The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 04.30.11
“A little madness in the Spring is wholesome even for the King.” Emily Dickinson
Joy (above) by featured artist Jim Fuess. Jim's paintings are the epitome of swirling madness. The twisting & fusing of molten madness whirling together on his canvas always makes our eyes smile. We begin to drift off into the subterranean regions of our mad minds. We like when that happens! If you think you'd like that too then take a stroll thru the Mad Gallery.
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... it was one of the swirliest, maddest machinations, yet; we started with a weather alert, strange tides were rising, we tripped on our theories and fantasies, beneath a cold moon, beside uncertain seas, we reveled in the sweet libation of bees, we choked on this liquid gold (some of us) to trip on our War-US shame, we fell to earth, laughing at our mundanities, then we laughed some more, to our digital delight, at the inevitable end of mankind's plight, to finally be awakened by a vegetative visitation from the heartland we thought had nothing to add to our mojo.
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Anything Could Drop Out of the Sky
Anything could drop out of the sky.
And it did...
And though this particular anything
is quintillions of sub-atomic particles
sneaking through ozone holes and such
bombarding the planet’s surface
they only manage to nudge brain neurons a bit
and slightly alter outcomes of thinkers’ conclusions,
but, beknownst only to the few
who are astronomically present in that moment,
the future glows brighter
up ahead, around the corner,
of the next run-on sentence
spoken over the vacuum
that is abhorred for reasons
not clearly stated in the torn yellow pages
the strong man rips in two
during a muscular demonstration
near the sun worshiping beach girls
who wear the tiniest nano-bikinis,
while I sleep in the shade
of a partly cloudy Magritte umbrella
and a rampant dandelion seed
blown all the way from an Illinois prairie
lands upon my back and tickles me awake.
- Kenneth P. Gurney
(2 poems added 04.30.11)
editor's note: Which is more impressive on the weak human mind, sub-atomic bombardment or dandelion seeds? Well, a few cosmic particles won't get in your shorts to make your balls itch! Perspective, friends, perspective. (See another from Kenneth on his page - a bit of a bend on holy writ.) - mh
•••••••••••
Holograms are We
Laughter bellows
from my shadow
as empty panes pass through my prism
but pull in faces from far and wide
with these holograms of freedom
to stimulate the dream
that feeds the city's dynamo.
Disconnected
from this inattentive current
flowing through the flux of avenues,
my eyes roll up and gaze upon
the mirror ball of dead diamond suns
around which
the black hole of our reason spins.
All these illusions;
flashing between one and zero,
are nothing but a trick of the eye
refracted by time's rays of light
into a world which will cease to turn
when all this pointless information
slips past the event horizon
and the drone of this overcrowded sphere
is replaced by the silent symphony above.
- J. H. Martin
(2 poems added 04.29.11)
editor's note: Soon we'll meet our digital destruction. After we're gone, "ram," once again, will refer only to a male sheep. (See another one, with a different talke on reality, from James on his New Poetry Page. Welcome, James!) - mh
•••••••••••
BACHELORAHOLIC
from the window
to the kitchen to the
Machine set on spin and
Back to the window where
outdoors young mothers
Force feed their babes
cappuccino and
gesture familiarly
I go from this picture of
Travesty
to kitchen of insignificance
In an instant, embracing
My special meal of chemicals
From the kitchen window
To the settlement
and the grave and
Back again, a Laughing raven satellite
- Jay Passer
(added 04.28.11)
editor's note: When a raven satellite falls to earth, there is nothing to do BUT laugh. - mh
•••••••••••
the gold standard
Our day is done,
the eagle will not chase the sun
Our summed fears taken by the gun
America, it was fun-
Defeated by capitalism
every foreign policy over done
military industrial complex
swallowed by the ton-
Power and fame
This was the name of your game
Becoming a War-Us
meddlesome nation,
Shame, shame, shame.
© April 16, 2011
- Rafael Andrade Garza
(added 04.27.11)
editor's note: "All that glitters" is subject to scrutiny by the House Committee on Un-American Activities. I hear the wearing of burqas within American borders is on this week's agenda; while not a thought is given to the perpetual grin or the glad-handed grip. So sad! - mh
•••••••••••
Golden Honey
I’ll wrap myself in yellow
plant daffodils and tulips
that nod sleepily in the breeze,
conjure the summer sun
in the middle of a cold spring,
mix puckery lemonade
with sparkling water.
