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

The sky is a stormy
kind of strange indigo
daffodils are reaching
out for attention
the mountains
crumble with a
matter of urgency
my dreams are a
puddle of mud and
sullen reflection
tears spill into an open
field of wild orchids
the gods are drunk
with the thunder  
of excitement
I drift in and out of
dark dreaming I am
just a passenger in this
strange and awful place
sometimes when the
lights are low I often
wonder why do colours
fade away when you
need them the most …
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 listen to the
language of the sea
I break down with the
orchestra of waves
there is a storm within
this heart
a kingdom of sand
within these hands
I do not belong here
with the seabirds
and the sailors
I do not belong here
with this congregation
of stones
let it rain I have my
raincoat and my gloves
let it rain I have come
prepared for the storm …
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

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

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

There is something
in the early morning air
that fills my lungs with
a familiar loneliness
as the dull pain
behind my eyes
makes the stars
look like tiny tears
as the moon shakes
the nightmares from
its restless mind
I close the book
on yesterday
I wrestle with
this pen and paper
as the background
radio preachers
love and forgiveness
there is a moment
when the eyes close
and the mind opens up
there is a moment when
I see her smile I almost  
feel her embrace
within a second
she is gone …
Clay.M

I guess it’s the way
you look out of windows
on cold blue mornings
that leave me speechless,
the way you speak quietly
almost like a prayer,
your questions do not
require a single answer.
I am happy to remain
silent in my observations,
I am happy that nature is
the companion of intelligence,
I do not call society my friend,
I am the master of my own
bewilderment …
Clay.M

Watching the sun
cut into a new day
everything drenched
in pale colours
clouds move with
the dead of grey
I know a place
where a velvet moon
is thrown across the
soothing sea
where the spring
mornings are endless
where there are more
flowers than tall buildings
where the ocean breeze
blows salt on our skin
where the lavender
dances with the wind
we can dream forever
escape this ordinary life
I know a place …
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 don't need
friendship
endless drama
love or laughter
I listen to the
spontaneity
of the wind
I study the
poetry of
dead trees
I begin to
understand
the adventure
of wild birds ...
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

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

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

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 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 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

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

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

When my thoughts
fall like heavy rain upon
the blue birds tired wings
and the ice cracks into
countless splinters upon
the quiet pool of simplicity
I hear the angels weep
like distressed children
I see tall buildings sway
with the weight of whispering
I gather my temporary things
my breath my life
my pen and paper
I make my way to the
pure white sands of forgiveness
looking out across the
endless mad ocean
I pretend to be a writer
I cannot compete with
the poetry of waves …
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

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

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

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

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 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

My mind drifts
across the sea
to the sharp edge
of the world
where the sun
sleeps peacefully
with its
splendid poetry
I search for truth
like it’s something
I can find in the
last slice of light
in between is where
the secrets lie
in between the
empty hands of time
between your life
and mine
it’s written across
the night sky
between the stars
between the dark
spaces in our mind
close your eyes
I’ll find you here …
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

Now the day is gone
and all I did was dream
I listened to the sound
of the day that awful ring
that calling that dreadful
pushing and pulling
inside my dreamy mind
and this body doesn’t
want to move
I think it’s depressed
or something far worse
I saw my reflection
in shallow water
that cruel shave
of pointlessness
I heard a knock at
the door and I know it
wasn’t you
because you are gone
like this day is gone
I wrote a poem today
but it had no spark
it was dull like a
lifeless star
and you know
it was this one …
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

Sometimes I keep
the curtains closed
I don’t want to see
the day or listen
to its violence,
I plant flowers in
dark corners,
I plant flowers where
the old ones have
passed sway,
I know there is a
reason for soft music,
I welcome the gentle
waves of consolation,
I hear poetry in the
slow movement of time …
Clay.M

I have my books my records
my half written poems
I have this blue window
to look through when
I’m lonely
from this place I can see
the sun smiling
I know it will rise and fall
religiously so I ignore
its invitation
maybe I’ll feel better
in a new morning
less wounded less detached
less strange
maybe this battle in my voice
will fade into a soft belief
I search for words that will
hold you for a while
then let you slip
words like truth
like love
like the breath of a
thousand stories
like any other
untouchable thing …
Clay.M

Sometimes I sit and wait
for morning, maybe it will
be different this time,
maybe the sun will refuse to rise,
maybe if I fall asleep I will
miss the continual darkness,
maybe if I close my eyes
for just a moment
the world won’t seem so sad …
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

I understand
the language
of sad mornings
I understand the
turning wheels
of cruel madness
I understand
because I have
learnt from the
poets the teachers
of sorrowful things
and through this
thin grey light
I can see the
ghost of her
flying like a
painted bird
I rest amongst the
scattered leaves
I listen to the
weeping of swans …
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 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

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

You left in a
search for truth
you left clean
without a trace
traveling further
into an endless
dream
your collection
of memories
exploding in a
sunburnt sky
with so many miles
between us now
I wonder how
you have changed
I hope you will
remember me when
you finally make it
to the coast
sincerely …
Clay.M

In the glow of distant
lights, in the tangled
mess of all that is
unreachable, I listen
to the shooting stars
I am deafened by the
hum of sad melodies,
I see the half moon
swing in the shadow
of a broken heart, I will
go to places where drunk
poets are wrapped in smoke
and absurd isolation,
where women dance with
painted smiles and blue fire
and call it love, I will go to
places where silence fills
the air with beautiful stories,
I will go where madness
is too afraid to follow …
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’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