The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 11.06.10
“Men must live and create. Live to the point of tears.” Albert Camus
Escape (above) by mad painter and featured artist Christian Millet, 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...
•••••••••••
Precipitation
I've seen the rains of changes
come crashing down in torrential waves
But it had been awhile for me
it had been awhile
since I've felt the rains of change
wash down these cheeks
it had to have been a few decades or more
not since I was no more then four.
I thought I grew immune to the tears,
(big boys don't cry, big boys don't cry)
I couldn't imagine I'd ever hear
the tune of this grown up man
crying
mourning
& breaking down
But one day, one day the clouds in me
threatened to finally break free
As the blowing winds stroked my parched cheeks,
and the skies began to crumble
the lightning ripping thru to those
broken dreams,
stolen things,
used to be's,
woe's are me's
and once the rains came they didn't stop
they started with a drip and a drop
drip drop
drip drop drip drop
And I cried for all the things I failed to shed tears for - drip
I cried 34 years worth - drop
I cried all those held back tears - drip
I cried for childhood fears - drop
I cried for the the ones that used to care - drip
I cried for the long lost years - drop
I cried for world despairs - drip
I cried for the dearly departed - drop
I cried for the gone good-hearted - drip
I cried for the disappearing dreams - drop
I cried just for me - drip
I cried just for me - drop
And I cried
I cried for all I was
drip drop
And I cried
I cried for all I am
drip drop
And I cried
I cried for all I will be
drip drop
And I cried
drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop
drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop
til finally the rain ripped a hole in my sky
and all I could do to stay sane
was keep on crying
and oh how I tried
to stop the storm
but it kept on coming for more
and I kept on crying
drip drop
the tears rolled down my cheeks
in streams, in rivers, in crashing waves
pounding on my shores
drip drop
and my once parched cheeks
welcomed these rains of change
and as each one fell it relieved the pain
that I kept so deep inside me
until finally
I let go
I released my hold
I opened my soul
to the raining skies inside
drip drop
I let go
I allowed the clouds to open up
I welcomed the storm
I let the rain drops flow
and fall from my eyes
and my once dried up, thirsty baby blues
took on a different hue
as they swam in these streams
from these rains
washing down my cheeks
drip drop
each one falling from me - drip
calling to me - drop
reminding me - drip
that this storm is - drop
healing me - drip
releasing me - drop
cleansing me - drip
opening me - drop
baptizing me - drip
freeing me - drop
and the drips and the drops
of this internal storm
began to stop
drip
and the sky opened
drop
and the sun shined down
upon me
once again
Johnny Olson
(1 poem added 11.06.10)
editor's note: Throw away your umbrellas, sometimes a good soakin' is just you need. Take it all, sunshine and storm, to make you what you are. - mh
•••••••••••
Mr. Man
Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
Just a nickel of your life,
Would you lend me a hand?
I am one degree above Fahrenheit,
A graduate, yes I am…
I must prevent my household from a concrete bed
Or cots, and liquid food,
My pockets must be fed.
I extend my hand,
But don’t think a shirt and tie I don’t use.
To the other Celsius I lose…
But humbleness I choose
Odd job here, odd job there,
But no where a steady job
So seasons change on the unemployment farm.
If only I could be quenched
By my sweat that beads
A thirst,
That’s why I circle opportunities;
Watch me dance,
Sing songs,
I do toilets,
I even wash cars,
Shoes, I clean those, too.
I’ll write you a story,
These down home blues.
Believe when I say, “I’ll do anything for change.”
I voted Obama in, wanting a new day.
Now I freeze, in heat… with a running nose
I don’t cry, but my eyes weep
I here what’s preached, “Wait for heavens gates”
But when I die
My kids can’t eat of what they pray…
Hold on…
I know you’re busy; I used to be that way
67th floor, every other week was my pay
Suit tailored so right.
Now just to save money, my transportation is these Nike’s
Edison, I can’t afford.
Living medieval, raising four…
At times I don’t know what to do,
Should I rob a bank, a train,
Or myself I should shoot? ...
Hold on… Hear me, hear me,
I know I sound sick
I’m waiting on a healthcare bill to kick in,
As I get kicked back.
