The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 05.08.10
“Poetry fettered, fetters the human race. Nations are destroyed or flourish in proportion as their poetry, painting, and music are destroyed or flourish.” William Blake
telescope (above) by mad photographer Peter Schwartz, one of over 20 artists coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective 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...
•••••••••••
Second Stringers in the Dugout
Too cold for cheeks to sit on bleachers, so
the baseball dugout was our Confessional booth
—we worked things out, but there was nothing to confess
just bored bones
but
couplings were hard to come by — the
pickings were as thin as a small intestine — she
slid close to my coat, “do
you want to try it again?”
I cupped her left breast with
my right hand, and said,
“baby, we can try it again.”
We blew grey exhaust into
each other’s throats.
Tyler Malone
(3 poems added 05.08.10)
editor's note: Nothing like practice to help us second stringers move up to first. Thanks for the encouragement, Tyler! (BTW, two more from Tyler on his page worth the read. La Po Wing never saw a thing is a history lesson from a distinct point of view. What AA Doesnt Say Is presents what it really means to "fall off the wagon." Good stuff, Tyler!) - mh
•••••••••••
S.O.S. Earth
by L.A. & Kim
I wish you all had known me
in my better days when my greens
were really green and my water pristine
But since then men have burned
my skin with never ending wars
leading me to a demise like mercury or mars
In other words, worn out, old and
either too hot or too cold
Millions have robbed me of my
hidden treasures for cash
Hence, my involuntary wrath of volcanic ash
They have even exposed my veins
to siphon my blood
For fuel they leave my entrails
to collapse beneath the mud
Though I still take great pride in
yielding fruit and its precious seed
Each year it becomes more difficult
for me to feed those that really need me
It has become harder to navigate space
since my eyesight has begun to fade due to old age
So, if someone doesn't help me soon
I will inevitably collide with Jupiter's moon
I can hear the distant echoes of human voices
saying that my better days are ahead
I hope they really mean it or one day
they may find me...dead
Kimberly Roundtree
(added 05.07.10)
editor's note: My, we have made a mess o' this ole Girl. How green can we get, when everything's turning so gray? I'm not takin' paper or plastic, can't win either way... - mh
•••••••••••
Runnin’ C-Town
“I’m like a one-eyed cat, peepin’ through a seafood store
Well I can look at you ‘til you ain’t a child no more.”
Sweet, stickers of flesh rended outwards
If not to find a mate
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
Oh, but for your weight and texture
I lay with my mouth agape
Sweet stickers of flesh- rended outwards
Still of sunshine, still of wildfire
My appetite’s still there- I already ate
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
O, but for the fruits of ire
I lay in wait to pollinate your eggs
Sweet stickers of… flesh rended outwards
If the correct, only way was to be sure
Oh, but I love your very shape
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
And the feel of what’s to come of eels
To set out upon yon river with a sail
Sweet stickers of flesh rended outwards
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
Julien Edmund Moss
(added 05.06.10)
editor's note: Summer is a comin' in, loud sing cuckoo! If you didn't sew those zygotes, get with it. If you didn't cop those indulgences, now's the time. Nip'em, nip those buds! - mh
•••••••••••
Gospel
Sally, won't you go
downtown
Pick up some teabag party
clowns
We'll teach 'em tricks of trade
from streets walled in by
degradation
Ain't this nation grand
for glad hands raised in celebration
of shames we dare not name.
Hallelujah Hallelucinations
Hallowed ground baptized
in blood
Saved from the cleansing Flood
by sticking to our kind
however we're defining us today
If we were meant to live
a different way
wouldn't He have told us?
October 28, 2009
Laurie Corzett
(added 05.05.10)
editor's note: Yes, the Holy Truth is malleable, morphed to meet new marketability. What keeps us safe and secure must be godly - no matter what ungodly acts ensue. If our Truth stops "them," "we" are justified, sanctified for our eternal rest. Amen, sister! - mh
•••••••••••
All Dead Men Waking Up
I am driving through the white walls
Of madness with Bukowski at my side.
