I feel safe here
above the clouds
with my small collection
of shimmering stars
all the ghosts
look like angels
they tell me the
****** details of their
forbidden lust and
how they float just
above the violent sea to
feel the torture of its touch
I am happy in this space
with my poetry and my
confused desire
by your silence
I know that you are near …
Clay.M

There is a gentle breeze
that whispers through
an open window
it carries poetry from
the high mountains
poetry from the
shepherds lonely nights
it is here where the
isolation is at its sweetest
but when you hear
music and laughter
in the company of
fierce clapping hands
down to the village
you must go …
Clay.M

Before the sun rises
I will step outside to
drink my tea with the
jasmine and the rose
I will listen to the moon
tell its stories of
far away cities
and how it looks more
beautiful in the desert
I will reconstruct this
collision of thoughts
into something that
resembles poetry
I will conclude with
a sigh and a whisper
I am nothing but dust
in the company of nature …
Clay.M

I have seen grown
men throwing stones
into still rivers
rivers that are
tired of running
they watch small birds
feast on smaller
living things
they breath out a
steady stream of
blue sadness
they sit in cars
reading Kerouac
looking up at
long naked legs
they have outlived
their fathers
idea of youth
they have played
the puzzle of
insolvable love
they are lost in
quiet rooms
they ask her
politely to leave
they wait for the
dust to settle …
Clay.M

I saw her again today
in that old jazz club
on the corner
the sun was spilling
in like honey
her legs crossed within
the golden light
her scarf was like a
lonely flower blooming
red in a graveyard
she was writing a letter
or a poem or just
playing around
with words
she was sipping
white wine
her smile was
hidden like a secret
she tied back her hair
her eyes caught me staring
they were beautifully sad
overflowing with a
thousand questions
I stood there
too dumb to answer …
Clay.M

The poem
yes the poem
it is a
fragile thing
it can lose your
attention
it can lose
its rhythm
Its beat
it can lose
its way
in the art of
simplicity …
Clay.M

I step outside
I stand beneath
the cold blue stars
I listen to my
own heart beating
I feel it pound the
breath of my love
the night air brings
a familiar sting
there are no corners
in this sacred space
I study the movement
of anxious leaves
as they desperately
hold on to the
midnight trees
they allow me to
believe in this solitude
like it’s some kind of truth
something spiritual
something intangible
as the sleeping flowers
lean towards tomorrow
as the waves of emotion
recede into the shadows
sorrow is no longer
a stranger …
Clay.M