A steady statistical fact…
Hold on, hold on… wait
Fine then, you have a blessed day
Back to my box…
Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
It starts again
Isaac Hines
(added 11.05.10)
editor's note: There's a person on the other end of that hand held out. (Thanks to Isaac, who sauntered into a Mad Swirl Open Mic a coupla months ago and let rip some words like this. We are happy to stir him into the whole Mad Swirl!) - mh
•••••••••••
Equation of Life
With equation of life I stopped worrying myself for a while,
With its endless unknowns I am no longer concerned.
Other people's solutions presented with vigor and style
I don't read anymore, and my thoughts on the topic I burned.
Let them search algorithms and drown in interpolations,
Let them solve differential integral, wish them success.
I'll take in every day I've still got with its joys and frustrations
Till my private equation achieves upper limit of ... (guess).
Irena Pasvinter
(2 poems added 11.04.10)
editor's note: Take the action, live the life in front of you - do the math later. Thanks, Irena! (Another good one from Irena on her poetry page - had to post it, too, had to post it, too.) - mh
•••••••••••
Plastic Love Gun
My plastic love gun ran out of bullets
as I was playing russian roulette
so I stubbed out my karma cigarette
it was filtered anyway
the nuns said it was a filthy habit
but what do they know, they're nuns for christ sake
the cigarette smoke hung in the air
like a knock knock joke that reeks from spoiling
I try to open a window but see my past
and I don’t want to smell that again
the ionizer I bought at Sharper Edges
strains to handle my angst
but cleaning my soul is a job
for industrial strength Mr. Clean.
The wind can carry strange incantations,
songs of the past, present, and future
choirs can sing a medley with stanzas
from any and all but they lack crescendoes.
I light another karma cigarette
the smoke is soothing
I inhale deeply
Steve Roberts
(added 11.03.10)
editor's note: Yeah, Steve! we learned along time ago to keep the window open, the gun loaded and the nuns at bay. Anybody got a light? - mh
•••••••••••
THE END OF ME
The headwaters of my eyes
move hidden in muddy corners
with force.
Turbulence finds a light burning
where voices sing; a church
chorus always seems louder.
A red light stops hungry cars
built for speed; a corner smile
promises love for a price.
The canon instructs
without question, to submit the
throat of my passions to a higher place,
from my lower ground.
I’m flooded with ideas. My pockets
are empty. My fingers curious.
The end of me is far from sight.
Roger G. Singer
(1 poem added 11.02.10)
editor's note: The canon instructs indeed, but questions come anyway, especially from the mad ones. - mh
•••••••••••
TRYING TO BLEED FROM THE RIGHT WOUND
The hung-over colors of a sunset
The neutered smile I give my boss
my reflection
wants to reach out and slap the shit out of me
and tell me to stop fondling my own man boobs
but I’m tired.
there is so much to do
All those jobs to quit
All those dollar tacos to devour
All those beer cans to be redeemed
Because I’m the type of man who refuses
to do things the way they are supposed to be done
I don’t wait for winter
I make snow angels in cigarette ash, and
In the foam of the ocean, and
In the pubic hair of a crazy woman
in wrinkles of my last dollar.
This is how I live
Look at me!
Look at this manly body!
I’m fat as hell
There's diet soda in my veins
bacon egg and cheese beating in my heart
and my brain is stuck in a 7-11 parking lot
with wet pavement as deep as an ocean and
late night lights blistering and popping and oozing
And the sky looks as soft as cement
And as gentle as a scorpions ass
I stand under it in nothing but my underwear,
cursing at the gods,
saying thank you
for taking me where I did not Want to go
Justin Grimbol
(1 poem added 11.01.10)
editor's note: Yes, we knew there were more places one can make snow angels than just snow. Thanks for this full disclosure from our latest inductee to Contributing Poets, Justin Grimbol. Check out his new page. - mh
•••••••••••
Moon-Ridden Daze
Laying next to you
Somewhere in-between consciousness
I watch a lingering strand of moonlight creep onto your skin
The illuminated hand gently glides across your body
Through the valley of goosebumps
As if following the tracks left by my own caress
Then finally it makes its way to your beautiful face
Over the dampness of your soft crimson lips
Where your muted breath is blowing tiny clouds upward
I watch as they dissolve into the obscurity above us
Into the darkness that echoed your sweet laughter
And amplified the secrets you whispered in my ear
Laying next to you
Somewhere in-between consciousness
We are alone, together
Russell Salerno
(added 10.31.10)
editor's note: Delicious imagery with a sobering "slap" a the end. Everything we do, we do alone. No worries - we can choose the flavor of our solitude. I'll take "alone, together" every time. - 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...