In the back seat rests Fante, and in the trunk
Curled up and attempting to sprout is Chekhov
Continuing to write letters to those who may care
And to those who definitely do not.
Mozart is a fly at the edges of my ears shitting roses.
It seems there is only life within the sounds of death
Today. At most times there is only life within the darkness,
Within the belly of God, and I crack what appears to be a smile
Because it is mine, only mine for now, that is until I’m through
With it or it is through with me, fed up. Then it will buzz away
With the fly.
This may all seem well and good, but I will have to accept the
Daylight eventually, I will have to learn a new dance, I will
Have to brush the teeth, I will have to kiss the mockingbird,
I will have to bite the rose without bleeding from my tongue and
Cheek and lips.
The trash will have to be taken out
The street sweepers will come
The woman will not break my heart
The wishes will be granted – and maybe just one
The stones will no longer crack my windows
The poems will see eyes seeing them
The daisies will grow, the earth will prosper
The days, the days, just about all of them
Will be free of glass and barbwire.
But as I wait I shall bask
In the echo of God’s laughter,
Reading of the dead man’s glory.
And when I go I shall be first in line
To see the one man show
Wondering where it all went so right,
Curious of the moment the sun
Paid the first visit.
Who’s to say, friends?
Maybe it is right
Now
Mark del Guzzo
(added 05.04.10)
editor's note: Bukowski, Fante, Chekhov, Mozart and God. We will one day become someone's dead reference. All this echoing laughter, all these experiences to embrace. And then there are the wounds to tend... Wake up to die, Name Droppers! - mh
•••••••••••
The potentially eternal nature of the world
She picks up an apple
Rounder than gold
Shinier than the Earth
And holds it in her left elbow.
She picks up a pin with her right
Straighter than soap
Cleaner than an arrow
And points it at the apple.
I watch from across the table
But she notices nothing except for the apple
She holds the pin next to it, like a snake staring down prey,
And rubs its tongue back and forth on the apple’s thin but sturdy skin.
She’s teasing it, just enough pressure to indent, to threaten intent,
But not yet enough to puncture.
SUDDENLY with a twist that falls into the category of stealth
A bite, the apple’s first, through its flesh
The silver serpent’s tooth makes a sound, perhaps a swooshing pop,
But she was the only one close enough to hear it.
“There,” she says with a yawn as she places the injured on the operating table
The machete yet to be removed.
She pulls it out and the thinnest blood-drop seeps from the stab wound
Like a transparent sugary tear
And leaving the weapon on the tray next to the victim
She walks away.
I throw out the apple for her,
But I’m keeping the pin for myself.
Steven Tomlins
(added 05.03.10)
editor's note: Be still, my heart! I've just seen God play with my attention by satisfying Her own curiosity for reasons not divulged. What did she derive from the puncture? What do we do with the discarded weapon of inquiry? I have to catch my breath... - mh
•••••••••••
Oh! Avant-Garde
Read a book on the "avant-garde"
(yes, another one of those)
and in this book
Hugo Ball
is quoted as having written
something like this:
"We had a dim premonition
that power-mad gangsters
would one day use art itself
as a way of deadening
men's minds"
How many of old Hugo's performances
were aimed at upsetting and infuriating
the audience?
Most of them
or all?
(This was all
of course
before he entered the ministry)
These lines
however
bring to mind
my brief stint as a DJ
at a local sports bar
in particular
an incident
in which a large truck
filled with hay
pulled up in front of the joint
and four rather conventionally dressed
"country folk"
walked in
So I played
"Male Stripper" by Man 2 Man
assuming that gay-disco
would piss them off
or scare them away
They made it through
over a dozen songs
apparently unaffected by
Butt Trumpet
Lard
Gary Numan
Snog
The Cure
Bad Brains
and Wire
before Klaus Nomi
finally
drove them from the building
(Good old Klaus)
Hard to believe it took them
a whole week to decide
to fire me
Richard F. Yates
(2 poems added 05.02.10)
editor's note: Even gay-disco as gangster plot won't keep you a job these days. Damn! What does it take? - mh
•••••••••••
Unfetteredly Yours,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
telescope (above) by mad photographer Peter Schwartz, one of over 20 artists coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective 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...
