::: A Taste of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum 10.30.09 :::
“Be touched by the beautiful anxiety of life.” Rainer Maria Rilke
Drunk (above) by illustrator Tom Harding, one of 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...
•••••••••••
an invitation to the truth
I invite all makers and lovers of beauty into my heart tonite.
Everything I write
is what it is
be what it be
is what it be
taken with the upshot imagery
of the Buddhas
and the screaming
dull seas,
because the sky is bullshit
and the spirit is
and has no fault.
i seek all that can hold in compassion
the words that i'm spilling out
to be my absolute truth
or not.
benevolence
and kindness thats ripe
so that i may learn
and teach to learn
these things i yearn
and drum up in me
the patchy winds
of sobriety
so that i don't jacky don't jacky up
'cause
50 means goodbye
alone
and bloated and loving my poor dead mother
too long.
sad eyed ladies
bemouthed of lazy
want free cigarettes
want to fuck
before they turn 34,
won't wear yellow
to shame the sun and only come out
when there is a battle to
be won.
in blues mens clothes
to batter my weather in
button and tie
and fend off all the matters
and live like a monk
with the holy virgin mary
my only lover
fends me free of
my femininity
and the choices that
are so impossible.
I CALL ON ALL WHO CAN HEAL ME
can you heal me?
with drink tickets
plastic baggies
and promises of adventure
to crave your attention on long verby tick tack typing
fixated
mesmerized on the stature of you
in the faint light reflections of yester donts
hoping that the
shake bump bump shake bump bump shake bump bump shake...
will break your from your sleep
to come home to your 2 point one
thick with dissapointments...
You,
You don't even know my friends.
How could you?
rowdy and horny,
the kind of people who will smuggle a
bottle of whiskey into a bar
only to later drop it on the floor
like a baby slick with bathwater
and love the night
all the more
we with talent that cannot be denied
give me the beat with stolen harmonica
give me the beat with stolen kisses
give me the beat with worn out alcohol eyes
pass the joint
give me a nother ciggaboo
and watch the birds flock away from the wild eyed
drunk as fuck poets
standing on the corner
outside my favorite
open mic..
where we go
to fuck you up.
we are here to fuck you up
we are you in your unadulterated form
we are the lifeless drones in the cubicles
we are the eat shit for dinner retail whores
we are the two fifty an hour waitresses
we are the stay at home moms
we are the warehouse workers
we are the do what you can'ers
we are the manic depressive solos
we are the older once were younger's
and this is something that you just don't understand
you can't understand
in your tired
monotone
version of us.
i thought i was old
until i ran into a poet
who had no soul.
see,
you don't even know.
how could you?
- Opalina Salas
(as featured in Mad Swirl VI: The Blue Note Issue)
•••••••••••
Hallmark Cards from the Rubber Room
¿why must brushstroke of your tears endear nearness in me?
¿why must the fruit of your smiles root fire inside of me?
~ bookshelves have forsaken me ~
~ gone are El Che, César Chávez, all of Maya’s union warcries ~
¿how many swan dives must it take to revive your blackened heart?
¿how many scars must it take to jar shooting stars from your flesh?
~ flowerpots have forsaken me ~
~ gone are banana slug, tallness of redwood, all of Maya’s freckle-faced sunshine ~
¿must your hairs airbrush his prayer but tear down mine?
¿must your lips skip in beats to his heart but silence mine?
~ bathroom counter has forsaken me ~
~ gone are razor blades, cellphone charger for 2, all of Maya’s fragrance in 4 different languages ~
- Lee Minh Sloca
(added 10.29.09)
•••••••••••
I Turned Around and Kicked My Shadow..., It Was Being Too Clingy...
I just wish my shadow would give me some personal space... it keeps invading it, maybe I’ll get a restraining order on it... insanity appeared and cast a bright, white shadow on my broken shoe, I had no idea what to do about it, I guess I’ll just go and water the infidels, they’re wilting again..., I suspected granularity of immense tininess, but I just couldn’t prove it..., I’ll have to hire the plastic-encrusted, fried detectives next time..., I’ve seen your brain-stimulation process, and I don’t like it..., I can rain down a more interesting one, and don’t touch the orange powder...
- Eric J. Brinovec
(1 poem added 10.28.09)
•••••••••••
Foreclosure
This is why we never say never:
Because dust still crusts under our fingernails.
