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

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 lie
and
I lie
and
I lie

I hide my behavior
to keep you safe.

I keep quiet
not to offend you.

I agree with you
to keep you happy.

I walk on eggshells
for you and
it’s never enough.

I lie
and
I lie
and
I lie

but when the truth
arrives at that
final moment;

jaws will drop
plates will shatter
dogs will growl

and
you’ll be long gone
after seeing what
a ghastly beast
I am

but for now

I lie
and
I lie
and
I lie

to keep us
together.

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

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

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

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