•••••••••••
Second Stringers in the Dugout
Too cold for cheeks to sit on bleachers, so
the baseball dugout was our Confessional booth
—we worked things out, but there was nothing to confess
just bored bones
but
couplings were hard to come by — the
pickings were as thin as a small intestine — she
slid close to my coat, “do
you want to try it again?”
I cupped her left breast with
my right hand, and said,
“baby, we can try it again.”
We blew grey exhaust into
each other’s throats.
Tyler Malone
(3 poems added 05.08.10)
editor's note: Nothing like practice to help us second stringers move up to first. Thanks for the encouragement, Tyler! (BTW, two more from Tyler on his page worth the read. La Po Wing never saw a thing is a history lesson from a distinct point of view. What AA Doesnt Say Is presents what it really means to "fall off the wagon." Good stuff, Tyler!) - mh
•••••••••••
S.O.S. Earth
by L.A. & Kim
I wish you all had known me
in my better days when my greens
were really green and my water pristine
But since then men have burned
my skin with never ending wars
leading me to a demise like mercury or mars
In other words, worn out, old and
either too hot or too cold
Millions have robbed me of my
hidden treasures for cash
Hence, my involuntary wrath of volcanic ash
They have even exposed my veins
to siphon my blood
For fuel they leave my entrails
to collapse beneath the mud
Though I still take great pride in
yielding fruit and its precious seed
Each year it becomes more difficult
for me to feed those that really need me
It has become harder to navigate space
since my eyesight has begun to fade due to old age
So, if someone doesn't help me soon
I will inevitably collide with Jupiter's moon
I can hear the distant echoes of human voices
saying that my better days are ahead
I hope they really mean it or one day
they may find me...dead
Kimberly Roundtree
(added 05.07.10)
editor's note: My, we have made a mess o' this ole Girl. How green can we get, when everything's turning so gray? I'm not takin' paper or plastic, can't win either way... - mh
•••••••••••
Runnin’ C-Town
“I’m like a one-eyed cat, peepin’ through a seafood store
Well I can look at you ‘til you ain’t a child no more.”
Sweet, stickers of flesh rended outwards
If not to find a mate
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
Oh, but for your weight and texture
I lay with my mouth agape
Sweet stickers of flesh- rended outwards
Still of sunshine, still of wildfire
My appetite’s still there- I already ate
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
O, but for the fruits of ire
I lay in wait to pollinate your eggs
Sweet stickers of… flesh rended outwards
If the correct, only way was to be sure
Oh, but I love your very shape
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
And the feel of what’s to come of eels
To set out upon yon river with a sail
Sweet stickers of flesh rended outwards
Swimming to nip at habit’s buds
Julien Edmund Moss
(added 05.06.10)
editor's note: Summer is a comin' in, loud sing cuckoo! If you didn't sew those zygotes, get with it. If you didn't cop those indulgences, now's the time. Nip'em, nip those buds! - mh
•••••••••••
Gospel
Sally, won't you go
downtown
Pick up some teabag party
clowns
We'll teach 'em tricks of trade
from streets walled in by
degradation
Ain't this nation grand
for glad hands raised in celebration
of shames we dare not name.
Hallelujah Hallelucinations
Hallowed ground baptized
in blood
Saved from the cleansing Flood
by sticking to our kind
however we're defining us today
If we were meant to live
a different way
wouldn't He have told us?
October 28, 2009
Laurie Corzett
(added 05.05.10)
editor's note: Yes, the Holy Truth is malleable, morphed to meet new marketability. What keeps us safe and secure must be godly - no matter what ungodly acts ensue. If our Truth stops "them," "we" are justified, sanctified for our eternal rest. Amen, sister! - mh
•••••••••••
All Dead Men Waking Up
I am driving through the white walls
Of madness with Bukowski at my side.
In the back seat rests Fante, and in the trunk
Curled up and attempting to sprout is Chekhov
Continuing to write letters to those who may care
And to those who definitely do not.
