The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 10.09.10

“We all shine on, like the moon and the stars and the sun.” John Lennon

We All Shine On (above) by poet and painter Johnny Olson, one of over 20 artists currently coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective Mad Gallery.

Just in case you missed it, here's a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...



You can’t be confined
To just two breasts
Hell, you’ve held
At least six since June
I know, I was there once
While wet you sighed
Heavily, heavenly murmurs
Telling me I taste so sweet
Spilling limbs across taut hotel sheets

We were programmed for monogamy
My circuits shorted as a teen
As did yours, the vines of our
Erotic nature grew to undo
The machinery of deceit
Denial of desire wiring
She does not cum
Does not compute

I can’t be expected
To love just you
Blue being just as easy on
The eyes as green; I practice
Equality of affection
Without possessive attachment
No one fucking owns me!

You are up the country
With her and her and
A phone call isn’t a kiss
Good morning

You can’t be confined
Shamed into forever ceremonies
Bullied to fall in line
You have your many lovers
As do I
I have your lovely letters
We are all divine

Meg Frances

(2 poems added 10.09.10)

editor's note: What do we own by coital coincidence? Nothing that is not given to us before we ever take the leap! - mh


The Future Storytellers of the World

In one story, we spent a night together
in a clubhouse at the park, too old
for this public nudity, blinking at cop
lights in the distance, pulling a blanket over us
with each rustle in the dark. The wind, it is said,
howled like a hungry wolf, but I know that night
and I never opened my mouth.
In another story, a passerby with a camera
snapped photos, still frames full of live action,
posting them online with captions, pushing
the people of the Internet through each moment:
first, then this, now that, finally, here you go. Oh.
Well, my story involves her arms scraping my knees
like corn right before it is eaten by the combine.
Also, we emptied a bottle of MD 20/20, leaving
the bottle beneath a tiny tree. Then, I walked the wrong
way home. Yes, I am sure that is how it happened.

Tyler Gobble

(added 10.08.10)

editor's note: Yes, yes, of course, I remember it just like that... this time. Next time, I'll remember it differently. Either way, it happened just like that. - mh



at the fatal tree the condemned man spoke to all before he was hung
the future is dumb the past a foreign language the present too long or
changes everything it touches the sleet going down traffic a nightmare
the shed door was broken the locking latch frozen nothing fell out a
different blue at the horizon the color went straight up she reached up
and took a bite outta the moon get up get out get going go go make it
through another day I know I can do this when does a morning end I
know that sunset is over when everything goes black the radio blasts
jumping on the porch dancing till the whole house shakes she opened
the mail hoping to find a letter that didn't say what the face put in the
eyes a last coffee is good bacon even better is there is only one moon
or else an infinite aspect of endless variation a bad dog is a matter of
perspective a good dog is not perfect there is a fine line the death of
children can't be borne without belief in something greater she sings
pretty good but a million other semi-virgins can sing just as well their
voices repressed in obsessed sexuality insane teenagers who have lost
the trail petered out amongst the rocks and led straight over the edge
not the bitter end but it might as well be the shortest distance between
two points is downhill pain leads even so to knowledge which leads to
understanding or the big hurt is for nothing I have two cold feet but I
try to walk barefoot every chance I get you can drive at top speed for
hours and hours standing still with the earth turning under you across
the flat Texas plain it rained so damn hard I could barely see past the
windshield but we couldn't stop and so what are you doing if you try
to take hold of too much control you will never never never be free


(1 poem added 10.07.10)

editor's note: Ever tired of the endless miles of miles and miles on a cross-country trip? Satnrose presents us with a mind-harrowing alternative to road games like "I Spy" or "license plate word challenge." - mh


First Time

The biological domain of
a burger.
The lasting consciousness of a
the border patrol of Mexico
the racist, sexist, age-ist blue dogs of

They turn and tear at your feet
like cobwebs made of steel thorns
sex and madness,
the triple decker bus
and the plastic paper ventricle
pumping out information
on a pacemaker
forgetting the natural rhythm
of symphonies.

