Voyeur (above) by mad man & painter extraordinaire Christian Millet, one of our featured artists at the 1st Annual Swirl-A-Bout!on 11.07.09! Christian is also one over 20 resident artists currently being displayed in Mad Swirl's Mad Gallery.
In case you missed it, here's a taste of the yummy poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...
Mad Circus
This swirling illusion
is only a fusion
of creative energies
forming a synergy
which completely
transforms the ordinary
according to the
quintessential strategy
of transcending humanities
increasing mediocrity
by joyously
and drunkenly
embracing
this creative energy
and expressing living in
all its raw honesty
in this fusing unity
of collective communities
communicating
thru sandblasting
the senses
past these present tenses
creating and curating
this moment in time
that’s a timeless, weightless,
pageless, ageless
circus of madness
and rhymes.
- Johnny Olson
(1 poem added 11.06.09)
•••••••••••
Breadcrumbs
it became too muddled
too ego centered
rather than heart felt.
I promise not to go that way.
I promise to stay at home
and not head to the big city.
in “sophistication” we think
the heart and things to do with the heart
are silly and pointless.
but ah, friend, these are the things that really matter,
that give hope, that take away the sting of the vicious
businessman, or the opportunist pig.
so bring back the sunset, bring back the open road
bring back sprawling on the living room floor
writing poetry and drawing pictures.
bring back the innocence of the dream and the optimism
of making a difference.
- Mike Meraz
(1 poem added 11.05.09)
•••••••••••
Memoirs
It takes depth
to write memoirs,
afternoons full of
questions,
before my voice floods
the cemetery
with music.
- Sergio A. Ortiz
(added 11.04.09)
•••••••••••
Big Building
Once these vertical valleys were reserved
for mountains, Daredevil sparrows, Sons
failing from sun-stroke, evicted angels
meteorites; gaseous glow, stars and other
specks of space spit
oh, no more—
rivets, sparkle, and man-power un-impress
pedestrians: staunch civilians walk the spirals;
stuff the elevators of the Sword of Civilization
impressive
the spear stands and doesn’t spindle
to string: strands of DEATH FROM ABOVE
our heads. Praise to blueprints as
Phallic Man pleasures the sky. I’m Impressed
with the flower of this city. Sorry,
others who wish it’d be sucked into soil
with seeds and celebrity corpses. Sully
Inmates sick of the Sky’s Ulcer, pushing a spiked
shadow from the tall stall
sting and saline as eyes spy; skirt up God’s shimmering shin
:
tourists straining to catch pennies in their eye sockets
On a
congregation of mud, gelling on granite steps taken for granted
CLACK goes the hobo’s cups; germs jitterbugging on grunting
geriatrics and their spot stained mitts choke gracious railing
A CALL a cell call for all to hear; it makes another cell ring a call
such an early time to feed the energy of “You’ve missed me.”
acrylic sprinters are late to be laid off or lay into a CLACKING
keyboard. The tall stall is their stable; the clouds are a
cotton fable. And the blue sky that spreads over the glass
is a cotton picking lie.
Oh,
I Pity the proxies of productivity, this
pulse of industry: small spiders shuffle
in a mother’s sack.
:
inanimate inmates shuffle like penguins on fire
these are the brief stints of barely movement that they lament.
As they gaze over white specks scamper
like baby scorpions on their mother.
They don’t know the sun better than me
than any of the ten-thousands below;
they don’t feel superiority—those who swivel with the gods
they don’t feel anything up there just the
pigeons who gladly; cooly coo and clash
into the glass
:
produced by people; protects people
protects profits and prevents suicides
produced by people; filled by people
who had hoped for more. Except
for the window washer. Who
hopes for less.
- Tyler Malone
(2 poems added 11.03.09)
•••••••••••
Precipice
The surgical procedure went
well, I was told by my heavenly
physician, but a devilish post
operative infection had other
ideas, and tossed me into a funnel
of darkness and delirium.