I’ll have my sun on the rocks
please, let condensation cool
my skin. Let me kiss you after.
It tastes like salt, like warm honey,
like time suspended.
- Eleonora Luongo
(added 04.26.11)
editor's note: On the rocks, neat or naked; I'll take that drink and another like it. Love will be my designated driver. - mh
•••••••••••
ALBATROSS
In some lands pregnant women work stooping
in potato or beet fields until labor has been fulfilled.
Their children grow fast and have skin
dark as dead leaves of the trees
that grow in lower elevations.
We know ourselves by nets we cast
into the sea and the catch
we bring in, or so think fishermen.
The moon controls the tide
of every ocean, but seas would have different
names for weight if water could know itself,
as a crystal of salt knows it is
not sulfur or ash of a burned linden tree.
Socrates was unaware women had the same
number of teeth as men, so how
much did he know of feminine hygiene?
It is good to know one’s limit,
to chew asparagus well before swallowing.
Looking under sea shells
for living creatures is often pointless
as a dull spear to a caveman.
There are temples and libraries full of
theories and fantasies
one could use to measure the hypotenuse
of errors in calculating a season’s birth
and demise. Accuracy may
be a wet or a dry question to the whale and sidewinder.
Ask the tar paper under a painted wall
how it learned of civility and coloring crayons.
Bring the lemurs back from the cradle,
and firebrand the isthmus of the moon’s last quadrant.
- William Page
(added 04.25.11)
editor's note: The knowledge of things is our framework for dialogue. Linden trees don't need this. They know what they are without our pretentious titles to make them real. - mh
•••••••••••
Flood Warning
Idiot River is full to its banks
sandbagging crews will lose
though they persist
the logical thing to do
they knew
but no longer know
now wondering what (or if) to think
since thinking doesn’t stem the flood
of idiotic rising mud
- Randall Johnson
(1 poem added 04.24.11)
editor's note: When the banks give way and the flood consumes, will the logical action occur to the mud-caked mind? Perhaps it's time to seek higher ground. - 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...
Feelin' Springy
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
The MAD Swirl God has moved ME to share with YOU this powerful MAD MESSAGE. As I was sleeping early in the WEE hours of the night, I was awakened by a strange & POWERFUL sense. I felt shaking in my Bones, Dear brethren, & KNEW deep within MY heart & soul that this was the one, the only, the MAD Swirl God stirring me from SLUMBER. As I awoke, I SLID to my knees in a humble & receptive prayer:
"Yes, MAD Swirl" I whispered, wiping sleep from mine MAD eyes.
"My child," The Swirl spoke. "You have done MAD things in my name. You printed MAD Zines. You WOVEN a MAD web in the WWW. You have swirled the madness WHEREever you can. It is time for more MAD work."
"Just tell me MAD Swirl, What will you have me to do?" I said.
"My child," Lord Swirl spoke. "You must spread the MADNESS to the MASSES. You must beseech ALL the MAD ONES and the 'AWWW'-ers to open their hearts once more. This time, ye shall tell them to give of their poems, songs, stories, monologues, dance & their sacrificial love offerings of applause and finger-snaps to the ministry of the MAD Swirl OPEN MIC"
"MAD Swirl OPEN MIC Lord Swirl?"
"The trinity of MAD Swirl" God said. "The Lord Swirl, thy God, has spoken."
So brothers and sisters, I ask you this day, to fall on your knees and Listen to the dear Lord Swirl would have you to do on this FIRST Wednesday...
"ALL ye MAD Poets, Musicians, Actors, Singers and/or Performers WHO Live in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, come-YE-n-strut-yo-stuff.
Come Oneth. Come Alleth. Come to Participateth. Come to Appreciateth. Come to Supporteth your fellow MAD ONES.
Cometh and JOIN host Brother JOHNNY O and co-host Brother MH CLAY, and the Musical MAD ones SWIRVE as The MIC Opens up AROUND 8:00 and CLOSES when I SAYETH So. GO FORTH to MADSwirl.COM for MORE Information."
Whatever Lord Swirl tells you, you mustn't question. Do not, I repeat, do not let the LYING DEVIL try to tell you otherwise. Lord Swirl is serious about this. If you love MAD Swirl, you will COME.
Hallelujah!
Reverend Brother Elder Swirl the 7th
P.S. IF you're Interested in performing... show up ON TIME the night of and get on the list!