Basements of pianos,
keys everywhere
in your underwear
and in your hair
when you walk down the street
it sounds like a five year old
has just placed his hands
on a musical instrument for the first time.

Chloe Viner

(1 poem added 10.06.10)

editor's note: Music and madness comprise elements of our experiences, which initially are "first time" for all. Better to let the child child play, however clumsily, than the dogs bite, however deeply. - mh



Feelin' like shit, nowhere to turn
I hate myself, but I'm afraid to burn
Need a new thing, a reason to exist
This old way won't be missed
There is an order of things
So sorry I hurt its feelings
Whether it was heavy metal music
Sex, drinking, drug dealings
Take a bath in my shame
Crucify my mortification
The new me will get it right
The old will face damnation
Step forward to honor all these laws before me
Look at all the weak people trying to ignore me
For the love of love, I'll feed them medicine for deep within their soul
If they should refuse, label as "lost cause", into the toilet bowl
Shut them up and shut them down
Merciless in my crusade
It's worth it to do the righteous
And it's worth it to be paid
Possessed by angels, light so bright that I can hardly see
I'm so thankful for this chance to make another asshole outta me

Kyle Segars

(1 poem added 10.05.10)

editor's note: Here is an anthem to our American pathos; we are, everyone, beset with Puritan values we are taught to never question and are trained so well to feel guilt when we do. Thanks, Kyle! We are encouraged to persist in our struggle with the angels and demons of self. - mh


Checkout Blues

Just think of the money,
This the people say,
As I sit here on the checkout, and scan away the day.

Just think of the money,
Yes, that’s what I shall do,
As I sit here on this checkout and scan away my youth.

Just think of the money,
The cash, the greens, the swag.
I’d rather have a life sir, now would you like a bag?

Paul Donnachie

(added 10.04.10)

editor's note: Givin' it up for art, for freedom of expression, for not selling out. Givin' it up for the little guy we see in the mirror. Now, will that be paper, or plastic? - mh


On Sacaea

O, wait until Sacaea
when that reversal comes
if just for a day- but that’s all you need
Slave of Babylon
Trust in me
Have faith in me, dear slave
Leave everything to me
Hide a rose within a platter
and invite your neighbor over
Have your master serve the dinner
and inside the rose she’ll find
The wife of that dear neighbor
much too poor to own a man
Then make out like you must leave
“Nature calls.”
While your boss, he must explain
Note down the shade of her lip beforehand
and ensure to find the color
that you smear upon his coat
You go out for entertainment
After dinner, two-by-two
With you and him
Him with her
or am I mixing “hims” a-stir?
That reminds me: pray your hymns
Those pagan hymns- of nothing
Just remember what your goal is
on this you-and-me endeavor (*wink*)
Now to turn unto my own thoughts
for I love the neighbor’s wife
Whose name is Genevieve
and the master has his interests
His name is Augustine
Slave, you must take “notice” of her mark
And call on the neighbor’s ear
as you slip my note into her dress
Hold a private conference somewhere
and show off what you “suspect”
Now she has felt an itching
and Augustine has found the note
You must come back in secret
For you cannot be found
and that letter that I wrote
by Augustine is read out loud
Both she and you can’t read
so it won’t be read by her
It’s memorized by me:
“Genevieve of Genovese descent
Like a teardrop in the rain
I’m sorry, sorry dear Genevieve
Then-of-these called these-of-those
Den of leaves over a rose
A rampant din, a rampant storm, a drizzle
And here I express the limits of my heartland.”
Your revenge will be tout-suite
when the neighbor slays Augustine
and when he goes to prison
I shall be with Genevieve

Julien Edmund Moss

(1 poem added 10.03.10)

editor's note: As the holiday season approaches, here is a dark spin on the celebration (google Sacaea to see what we mean). One could never get jolly ole' St. Nick to participate in adulterous collusion - at least not on the Disney Channel; at least not while the Mrs is watching... Thanks, Julien! (See Julien's page as a newly-inducted Contributing Poet.) - 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...

Shining On,

Johnny O

MH Clay
Poetry Editor


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