic house
grown out as one toward the woodland.
We live in the same skin
shelter under each other’s locks.

I look out the window of your brilliant eyes
and see and give utterance for the world
eternally brand new!

editors note:

Yes! Give utterance! – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 17, 2020  :: 0 comments

Nature’s first rule is predation
a fact in the face
which he could not stand

so he puffed up a cloud
in his glacial station
to obscure that cruel beauty
of the land.

editors note:

In this case, smoke ’em when you DON’T… – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 15, 2020  :: 0 comments

This is the love among the dead
…these are those high operatic notes
…that gorge of meat and wine and bread
…that private castle leaking hope, despair,
the two the same in desperate sighs

encased in predatory motes
to keep away the warlike herds
of Mongols milking mares and goats
with lost dreams much like lullabies
composed by angels

….without words…

editors note:

And, yet, we must sing them… – mh clay


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

Midnight longing for God and Heaven
Horns of sweet jazz for Jesus
in the missionary night.

Converting bats like me to bliss,
bugs, to that kiss of divinity
…the lucky and beloved to a sigh
alike the sea

editors note:

Sing contentment in every key. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum January 20, 2020  :: 0 comments

Fire at night! Fire
in the coal dark cold
of an ice like desire
that chokes the eyes
like wicked smoke
under shrouded skies
and bilious smog

…and a breathy toke
on a deadly drug
which sells the soul
which howls like a dog
in lightning storms
against thunder sounds
whose big guns bellow a hundred rounds
on our crumbling station
our crumbling forms
our tired nation
our hell-bent choir.

Fire at night….such wicked fire!

editors note:

Public works or public outrage? What’s happening in your city? – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum November 4, 2019  :: 0 comments

The manifest of my dreams
in spring
is written cool, bland,
lyrically lazy
about the green shrubbery
and the yellow brown roses
come ugly upon a trailer park Easter

…a bit of leafy stem
sticks its head above
the loam

and this is our Jesus!, our poetry!

editors note:

Jesus in every flower. Resurrection in every Spring. – mh clay


featured in the poetry forum August 28, 2019  :: 0 comments

…but much like snow!,
so cool white in their bouquet
which thieves
and angels

within that vision
of my look
gone skyward
while I recline

…in the side seat of our Buick
after finishing
my wine!

editors note:

All is white through ros̩ colored classes. Рmh clay


featured in the poetry forum June 8, 2019  :: 0 comments

Breathing hard
love was unearthed
by her yard and its sweaty labor
and then layers of paint
built a textured vision
balanced but blooming
with such wild and beautiful weeds!

And compared to her art
my poems were lame
privately constructed
voyeuristic fissures
of a slow death’s unraveling

….compared as well
to those great poems of the centuries
which I read these days on my kindle
by lamplight.

And yet
compared to her art
…but nothing can compare
to such passion alive

…and this
is the joy
of my throat and my breath
and my life.

editors note:

Still breathing… might as well write. – mh clay

habits of the flesh

featured in the poetry forum March 30, 2019  :: 0 comments

When a bum gets old and sick
his teeth decay,
he passes wind
and wind comes back all heartless cold

…he feeds his cold with laudanum
…the charity dentist clears his mouth
of uppers, lowers, north and south

in freezing winter clinics
where winter says “not snow…just rain”

oh let me suck the ripple down
and smoke a dozen cigarettes at once
…and sleep near the bridge…this frozen town.

Oh let me die …a dog! a dunce!
Oh let us lie down
but feel no pain!

editors note:

Who’s the bum, when we wish the same? Please, no pain, no pain. – mh clay