The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 01.30.10
"Everything is poetry. It's just a matter of whether or not you can see it." James Dye
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum, now with editorial notes!...
•••••••••••
THANK GOD FOR THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG
kid goes off to school as a matter of habit not knowing his luck
the sum is greater than the parts and one kid in the heart sure is
greater than the hole that is left without one the nuthatch is not a
woodpecker ah so much to learn! it is only a mirror and not the
real thing but it might as well be after the hurricane the air was a
hard blue and the sky is brand new everything changes nothing is
ever always forever and so it is the end of the world every single
goddam day bluegrass in the park "I washed my hands in muddy
water but they didn't come clean" living in Turkey abandoned by
her husband she still has her kids but still lucky to be strong aura
of American has a fighting chance someday long slow mountains
move under the sheets as she whispers my heart is a bubble sun
came up again so thank God for big favors and small favors too
love is knot but love is surely the last instinct a direct connection
hummingbird and hawk both together in my back yard I'm surely
blessed neat perfect deliberate in hunger a dividing line between
land and sky can be not so clear no a hard lesson learned don't
you take your back for granted if Joshua Chamberlain had gone
to the Point we'd've lost the War Jeb Stuart was too fast for his
own good he outran them all but too late high tide at Gettysburg
which when taken at the flood led on to cert doom it wasn't right
or wrong it wasn't about justice it was just business a five string
banjo and an old Gibson guitar is a time machine I saw her again
last night and she was a dream so what did I see are those pearls
or tears which is worth more but I just can’t see clearly anymore
- Satnrose
(1 poem added 01.30.10)
editor's note: "The challenge to growing in and learning of this crazy world; falling in love, falling in battle. How true love is a history of lovers - we are spectators and historians. A great read!"
•••••••••••
Blood is Never Gone
Love is the blood that courses,
trembling
through our veins
Softly rustling past our heart,
caressing,
gentle and swift
Pooling on the pink of
our tongue,
metallic and sweet
It quenches thirst in such
a beautifully
grotesque manner
Stark red, dark as pain
across
snowy, startled flesh
Dripping, spurting, how it
longs
for wounds
It stains our skin, so wet, so cold,
unremovable
no matter how gone
Wound after wound, the flashing blade
we hold
why do we do this?
Why do we let the blood run
out
forever, lost?
Why let it rain so hopelessly
hard
with scarlet petals?
And the blood does run
does run
scorching, beautiful red
Why can't we stop the flow
stop
the stream of remorse
Because blood is never gone
until
it's gone.
- Isabella Grabski
(added 01.29.10)
editor's note: "I get the metaphor - but have to say, I'm hoping it is a metaphor, and not a suicide note. Yeah, it's a metaphor; everything is like blood. 'Help' yourself."
•••••••••••
IN ALASKA, NORTH OF FAIRBANKS
I can’t believe how brief
the day is,
how unlike any day
I’ve ever known.
It’s not a day at all really,
just a skein of light
between two nights,
the brief shock
of sunrise stumbling
across a sunset,
like a man catching a glimpse
of his own double,
then it all going black.
And cold...
I’ve never known a heart
as cold as this.
It’s not selective.
It’s out to chill the blood
of everyone.
Hard life breeds hard men,
so the wisdom has it.
But maybe hard men
just show up some place
and this is the result.
- John Grey
(2 poems added 01.27.10)
editor's note: "Raises a very interesting question about the origins of things."
•••••••••••
something about death
makes this poem seem so important;
picture me, long after
this piece has collected dust
on a musty bookshelf due
to apathy – who’ll publish
this garbage anyway, right –
me, hunched over a journal
with the light turned low enough
to ruin my eyesight, all this
for you, you, you, reading
and wanting to know
what I was thinking, then,
piecing word by word the mistakes
of lines, and you’ll draw
a blank, just a mental
frame, rusted (and you can’t tell
what the border was anymore)
and keep thinking that,
because that’s the only way
this poem can breathe.