Mozart is a fly at the edges of my ears shitting roses.
It seems there is only life within the sounds of death
Today. At most times there is only life within the darkness,
Within the belly of God, and I crack what appears to be a smile
Because it is mine, only mine for now, that is until I’m through
With it or it is through with me, fed up. Then it will buzz away
With the fly.
This may all seem well and good, but I will have to accept the
Daylight eventually, I will have to learn a new dance, I will
Have to brush the teeth, I will have to kiss the mockingbird,
I will have to bite the rose without bleeding from my tongue and
Cheek and lips.
The trash will have to be taken out
The street sweepers will come
The woman will not break my heart
The wishes will be granted – and maybe just one
The stones will no longer crack my windows
The poems will see eyes seeing them
The daisies will grow, the earth will prosper
The days, the days, just about all of them
Will be free of glass and barbwire.
But as I wait I shall bask
In the echo of God’s laughter,
Reading of the dead man’s glory.
And when I go I shall be first in line
To see the one man show
Wondering where it all went so right,
Curious of the moment the sun
Paid the first visit.
Who’s to say, friends?
Maybe it is right
Now
Mark del Guzzo
(added 05.04.10)
editor's note: Bukowski, Fante, Chekhov, Mozart and God. We will one day become someone's dead reference. All this echoing laughter, all these experiences to embrace. And then there are the wounds to tend... Wake up to die, Name Droppers! - mh
•••••••••••
The potentially eternal nature of the world
She picks up an apple
Rounder than gold
Shinier than the Earth
And holds it in her left elbow.
She picks up a pin with her right
Straighter than soap
Cleaner than an arrow
And points it at the apple.
I watch from across the table
But she notices nothing except for the apple
She holds the pin next to it, like a snake staring down prey,
And rubs its tongue back and forth on the apple’s thin but sturdy skin.
She’s teasing it, just enough pressure to indent, to threaten intent,
But not yet enough to puncture.
SUDDENLY with a twist that falls into the category of stealth
A bite, the apple’s first, through its flesh
The silver serpent’s tooth makes a sound, perhaps a swooshing pop,
But she was the only one close enough to hear it.
“There,” she says with a yawn as she places the injured on the operating table
The machete yet to be removed.
She pulls it out and the thinnest blood-drop seeps from the stab wound
Like a transparent sugary tear
And leaving the weapon on the tray next to the victim
She walks away.
I throw out the apple for her,
But I’m keeping the pin for myself.
Steven Tomlins
(added 05.03.10)
editor's note: Be still, my heart! I've just seen God play with my attention by satisfying Her own curiosity for reasons not divulged. What did she derive from the puncture? What do we do with the discarded weapon of inquiry? I have to catch my breath... - mh
•••••••••••
Oh! Avant-Garde
Read a book on the "avant-garde"
(yes, another one of those)
and in this book
Hugo Ball
is quoted as having written
something like this:
"We had a dim premonition
that power-mad gangsters
would one day use art itself
as a way of deadening
men's minds"
How many of old Hugo's performances
were aimed at upsetting and infuriating
the audience?
Most of them
or all?
(This was all
of course
before he entered the ministry)
These lines
however
bring to mind
my brief stint as a DJ
at a local sports bar
in particular
an incident
in which a large truck
filled with hay
pulled up in front of the joint
and four rather conventionally dressed
"country folk"
walked in
So I played
"Male Stripper" by Man 2 Man
assuming that gay-disco
would piss them off
or scare them away
They made it through
over a dozen songs
apparently unaffected by
Butt Trumpet
Lard
Gary Numan
Snog
The Cure
Bad Brains
and Wire
before Klaus Nomi
finally
drove them from the building
(Good old Klaus)
Hard to believe it took them
a whole week to decide
to fire me
Richard F. Yates
(2 poems added 05.02.10)
editor's note: Even gay-disco as gangster plot won't keep you a job these days. Damn! What does it take? - mh
•••••••••••
Unfetteredly Yours,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Comments