::: A Taste of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 05.22.09 :::

"A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it from going to sleep." Salman Rushdie


Black and gray city with blue sky (above) by Adam Yeater, our newest of over a dozen mad swirlin' resident artists being displayed in the Mad Gallery!

So, are you hungry for your weekly taste of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum? We once again are serving you up a swirling variety of collected mad poetry from the most maddest of the mad poets from all corners of this big & blue swirly marble and have showcased them in the Poetry Forum just for you. Here’s just a taste of what to expect when you visit Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum. The Forum is in flux, it’s a living and breathing, ever evolving and changing entity...so please come by and come by often for the latest swirling additions!

It’s the eleventh hour & we will be waiting & heading home
(shortage in chaos)


Somethings gotta change
This socialist dilemma
Slinks quietly in the night
Beacon of hope dims
then
I hear people
The dead people
All the people man
they
moan
they moan
and choke
We don’t want you
Even 99 years of war is better
Than politico defacto
Manifestos
Even eternal damnation
In the fiery pits of hell is better
Than this fucking America
That has a cancer sore festering
Inside our skins
Dontcha think
Its time to stand up
And forget about your moments of pleasure
Cause this country is well on its way to
Impoverishment
Prisonment
Where butchery used to beseen only on the news
And our missionaries were crying
Holding the dead babies in their arms
While the natives danced round rings of fire
Screaming like banshees to their
Universal demi gods
Over here it means nothing
But the nothing is coming
My own insecure delusions
Mean nothing at all
Hopelessness
Change is coming
When the citizens don’t feel at all
Well I feel something
It aint my time
The retching in my guts
going deeper than a party line
If the sheep keep on following
The edge of the earth will appear
And the way down is forever
The change is coming down
I can already hear the cries
My shadow runs away from the
Bleary eyed bleating bleeding in their remorses
I know something bout remorses
Hear it’s a lot of nothing but the same
When I wake up I don’t miss it
But the sucking always seem to find me
Sitting her in my solitary loudness
Then the people of the earth will
Sing soooooooo long wish you well
Picking pennies from the seas
Of anonymity
Cause anything will do
When the coins are adorned by a crown
Please sirs may I have some
Please sirs may I have some more
Shouting above the crowds
Watching commerce topple
The quiet skies brood in the wake
Of a thousand years to this heartache
Watching the meadows burn under the hole
In the atmosphere
Where I spin and stall on the rings of jubilee
When democracy used to ask permissions
From the people
Its now time to say goodbye
To the lies
Good bye
To the surprise of secret meetings
Of skulls that speak
Blinking dead eyes
That forgot about a creed
Where the meek shall inherit the earth
Bury my bones in the dirt
Stick a stake in my eyes
Cause my story my heaven
Has lied
I have sewn it up in my mirror
When I try to see if I am alive
We cant let them go on killing us the same
Cause my heart is broken again
And the storm is here again
When will it end
My vote gets choked
Inside the voice that tempts me
That leaves me
Drained and empty
Certain certainty
Is like depravity
An unwrapped gift
Under the burning bush
Under the burning bush
Where the eagle dives
Sizzling in oil
Don’t look at the X’s
In the eagles eye
Of my generation
For you shall be blind
Like the rest of us.
Blind.
Like.
The.
Rest.
Of.
Us.
Skinless in the storm
Shadow thin
Skinless in the storm
Shadow thin.
Drowning in the spit
Of our new universal
Language
tatsächlich hier schlucken wir das Einblenden unseres Nachdenkens

John C Sweet


(1 poem added 05.22.09)


(From "The Corner", a new poetry book by John C Sweet. To order a copy please click here.)

All Things Considered

All things considered,
I think
it really was for the best.
I mean, we’re both happy
now
(again)
and these young years have
wizened us
without the wrinkles, Einstein hair,
or two-week-old-balloon asses.

But all that considered,
I think
we’ve earned it, the wisdom,
you know?
Like, you know, how we can say
been there / done that
and really Mean It because
we know.

I think
we’re alright
I think
we’re alright
I think—

I mean, you know,
all things considered
of course.

