Give me back
all the things I
left behind
the friendships
I never formed
the hatred
the hunger
the love I threw
away blindly
the sleepless
lonely nights
tormented by
the fear of god
give me back all
the days I spent
dreaming in
restless desire
give me back
my strength
my birth
my mothers
warm smile …
Clay.M

When my mind starts
to wander and my eyes
refuse to blink, I travel
down the endless road
of a thousand dead poets,
I hold onto every blue note,
spilling ink across an indigo
sky, give me soft jazz that
complements the rain,
give me a conversation with
beauty that makes me blush.
Maybe we should just leave
she said, drive for miles into
the heart of the bleeding sun,
throw our dead love into the
defeated sea, get tattooed by
insane gypsies with missing teeth!
sleep beneath the shooting stars
to the sound of vicious violins!
we can change our names to
something unpronounceable,
become spontaneous,
become obsolete …
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

Some days
I stare at the sun
I study its minor
imperfections
I see the beauty
of its scars
I feel the depth
of its existence
some days
I like being sad
I paint my heart
in the darkest blue
I welcome sorrow
I hold it in my chest
like a deep breath
like imperfect poetry
I find a quiet place
far away from the
heavy machinery
and the screech
of grinding wheels
I embrace isolation
I choose to call her
my closest friend …
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

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

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