The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 06.11.11
“Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.” William Shakespeare
Passionate Pallette (above) by our newest featured artist and fellow mad one, Paul McMillan, one of over 20 artists currently coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective Mad Gallery. We know you'll wanna see more fo' sho' so move that mad mouse of yo's right over here and a-way you will GO!
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we listened to a languishing laborer; eyed an inanimate avian; entertained an entreaty for organized incest; wound up some wicked word-play; dallied with dream dignitaries; considered kinder candor (preferred over cut-glass no-class filth-cake); all to return to low-station lift-away laughing languor. Lovely!
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Seriously?
Without a ladder
I’m not going very high.
I lack the gifts
of leap and grip.
If elevation is about
ambition in your eyes
by that measure
I’ll retain low station.
But give to me
your self-important
arguments and gripes
and watch me,
agile happy monkey,
scramble into my balloon
and rise above them.
Your gravity escapes me.
I will laugh
and lift
away.
- Randall Johnson
(2 poems added 06.11.11)
editor's note: While looking down from the nose-bleed section, you uppity-ups won't see the monkey flying above you until he pees on your head. (Another good one from Randall on his page - check it out) - mh
•••••••••••
IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE IT, BUT I FEEL APATHETIC ABOUT IT
Pathetically
on a path,
without etiquette,
without grace.
I thought class would spill
out of you,
like an oversized big-brim
hat spilled over the
ladies in a much more classy
age
than we live in today.
Instead, glass came cutting
out of your mouth
chopping up my insides,
turning respect into
rust,
caking me filthy inside,
eating away at my appetite!
I am hungry, my life is turning the
way my stomach might
if I had starved it of the proper care
it needs.
I am hungry, but for people
and times and things that
are more clear,
and trustworthy,
and innocent,
like a child walking
up to you,
pulling at your sweater
and saying,
“hey, you’re ugly!”
- Margaret Stringham
(2 poems added 06.10.11)
editor's note: Can't dress up a disappointment nor stop a child from speaking the truth. Better to take a nap, think about it later... (Welcome Margaret Stringham to our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets - she has another new one on her page - check it out.) - mh
•••••••••••
Crazy dreams
My eyes close!
I am eating a fancy meal with Hitler and Jesus.
My eyes close!
I am making love to Ayn Rand. NOOOOOOOO!
The philosopher has now metamorphosed into a movie star.
I am now making love to Marilyn Monroe,
YESSSSSSSSS!
My eyes close!
I am walking down a bland shopping street where only
homeless men are the managers of the shops
and rich entrepreneurs stack shelves.
My eyes close!
A strange hideous animal is following me across a foggy bog.
It smells of greed and death, the animal not the bog.
It is wearing a grey suit, it has hardly any hair and
It defiantly has no soul.
It is an English politician.
My eyes close!
I drink a glass of brandy with Napoleon,
a Shot of Vodka with Stalin,
a bottle of whisky with Churchill,
and a cellar of red wine with Mussolini.
My eyes close!
I wake up and I have to go to work and get
through another day in the dull, blandness
of the 21st century.
My eyes close!
- Luke Ritta
(added 06.09.11)
editor's note: Always thought Jesus would be a great conversationalist while Hitler would dribble hollandaise on his black tie and throw a temper tantrum. But, what's really crazy? Getting through another work day. That's nuts! - mh
•••••••••••
Semantic Insanities
When stars are out, they are visible, but when lights are out, they are not
When your wind up your watch, your start it, but when you wind up a poem, you end it
Houses can burn up as they burn down, where you fill in a form by filling it out
A slim chance is the same as a fat one, but a wise man is by no means a wise guy
Quite a few and quite a lot are alike, but to overlook is not to oversee
The weather can be hot as hell in summer and cold as hell in winter
As we live, our alarm clock goes off by going on
- Changming Yuan
(2 poems added 06.08.11)
editor's note: Ah, English, such a compendium of contradictions, conversations country-clouded into dialect and idiom. If I said I was pissed, you'd need to know my origins to determine if I was angry, or just drunk. (For you who would be kings and queens, some important imperatives in another new poem on Changming's page - check it out.) - mh
•••••••••••
Pulsing Juxtaposed Kin
In memoriam of all
the incest wrapped up
in Racer X, I am
going to sit next to
the underside of your legs
There’s no blood and
no nitrous growl rubber
burning salvation- but
not all fluids have been
isolated between us; and
you’ve always been the safest
Speed don’t get up
You're the closest and if you
do I’ll take to a cold
run- to risk letting
out some identity
I love you enough
to ask if that’s
a monkey in your trunk-
and in two many ways
At once racing and
trying to qualify
Why won’t you ever take shortcuts?
