When a black sheet has been
thrown over the moon
and a million lazy stars
have fallen from view
I hear the wind has
grown tired of traveling
I hear the sound of mandolins
crying in the mountains
I hear the rattle of
gypsy wheels
I hear the heavy hearts
of horses upon the
restless roads of
broken poetry ...
Clay.M

I have my
half written poems
I have this blue window
to look through
when I’m lonely
I ignore its
invitation
I sit on this bed
like it’s the edge
of the world
the white sheets
sleep behind me
like restless angels
I scribble words
I call it poetry
I write the word
love in black ink
and the walls
become irritable
deep blue shadows
swallow my room
of souvenirs
I want to hear the
sound of violins
I want to hear the
sadness in your voice
become clear
I need a pleasant dream
I need something solid
to lean upon
I need something to
sooth these
shaking hands …
Clay.M

I wake up early
with this poem in my pocket
and the sound of the sea
my arms stretched out
across a crimson sky
the sun rise of
untouchable love
I catch my
invisible breath
I see you smile only
in my memory
the waves of emotion
are reaching out for a
soft place to land
as the wild flowers bloom
in an open field of a
thousand sleeping wishes
I miss what I
decided to destroy
when the spring wind screams
at this world of broken dreams
I search for level ground …
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

The first sign of
daylight dissolved
my good intentions
nothing at all
seamed to shine
every thought fell
into dark water
the sun was
painted grey
my dreams were cold
as distant mountains
and when the death
Lillie's bloom from your
lonely heart and your
love only hears
the cello cry
when your angel walks
with wings of stone
and your daffodils
want to die
meet me here
beneath the
gun metal sky
and you know
everything will
be just fine
follow me
we’ll walk away
our sadness
in the rain …
Clay.M

It was colder than a
New York winter
the power lines were
humming beneath a
lifeless sky
soft jazz was spilling out
into the street from a
downtown *******
I carry these poems like
loose change
she said
I prefer dancing
but my legs are getting old
anyway ..
I’m a much better writer
do you think my poems are good?
I don’t know
I said
I haven’t seen you dance …
Clay.M

I’m at the top of my game
she said
writing a few good
poems a day
completing my second novel
I’m published in all the best
journals you know?
I poured another drink
looked at her face her hands
they were almost perfect
no scars no sign of life
death had not touched
her beauty…
Clay.M

Through the olive groves
to the village that sleeps
beneath the mountain
the collapse of human
kindness is far from me
the language of nature
is universal
the wild birds only know
songs of wisdom
the Cypress tree leans
upon its intelligence
it only speaks of peace
it has witnessed the
tragedy of war
there is happiness in the
falling of leaves
there is acceptance
in the whisper of the
restless wind ...
Clay.M

Today
I close the blinds
and turn off the sun
I sit down with
this blue mind
I stumble across the
page with clumsy words
I begin to chase memories
new - old and in between
I collect episodes
of small events
I put them away
and think of you
and maybe we’ll meet in
Kefalonia and we will talk
like awkward strangers
you will read to me Ithaka
and we will find her
poor and smile
a rare emotion will
touch our spirit ...
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

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

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’m lost she said
crossing her legs while
lighting a cigarette
I pour her a drink
and wipe the mascara
from her cheek
there was an unmistakable
sadness in her eyes
she used words that
would hold you for a
while then let you slip
you only feel this in the
last breath of your love
she said as the curtains
danced with the wind
like torn sails
there was a soft grey
blanket thrown over
the sun and she was like
a portrait of smoke
there was a red thread
that connected our spirits
there was a distant
hum of sad melodies
so much can happen
between the space of songs
and I don’t want to miss it …
Clay.M

I will sit here beneath
the warmth of the sun
I will listen to the slow
movement of clouds
I am comfortable in the
way that time always
leaves me behind
and when I grow old
I hope I grow into
some kind of stranger
in a sleepy village at the
foot of a white mountain
where I’ll write poetry
about wild birds and the way
love never promised to stay ...
Clay.M