Because cardboard can still scratch you
And make you bleed. Oh, these boxes –
The ones you swore we would never,
Ever need again. You had found it, I thought,
Our little Eden in the suburbs. But here we are:
Fourteen years in a house that will not
Be ours anymore, and with a month to go
Till the bankers come around. Here we are at
Another day to pack our belongings
And climb on the back of another beast
Of burden. It’s a small consolation that Jesus
Walked the Earth without a place to call His own,
But look! We’re not talking homelessness today.
You are moving right down the street
into a gingerbread house tasting of slate.
I want to tell you it was not your fault,
But I don’t know anything. It is all I can do
To reach down and help, slinging old notebooks
Into the garbage bag you hold open for me.
It is an overwhelming desire to fall at your feet
And tell you that in my eyes, you were never a failure
You were never anything less than perfect
But you’re bleeding again, aren't you:
a hangnail caught on the corrugate.
- Christy Gualtieri
(added 10.27.09)
•••••••••••
Thumbs
(a snapshot, now landlocked)
A sparrow:
If you want to write words as they
are, you have to see everythin
wrong. Still the hermit crab on
the windowsill keeps rearranging,
two volumes of Sophocles.
James registered – too salty to be anything
but sarcastic, though it sounded
nicer against air molecules.
Five bodies sharing one shower have
that effect. A tall stubble with a lip
ring (is that what made the
accent?) said that if I let him draw on
my body he would buy me a drink. We met
in minutes over souvenirs and
yet he asked, trust?
When I come back the print
is always falling or already on the ground.
- Kat Dixon
(1 poem added 10.26.09)
•••••••••••
BELLA TINA
Bella Tina, Tina Bella
Hungers for an artsy fella
One who’s kind and kinda mellow
One who’s spine’s defined, not jello!
Is she searching all around
Like a rabbit on the ground
Is her habit making sounds?
We don’t know, they’ve not been found!
Is she like a wandering waif?
Protecting chords to keep them safe?
Does she sound real rough and gruff?
Eat pasta? Basta! That’s enough!
A mystery girl, each night she dines
Without me on her bread and wine.
Time is funny, rarely fair
It lengthens teeth and whitens hair
Each moment gives more time to me
To write this lousy poetry.
It seems that out of life’s rich bowl
Her fruit is cute, she’s in control
Of how she likes her things to go
Whether fast or whether slow
There is no other girl like this
Aloof thus far, her lips unkissed
A succulent morsel for imagination
A conduit for communication
Wishing us the best of days
A human nymph with radiant ways
Where the Bella Tina goes
Who can say? On twinkle toes!
She catches light beams from the skies
And sends them forth with radiant eyes.
How could I know? I’ve never seen her…
That Tina Bella, Bella Tina.
3/5/09
- Smokey Miles
(added 10.25.09)
•••••••••••
Inferno
& when you finally touch down
in hell
(no red carpet)
the coffee’s gonna need to be strong.
Hungover-horny & (shit!) your sunglasses
left at home in a jacket pocket.
Of all the things to be without...
Sterling Morrison, Joey Ramone & Ray Charles
smarter men than you (on this score)
look godlike standing round in shades
(still!)
The future’s so bright, etc.
It's funny, Lucifer’s looking a lot
like Danny Tenaglia these days.
Guess he’s always hoarded the killer tunes.
Had them all
back at the tree, in snaketime. Brokered ever since.
So here’s the rub:
there’s drugs everywhere
but no painkillers
or sleepers.
Figure pretty quick that you won’t
be sleeping ‘til… who knows…
Judgement?
But by then your bender will’ve
gathered such momentum that
you’ll’ve forgotten everything
important – even what they say
about the wicked. Anyway, it’s true. And
they're out of ice.
Notes: Sterling Morrison played guitar in The Velvet Underground. Danny Tenaglia is a New York-based DJ known for his marathon stints behind the decks (20 hour sets are not unusual for him).
- Stu Hatton
(added 10.24.09)
•••••••••••
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!
Swirlin' It Up Old School,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“We are odd compounds full of explosive material to which circumstances may at any time apply a spark, with results undreamed of even by those who thought they knew us best.” Joseph Farrell
•••••••••••
Join us this coming Wednesday (11.04.09)...
As Mad Swirl continues doing the poetic & musical Open Mic voodoo that what we do as we are celebrate our 10th Birthday AND our 5th Open Mic Anniversary! Wanna be a part of this whole mad swirly celebration? Then shoot us an e-mail (crazy@madswirl.com) and let us know what you got in your mad mind.
After we get our celebratin' on, join Mad Swirl along with the musically magical trio Swirve, as we do their darndest to both blow and open our minds. We will be callin' all you mystically mad poets, musicians, dancers, actors, singers, performers & any other miscellaneous mad ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth area to come & strut your mad stuff!