I’m following you around
for a reason- I’ve been on
every side of you, like my
trademark letter-
riled dually each time
That flag drops:
Like Brother let’s go Lover
combine pennants
and become cosponsored
racers- Team Incestuous
- Steven Minchin
(added 06.07.11)
editor's note: Why not? Let's make kissing cousins a team sport! - mh
•••••••••••
Rotting Bird
(after the painting by Salvador Dalí, 1928)
Sooner or later
Everything rots
Bananas, artichokes,
Wood, stone, and bronze
Paint and poetry
Our very flesh—
Even a lifeless bird
Hanging from
A tree
Waiting
For the wind
To change
To spread
Its wings again.
- Neil Ellman
(added 06.06.11)
editor's note: Sometimes we forget to take out the garbage, flying instead on a vagrant wind, indulging our Dali - ance. - mh
•••••••••••
The same absurd look
Loads are my work
Daylong labor with fatigue,
Profession undertaking.
I am the exhausted Sisyphus
Tasteless taste I am taking
Staring to the world.
Every dream of a better life
By the eve I surrender
Clearing the glass with wings
Just to forget I am tired
Beer glass where moves the tide
For my mind is wild.
Intending not I am intended
To articulate the obscure thoughts
Devoid of any sleep dreaming
Pleasure in whose sublimity
Silent words screaming
Resilient lake where
Fury of the wind spins.
- Hem Raj Bastola
(1 poem added 06.05.11)
editor's note: Familiar sentiments for we who push the rock, drain the glass and levitate above furious waters. Just another day in the neighborhood. Thanks, HemRaj! (Check out Hem Raj's new page as he joins our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets - Welcome Hem Raj Bastola!) - 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...
Watchin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Mad Swirl is proud to announce that starting on 06.12.11, madman Tyler Malone will be getting a glimpse behind the mad, mad curtain and will be orchestrating the poetic swirlingnesses as our guest poetry editor while MH Clay takes a much needed break!
Passionate Pallette (above) by our newest featured artist and fellow mad one, Paul McMillan, one of over 20 artists currently coloring the virtual walls in Mad Swirl's eclectic electronic collective Mad Gallery. We know you'll wanna see more fo' sho' so move that mad mouse of yo's right over here and a-way you will GO!
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we listened to a languishing laborer; eyed an inanimate avian; entertained an entreaty for organized incest; wound up some wicked word-play; dallied with dream dignitaries; considered kinder candor (preferred over cut-glass no-class filth-cake); all to return to low-station lift-away laughing languor. Lovely!
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Seriously?
Without a ladder
I’m not going very high.
I lack the gifts
of leap and grip.
If elevation is about
ambition in your eyes
by that measure
I’ll retain low station.
But give to me
your self-important
arguments and gripes
and watch me,
agile happy monkey,
scramble into my balloon
and rise above them.
Your gravity escapes me.
I will laugh
and lift
away.
- Randall Johnson
(2 poems added 06.11.11)
editor's note: While looking down from the nose-bleed section, you uppity-ups won't see the monkey flying above you until he pees on your head. (Another good one from Randall on his page - check it out) - mh
•••••••••••
IT DOESN’T SOUND LIKE IT, BUT I FEEL APATHETIC ABOUT IT
Pathetically
on a path,
without etiquette,
without grace.
I thought class would spill
out of you,
like an oversized big-brim
hat spilled over the
ladies in a much more classy
age
than we live in today.
Instead, glass came cutting
out of your mouth
chopping up my insides,
turning respect into
rust,
caking me filthy inside,
eating away at my appetite!
I am hungry, my life is turning the
way my stomach might
if I had starved it of the proper care
it needs.
I am hungry, but for people
and times and things that
are more clear,
and trustworthy,
and innocent,
like a child walking
up to you,
pulling at your sweater
and saying,
“hey, you’re ugly!”
- Margaret Stringham
(2 poems added 06.10.11)
editor's note: Can't dress up a disappointment nor stop a child from speaking the truth. Better to take a nap, think about it later... (Welcome Margaret Stringham to our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets - she has another new one on her page - check it out.) - mh
•••••••••••
Crazy dreams
My eyes close!