There is a blue bird
at my window
trying to show me
its pretty blue wings
trying to sing me
its pretty songs
can’t you see
my hair is grey
my heart is black
if I could turn the
hands of time
I would turn them back
I would love you more
hate myself less
fly away now
let me drink my
morning tea
fly away now
go and be with
all the other
pretty things …
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

I happened to find
myself longing for
some kind of change
you were telling
me this in that little
cafe on the corner
your words fell softly
through the hum of
café conversations
your eyes were left
searching in a
maze of emotions
you wore a poets frown
that I could not ignore
there’s no easy way to say
there’s no easy way to grieve
somethings that you love
sometimes leave
the thread between us
now is broken …
Clay.M

I learn from the waves
when to break
when to retreat
when to remain calm
I learn by observation
your awkward confidence
your theater of movement
your obscure dance with insecurities
your behavior when time becomes still
with our splendid gift of imperfections
I follow you to the sea..
Clay.M

In the bite of blue mornings
before the swirl of the
buttery sun disturbs
the dreams of birds
I write I drink coffee
I write I drink coffee
I cross out words within
the belly of black clouds
I try to disappear
this kind of poetry
is never offended by
your distance it has no
need for company or
meaningless conversation
it waits for the sound to fall
it waits for the subtle sense
of true isolation
it waits for the ghostly
stare of memories
it waits for the cold sting
of lost love  
it waits for the tears
it waits ...
Clay.M

It’s raining in Prague
I’m in a cafe on the
outskirts of the old city
if you can’t find the truth here
you’ve been living a lie
the street walkers
the grim dark sky
the pool hall hustlers
the jazz clubs blue smoke
black umbrellas like dead crows
Hemingway drunk on a red tram
A girl stands out in the rain …
Clay.M

Let us meet at the
lonely church that
sleeps upon the hill
where the shepherds
poetry is unwritten
where the cattle bells
sound like wind chimes
we will watch the sunset
burn into the sea
we will let our hearts
refuse to suffer
we will spend our
days here
we will fill our eyes
with broken pictures
we will understand
why the mountains
never ask for
forgiveness
let us meet where the
slow movement of time
avoids the sting of
moving on ...
Clay.M

May this room
bring you the
light of creativity
may the poetry
of your journey
be nothing short
of extraordinary
travel lightly
in the footsteps
of wonderment …
Clay.M

I’ve seen your kind
you sit in dark corners
of the cafe
scribbling on napkins
humming old blues tunes
you look up then look away
with graceful awkwardness
I’ve seen your kind
from time to time …
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

When the sky is
dressed in midnight stars
and my mind is heavy
with questions
I let these tiny dreams
spill between the blinking
lights of the city
I know words sound
better at night
when the silent stars
cloud the sky of every
lonely hunter
I read the old poets
the teachers of
sorrowful things
I know she is here
I see her smile through
the dusty light
I am high enough
to see the ugly
side of heaven
I am high enough to
feel insignificant
and if I happen to fall
from this great height
how soon will I be
forgotten …
Clay.M

I saw your reflection
in the window
your beauty stole the
breath from my lungs
now I have fallen like
a stone into the ruins
I am tangled by the web
that you have spun
and I followed you
in the rain
somewhere in the
middle of Spain
like a faithful and
discreet slave your
love I forever crave
you softly sway your
hips to the music
I hear a gypsy violin
you lick your lips with
the taste of tequila
the moonlight it
throws your silhouette
I saw you in the arms
of your lover I could
never compete with
his charm
I swallow my
last sip of wine
I raise my glass to
a thousand stars
and I followed you
in the rain
somewhere in the
middle of Spain
like a faithful and
discreet slave
your love I
forever crave …
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

I’m okay in here
you know?
she said
I’m writing my first novel
I get inspiration being
in a place like this
the drunks the ******
the junkies
all the lost and lonely are
washed in like rats from
the ***** city streets
she kept talking and I
kept listening
she was interesting
she had a cute lisp
and her legs where long
the lazy light caught
the curve of her smile
there were moments of silence
when she would write things down
take a sip of her drink
or to light a cigarette -
in this tortured place
she was like an angel
hope was still in her eyes
her skin had a healthy glow
she was unbroken by the world …
Clay.M

