The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 04.11.10
“Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.” Plutarch
My holiness envelopes everything I see (above) by mad artist David Arthur-Simons, one of over 20 resident artists currently being displayed in Mad Swirl's eclectic Mad Gallery.
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...
•••••••••••
The Festival of Wallflowers
The only dances I can dance
are the ones required by law.
My mother taught me the waltz
when I was seven, but
my cousins were about as amused
as a pair of popsicles in the summer sun.
This might be the best night
of your life, but I pray that it isn’t. There are
so many other reasons to shoot an arrow
in the wild darkness that beats
like the heart of a madman
who will never rival Michelangelo.
You’re not a statue. You never could be and
that’s a good thing. For Cinderella
celebrates at noon now and she thinks
true beauty has something to do
with pumpkin seeds. She’s closer than
you might expect.
And if I’m not mistaken, my white horse
named Blackout will run away
from me tomorrow. I think he already knows
the truth, that the most wonderful words
are those that are written
in water.
Mike Graczyk
(added 04.11.10)
editor's note: How much closer to the answer can we be with a hand full of pumpkin seeds, waltzes to dance to and arrows shot in the dark? Read and drink... - mh
•••••••••••
and still do nothing
i am a cactus
my body has grown
strong through evolution
thank you,
history's dirt
i may feed you
dragon fruit
if you are patient
with me
however, i may be
of the genus echinopsis
meaning,
i may grow a spectacular
flower one evening
but it will die the next morning
i am sorry
still keep me?
Brittany Wallace
(added 04.10.10)
editor's note: If chance would bring a flower to see only once, briefly, or even elusive dragon fruit, such is worth keeping. You can heal those puncture wounds with the cactus' aloe in between. - mh
•••••••••••
RESPITE
The world madly swirls; to which
we add our own convoluted webs.
Is shooting up the only respite
from the madness out there?
Rationality is impotent; it's just
a grand illusion; trying to unravel
the tangled strain that covers our
world.
Retreating to my Japanese
garden, I seek sanctuary there.
It's dark green and silent; the
somber feel cleanses both me
and my mind.
A red Japanese lily sings; it's
melody sooths a weary soul. This
is a magic place where the
crushing world can't enter in.
Mike Berger
(1 poem added 04.09.10)
editor's note: Don't know what one might shoot to hear a Japanese lily sing, but I'm game. This is a garden worth growing in. - mh
•••••••••••
UPARSE
That elusive truth I have heard
Is the reason of all worthy and
White fisted writers
Their knuckles clicking with clichés
In the search of it
The story and the mystery dying
Because of it
The means and the key
In the midden and the bullshit
Never to be rinsed and held gleaming
That one
I haven’t found it
Anthony Murphy
(2 poems added 04.08.10)
editor's note: Inspired writing, divine or otherwise, inspires others to believe one thing or another that was plucked from a dark place. I wonder if the deeper we grope, the more profound the truth will be? Hmmmmm, just beware the smell. - mh
•••••••••••
The Library Terraces
Luna moths carpet quiet terraces
around the library
like discarded books of spells.
I press a severed wing
between the wax paper and stone.
I never knew your solitude
growing earthward
like a dead tree
until we joined our blood hunting.
You taught me aching
then I kept the wine inside me.
The oak trees intone lamentations,
as I await my turn to speak
your chrysalis lips remain silent.
John Swain
(1 poem added 04.07.10)
editor's note: mixing natural with magical together into a story of love - gone wrong, gone right, gone ambivalent, gone. - mh
•••••••••••
Silence
She wondered
Who could be using
A payphone
In crazy wireless era.
He did not say a word,
She did not hang up,
Exactly as it used to be
Back in the eighties.
At that time the innocent
Mute telephone romance,
Felt like cheating
On her husband.
Three decades later
She recognized him
By his meaningful long
Fascinating silence,
Radiant with love.
Farida Samerkhanova
(added 04.06.10)
editor's note: This poet shows us that "wireless love" is not some new construct, but a rebranding of the same old, heart-worn variety we all know so well, and how much a "radiant" silence can recall. Shhhhhh, listen... - mh
•••••••••••
UNFINISHED SOLDIER GRAVE
Calm dust shifts
Unwoven earth is expectant
Pearly maggot roots shiver
They curl upon themselves to wait
Blankets they must make
Of bark string, rose mead, the ferryman’s fare
Singed lash eats unwinking socket bare
Heavy shoes back from use
Battling boots, tight knot brand new
What amused entity
Cut men from their seed
Produced these only sons of naught
As Lucifer was led laughing
Through tower burned minds, through the Cabinet
A moon aged war starved corpocracy
Which lord feeds off grief?
The both you beg are not for me
Your phantoms don’t make tough boys bleed
Kill villages
Scatter ash and limb
Turn a culture into an enemy
Again, your gods don’t speak for me
Meg Frances
(added 04.05.10)
editor's note: Yes, thanks for clearing up some confusion on who the bad guys are (us? them?) and who suffers in this unresolved debate. Peace! - mh
•••••••••••
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 here...