•••••••••••
Join us next 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!
Drunk (above) by illustrator Tom Harding, one of 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...
•••••••••••
an invitation to the truth
I invite all makers and lovers of beauty into my heart tonite.
Everything I write
is what it is
be what it be
is what it be
taken with the upshot imagery
of the Buddhas
and the screaming
dull seas,
because the sky is bullshit
and the spirit is
and has no fault.
i seek all that can hold in compassion
the words that i'm spilling out
to be my absolute truth
or not.
benevolence
and kindness thats ripe
so that i may learn
and teach to learn
these things i yearn
and drum up in me
the patchy winds
of sobriety
so that i don't jacky don't jacky up
'cause
50 means goodbye
alone
and bloated and loving my poor dead mother
too long.
sad eyed ladies
bemouthed of lazy
want free cigarettes
want to fuck
before they turn 34,
won't wear yellow
to shame the sun and only come out
when there is a battle to
be won.
in blues mens clothes
to batter my weather in
button and tie
and fend off all the matters
and live like a monk
with the holy virgin mary
my only lover
fends me free of
my femininity
and the choices that
are so impossible.
I CALL ON ALL WHO CAN HEAL ME
can you heal me?
with drink tickets
plastic baggies
and promises of adventure
to crave your attention on long verby tick tack typing
fixated
mesmerized on the stature of you
in the faint light reflections of yester donts
hoping that the
shake bump bump shake bump bump shake bump bump shake...
will break your from your sleep
to come home to your 2 point one
thick with dissapointments...
You,
You don't even know my friends.
How could you?
rowdy and horny,
the kind of people who will smuggle a
bottle of whiskey into a bar
only to later drop it on the floor
like a baby slick with bathwater
and love the night
all the more
we with talent that cannot be denied
give me the beat with stolen harmonica
give me the beat with stolen kisses
give me the beat with worn out alcohol eyes
pass the joint
give me a nother ciggaboo
and watch the birds flock away from the wild eyed
drunk as fuck poets
standing on the corner
outside my favorite
open mic..
where we go
to fuck you up.
we are here to fuck you up
we are you in your unadulterated form
we are the lifeless drones in the cubicles
we are the eat shit for dinner retail whores
we are the two fifty an hour waitresses
we are the stay at home moms
we are the warehouse workers
we are the do what you can'ers
we are the manic depressive solos
we are the older once were younger's
and this is something that you just don't understand
you can't understand
in your tired
monotone
version of us.
i thought i was old
until i ran into a poet
who had no soul.
see,
you don't even know.
how could you?
- Opalina Salas
(as featured in Mad Swirl VI: The Blue Note Issue)
•••••••••••
Hallmark Cards from the Rubber Room
¿why must brushstroke of your tears endear nearness in me?
¿why must the fruit of your smiles root fire inside of me?
~ bookshelves have forsaken me ~
~ gone are El Che, César Chávez, all of Maya’s union warcries ~
¿how many swan dives must it take to revive your blackened heart?
¿how many scars must it take to jar shooting stars from your flesh?
~ flowerpots have forsaken me ~
~ gone are banana slug, tallness of redwood, all of Maya’s freckle-faced sunshine ~
¿must your hairs airbrush his prayer but tear down mine?
¿must your lips skip in beats to his heart but silence mine?
~ bathroom counter has forsaken me ~
~ gone are razor blades, cellphone charger for 2, all of Maya’s fragrance in 4 different languages ~
- Lee Minh Sloca
(added 10.29.09)
•••••••••••
I Turned Around and Kicked My Shadow..., It Was Being Too Clingy...
I just wish my shadow would give me some personal space... it keeps invading it, maybe I’ll get a restraining order on it... insanity appeared and cast a bright, white shadow on my broken shoe, I had no idea what to do about it, I guess I’ll just go and water the infidels, they’re wilting again..., I suspected granularity of immense tininess, but I just couldn’t prove it..., I’ll have to hire the plastic-encrusted, fried detectives next time..., I’ve seen your brain-stimulation process, and I don’t like it..., I can rain down a more interesting one, and don’t touch the orange powder...
- Eric J. Brinovec
(1 poem added 10.28.09)
•••••••••••
Foreclosure
This is why we never say never:
Because dust still crusts under our fingernails.
Because cardboard can still scratch you
And make you bleed. Oh, these boxes –
The ones you swore we would never,
Ever need again. You had found it, I thought,
Our little Eden in the suburbs. But here we are:
Fourteen years in a house that will not
Be ours anymore, and with a month to go
Till the bankers come around. Here we are at
Another day to pack our belongings
And climb on the back of another beast
Of burden. It’s a small consolation that Jesus
Walked the Earth without a place to call His own,
But look! We’re not talking homelessness today.