As I search this anxious city for
something pure something good
I carry a hundred heavy dreams
I don’t mind when the sadness hits
see I’ve been drinking with the poets
they follow me down every street
I rest beneath the crayon blue sky
I see my heroes scratching their
bellies behind the sun
I see the threads of my mothers
summer dress I see the ghost of her
flying like a painted bird
I try to hold her like a secret
I untangle this mind of loose strings
maybe if I remain silent I’ll become
obsolete maybe if I write words that
are worth remembering I’ll feel complete
I listen to the wind whispering apologies
maybe they can sell my dreams in the
market place with the cattle and the
rattling of chains I think about quite rooms with naked shadows in every lonely corner I think about small birds crying out for the crumbs of your love and if you can hear me I wish that you knew me
when I was still kind …
Clay.M

You can
deactivate your mind
you can numb your senses
you can plant flowers
where the weeds have died
you can look out across
your summer vines
and smile at the good work
your hands have done
but deep down you know
that the sun will turn to butter
and will no longer be able to
push away the heavy rain
you begin to listen to the
ugly cry of the black crow
and you see the wings of
small birds becoming tired-
tired of fighting against
the angry wind
you sit down and you feel sad
and it is your sadness-
you own it-
you take a deep breath
you hold it for a while
you let it go
you feel happy again
happy that you are
still able to feel...
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

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

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 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

Your poetry is so
pure so unique
you never let
sadness stand
in your way
you hold onto hope
like it means something
I want to break into
your golden thoughts
where honesty and
your secrets meet
your words hide
between the lips of
a lovers kiss
there is blackness
across the sky
I underline the stories
that fill your eyes
everything moves
away eventually
and you know how
I hate goodbyes …
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

Here it is
those blue nights
in cheap rooms
the cry of cats
in dark alleys
the growl of drunks
on ***** streets
the symphony of sirens
the solitude that sinks
into your skin like
stubborn smoke
I dream of Barcelona
the lonesome traveler
and his gypsy scarf
I know that the ghosts
in every old city still
breathe loneliness ...
Clay.M

I don’t need this
anymore than you do
I’ve taken all that I
can hold
all that I could
hope for
I wish that I could
breathe through
all this city smoke
all these broken hearts
all these silent stars
all these neon lights
shining so lonely and
blue just for you
now I’m tired of the lies
and I’m tired of the truth
now everything golden
has gone
I don’t believe this
even though it’s true
I saw you smile and it
made me smile too
now I curse all the rain
and all the flowers
that bloom
tell me why do they
die so soon
now I’m tired of
the lies
and I’m tired of
the truth
now everything
golden has gone …
Clay.M

I saw you today
your red scarf cutting through
the morning mist
your long black dress
sweeping the city streets
you were holding a jazz album
like a book of old poems
you crossed the road
with rhythm in your step
I saw you today …
Clay.M

I found this poem
undressed in a
restless - evening
I listen to the whispers of
butterfly - wings
my questions are
confused
the stubborn moon
only answers in
dramatic - rhythms
why does my mind
always run back
to those mountains
so far from me
I am a foreigner here
a fragile thing
I heard you are
writing again
I heard your
voice has become so
beautifully - Innocent
I know that I
stood in your way…
Clay.M

There is a silence before the war
a fragile anticipation

throwing flowers into the sea
I watch them drift into
the setting of the sun

now dripping in winter shadows
I have fallen into a wind swept field

I found love in your sad eyes
then watched as it flew away
like a sea bird in a storm

now I see you in the distance
like a soft piano memory

in the stillness of simple things
midnight taps at my window
all past wars are now
hiding in heartbreak

now as the light grows dim
there is a soft touch of peacefulness
a dark chord on a blue guitar

I can not sleep
it is not over …
Clay.M

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