I am writing to you from a
park bench in Amsterdam
there is a gentle breeze
of rest-fullness
the cherry trees are in
full bloom
I look for you
in every pretty face
I look for you in the
mannerisms of strangers
I look for you in the
architecture of amazement
I think of you
between the sidewalk
and every step
I hold you in my mind
like a memory of
something precious
I almost found you as the
sun set the sky on fire
in Barcelona
but you know
almost is never sweet
I will find you
before I unveil this
madness of my wandering
I miss you
even when I sleep …
Clay.M

I am a writer
I write novels
I have no time
for silly poetry
she said
her eyes were a
shallow blue
her face was
pretty although
failed to show
expressions of
sincerity
her skin was
lightly tanned
her legs
flawlessly slender
her hands were
manicured
cold and lifeless
just like her writing …
Clay.M

Some days don't
want to be loved
as the clouds move
with the dead of grey
my mind shifts within
a mist of questions
they are written across
the night sky between
the stars and my
blinking eyes in those
dark and lonely spaces
of the heart
some days don't
want to be loved
with the last slice of light
I'll feel the
sharpness of its edge
I'll drink wine with the
anxious gods and the
ghostly strangers in this
mirror of memories
I’ll find words that are
worth remembering …
Clay.M

I was on a train from
Paris to Amsterdam
and with an empty page
a sad smile and a pen
she was looking out
the window across
the apple green fields and
into the valleys of cobbled
villages and ****** churches
and as the dead air of Paris
was leaving my mind
I began to read the reflection
of questions in her eyes
I wanted to tell her what
she already knew
that the answers are in
the rhythm of the rails
and to only underline
the words that matter ...
Clay.M

I am somewhere
in the distance
in that place you can
no longer reach
I watch the dust dance
in a stream of
yellow light
as the shadows shift
they become obsolete
like tiny deaths
I wish I could learn to
laugh again like
mad children
I wish I could whisper
the pleasant dreams of
fallen angels
as the moon hangs in
half light
there is a sadness in
your voice a loneliness
like mine
from your lips drift
a thousand sorrows
maybe if we close our
eyes the world won’t
seem so sad
we will meet beneath
the covers of
untouchable love
we will make our way
to the wild coast
looking out across
the endless mad ocean
we will watch the
ghosts rising like smoke
above the angry waves
we will hear the heavy
breath of an angry god
and if I hold your hand
without a single word
do not be alarmed by
my awkwardness
I can not compete with
the poetry of waves …
Clay.M

I want to walk
through a Japanese
water garden in spring
I want to hold your
attention close to my
family of fears
I want Heather Nova
to sing for me in a room
on the island of Hydra
I want to collapse in the
arms of pleasant things
I want my voice to be
faithfully strong
I want to hear your stories
without hesitation
I know I don’t sound
overly unique
but nobody wants a
promise when it’s broken
or poetry that is left
incomplete …
Clay.M

When the stars
have faded like
tired candles
and the morning
is painted in a
splash of grey
we will hold each
others hand like
lonely orphans
and in the mist of
every hour we will
grow older
and we will know
when the moon
covers its face
it has seen too much
when the ocean is
sleeping like a field
of a million stars
these walls call me
a stranger
when the wild flowers
are trembling
and the old buildings
are tired of standing
when the morning
makes a fist
destroying all things
delicate
these walls call
me a stranger
when the clouds
undress the moon
and the trees stand
naked in the subtle light
when the thin white
curtains dance
these walls call me a
stranger …
Clay.M