The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 02.05.11
“The time has come, everybody lie down so you won't get hurt when the sun bursts.” Neal Cassady
"We All Shine On" (above) by Johnny O, one of over 20 artists currently coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective Mad Gallery.
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... started with a little scratch to stimulate awareness, rubbed it raw; then healed it with admonition, some good-humored self-ridicule, the focus of first obsessions, the calm and comfort which come from honest introspection to perfectly conclude with a cigarette, a cuppa joe and a toothless grin.
•••••••••••
A Morning With Dusty
Dusty needed a job, he must have, because
no sane man brews coffee at four A.M.
for wheel twisting, peddle pushing, demented drivers.
Dusty kept a cigarette behind each ear,
reeked of a Sunday afternoon, roadside beer bottle,
wore goatee scruff and vomit teeth un-brushed in his head.
Dusty poured a flask into a twenty-ounce cup
and covered the secret with four A.M. coffee.
His background check did not dig too deep.
Dusty rolled off the rubber band
when the morning paper hit the door,
went straight to page three paradise.
Dusty pointed at his own mug shot. “That’s me,”
he said proud of slight celebrity status:
Arrested for inciting violence and assault with a deadly weapon:
a beer bottle.
Dusty found his wife in the men’s room
not alone.
Dusty douched his mouth with coffee, gurgled, swallowed and
unholstered his cigarettes to take a state-approved smoke break.
- Tyler Malone
(2 poems added 02.05.11)
editor's note: All that and a stylish orange jump-suit, to boot. To think that such satisfaction can be provided through our tax dollars at work. I'd like a smoke and a cuppa joe, m'self! - mh
•••••••••••
Swallows
Let us be swallows.
Let us fly the uncharted skies.
The things I wished for are gone now;
All that is left is to fly.
Gone are my days of running and running
And going no place at all.
Gone are my days of largeness,
Let me be small!
Release me from this cage
To the wild unknown
Before my will weakens with age
And the resignation it brings.
Take my maturity, give me wings!
We will stop for nothing
And I will stop at nothing
To find us our wings.
We may fly together,
Or you go South and I go North
Whoever to their proper course,
It matters not.
For we must be free, oh rock.
Though you are hard and God is gracious
We must be swallows.
We must be free.
- Samantha Steves
(added 02.04.11)
editor's note: I'd rather be a swallow than a cotton-mouthed gulp. It's parched and dry down here, I wanna fly. (Thanks, Samantha, for this bit o' sublime sweetness! Loved, "Gone are my days of largeness, Let me be small!" Amen to that!) - mh
•••••••••••
To see you
watching paint fall off the apartment
ceiling
looking at the empty in-box refreshed
shoes
on the floor ready to leave and the
brain
imagining photosynthesis from frozen
trees in January
my heart could melt metal
my direction could steal thunder from the clouds
you are still there and i am still here
reasoning with the laundry machine
to go a little faster
donning my shirt and out the
door in the train station to
the approaching sound of
the other side
i'm on my way
- Aubrey Nesbitt
(added 02.03.11)
editor's note: Yes, everything is an obstacle when you are focused on where you want to be, on with whom you want to be. Clothes and trees and shirts and trains TAKE TOO DAMN LONG! - mh
•••••••••••
To Poetry
Cheat yourself if you must
whilst the grave-diggers spy
at the keyholes of the rich.
Swindle your fellows
with your upside-down ethics
and your po-faced odes –
your house of cards depends upon it.
And, of course, deny the rabble
a place at the harvest table.
We know poetry is a cruel affair:
the greedy hand-maiden,
the lascivious mouthed whore –
but poetry will not con history
no more than you or I.
- Mark Murphy
(added 02.02.11)
editor's note: Ha, Ha! Yes, of course, we love her lascivious mouth! We lavish her with long-tongued kisses while writing our verses to con the historians. - mh
•••••••••••
Tell
Tell me one word that depicts
true love,
And I will tell you
where is the LORD
Tell me one man, who is not
suffering,
And I will tell you
who is completely FREE
Tell me one food that fulfills
a hungry soul
And I will tell you
what it is to TASTE
Tell me one place where there lies
no poverty
And I will tell you where is
HEAVEN/HELL
If you can't tell anything,
then I will tell you;
Love is the only answer,
my angry friend!
- Santosh Kalwar
(1 poem added 02.01.11)
editor's note: This is the best telling-off I've heard in awhile. Do tell, Santosh, do tell! (Welcome to Santosh! He has just joined the convergence of Contributing Poets here on Mad Swirl. Check out his new page.) - mh
•••••••••••
SOMEONE
I read a book of poetry wet from the gutter.
A paperback stamped by some mildewed library.
Fire burned down a telephone pole Tuesday.
Television City went numb.
Lights out
smoking cigars and mixed cigs.
Someone wrote a beautiful line beside my fingers.
There's too many thin women around this place.
Scares me when I fall
asleep and wake on a different side of the building.
Someone listening
as I hum a tune I was born from...
My mother out there somewhere
like me.
Someone lost
feeling like there's some way out of the streets.
- Anita McQueen
(added 01.31.11)
editor's note: It wouldn't hurt to narrow our world view a bit, shrink our awareness radius down to somewhere closer; like where we actually are. Take in the local sights, like those cardboard boxes aligned beneath the freeway interchange. - mh
•••••••••••
< untitled >
in each falling leaf
the wind is a little bird
a golden tracer
- Chris Zimmerly
(added 01.30.11)
editor's note: Just a few words to awaken another erstwhile epiphany of the face of God. (Many thanks to Dallas poet, friend and Mad life liver, Zim!) - 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...