- Carl Vitente
(added 01.26.10)
editor's note:"Well, this one caught me by surprise. I have never had a poem reach up and tweak my nose before, make me see some things from the poem's perspective. I like this one!"
•••••••••••
Hypertext
< html >
< head >
< meta name="Keywords" content="lost, soulmate, poetry, time, unspoken healing " / >
< meta name="Description" content="I have known her white face since I was 8 year old, trying to be sane in Vietnam. The reality of her scares me even now. Especially, now that she has chosen another. Regardless of what others blindly moralize, I will continue to seek courage in loving her in the silence of my heart." / >
< title >Hypertext< /title >
< style type="text/css" >
< !--
body,td,th {
color: #000;
}
body {
background-color: #006;
}
.present {
font-size: 24px;
}
.past {
font-style: italic;
}
.emotion {
color: #fff;
}
.broken {
color: #FF0;
text-align: center;
}
-- >
< /style >< /head >
< body >
< table border="2" >
< tr >
< td >depression
< td >anger
< td >faith
acceptance
art
< /tr >
< tr >
< td colspan="5" >< span class="past" >The last time I heard from Maya was in a Yahoo email, telling me that she wouldn't be attending the poetry workshop that Wednesday.< /span > < span class="present" >A year later, this past week, when I attended a job fair for non-profit souls, I thought I saw the back of her. < span class="emotion" >I became mute.< /span >< /span >< /td >
< /tr >
< tr >
< td colspan="5" >< span class="broken" >© Le Minh Hoang< /span >< /td >
< /table >
< /body >
< /html >
- Lee Minh Sloca
(added 01.24.10)
editor's note: "This is what I'm talking about when it comes to 'creative formatting' - this is worth sharing with all. The visual aspect of the word positioning adds an alien perspective on what proves to be a wonderful, sad love story - like it is being streamed via microwave to the mother ship."
•••••••••••
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 year, every decade, 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'll be right here waitin' for ya'!!
Diggin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“You call it madness, but I call it love” Don Byas
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum, now with editorial notes!...
•••••••••••
THANK GOD FOR THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG
kid goes off to school as a matter of habit not knowing his luck
the sum is greater than the parts and one kid in the heart sure is
greater than the hole that is left without one the nuthatch is not a
woodpecker ah so much to learn! it is only a mirror and not the
real thing but it might as well be after the hurricane the air was a
hard blue and the sky is brand new everything changes nothing is
ever always forever and so it is the end of the world every single
goddam day bluegrass in the park "I washed my hands in muddy
water but they didn't come clean" living in Turkey abandoned by
her husband she still has her kids but still lucky to be strong aura
of American has a fighting chance someday long slow mountains
move under the sheets as she whispers my heart is a bubble sun
came up again so thank God for big favors and small favors too
love is knot but love is surely the last instinct a direct connection
hummingbird and hawk both together in my back yard I'm surely
blessed neat perfect deliberate in hunger a dividing line between
land and sky can be not so clear no a hard lesson learned don't
you take your back for granted if Joshua Chamberlain had gone
to the Point we'd've lost the War Jeb Stuart was too fast for his
own good he outran them all but too late high tide at Gettysburg
which when taken at the flood led on to cert doom it wasn't right
or wrong it wasn't about justice it was just business a five string
banjo and an old Gibson guitar is a time machine I saw her again
last night and she was a dream so what did I see are those pearls
or tears which is worth more but I just can’t see clearly anymore
- Satnrose
(1 poem added 01.30.10)
editor's note: "The challenge to growing in and learning of this crazy world; falling in love, falling in battle. How true love is a history of lovers - we are spectators and historians. A great read!"
•••••••••••
Blood is Never Gone
Love is the blood that courses,
trembling
through our veins
Softly rustling past our heart,
caressing,
gentle and swift
Pooling on the pink of
our tongue,
metallic and sweet
It quenches thirst in such
a beautifully
grotesque manner
Stark red, dark as pain
across
snowy, startled flesh
Dripping, spurting, how it
longs
for wounds
It stains our skin, so wet, so cold,
unremovable
no matter how gone
Wound after wound, the flashing blade
we hold
why do we do this?