Where willeth this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
Joy (above) by featured artist Jim Fuess. Jim's paintings are the epitome of swirling madness. The twisting & fusing of molten madness whirling together on his canvas always makes our eyes smile. We begin to drift off into the subterranean regions of our mad minds. We like when that happens! If you think you'd like that too then take a stroll thru the Mad Gallery.
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... it was one of the swirliest, maddest machinations, yet; we started with a weather alert, strange tides were rising, we tripped on our theories and fantasies, beneath a cold moon, beside uncertain seas, we reveled in the sweet libation of bees, we choked on this liquid gold (some of us) to trip on our War-US shame, we fell to earth, laughing at our mundanities, then we laughed some more, to our digital delight, at the inevitable end of mankind's plight, to finally be awakened by a vegetative visitation from the heartland we thought had nothing to add to our mojo.
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Anything Could Drop Out of the Sky
Anything could drop out of the sky.
And it did...
And though this particular anything
is quintillions of sub-atomic particles
sneaking through ozone holes and such
bombarding the planet’s surface
they only manage to nudge brain neurons a bit
and slightly alter outcomes of thinkers’ conclusions,
but, beknownst only to the few
who are astronomically present in that moment,
the future glows brighter
up ahead, around the corner,
of the next run-on sentence
spoken over the vacuum
that is abhorred for reasons
not clearly stated in the torn yellow pages
the strong man rips in two
during a muscular demonstration
near the sun worshiping beach girls
who wear the tiniest nano-bikinis,
while I sleep in the shade
of a partly cloudy Magritte umbrella
and a rampant dandelion seed
blown all the way from an Illinois prairie
lands upon my back and tickles me awake.
- Kenneth P. Gurney
(2 poems added 04.30.11)
editor's note: Which is more impressive on the weak human mind, sub-atomic bombardment or dandelion seeds? Well, a few cosmic particles won't get in your shorts to make your balls itch! Perspective, friends, perspective. (See another from Kenneth on his page - a bit of a bend on holy writ.) - mh
•••••••••••
Holograms are We
Laughter bellows
from my shadow
as empty panes pass through my prism
but pull in faces from far and wide
with these holograms of freedom
to stimulate the dream
that feeds the city's dynamo.
Disconnected
from this inattentive current
flowing through the flux of avenues,
my eyes roll up and gaze upon
the mirror ball of dead diamond suns
around which
the black hole of our reason spins.
All these illusions;
flashing between one and zero,
are nothing but a trick of the eye
refracted by time's rays of light
into a world which will cease to turn
when all this pointless information
slips past the event horizon
and the drone of this overcrowded sphere
is replaced by the silent symphony above.
- J. H. Martin
(2 poems added 04.29.11)
editor's note: Soon we'll meet our digital destruction. After we're gone, "ram," once again, will refer only to a male sheep. (See another one, with a different talke on reality, from James on his New Poetry Page. Welcome, James!) - mh
•••••••••••
BACHELORAHOLIC
from the window
to the kitchen to the
Machine set on spin and
Back to the window where
outdoors young mothers
Force feed their babes
cappuccino and
gesture familiarly
I go from this picture of
Travesty
to kitchen of insignificance
In an instant, embracing
My special meal of chemicals
From the kitchen window
To the settlement
and the grave and
Back again, a Laughing raven satellite
- Jay Passer
(added 04.28.11)
editor's note: When a raven satellite falls to earth, there is nothing to do BUT laugh. - mh
•••••••••••
the gold standard
Our day is done,
the eagle will not chase the sun
Our summed fears taken by the gun
America, it was fun-
Defeated by capitalism
every foreign policy over done
military industrial complex
swallowed by the ton-
Power and fame
This was the name of your game
Becoming a War-Us
meddlesome nation,
Shame, shame, shame.
© April 16, 2011
- Rafael Andrade Garza
(added 04.27.11)
editor's note: "All that glitters" is subject to scrutiny by the House Committee on Un-American Activities. I hear the wearing of burqas within American borders is on this week's agenda; while not a thought is given to the perpetual grin or the glad-handed grip. So sad! - mh
•••••••••••
Golden Honey
I’ll wrap myself in yellow
plant daffodils and tulips
that nod sleepily in the breeze,
conjure the summer sun
in the middle of a cold spring,
mix puckery lemonade
with sparkling water.
