The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 05.07.11
“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.” Kahlil Gibran
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we enjoyed a bit of poetry pinball, the steeled images bounced off one mind's bumper or another; we started with an exploration of the joys of a dangerous childhood; we stopped in for a speed-mass, lit a candle for St. Somebody and gave to the poor; we stopped to browse the bits and bobs of a life for sale, not so cheap as one might think; we fire-walked our way to pristine purification; we experimented with a change of residence as change of self; we blue-printed child construction and bear eviction with a soft bite, more like a warm drool; then we toyed with what's bought without buying, what's loved without loving and come up rich and poor, but never null.
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
The Mad Lover’s Song
I’m no ordinary drunkard:
I get drunk without drinking.
Your love is like
A Chinese toy—
graceful, harmless
I bought it without buying
You said it was for free
I was startled yet excited
I took the toy to my home
And locked it in the heart’s closet
I woke up this morn
And found myself dysfunctional.
A lovelorn Lilliput
Sketched his indifferent lover
He amputated her soul
And planted in the soil
It grew in splendor—
his blood poisoned its flavor
I had checked the label of
The toy that you gave me
That plant was its fragrance
This evening
A fire burns within me
I deny to be a hedonist
This toy in my heart’s closet
Is no ordinary:
It makes me to love without loving
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 05.07.11)
editor's note: No, no! You can't have my Chinese toy, the puzzlebox of my obsession. No! It's mine! - mh
•••••••••••
Migration
I hate dull metals too much
For making children.
Seems absurd in winter.
To think about children.
The snow melts.
It looks like fall to you. In the little pictures I send
I’m creaking away from this house.
Towards you and toothlessness,
Following stray dogs like a bear
That can’t stay or shake.
They look at me like I’m crazy.
And wonder if I’m coming back.
If I arrive,
Will you be kind?
And tell me what your mouth has been doing
So far from my ear.
- Patrick Sugrue
(added 05.06.11)
editor's note: I'll keep a spare set of ears, in case these stop working; if you'll keep an extra mouth handy to whisper prosthetic words. - mh
•••••••••••
impostor
i want to stay
at your house
until i smell
like you do
people who visit me
will secretly marvel
that i don’t smell
like my own house
and
they will be perplexed
faint purple flecks
in their complexions
- Walter Conley
(added 05.05.11)
editor's note: It's gotta be the perpetual apple pie in the oven or maybe it's the fragrance of chance. Much better than the solitary stench of certainty. - mh
•••••••••••
Ring of fire
All fires of the world circle in around me,
And I dance
Like the flicker of the thorny flame,
Enveloped--
By the fiery shadow
From which it came.
The fires of the world...surround me,
But I am not harmed,
Only kissed by its...cinnamon touch,
And left warm and crisp,
Like clothes fresh out of the laundry.
- R.A. Hernandez
(added 05.04.11)
editor's note: Yes, that's the fire that burns to purify, burns to kill infection, burns to make light, not ashes. - mh
•••••••••••
Yard Sales
Three broken chairs
A rusted seesaw
and an assortment of archaic pots and pans
how could that be the sum commutation of life?
She tossed out the bag of her twenties
and sold her thirties for $4.50
she sat on her forties
while contemplating the piano and
for sale-sign on the lawn.
- Chloe Viner
(1 poem added 05.03.11)
editor's note: So quickly we dismiss the life and personal meanings displayed along with the family china and those old LPs. Thanks, Chloe! - mh
•••••••••••
In The Echo Chamber: Part I
A sinner calls a priest to hear confession,
Begs him nearer to tell of some unspeakable sin.
She speaks in tones that
Smell like depression
Taste like poverty
Feel like hopelessness.
On her outstretched hands,
I deliver my communion in currency.
Salvation - only for a weak body.
Penitence - only for a guilty mind.
- Vukile Davidson
(added 05.02.11)
editor's note: We are all priests; every street a cathedral; every out-stretched hand, God's goodwill receptacle. Provision is better than prayer. - mh
•••••••••••
Boys and Girls
once
farther away than you would think
we used to smile
on the days we pulled water from the creek in big buckets
14
that’s the number of billboards here
photo shop faces
omniscient, watching girls vs. boys cops and robbers
run
everyone is chasing you now
you don’t know it yet
but they turn on each other in the end. vicious games.
trees
K-I-S-S-I-N-G but
this time it hurts bad
don’t say I didn’t warn you when they find your body.
- Lauren Sukin
(added 05.01.11)
editor's note: Cops and robbers, a love/murder mystery; can't tell if we're victim or perp. - 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...
