Category Archives: Poems

Unhinged (a seasonal poem)

The man rages
arms flailing,
he sputters and fumes.
Impotent fury.
The wind blowing fiercely
whips away his whining,
rattles and flaps
his windows and doors.
Unhinged, he rants.
His sensibility scatters
in the rubble of his composure.
The wind —
this damn wind —
wins. mjh

Listen to Unhinged (<1 min)

previously posted Fri 04/16/10 at 11:47 am

My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)

[another repost]

Wind Makes Crazy (a timely poem)

crow is talking

The raven
preaches from above
his dark robes spread
he tells his tale again
“I am the black rock, the Land
full of subtle, fragile life!”
Shouting out
from his piñon pulpit
the choir in the cholla
a meadowlark waiting
to sing today’s hymns
“I am the dark wind, the Breath
that spins the world!”

From my rough-hewn pew
beneath a juniper
I listen to his sermon
seeking enlightenment
from a dark guide
“I am the black cloud, the Water
that awakens life!”

Beside me, a rabbit
whispers, “you cannot turn
the devil away
just with scripture.
Give yourself to God!
Give yourself to God!”

The sky itself has become
a black wing
as I turn away
out of the desert
“Thank you, brother!,
for taking the time.
It is good to see you
In church again!” mjh


Listen to Wind Makes Crazy (1 min)

The backstory

This poem is nearly a true story. I was driving around El Malpais after a solo camping trip. Between rainstorms, I walked alone on a trail and met the raven and rabbit beneath just such a sky. mjh

My Virtual Chapbook (table of contents)

[time to repost this old friend]


Your body is an ocean.
Deep below,
under crushing pressure,
a volcanic fissure spits fire
and bloody light reveals
monsters writhing in mortal combat,
while miles above,
your fleeting smile
is a sailboat
on stalled waters.

12/11/08 2am
[Previously published on: Apr 5, 2013 @ 02:00 ]

A Month of Somedays – a virtual chapbook for 2013

At the end of National Poetry Month, here is a list of the poems I published this month. I call this virtual chapbook “A Month of Somedays.”

These poems received the most Facebook Likes are:

Thank you for reading, for “liking,” rating, and commenting. peace, mjh

In 2011, I published my first virtual chapbook:


Otre vez

Miguel Seco walked into Café Cervantes
and slapped a fat coin on the mahogany bar.
Staring each patron in the eye, he announced,
“This gold goes to the one whose poem pleases me most.”
A hush fell as we all looked around.

A young woman rose.
She told of bitter-sweet adolescent love lost.
With kindness in his eyes,
Miguel shook his head.

The newcomer confidently quoted a trite ditty.
He beat hasty retreat
as if Miguel’s look could kill.

The town fool belched a limerick that won only a wan smile.

After some silence,
an old man stood straight and
spoke of youth as a gift
unappreciated until gone forever.
We stared into our cups, some sobbing.

Tossing the coin to the old man,
Miguel said, “Otre vez, por favor. Otre vez, Señor.”


[Café Cervantes is on the plaza in Poetica. It’s always open mike and most hours are happy.]

In the Garden

Last night
the moon was a lantern
held aloft by Orion
on his stately, ancient walk
across the sky.

In the glow to that lantern
this place was the Garden.

If I were Adam
you would be my Lilith and
I’d have no Eve.
We would stay content
knowing none would follow.

11-06-1998 – Herb Martyr CG, Chiricauhuas, AZ

Three from 1977

My oldest poems swing between love and loss. I’ll spare you the bulk of early efforts, but these three still appeal to me. mjh

I’ve cried and I’ve laughed
I’ve loved and I’ve lost
and yearned for companionship,
whatever the cost.
And through all the learning
and loving and living,
I’ve wanted to balance
the taking and giving.

Fall 1977
– – – – –

October Fourth

I need to hold a pen all night.
I need to hold a lover.
I need to hold a friend all night.
I need to hold some other
some other one to comfort me
to cuddle and embrace
someone to be here next to me
and fill this empty space.

– – – – –

Your scent has left my skin
following your warmth.
Your taste has left my tongue,
now dry in my mouth.
You’ve gone
and taken the things one can’t
leave behind for long.
Gone from my senses,
you remain in my thoughts,
my thoughts that tumble over each other
in search of ink
only to dry in my mind
before they reach the page.