Andrew Wirzburger

(3 poems added 05.21.09)

Dreamin’

Ever have one of those
Freudian
nonsensical
three-act nocturnal plays
where an overweight panda bear
treated you like her son
and you ended up searching
for days
weeks it seems
until you finally find your maternal heir
sitting at a Wendy’s
suckin’ on a swirl ice cream
with a meth head
who wears tattoos like jewelry?

You too?

Great news . . .
I thought I was the only one
who hid deep, dark secrets
in animal fur
hidden
for the whole world to see
in a fast food restaurant
on Main Street
U.S.A.

How did it end
the saga
of the
deadbeat mom
named Lulu?

I’d love to tell you
but according to your gold pocket watch
our session is
over -
unless you need to hear
what you want, what you
need
that will cost me
another piece of my head.

No problem, you say?

Good . . . because do I have another doozy for you.

Joseph D. DiLella

(2 poems added 05.20.09)

Monkey Puppet Guy

1.
I enjoy people watching in Portland
sitting outside Broadway Coffee

A guy in a van
with a bunch of stuff
glued all over the hull
weird skeleton parts and plastic toys
keeps driving in circles around the block

He's wearing a clown nose on his face
and a monkey puppet on his left hand
which he has stuck out his window
and he's blasting "Funky Town"
nice and loud
and singing along
in a squealy-screechy voice
as the puppet mouths the words
to the song

Wonderful

There's no part of that spectacle
that I don't enjoy

But all the rest of the people
strolling the sidewalks
are ignoring him
pretending it's not happening

I think it's fun
at least

2.
Turns out
according to a friend of mine
who actually lives in Portland
that the monkey puppet guy
sells drugs to kids

Why is evil
so much fun?

Richard F. Yates

(2 poems added 05.19.09)

There Is No Explanation for Any of This

The shirtsleeves
fell off my shirt,
and you burned my coattails like a matchbook cover,
and I was not happy about it,
but I was still standing
above the ocean, standing.

The moon reset
and stood silent before midnight
stood silent.
And I said my prayers
and fell off the face
of the Earth.

No explanation was offered
for any of this
and none would have been necessary,

but the desert next to the ocean melts
and becomes glass,
glass that you can dance upon,
and build houses with raindrops
where no explanation is necessary.

Sirens and horns
scream from centuries
we have not seen,
seasons that we have not worn.
Disciples do their best,
but they are no match for this:
the day dances upon
the endless night like the flame
upon a matchstick
that doesn't exist.

And there is no explanation
for any of this.

Where should I begin,
again?
There is a song-storm
brewing without secrets,
seeing without the sun,
living without the night;
distant no-answer
of forever drinks from the fountain
at the center of the city
next to Martin Luther King
and John F. Kennedy.

Where am I standing?
Where is the forest?
Where is the blue angel
fish with the orange tail?

I stand next to the color of starlight
and HOPE.

The implications of this
are subtle
and they make me SCREAM.

There's no explanation for any of this.
This is the purple fountain place
that stays close to the volcano,
this is the eye of the sandstorm,
there's no explanation for any of this.
Painted upon darkness,
resolute but floating,
dying with direct intent,
and knowing why
and what for,
there is no explanation
for any of this.
But this is
what you hear
and it is here . . .

No explanation was offered
and none was necessary.

Chris Hamilton

(1 poem added 05.18.09)

The All-Knowing Nurse

I didn’t stay home because of you
Just so you know
Just to clarify
Because I’m certain you were concerned

I had a dentist appointment, in fact,
and as the nurse painfully prodded the inner recesses of my mouth
she noted:
“My, you take torture exceptionally well”
I smiled and thought of you

If she only knew

Taylor Starr

(3 poems added 05.17.09)

Clear Mind

A clear and cloudless mind...
Is dearer to my soul...
Than gold or wine...
A well developed thought...
...When caught
...When on the wing
...Is such a blessed thing.
I cherish each impulse...
To touch...
To feel and smell...
Not hell...But heaven...to my heart.
It takes me far apart...
From pits and fits...
Of fear and dread...
That swirl around...
My heart...
When thoughts grow dim...
And shrivel...
To a...
.
.
.
d
r
i
p


Patricia Shavers


(2 poems added 05.16.09)

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