I want to grow old
and die in the sun,
I want to walk through
a lush vineyard with
plump ripe fruit,
I want to lie beside a
river listening to small
birds doing small bird
things, I want to watch
marshmallow clouds
pass beneath a happy
blue sky. Don’t lay me
down on some
unsympathetic bed,
where my mind will
become stagnant, where
fond memories will fade
into the obscenities of
old age. Wrap me up in
the arms of my love,
send us way out into the
splendid sea, let the salty
air caress our skin, let the
waves wash over our
crippled bodies, let us
remember when we were
wide eyed and beautiful
so - innocent
so - young …
Clay.M

As I listen to the
symphony of sounds,
all the insects clicking
with the comfortable
passing of time,
all the birds singing
blissfully between their
heartbeat and mine,
the clouds don’t care
about the sun or moon,
they move across my
eyes like tired soldiers,
I see them all dressed in
white, I hear their widows
weeping through the
gentle breeze making
the leaves peacefully
quiver, I continue to
believe in the good
of mankind, I tell myself
all the answers hide
in the delicate corners
of a quiet room …
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 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

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