Why do we let the blood run
out
forever, lost?
Why let it rain so hopelessly
hard
with scarlet petals?
And the blood does run
does run
scorching, beautiful red
Why can't we stop the flow
stop
the stream of remorse
Because blood is never gone
until
it's gone.
- Isabella Grabski
(added 01.29.10)
editor's note: "I get the metaphor - but have to say, I'm hoping it is a metaphor, and not a suicide note. Yeah, it's a metaphor; everything is like blood. 'Help' yourself."
•••••••••••
IN ALASKA, NORTH OF FAIRBANKS
I can’t believe how brief
the day is,
how unlike any day
I’ve ever known.
It’s not a day at all really,
just a skein of light
between two nights,
the brief shock
of sunrise stumbling
across a sunset,
like a man catching a glimpse
of his own double,
then it all going black.
And cold...
I’ve never known a heart
as cold as this.
It’s not selective.
It’s out to chill the blood
of everyone.
Hard life breeds hard men,
so the wisdom has it.
But maybe hard men
just show up some place
and this is the result.
- John Grey
(2 poems added 01.27.10)
editor's note: "Raises a very interesting question about the origins of things."
•••••••••••
something about death
makes this poem seem so important;
picture me, long after
this piece has collected dust
on a musty bookshelf due
to apathy – who’ll publish
this garbage anyway, right –
me, hunched over a journal
with the light turned low enough
to ruin my eyesight, all this
for you, you, you, reading
and wanting to know
what I was thinking, then,
piecing word by word the mistakes
of lines, and you’ll draw
a blank, just a mental
frame, rusted (and you can’t tell
what the border was anymore)
and keep thinking that,
because that’s the only way
this poem can breathe.
- Carl Vitente
(added 01.26.10)
editor's note:"Well, this one caught me by surprise. I have never had a poem reach up and tweak my nose before, make me see some things from the poem's perspective. I like this one!"
•••••••••••
Hypertext
< html >
< head >
< meta name="Keywords" content="lost, soulmate, poetry, time, unspoken healing " / >
< meta name="Description" content="I have known her white face since I was 8 year old, trying to be sane in Vietnam. The reality of her scares me even now. Especially, now that she has chosen another. Regardless of what others blindly moralize, I will continue to seek courage in loving her in the silence of my heart." / >
< title >Hypertext< /title >
< style type="text/css" >
< !--
body,td,th {
color: #000;
}
body {
background-color: #006;
}
.present {
font-size: 24px;
}
.past {
font-style: italic;
}
.emotion {
color: #fff;
}
.broken {
color: #FF0;
text-align: center;
}
-- >
< /style >< /head >
< body >
< table border="2" >
< tr >
< td >depression
< td >anger
< td >faith
< /tr >
< tr >
< td colspan="5" >< span class="past" >The last time I heard from Maya was in a Yahoo email, telling me that she wouldn't be attending the poetry workshop that Wednesday.< /span > < span class="present" >A year later, this past week, when I attended a job fair for non-profit souls, I thought I saw the back of her. < span class="emotion" >I became mute.< /span >< /span >< /td >
< /tr >
< tr >
< td colspan="5" >< span class="broken" >© Le Minh Hoang< /span >< /td >
< /table >
< /body >
< /html >
- Lee Minh Sloca
(added 01.24.10)
editor's note: "This is what I'm talking about when it comes to 'creative formatting' - this is worth sharing with all. The visual aspect of the word positioning adds an alien perspective on what proves to be a wonderful, sad love story - like it is being streamed via microwave to the mother ship."
•••••••••••
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 year, every decade, 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'll be right here waitin' for ya'!!
Diggin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“You call it madness, but I call it love” Don Byas
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