Swirling Madly,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting.” John Russell
My holiness envelopes everything I see (above) by mad artist David Arthur-Simons, one of over 20 resident artists currently being displayed in Mad Swirl's eclectic Mad Gallery.
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...
•••••••••••
The Festival of Wallflowers
The only dances I can dance
are the ones required by law.
My mother taught me the waltz
when I was seven, but
my cousins were about as amused
as a pair of popsicles in the summer sun.
This might be the best night
of your life, but I pray that it isn’t. There are
so many other reasons to shoot an arrow
in the wild darkness that beats
like the heart of a madman
who will never rival Michelangelo.
You’re not a statue. You never could be and
that’s a good thing. For Cinderella
celebrates at noon now and she thinks
true beauty has something to do
with pumpkin seeds. She’s closer than
you might expect.
And if I’m not mistaken, my white horse
named Blackout will run away
from me tomorrow. I think he already knows
the truth, that the most wonderful words
are those that are written
in water.
Mike Graczyk
(added 04.11.10)
editor's note: How much closer to the answer can we be with a hand full of pumpkin seeds, waltzes to dance to and arrows shot in the dark? Read and drink... - mh
•••••••••••
and still do nothing
i am a cactus
my body has grown
strong through evolution
thank you,
history's dirt
i may feed you
dragon fruit
if you are patient
with me
however, i may be
of the genus echinopsis
meaning,
i may grow a spectacular
flower one evening
but it will die the next morning
i am sorry
still keep me?
Brittany Wallace
(added 04.10.10)
editor's note: If chance would bring a flower to see only once, briefly, or even elusive dragon fruit, such is worth keeping. You can heal those puncture wounds with the cactus' aloe in between. - mh
•••••••••••
RESPITE
The world madly swirls; to which
we add our own convoluted webs.
Is shooting up the only respite
from the madness out there?
Rationality is impotent; it's just
a grand illusion; trying to unravel
the tangled strain that covers our
world.
Retreating to my Japanese
garden, I seek sanctuary there.
It's dark green and silent; the
somber feel cleanses both me
and my mind.
A red Japanese lily sings; it's
melody sooths a weary soul. This
is a magic place where the
crushing world can't enter in.
Mike Berger
(1 poem added 04.09.10)
editor's note: Don't know what one might shoot to hear a Japanese lily sing, but I'm game. This is a garden worth growing in. - mh
•••••••••••
UPARSE
That elusive truth I have heard
Is the reason of all worthy and
White fisted writers
Their knuckles clicking with clichés
In the search of it
The story and the mystery dying
Because of it
The means and the key
In the midden and the bullshit
Never to be rinsed and held gleaming
That one
I haven’t found it
Anthony Murphy
(2 poems added 04.08.10)
editor's note: Inspired writing, divine or otherwise, inspires others to believe one thing or another that was plucked from a dark place. I wonder if the deeper we grope, the more profound the truth will be? Hmmmmm, just beware the smell. - mh
•••••••••••
The Library Terraces
Luna moths carpet quiet terraces
around the library
like discarded books of spells.
I press a severed wing
between the wax paper and stone.
I never knew your solitude
growing earthward
like a dead tree
until we joined our blood hunting.
You taught me aching
then I kept the wine inside me.
The oak trees intone lamentations,
as I await my turn to speak
your chrysalis lips remain silent.
John Swain
(1 poem added 04.07.10)
editor's note: mixing natural with magical together into a story of love - gone wrong, gone right, gone ambivalent, gone. - mh
•••••••••••
Silence
She wondered
Who could be using
A payphone
In crazy wireless era.
He did not say a word,
She did not hang up,
Exactly as it used to be
Back in the eighties.
At that time the innocent
Mute telephone romance,
Felt like cheating
On her husband.
Three decades later
She recognized him
By his meaningful long
Fascinating silence,
Radiant with love.
Farida Samerkhanova
(added 04.06.10)
editor's note: This poet shows us that "wireless love" is not some new construct, but a rebranding of the same old, heart-worn variety we all know so well, and how much a "radiant" silence can recall. Shhhhhh, listen... - mh
•••••••••••
UNFINISHED SOLDIER GRAVE
Calm dust shifts
Unwoven earth is expectant
Pearly maggot roots shiver
They curl upon themselves to wait
Blankets they must make
Of bark string, rose mead, the ferryman’s fare
Singed lash eats unwinking socket bare
Heavy shoes back from use
Battling boots, tight knot brand new
What amused entity
Cut men from their seed
Produced these only sons of naught
As Lucifer was led laughing
Through tower burned minds, through the Cabinet
A moon aged war starved corpocracy
Which lord feeds off grief?
The both you beg are not for me
Your phantoms don’t make tough boys bleed
Kill villages
Scatter ash and limb
Turn a culture into an enemy
Again, your gods don’t speak for me
Meg Frances
(added 04.05.10)
editor's note: Yes, thanks for clearing up some confusion on who the bad guys are (us? them?) and who suffers in this unresolved debate. Peace! - mh
•••••••••••
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 here...
Swirling Madly,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
“Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting.” John Russell
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