Teary-Eyed,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Escape (above) by mad painter and featured artist Christian Millet, 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...
•••••••••••
Precipitation
I've seen the rains of changes
come crashing down in torrential waves
But it had been awhile for me
it had been awhile
since I've felt the rains of change
wash down these cheeks
it had to have been a few decades or more
not since I was no more then four.
I thought I grew immune to the tears,
(big boys don't cry, big boys don't cry)
I couldn't imagine I'd ever hear
the tune of this grown up man
crying
mourning
& breaking down
But one day, one day the clouds in me
threatened to finally break free
As the blowing winds stroked my parched cheeks,
and the skies began to crumble
the lightning ripping thru to those
broken dreams,
stolen things,
used to be's,
woe's are me's
and once the rains came they didn't stop
they started with a drip and a drop
drip drop
drip drop drip drop
And I cried for all the things I failed to shed tears for - drip
I cried 34 years worth - drop
I cried all those held back tears - drip
I cried for childhood fears - drop
I cried for the the ones that used to care - drip
I cried for the long lost years - drop
I cried for world despairs - drip
I cried for the dearly departed - drop
I cried for the gone good-hearted - drip
I cried for the disappearing dreams - drop
I cried just for me - drip
I cried just for me - drop
And I cried
I cried for all I was
drip drop
And I cried
I cried for all I am
drip drop
And I cried
I cried for all I will be
drip drop
And I cried
drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop
drip drop drip drop drip drop drip drop
til finally the rain ripped a hole in my sky
and all I could do to stay sane
was keep on crying
and oh how I tried
to stop the storm
but it kept on coming for more
and I kept on crying
drip drop
the tears rolled down my cheeks
in streams, in rivers, in crashing waves
pounding on my shores
drip drop
and my once parched cheeks
welcomed these rains of change
and as each one fell it relieved the pain
that I kept so deep inside me
until finally
I let go
I released my hold
I opened my soul
to the raining skies inside
drip drop
I let go
I allowed the clouds to open up
I welcomed the storm
I let the rain drops flow
and fall from my eyes
and my once dried up, thirsty baby blues
took on a different hue
as they swam in these streams
from these rains
washing down my cheeks
drip drop
each one falling from me - drip
calling to me - drop
reminding me - drip
that this storm is - drop
healing me - drip
releasing me - drop
cleansing me - drip
opening me - drop
baptizing me - drip
freeing me - drop
and the drips and the drops
of this internal storm
began to stop
drip
and the sky opened
drop
and the sun shined down
upon me
once again
Johnny Olson
(1 poem added 11.06.10)
editor's note: Throw away your umbrellas, sometimes a good soakin' is just you need. Take it all, sunshine and storm, to make you what you are. - mh
•••••••••••
Mr. Man
Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
Just a nickel of your life,
Would you lend me a hand?
I am one degree above Fahrenheit,
A graduate, yes I am…
I must prevent my household from a concrete bed
Or cots, and liquid food,
My pockets must be fed.
I extend my hand,
But don’t think a shirt and tie I don’t use.
To the other Celsius I lose…
But humbleness I choose
Odd job here, odd job there,
But no where a steady job
So seasons change on the unemployment farm.
If only I could be quenched
By my sweat that beads
A thirst,
That’s why I circle opportunities;
Watch me dance,
Sing songs,
I do toilets,
I even wash cars,
Shoes, I clean those, too.
I’ll write you a story,
These down home blues.
Believe when I say, “I’ll do anything for change.”
I voted Obama in, wanting a new day.
Now I freeze, in heat… with a running nose
I don’t cry, but my eyes weep
I here what’s preached, “Wait for heavens gates”
But when I die
My kids can’t eat of what they pray…
Hold on…
I know you’re busy; I used to be that way
67th floor, every other week was my pay
Suit tailored so right.
Now just to save money, my transportation is these Nike’s
Edison, I can’t afford.
Living medieval, raising four…
At times I don’t know what to do,
Should I rob a bank, a train,
Or myself I should shoot? ...
Hold on… Hear me, hear me,
I know I sound sick
I’m waiting on a healthcare bill to kick in,
As I get kicked back.
A steady statistical fact…
Hold on, hold on… wait
Fine then, you have a blessed day
Back to my box…
Mr. Man, Mr. Man,
It starts again
Isaac Hines
(added 11.05.10)
editor's note: There's a person on the other end of that hand held out. (Thanks to Isaac, who sauntered into a Mad Swirl Open Mic a coupla months ago and let rip some words like this. We are happy to stir him into the whole Mad Swirl!) - mh
•••••••••••
Equation of Life
With equation of life I stopped worrying myself for a while,
With its endless unknowns I am no longer concerned.
