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snow falls like a million past lives
cold incessant
the yellow fire hydrant
wonders "what am I doing here?
it decides to leave
the snow bound streets
march off to the smelter
"What am I doing here?
"What good am I?
Here in the midst of winter,
What is my purpose?
"To fight fires."
an answer
from the infinite past.
"Don't run away don't give up
Some day, some how,
somewhere
you will be needed,
just not right now."
Now the wine
has stoped working
and these poems
sit quietly like
tired horses
I wish sorrow
was a stranger
but she shines
brightly sometimes
like silver in a
rubble of stone
she follows me
down every street
she haunts my
road of truth
I see her in the bars
in ally ways
in tiny rooms of
loneliness
I see her smile
through dusty light
I see her stand so thin
so sweetly by the
midnight winter trees
Clay.M
It’s a new morning
the ghosts of old ideas
howl like lost dogs
I open the window
like a book of secrets
the air is clean with
a hint of Jasmine
the olive tree is
whispering wisdom
while the lazy breeze
dances with the leaves
I listen to the
language of birds
I hear poetry in the
slow movement of time
I admire the colour of
Lavender
I drink my peppermint tea
I pretend - I write
I am far enough away
to feel a spark …
Clay.M
Let us drink wine
until our speech
becomes relaxed
and our hearts
are just a gentle
whisper
let us be comfortable
beneath the
smiling stars
let our minds shine
softly as the crescent
moon gives us an
honest light
and we will sleep
upon the ocean sand
and the morning will
be unreligious
the sound of
seabirds will ride
upon the wind
and the waves
will be kind -
they will know us
by name …
Clay.M
Some days I like
being alone I paint
my heart in the
darkest - blue
I welcome sorrow
I hold it in my chest
like a deep breath
I like quite places
places with
empty corners
where I look for
blue angels painted
in the shadows
I like finding poetry
poetry that’s been
thrown out like
broken - art
I like listening to the
silence when we are
too afraid to speak
maybe this battle
in my voice will fade
into a soft - belief
some days I keep the
curtains - closed
sometimes
I like being - alone
don’t you?
Clay.M
I heard you moved away
to somewhere warmer
where memories won’t
scar a wounded heart
I heard you’re writing
more often in a
positive light
I heard you found
faith in the solitude
of the desert
I heard you are still
drinking our favourite
red wine
I heard your father
took his own life
I’m sorry for hurting you
I was stained with the
selfishness of youth …
Clay.M
This is a snapshot in history,
a cold day in mid December,
in the year twenty-twenty four
and civilisation is so last season.

There are three major conflicts
happening in the world today.
No! Not conflicts. Wars!
In Sudan, in Gaza, in Ukraine.
All have been eaten by savagery,
cruelty, pain and despair.
But they overshadow the others.
Stories of suffering yet to come.

In Afghanistan women have been banned
from attending college to train as midwives.
Trained midwives are forbidden to work.
There are no male midwives in Afghanistan.
Women's suffering is yet to come.

In Iraq there is a new government marriage law.
It is now perfectly legal for adult men
to wed girls as young as nine years old.
More or less legalising child abuse.
Children's suffering is yet to come.

And yet if all these wars were to stop
there will still be many more wars.
There will still be savagery and pain.
There will still be cruelty and despair.
There will still be pregnant women and pre-pubescent brides
screaming for help in the long dark nights.
And nobody will lift a finger to help.
Their suffering is yet to come.

So why are we allowing ourselves to slide,
to fall, to regress, to return to Mediaeval barbarism?
Is this our destiny?
Or is this...
Our suffering yet to come.
A  mustard seed
Is a mountain I can’t climb.
My faith can’t move
A single grain of sand.
ljm
The smallest of all seeds yet big bushes grow from them
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