Feasting,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we enjoyed a bit of poetry pinball, the steeled images bounced off one mind's bumper or another; we started with an exploration of the joys of a dangerous childhood; we stopped in for a speed-mass, lit a candle for St. Somebody and gave to the poor; we stopped to browse the bits and bobs of a life for sale, not so cheap as one might think; we fire-walked our way to pristine purification; we experimented with a change of residence as change of self; we blue-printed child construction and bear eviction with a soft bite, more like a warm drool; then we toyed with what's bought without buying, what's loved without loving and come up rich and poor, but never null.
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
The Mad Lover’s Song
I’m no ordinary drunkard:
I get drunk without drinking.
Your love is like
A Chinese toy—
graceful, harmless
I bought it without buying
You said it was for free
I was startled yet excited
I took the toy to my home
And locked it in the heart’s closet
I woke up this morn
And found myself dysfunctional.
A lovelorn Lilliput
Sketched his indifferent lover
He amputated her soul
And planted in the soil
It grew in splendor—
his blood poisoned its flavor
I had checked the label of
The toy that you gave me
That plant was its fragrance
This evening
A fire burns within me
I deny to be a hedonist
This toy in my heart’s closet
Is no ordinary:
It makes me to love without loving
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 05.07.11)
editor's note: No, no! You can't have my Chinese toy, the puzzlebox of my obsession. No! It's mine! - mh
•••••••••••
Migration
I hate dull metals too much
For making children.
Seems absurd in winter.
To think about children.
The snow melts.
It looks like fall to you. In the little pictures I send
I’m creaking away from this house.
Towards you and toothlessness,
Following stray dogs like a bear
That can’t stay or shake.
They look at me like I’m crazy.
And wonder if I’m coming back.
If I arrive,
Will you be kind?
And tell me what your mouth has been doing
So far from my ear.
- Patrick Sugrue
(added 05.06.11)
editor's note: I'll keep a spare set of ears, in case these stop working; if you'll keep an extra mouth handy to whisper prosthetic words. - mh
•••••••••••
impostor
i want to stay
at your house
until i smell
like you do
people who visit me
will secretly marvel
that i don’t smell
like my own house
and
they will be perplexed
faint purple flecks
in their complexions
- Walter Conley
(added 05.05.11)
editor's note: It's gotta be the perpetual apple pie in the oven or maybe it's the fragrance of chance. Much better than the solitary stench of certainty. - mh
•••••••••••
Ring of fire
All fires of the world circle in around me,
And I dance
Like the flicker of the thorny flame,
Enveloped--
By the fiery shadow
From which it came.
The fires of the world...surround me,
But I am not harmed,
Only kissed by its...cinnamon touch,
And left warm and crisp,
Like clothes fresh out of the laundry.
- R.A. Hernandez
(added 05.04.11)
editor's note: Yes, that's the fire that burns to purify, burns to kill infection, burns to make light, not ashes. - mh
•••••••••••
Yard Sales
Three broken chairs
A rusted seesaw
and an assortment of archaic pots and pans
how could that be the sum commutation of life?
She tossed out the bag of her twenties
and sold her thirties for $4.50
she sat on her forties
while contemplating the piano and
for sale-sign on the lawn.
- Chloe Viner
(1 poem added 05.03.11)
editor's note: So quickly we dismiss the life and personal meanings displayed along with the family china and those old LPs. Thanks, Chloe! - mh
•••••••••••
In The Echo Chamber: Part I
A sinner calls a priest to hear confession,
Begs him nearer to tell of some unspeakable sin.
She speaks in tones that
Smell like depression
Taste like poverty
Feel like hopelessness.
On her outstretched hands,
I deliver my communion in currency.
Salvation - only for a weak body.
Penitence - only for a guilty mind.
- Vukile Davidson
(added 05.02.11)
editor's note: We are all priests; every street a cathedral; every out-stretched hand, God's goodwill receptacle. Provision is better than prayer. - mh
•••••••••••
Boys and Girls
once
farther away than you would think
we used to smile
on the days we pulled water from the creek in big buckets
14
that’s the number of billboards here
photo shop faces
omniscient, watching girls vs. boys cops and robbers
run
everyone is chasing you now
you don’t know it yet
but they turn on each other in the end. vicious games.
trees
K-I-S-S-I-N-G but
this time it hurts bad
don’t say I didn’t warn you when they find your body.
- Lauren Sukin
(added 05.01.11)
editor's note: Cops and robbers, a love/murder mystery; can't tell if we're victim or perp. - 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...
Feasting,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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