Other people's solutions presented with vigor and style
I don't read anymore, and my thoughts on the topic I burned.
Let them search algorithms and drown in interpolations,
Let them solve differential integral, wish them success.
I'll take in every day I've still got with its joys and frustrations
Till my private equation achieves upper limit of ... (guess).
Irena Pasvinter
(2 poems added 11.04.10)
editor's note: Take the action, live the life in front of you - do the math later. Thanks, Irena! (Another good one from Irena on her poetry page - had to post it, too, had to post it, too.) - mh
•••••••••••
Plastic Love Gun
My plastic love gun ran out of bullets
as I was playing russian roulette
so I stubbed out my karma cigarette
it was filtered anyway
the nuns said it was a filthy habit
but what do they know, they're nuns for christ sake
the cigarette smoke hung in the air
like a knock knock joke that reeks from spoiling
I try to open a window but see my past
and I don’t want to smell that again
the ionizer I bought at Sharper Edges
strains to handle my angst
but cleaning my soul is a job
for industrial strength Mr. Clean.
The wind can carry strange incantations,
songs of the past, present, and future
choirs can sing a medley with stanzas
from any and all but they lack crescendoes.
I light another karma cigarette
the smoke is soothing
I inhale deeply
Steve Roberts
(added 11.03.10)
editor's note: Yeah, Steve! we learned along time ago to keep the window open, the gun loaded and the nuns at bay. Anybody got a light? - mh
•••••••••••
THE END OF ME
The headwaters of my eyes
move hidden in muddy corners
with force.
Turbulence finds a light burning
where voices sing; a church
chorus always seems louder.
A red light stops hungry cars
built for speed; a corner smile
promises love for a price.
The canon instructs
without question, to submit the
throat of my passions to a higher place,
from my lower ground.
I’m flooded with ideas. My pockets
are empty. My fingers curious.
The end of me is far from sight.
Roger G. Singer
(1 poem added 11.02.10)
editor's note: The canon instructs indeed, but questions come anyway, especially from the mad ones. - mh
•••••••••••
TRYING TO BLEED FROM THE RIGHT WOUND
The hung-over colors of a sunset
The neutered smile I give my boss
my reflection
wants to reach out and slap the shit out of me
and tell me to stop fondling my own man boobs
but I’m tired.
there is so much to do
All those jobs to quit
All those dollar tacos to devour
All those beer cans to be redeemed
Because I’m the type of man who refuses
to do things the way they are supposed to be done
I don’t wait for winter
I make snow angels in cigarette ash, and
In the foam of the ocean, and
In the pubic hair of a crazy woman
in wrinkles of my last dollar.
This is how I live
Look at me!
Look at this manly body!
I’m fat as hell
There's diet soda in my veins
bacon egg and cheese beating in my heart
and my brain is stuck in a 7-11 parking lot
with wet pavement as deep as an ocean and
late night lights blistering and popping and oozing
And the sky looks as soft as cement
And as gentle as a scorpions ass
I stand under it in nothing but my underwear,
cursing at the gods,
saying thank you
for taking me where I did not Want to go
Justin Grimbol
(1 poem added 11.01.10)
editor's note: Yes, we knew there were more places one can make snow angels than just snow. Thanks for this full disclosure from our latest inductee to Contributing Poets, Justin Grimbol. Check out his new page. - mh
•••••••••••
Moon-Ridden Daze
Laying next to you
Somewhere in-between consciousness
I watch a lingering strand of moonlight creep onto your skin
The illuminated hand gently glides across your body
Through the valley of goosebumps
As if following the tracks left by my own caress
Then finally it makes its way to your beautiful face
Over the dampness of your soft crimson lips
Where your muted breath is blowing tiny clouds upward
I watch as they dissolve into the obscurity above us
Into the darkness that echoed your sweet laughter
And amplified the secrets you whispered in my ear
Laying next to you
Somewhere in-between consciousness
We are alone, together
Russell Salerno
(added 10.31.10)
editor's note: Delicious imagery with a sobering "slap" a the end. Everything we do, we do alone. No worries - we can choose the flavor of our solitude. I'll take "alone, together" every time. - 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...
Teary-Eyed,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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