In a corkscrew whirl of dizzying
distance and time, I was a white
cardboard figure being whipped
by the winds of mortality, until
I caught a precipice to which I
clung by ever loosening fingernails.
I called to a Lord from whom I was
distant. “I am ready to go,” I cried.
The white light known to mark the
end flashed briefly before me, as I
fell back from the cliff in a downward
descent.
A feeling of relief that death had
come was jolted by a switch-like
click I heard deep inside my head.
My eyes opened. I saw my wife, and
I said: “I’m back.”
The mysterious power that clutched
me from the fall remains with me as
a divine gentle touch on my soul.
- Eric Miller
(added 11.02.09)
•••••••••••
Blistered Guitar Fingers and Broken Note Blues
(If you were meant to save him you would have)
Mississippi at midnight
How many times have they been through here?
How many long night rides to gigs?
Smoking cigarettes, giving each other advice
avoiding the cops
avoiding the KKK
Broken jaws heal so slowly
When all you want to do is blow
Mystics in their own right
comparing
ex-wives, ex-dealers, and groupies
whittling the miles away
bullets fired by warm hands
compelled to ricochet
town by town
dive by dive
Cadillac’s with wings
into an unknown night
Something soothing and melodic about passing through small towns
The mystery of voodoo promises whispering broken bone harmonies with foggy lips
The man driving has a sweetheart in Dallas and a wife in Wilsonville
This is the road
where he leaves it all behind
the guilt, the desire, and all the tragedy of life
Perpetuation, destination, free and nameless
With out any identity
if only for a few nights
he can become someone else on stage
he can be a god looking down
Bedroom eyes and wagging tails
Send praises up to him
glinting in the lights
of lust and admiration
But it’s just another demon
with a pretty face
Even if it does look like her
it’s not the real thing
She’ll never
leave Texas for him
Just like he’ll never
leave his wife
for her
But sometimes,
The planets get together
and are aligned just right
and those two artists
become more than their separate lives
They become more than
sinners sneaking around behind god’s back
They meet at midnight
They meet like teenagers
Foreheads meet and inner-eyes kiss
Fog on the windows
Violins and guitars sing
A train keeps the rhythm
and the only witness
is some nameless and forgotten gravel road
just outside Montgomery
He begs for her words
Lyrics from a silver moon tongue
She knows those songs
are the only children
they will ever have together
He knows that their music
lives and breathes
Pick'n-and-a-Grin'n
the only life worth living
So he keeps on driving
- Desmene M. Statum
(as featured in Mad Swirl VI: The Blue Note Issue)
•••••••••••
Therapy
So here we are being analytical
Spiritually lyrical
Chronically cynical
You're no longer apolitical
Folded, twisted, convoluted
My mind's polluted
Shoot it
oops, I dropped a hint
Let information leak out
I should think before I speak out
A victim of diametric interlocution
Imagine if I wasn't symbolically oppressed
My thoughts chemically suppressed
What then would I be thinking
Were I psychically undressed
Perverse aversions, disturbing techniques of avoidance
I'm symptomatically depressed
- William Roberts
(added 10.31.09)
•••••••••••
The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin' on... now... now... NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the poetic conversations going on in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We're swirling it here 24/7!
Certifiable Swirlifiers,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“I have my own little world, but it's okay - they know me here.” Author Unknown
Join us LIVE THIS SATURDAY (11.07.09)...
Ladies & Gentlemen, Loose-Women & Pickpockets, Hipsters & Squares, step right up! The mad ones at Mad Swirl are proud to present to you...Swirl-A-Bout! On 11.07.09 we will be featuring the maddest mad ones that we know! Poets? Lots of 'em! Musicians? 10-4 good buddy! Visual artists? Do we! Fire breathers? Yup. Burlesque dancers? You can bet your pretty lil' bottom dollar we do! Click here to buy your ticket to ride and to find out more about Swirl-A-Bout!
Posts
