I will walk amongst the wild flowers with their portrait of colours sweeping
across a canvas of green fields, I will cast my mind to dandelions on city streets with all the blinking lights and the hum of heavy hearts. There is a solitude that sinks into the sidewalk and as the blue buildings swallow the sounds of the city
I will climb this mountain and as I stand here breathless I will question my happiness, do I belong here with the scent of mountain herbs and the distant sound of cattle bells? and as I look down upon the rooftops of olive trees and my dreams circle the clouds like wild birds,
I will shout out in a foreign tongue
I have made it home!
and the mountains will understand.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 10:49 AM UTC
The morning will wake
just before me and I will
rub my eyes beneath the
sleepy sunrise, the birds will
sing of new beginnings
and as I listen to their
invitation everything will
shine in a golden glow and the
gods will whisper between
mountains and the wild flowers
will call out in every colour,
the Shepards poetry will be sung
in the valleys and in the open fields,
the olive trees will stand crooked
in the golden light,
the farmer will drink his coffee and
smoke his cigarette without urgency,
the old ladies will smile warmly through
the early morning mist they will give you
biscuits and cut herbs they will hand them to you with humble importance,
the smell of freshly baked bread will drift down pretty pathways, the village square will echo with quiet conversations as the gentle breeze dances with the leaves.
Greece is a good place to be welcomed by the morning isn’t it?
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 4:06 AM UTC
The moon covers its face
behind this thin curtain of night.
I take another sip of white wine,
I take all that I left behind and
try to process its significance.
With all this theatre of troubles
I stand here blindly,
I hold the weight of all that matters.
As the moon holds my attention
like a secret I calculate every thought.
My questions are precise
they remain unaddressed.
I am haunted by the ghost
that sleeps at the poets gate.
I wait beside this frozen lake
I wait with persistence,
I wait for some kind of comfort,
I wait for snow to fall
I wait for a single sign
from these stubborn stars,
sleeping like my tears upon
the cold cold ground.
Upon a late December breeze
the moon whispers surrender …
Clay.M
Dec 22, 2025
Dec 22, 2025 at 6:13 AM UTC
The new day arrives
and it brings with it
its fierce weather, its
trembling leaves, its
dreams of a distant life.
The new day arrives
with an invitation
to its storm so brutal
in its nature. The new day
arrives with its gift of
longing, with its portrait
of isolation, with its broken
view of a lonely hill.
The new day arrives with its
window all wet with tears,
with its whistling wind
of love and loss, with its
prayer of forgiveness.
The new day arrives
with its questions that
fill the morning,
with its warm fire, with its
spark of curiosity, with its
tortured truth. The new day
arrives with its sky of a
dreadful grey, with its
silhouette of winters ghost,
with its book of grief
such fragile poetry …
Clay.M
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 12:11 AM UTC
Let this mind go wandering,
let it roam free with the carnival
across the hills of County Clare,
let it drink potcheen
with the circus clowns
steal trinkets with the petty thief,
let it search for truth in the
trash cans of the poor,
let it read the poetry of Cohen
the Jewish tailors boy,
let it hear the melody spill
from the travelers tin whistle.
Pass the bottle to the gypsy
light a cigarette for the *****
let it smell her perfume of
Patchouli and spice,
let it linger in the air,
let it see a portrait of
James Clarence Mangan
hanging crooked upon a wall …
Clay.M
Nov 10, 2025
Nov 10, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC
Alone I wait for winter
with this wanderlust and this pen,
alone I wait for winter
with these dreams of snow and fire.
Let this breath be a soft mist of questions,
let this window be wet with rain,
let me witness the traveler with his
horse and with his cart,
let me hear a distant violin
along a road of cobbled stones,
let these words fall like tears
of the deepest sorrow.
May the stars be bashful
in the darkest of skies.
may her long black hair
sleep forever in my mind.
Alone I wait for winter
with my banjo and my gypsy cards,
alone I wait for winter
where love and hate collide …
Clay.M
Nov 5, 2025
Nov 5, 2025 at 6:41 AM UTC
As the snow sleeps
upon the graveyard
and the dandelion's
reach out for
authenticity.
The black birds
call for attention
as the silence
accepts defeat.
There is a blue sadness
that consumes the air.
Through the old pines
there is a cold breeze
whispering forgiveness.
There is a cold breeze
that bites at the fingertips.
The first day of Spring
embraces a tired bouquet.
The first day of Spring
brings its scrapbook of tears.
A quiet prayer falls upon
Jesus made of stone
Clay.M
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 1:43 AM UTC
I think of
church’s and trains,
I think of your
interpretation of the
truth, I think of going
to someplace mysterious,
I think of quiet rooms with
sixty watt bulbs softly
swaying above empty
bottles and scattered poetry,
I think of the city birds
scaring the crows, I think
of Wagner and the death of
young soldiers, I think of
naked ghosts in the garden.
I sleep into the late afternoon,
I open the window to smell
the rain, I watch the winter
trees undress -
I wait for the storm …
Clay.M
Apr 8, 2025
Apr 8, 2025 at 8:20 AM UTC
Give me a dark room
with a seductive view
of this smoky city,
let me hear the soft
blue jazz spill from your
open window, let me
watch as you move so
slowly through the
naked light, let me
question your intimacy.
Is there a sadness in your
voice, a loneliness like mine,
can I see your complete
intangible beauty before
I close these tired eyes.
I will hold out my hand
for the crumbs of your
love, your confession
will be sweet and painfully
pure, your sexuality
a portrait of god,
your language will be
scattered pieces of truth,
your war a fierce illusion of
strength, your poetry so
pure so perfectly unique,
your beauty so effortlessly
complete …
Clay.M
Apr 7, 2025
Apr 7, 2025 at 5:13 AM UTC
I have spent days
beside you and a
thousand nights
alone, dreaming
on the edge of
spineless books
too afraid to jump!
now I find myself,
drinking, dancing,
laughing with the
forgotten writers,
wrapped up tightly
with all their solitary
words, words scribbled
in relatable misery, I have
fallen in unrecognisable
love with their loss,
their lust, their insane
style of adventure, their
relentless drunkenness,
their sorrow, their suffering,
their almost unbelievable
grief …
Clay.M
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 6:38 AM UTC