I’ll have my sun on the rocks
please, let condensation cool
my skin. Let me kiss you after.
It tastes like salt, like warm honey,
like time suspended.
- Eleonora Luongo
(added 04.26.11)
editor's note: On the rocks, neat or naked; I'll take that drink and another like it. Love will be my designated driver. - mh
•••••••••••
ALBATROSS
In some lands pregnant women work stooping
in potato or beet fields until labor has been fulfilled.
Their children grow fast and have skin
dark as dead leaves of the trees
that grow in lower elevations.
We know ourselves by nets we cast
into the sea and the catch
we bring in, or so think fishermen.
The moon controls the tide
of every ocean, but seas would have different
names for weight if water could know itself,
as a crystal of salt knows it is
not sulfur or ash of a burned linden tree.
Socrates was unaware women had the same
number of teeth as men, so how
much did he know of feminine hygiene?
It is good to know one’s limit,
to chew asparagus well before swallowing.
Looking under sea shells
for living creatures is often pointless
as a dull spear to a caveman.
There are temples and libraries full of
theories and fantasies
one could use to measure the hypotenuse
of errors in calculating a season’s birth
and demise. Accuracy may
be a wet or a dry question to the whale and sidewinder.
Ask the tar paper under a painted wall
how it learned of civility and coloring crayons.
Bring the lemurs back from the cradle,
and firebrand the isthmus of the moon’s last quadrant.
- William Page
(added 04.25.11)
editor's note: The knowledge of things is our framework for dialogue. Linden trees don't need this. They know what they are without our pretentious titles to make them real. - mh
•••••••••••
Flood Warning
Idiot River is full to its banks
sandbagging crews will lose
though they persist
the logical thing to do
they knew
but no longer know
now wondering what (or if) to think
since thinking doesn’t stem the flood
of idiotic rising mud
- Randall Johnson
(1 poem added 04.24.11)
editor's note: When the banks give way and the flood consumes, will the logical action occur to the mud-caked mind? Perhaps it's time to seek higher ground. - 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...
Feelin' Springy
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
The MAD Swirl God has moved ME to share with YOU this powerful MAD MESSAGE. As I was sleeping early in the WEE hours of the night, I was awakened by a strange & POWERFUL sense. I felt shaking in my Bones, Dear brethren, & KNEW deep within MY heart & soul that this was the one, the only, the MAD Swirl God stirring me from SLUMBER. As I awoke, I SLID to my knees in a humble & receptive prayer:
"Yes, MAD Swirl" I whispered, wiping sleep from mine MAD eyes.
"My child," The Swirl spoke. "You have done MAD things in my name. You printed MAD Zines. You WOVEN a MAD web in the WWW. You have swirled the madness WHEREever you can. It is time for more MAD work."
"Just tell me MAD Swirl, What will you have me to do?" I said.
"My child," Lord Swirl spoke. "You must spread the MADNESS to the MASSES. You must beseech ALL the MAD ONES and the 'AWWW'-ers to open their hearts once more. This time, ye shall tell them to give of their poems, songs, stories, monologues, dance & their sacrificial love offerings of applause and finger-snaps to the ministry of the MAD Swirl OPEN MIC"
"MAD Swirl OPEN MIC Lord Swirl?"
"The trinity of MAD Swirl" God said. "The Lord Swirl, thy God, has spoken."
So brothers and sisters, I ask you this day, to fall on your knees and Listen to the dear Lord Swirl would have you to do on this FIRST Wednesday...
"ALL ye MAD Poets, Musicians, Actors, Singers and/or Performers WHO Live in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, come-YE-n-strut-yo-stuff.
Come Oneth. Come Alleth. Come to Participateth. Come to Appreciateth. Come to Supporteth your fellow MAD ONES.
Cometh and JOIN host Brother JOHNNY O and co-host Brother MH CLAY, and the Musical MAD ones SWIRVE as The MIC Opens up AROUND 8:00 and CLOSES when I SAYETH So. GO FORTH to MADSwirl.COM for MORE Information."
Whatever Lord Swirl tells you, you mustn't question. Do not, I repeat, do not let the LYING DEVIL try to tell you otherwise. Lord Swirl is serious about this. If you love MAD Swirl, you will COME.
Hallelujah!
Reverend Brother Elder Swirl the 7th
P.S. IF you're Interested in performing... show up ON TIME the night of and get on the list!
Where willeth this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
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