featured in the poetry forum October 11, 2014  :: 0 comments

Spread out Syrah noir wide, slide up
wine glass side, stick in patterns

to the edge, like leftover phrases, words
lining the darkened bottom

of a writing drawer. Try to read
some kind of future in the tailings,

see a story finally written,
were there light enough, or life,

or snowy woods, or hawks
finding wind to soar and dive.

Well, maybe one more glass,
no past, no looking back,

a bottle, two, alone, black sky,
hope the only ending, no you.

editors note:

Vivisect vintage from vine; vie for existence or drain to the dregs. (More madness from Timothy, a silent move, on his page – watch it now.) – mh

Gestapo glaciers

featured in the poetry forum June 1, 2014  :: 0 comments

Like climate change,
they did not come quickly
but were relentless and ruthless,
nonetheless — with their share

of disbelievers, along with those
who saw beauty in the way

they inched over lives with ice.

editors note:

Such artistic expression, if not stopped, slowly stifles all other. Some rights are just wrong! – mh

Mercy-killing marriage

January 8, 2014  :: 0 comments

Avoid a taxable event. Keep iPad,
laptop, diamond rings.

Give her Kindle, china, SUV —
silver, vintage albums,

especially Sting. Take dog, boat,
football seats. Yield lakeside home,

mountain cottage, beach retreat.
Keep condo, IRA, hidden gold.

Share children, friends — yes,
makes it equal, even neat.

You pay her health club dues;
she pays your attorney’s fee.

Yes, yes, oh, yes

featured in the poetry forum January 8, 2014  :: 0 comments

At night she walks her restless cat
on leather leash down black streets

then back, past motels, clubs, shacks,
lets it prowl nighttime sounds —

rat scratch, dog growl, piss splash,
drunk words slurred, slow drum beat,

lover’s moan, a few high screams.

editors note:

A stroll to steal the feline’s senses; it’s cat burglary. – mh

Minoan moment

featured in the poetry forum August 20, 2013  :: 0 comments

Crete, summer, sun, beach,
blondes near concession tent
ignore heat, debate bikinied

breast to breast. Hot sand
burning feet, they fidget,
shift weight, wipe away sweat

as each lays out her version
of a man-free world.
Points made shushed, not loud,

first one, then the other, turns,
pulls damp bottom loose
from cheeks burned bright,

sways slowly to her towel,
sexy stroll the important thing.
Vendor guy grins, spits,

tongs up another dog,
so red, so juicy,
so big it splits.

editors note:

Stay in line, or don’t. Either way, summer’s gonna bring us some fresh red hots. – mh

Dashboard savior

featured in the poetry forum July 8, 2012  :: 0 comments

Just a glimpse — quick flash really.
swishing past next to a hula girl,
grass skirt swirling gold, green.

Downtown Bellingham street,
Cornwall, road running out
by Assumption Catholic Church,

near that purple place
where all the peaceniks meet —
Wondered briefly if Second Coming

is capitalized — likely, yes,
because it would be important.
In a ’69 Camaro, I think,

not something you would drive
to reach a mountain lake.
Anyway, saw him fly by, upright,

hands in prayer, eyes blue, bright,
glued tight to the dashboard,
not about to go anywhere.

editors note:

If Second Coming is capitalized, then Apocalypse must be a parenthesis. – mh

Red sky at night

featured in the poetry forum February 16, 2012  :: 0 comments

I carry sea shells three at a time
to safety across beach sprinkled

with fragments of their kind.
Some purple. A few pink.

Beyond reach, evening surf
swirls more than I can rescue

into a rainbow of shards, grinds
perfectly shaped scallops, whelks,

even hawk-wing conchs fine,
then tosses them ashore

to join sand lying white in death
beside yesterday’s salt.

You wade, oblivious. My footprints
pool in high tide.

I see wounds, not delight,
slicing red across the sky.

editors note:

We burn or bury our dead to deprive collectors everywhere of polished keepsakes, novelty knick-knacks; my shining skull as doorstop or as paperweight. – mh

Use two pillows, sleep fast

featured in the poetry forum September 22, 2011  :: 0 comments

Dreams swirl in like snow,
drift in piles — lovers, loved.
I wrap each in burlap,

lash openings against the cold.
Some vanish by dawn —
frozen, quiet, quick to go.

Others — warmed, stroked,
unbind themselves — return, hot,
mute my muffled screams.

Candles I disrobe you by
drip waxy fire, memories wafting
across each fold and pleat.

Slow to know love from heat,
I warm myself in steam
rising from the open seams.

Knives in ice

featured in the poetry forum August 19, 2011  :: 0 comments

Inuits bury them, handles down,
blades up, add water,

let each freeze solid,
daub the tips with blood.

Lust lopes in before dawn —
wolves believe they’ve found

seals asleep, streams full of salmon,
caribou laid out end to end.

They lap up the offering,
ignore it is their own blood

they drink to fullness,
to weakness, to sleep.

Curled frozen on red ice,
frosted furs offer Inuits hope,

life with color, warmth at night.
Arctic wind retains howling rights.

Imposing intelligence

featured in the poetry forum June 28, 2011  :: 0 comments

I use double psychology on my cat,
acting as if I am locking her out
so she will dart in.
She cannot miss my line
of dead rats on the porch.