Bursting,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
"We All Shine On" (above) by Johnny O, one of over 20 artists currently coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective Mad Gallery.
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... started with a little scratch to stimulate awareness, rubbed it raw; then healed it with admonition, some good-humored self-ridicule, the focus of first obsessions, the calm and comfort which come from honest introspection to perfectly conclude with a cigarette, a cuppa joe and a toothless grin.
•••••••••••
A Morning With Dusty
Dusty needed a job, he must have, because
no sane man brews coffee at four A.M.
for wheel twisting, peddle pushing, demented drivers.
Dusty kept a cigarette behind each ear,
reeked of a Sunday afternoon, roadside beer bottle,
wore goatee scruff and vomit teeth un-brushed in his head.
Dusty poured a flask into a twenty-ounce cup
and covered the secret with four A.M. coffee.
His background check did not dig too deep.
Dusty rolled off the rubber band
when the morning paper hit the door,
went straight to page three paradise.
Dusty pointed at his own mug shot. “That’s me,”
he said proud of slight celebrity status:
Arrested for inciting violence and assault with a deadly weapon:
a beer bottle.
Dusty found his wife in the men’s room
not alone.
Dusty douched his mouth with coffee, gurgled, swallowed and
unholstered his cigarettes to take a state-approved smoke break.
- Tyler Malone
(2 poems added 02.05.11)
editor's note: All that and a stylish orange jump-suit, to boot. To think that such satisfaction can be provided through our tax dollars at work. I'd like a smoke and a cuppa joe, m'self! - mh
•••••••••••
Swallows
Let us be swallows.
Let us fly the uncharted skies.
The things I wished for are gone now;
All that is left is to fly.
Gone are my days of running and running
And going no place at all.
Gone are my days of largeness,
Let me be small!
Release me from this cage
To the wild unknown
Before my will weakens with age
And the resignation it brings.
Take my maturity, give me wings!
We will stop for nothing
And I will stop at nothing
To find us our wings.
We may fly together,
Or you go South and I go North
Whoever to their proper course,
It matters not.
For we must be free, oh rock.
Though you are hard and God is gracious
We must be swallows.
We must be free.
- Samantha Steves
(added 02.04.11)
editor's note: I'd rather be a swallow than a cotton-mouthed gulp. It's parched and dry down here, I wanna fly. (Thanks, Samantha, for this bit o' sublime sweetness! Loved, "Gone are my days of largeness, Let me be small!" Amen to that!) - mh
•••••••••••
To see you
watching paint fall off the apartment
ceiling
looking at the empty in-box refreshed
shoes
on the floor ready to leave and the
brain
imagining photosynthesis from frozen
trees in January
my heart could melt metal
my direction could steal thunder from the clouds
you are still there and i am still here
reasoning with the laundry machine
to go a little faster
donning my shirt and out the
door in the train station to
the approaching sound of
the other side
i'm on my way
- Aubrey Nesbitt
(added 02.03.11)
editor's note: Yes, everything is an obstacle when you are focused on where you want to be, on with whom you want to be. Clothes and trees and shirts and trains TAKE TOO DAMN LONG! - mh
•••••••••••
To Poetry
Cheat yourself if you must
whilst the grave-diggers spy
at the keyholes of the rich.
Swindle your fellows
with your upside-down ethics
and your po-faced odes –
your house of cards depends upon it.
And, of course, deny the rabble
a place at the harvest table.
We know poetry is a cruel affair:
the greedy hand-maiden,
the lascivious mouthed whore –
but poetry will not con history
no more than you or I.
- Mark Murphy
(added 02.02.11)
editor's note: Ha, Ha! Yes, of course, we love her lascivious mouth! We lavish her with long-tongued kisses while writing our verses to con the historians. - mh
•••••••••••
Tell
Tell me one word that depicts
true love,
And I will tell you
where is the LORD
Tell me one man, who is not
suffering,
And I will tell you
who is completely FREE
Tell me one food that fulfills
a hungry soul
And I will tell you
what it is to TASTE
Tell me one place where there lies
no poverty
And I will tell you where is
HEAVEN/HELL
If you can't tell anything,
then I will tell you;
Love is the only answer,
my angry friend!
- Santosh Kalwar
(1 poem added 02.01.11)
editor's note: This is the best telling-off I've heard in awhile. Do tell, Santosh, do tell! (Welcome to Santosh! He has just joined the convergence of Contributing Poets here on Mad Swirl. Check out his new page.) - mh
•••••••••••
SOMEONE
I read a book of poetry wet from the gutter.
A paperback stamped by some mildewed library.
Fire burned down a telephone pole Tuesday.
Television City went numb.
Lights out
smoking cigars and mixed cigs.
Someone wrote a beautiful line beside my fingers.
There's too many thin women around this place.
Scares me when I fall
asleep and wake on a different side of the building.
Someone listening
as I hum a tune I was born from...
My mother out there somewhere
like me.
Someone lost
feeling like there's some way out of the streets.
- Anita McQueen
(added 01.31.11)
editor's note: It wouldn't hurt to narrow our world view a bit, shrink our awareness radius down to somewhere closer; like where we actually are. Take in the local sights, like those cardboard boxes aligned beneath the freeway interchange. - mh
•••••••••••
< untitled >
in each falling leaf
the wind is a little bird
a golden tracer
- Chris Zimmerly
(added 01.30.11)
editor's note: Just a few words to awaken another erstwhile epiphany of the face of God. (Many thanks to Dallas poet, friend and Mad life liver, Zim!) - 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...
Bursting,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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