You are moving right down the street
into a gingerbread house tasting of slate.
I want to tell you it was not your fault,
But I don’t know anything. It is all I can do
To reach down and help, slinging old notebooks
Into the garbage bag you hold open for me.
It is an overwhelming desire to fall at your feet
And tell you that in my eyes, you were never a failure
You were never anything less than perfect
But you’re bleeding again, aren't you:
a hangnail caught on the corrugate.
- Christy Gualtieri
(added 10.27.09)
•••••••••••
Thumbs
(a snapshot, now landlocked)
A sparrow:
If you want to write words as they
are, you have to see everythin
wrong. Still the hermit crab on
the windowsill keeps rearranging,
two volumes of Sophocles.
James registered – too salty to be anything
but sarcastic, though it sounded
nicer against air molecules.
Five bodies sharing one shower have
that effect. A tall stubble with a lip
ring (is that what made the
accent?) said that if I let him draw on
my body he would buy me a drink. We met
in minutes over souvenirs and
yet he asked, trust?
When I come back the print
is always falling or already on the ground.
- Kat Dixon
(1 poem added 10.26.09)
•••••••••••
BELLA TINA
Bella Tina, Tina Bella
Hungers for an artsy fella
One who’s kind and kinda mellow
One who’s spine’s defined, not jello!
Is she searching all around
Like a rabbit on the ground
Is her habit making sounds?
We don’t know, they’ve not been found!
Is she like a wandering waif?
Protecting chords to keep them safe?
Does she sound real rough and gruff?
Eat pasta? Basta! That’s enough!
A mystery girl, each night she dines
Without me on her bread and wine.
Time is funny, rarely fair
It lengthens teeth and whitens hair
Each moment gives more time to me
To write this lousy poetry.
It seems that out of life’s rich bowl
Her fruit is cute, she’s in control
Of how she likes her things to go
Whether fast or whether slow
There is no other girl like this
Aloof thus far, her lips unkissed
A succulent morsel for imagination
A conduit for communication
Wishing us the best of days
A human nymph with radiant ways
Where the Bella Tina goes
Who can say? On twinkle toes!
She catches light beams from the skies
And sends them forth with radiant eyes.
How could I know? I’ve never seen her…
That Tina Bella, Bella Tina.
3/5/09
- Smokey Miles
(added 10.25.09)
•••••••••••
Inferno
& when you finally touch down
in hell
(no red carpet)
the coffee’s gonna need to be strong.
Hungover-horny & (shit!) your sunglasses
left at home in a jacket pocket.
Of all the things to be without...
Sterling Morrison, Joey Ramone & Ray Charles
smarter men than you (on this score)
look godlike standing round in shades
(still!)
The future’s so bright, etc.
It's funny, Lucifer’s looking a lot
like Danny Tenaglia these days.
Guess he’s always hoarded the killer tunes.
Had them all
back at the tree, in snaketime. Brokered ever since.
So here’s the rub:
there’s drugs everywhere
but no painkillers
or sleepers.
Figure pretty quick that you won’t
be sleeping ‘til… who knows…
Judgement?
But by then your bender will’ve
gathered such momentum that
you’ll’ve forgotten everything
important – even what they say
about the wicked. Anyway, it’s true. And
they're out of ice.
Notes: Sterling Morrison played guitar in The Velvet Underground. Danny Tenaglia is a New York-based DJ known for his marathon stints behind the decks (20 hour sets are not unusual for him).
- Stu Hatton
(added 10.24.09)
•••••••••••
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!
Swirlin' It Up Old School,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“We are odd compounds full of explosive material to which circumstances may at any time apply a spark, with results undreamed of even by those who thought they knew us best.” Joseph Farrell
•••••••••••
Join us this coming Wednesday (11.04.09)...
As Mad Swirl continues doing the poetic & musical Open Mic voodoo that what we do as we are celebrate our 10th Birthday AND our 5th Open Mic Anniversary! Wanna be a part of this whole mad swirly celebration? Then shoot us an e-mail (crazy@madswirl.com) and let us know what you got in your mad mind.
After we get our celebratin' on, join Mad Swirl along with the musically magical trio Swirve, as we do their darndest to both blow and open our minds. We will be callin' all you mystically mad poets, musicians, dancers, actors, singers, performers & any other miscellaneous mad ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth area to come & strut your mad stuff!
•••••••••••
Join us next 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!
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