I am eating a fancy meal with Hitler and Jesus.
My eyes close!
I am making love to Ayn Rand. NOOOOOOOO!
The philosopher has now metamorphosed into a movie star.
I am now making love to Marilyn Monroe,
YESSSSSSSSS!
My eyes close!
I am walking down a bland shopping street where only
homeless men are the managers of the shops
and rich entrepreneurs stack shelves.
My eyes close!
A strange hideous animal is following me across a foggy bog.
It smells of greed and death, the animal not the bog.
It is wearing a grey suit, it has hardly any hair and
It defiantly has no soul.
It is an English politician.
My eyes close!
I drink a glass of brandy with Napoleon,
a Shot of Vodka with Stalin,
a bottle of whisky with Churchill,
and a cellar of red wine with Mussolini.
My eyes close!
I wake up and I have to go to work and get
through another day in the dull, blandness
of the 21st century.
My eyes close!
- Luke Ritta
(added 06.09.11)
editor's note: Always thought Jesus would be a great conversationalist while Hitler would dribble hollandaise on his black tie and throw a temper tantrum. But, what's really crazy? Getting through another work day. That's nuts! - mh
•••••••••••
Semantic Insanities
When stars are out, they are visible, but when lights are out, they are not
When your wind up your watch, your start it, but when you wind up a poem, you end it
Houses can burn up as they burn down, where you fill in a form by filling it out
A slim chance is the same as a fat one, but a wise man is by no means a wise guy
Quite a few and quite a lot are alike, but to overlook is not to oversee
The weather can be hot as hell in summer and cold as hell in winter
As we live, our alarm clock goes off by going on
- Changming Yuan
(2 poems added 06.08.11)
editor's note: Ah, English, such a compendium of contradictions, conversations country-clouded into dialect and idiom. If I said I was pissed, you'd need to know my origins to determine if I was angry, or just drunk. (For you who would be kings and queens, some important imperatives in another new poem on Changming's page - check it out.) - mh
•••••••••••
Pulsing Juxtaposed Kin
In memoriam of all
the incest wrapped up
in Racer X, I am
going to sit next to
the underside of your legs
There’s no blood and
no nitrous growl rubber
burning salvation- but
not all fluids have been
isolated between us; and
you’ve always been the safest
Speed don’t get up
You're the closest and if you
do I’ll take to a cold
run- to risk letting
out some identity
I love you enough
to ask if that’s
a monkey in your trunk-
and in two many ways
At once racing and
trying to qualify
Why won’t you ever take shortcuts?
I’m following you around
for a reason- I’ve been on
every side of you, like my
trademark letter-
riled dually each time
That flag drops:
Like Brother let’s go Lover
combine pennants
and become cosponsored
racers- Team Incestuous
- Steven Minchin
(added 06.07.11)
editor's note: Why not? Let's make kissing cousins a team sport! - mh
•••••••••••
Rotting Bird
(after the painting by Salvador Dalí, 1928)
Sooner or later
Everything rots
Bananas, artichokes,
Wood, stone, and bronze
Paint and poetry
Our very flesh—
Even a lifeless bird
Hanging from
A tree
Waiting
For the wind
To change
To spread
Its wings again.
- Neil Ellman
(added 06.06.11)
editor's note: Sometimes we forget to take out the garbage, flying instead on a vagrant wind, indulging our Dali - ance. - mh
•••••••••••
The same absurd look
Loads are my work
Daylong labor with fatigue,
Profession undertaking.
I am the exhausted Sisyphus
Tasteless taste I am taking
Staring to the world.
Every dream of a better life
By the eve I surrender
Clearing the glass with wings
Just to forget I am tired
Beer glass where moves the tide
For my mind is wild.
Intending not I am intended
To articulate the obscure thoughts
Devoid of any sleep dreaming
Pleasure in whose sublimity
Silent words screaming
Resilient lake where
Fury of the wind spins.
- Hem Raj Bastola
(1 poem added 06.05.11)
editor's note: Familiar sentiments for we who push the rock, drain the glass and levitate above furious waters. Just another day in the neighborhood. Thanks, HemRaj! (Check out Hem Raj's new page as he joins our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets - Welcome Hem Raj Bastola!) - 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...
Watchin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Mad Swirl is proud to announce that starting on 06.12.11, madman Tyler Malone will be getting a glimpse behind the mad, mad curtain and will be orchestrating the poetic swirlingnesses as our guest poetry editor while MH Clay takes a much needed break!
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