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

I step outside
to greet the day
my arms stretched out
across a lemon field
I breathe the spring
air into my lungs
filling up and letting go
I listen to the
symphony of birds
I watch the butterfly’s
dance with the dandelions
as my eyes blink in the
yellow light
I keep my precious things
caged within my chest
as my mind becomes clear
and the wind has grown tired
I am without prejudice
my arms are free to move
my legs are able to run
I catch my breath
I chase these words
I call it poetry
it is here that I write
it is here that I am
immune to the
sickness of the world …
Clay.M

I’m in a late night bar
in the big city
only the sound of
Johnny Hartman on
a background radio
and thoughts of her
keep me here
through a subtle hint
of pure blue I can
almost feel the
distant neon glow
the shadows dance
across the room like
black angels the wind
whispers through an
open widow like a
ghostly stranger
the features of her face
are captured within
the silhouette of
a perfect grey
the twisting smoke
curls from her fingers
from her lips drift
a thousand sorrows
she walks past me
with tremendous style
she walks past me
close enough to touch …
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

Snow is falling
window cold
to the touch

She is half my age
wearing nothing
but a crimson ribbon

Her foreign tongue
cartwheels between
broken English
and an old gypsy song

Her skin shines
like silk
by the fire light

She stands
hands pressed
against the glass

Eating chocolate
from an unpronounceable
Swedish village

I bath within
her beauty
especially
from behind …
Clay.M

I will meet you
where the sunlight
sleeps upon the
white mountains
where the birds
circle the sky like
angels of innocence
and as you pass
through stubborn
villages that keep
ancient secrets
locked in their hearts
listen carefully to the
echo of their poetry
all will become clear
and our destination
will be necessary
we will find the moon
hiding behind clouds
like a shy child
and as the cold wind
bites at our lips
our words will
fall into purity ...
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