The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 07.02.11
“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.” Marcus Aurelius
Dream City (above) by featured artist and fellow mad one, Adam Yeater, 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 were prescribed pachyderm protection for our weekly jaunt through dreamland; visited the old neighborhood for elbows-on-sill assurance that all is as it was/will be; reviewed the repercussions of rat-on-cat reverse psychology; turned our attentions to elevations of love on lake-borne windy whisperings; viewed a vulnerable lovelorn evisceration; recapped the reason-lapsed results of "leap first, love later"; then layed us down to rest in good company to the fifth degree. Delightful!
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Final Departure
(This poem is inspired from James Joyce book, "a portrait of the artist as a young man")
The God is my name,
Nepal is my nation.
Chitwan is my dwelling place
And heaven my expectation.
They crucified him for valid claim,
and, before my final departure, here is my wish,
Dingdong! The bell!
Farewell, my dearest ones,
Wherever, you entail,
I know you will burn me,
but bury me,
in some graveyard of our garden,
beside my great-great-grandfather.
My coffin shall be blue,
Five angels at my back,
Two to sing and pray
and, two to carry my soul far away.
- Santosh Kalwar
(1 poem added 07.02.11)
editor's note: Dingdong, indeed! And, how 'bout that fifth? What to do, but crack it open and pour over ice. Start the eternal leg in style and good company. - mh
•••••••••••
NEVER THE END TO BECOME
The first time I saw you in your overalls
your hair flowing, curling towards the end
trying to hold hands
turquoise eyes pale lips and a crooked nose
me with my pock marks, hazel eyes and tar stained teeth
bonded by peculiarities
two peas in the misfit conditioning
a paranoid and a bimbo like you once said
and if I were blue and you were yellow we would make green
Driving through Prescott
a picture of your son who you abandoned
brought you almost to tears
I also learned you had beaten up your mother
reasons for love are never absolute
Never the end to become
- Bob Eager
(added 07.01.11)
editor's note: Life is too short; it's hard to see the end of anything, much less love. We'll take what comes and hope for the best. - mh
•••••••••••
Visceral
Solitary,
Waking to silence
The hollow bitterness
Of alone.
Sexualized,
Under-appreciated and used.
What a pretty smile,
You hide behind.
Fragmented,
Pulled and pulling,
“Where do I belong?”
Not here.
- Renee Garafola
(added 06.30.11)
editor's note: Not here, but where? Feels good, but badly. Full of angst, but empty. That's love disguised as true - deep down we feel something, but it's not good. - mh
•••••••••••
Lake Love
On the rhythmic chest
a whisper rolls
quiet, untraceable.
Is it me or the wind
making an illegal love?
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 06.29.11)
editor's note: When it comes to Love, puncture those water-wings and let yourself sink - deep. Hope it's the wind.(Oh, and BTW... click right here to get yourself a copy of Arun's new book, "Edge") - mh
•••••••••••
Imposing intelligence
I use double psychology on my cat,
acting as if I am locking her out
so she will dart in.
She cannot miss my line
of dead rats on the porch.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(added 06.28.11)
editor's note: Such psychology is not reserved for our pets only. Every one of us has a dead rat feast we can't resist. Get in line... - mh
•••••••••••
The Old Neighborhood, Without Association
1.
When we arrive, two pigeons.
She filters the grass for food
the thick-necked male pressing his breast and cooing.
The robin, startled by the clap of car door,
lifts and lands on the fence post,
drops a white stroke of waste
to the upturned palms
of fern and soil.
2.
Early morning, a night crawler drowns.
The garter snake slithering through smooth rock
eats small things, is free of venom, nips his own tail.
The robin, holed up in a tree somewhere,
just south of Springfield
expands his redness, releases
a song he has been practicing all winter.
Every neighbor child on their elbows at the sill.
3.
The crack and flash of rain
testing the resolve of Spring stems & petals.
She said, from beneath the eave,
I didn’t think mother robins had red.
But look how fat she is! And he is
protecting them, I think (the eggs
born blue).
Her white haired husband ratchets
pipes at the joint. Weeping
robin, song sodden & wetting the soil,
remembers the first time
he felt rain.
- Jim Davis
(added 06.27.11)
editor's note: The daily transactions of every neighborhood are the same. We humans are the constant in these - flora and fauna vary. - mh
•••••••••••
Magic Beneath My Pillow
Lost in a dark dreamscape
amidst an evil storm
doors slamming shut
Wailing and tearful laments
Dad and Mom raging at each other.
I reached beneath my pillow
and clutched a small
marble elephant.
My Guardian Spirit, My Elephant
Totem warrior rose up within my dream
and moved to protect me from my foes.
Up on her hind quarters
swinging tusks high in the air
Stomping and shaking the earth
bellowing out a loud continuous voice.
Calling forth kindred spirits
from the four corners
heaven’s foot soldiers.
Seven tall spirits of royalty
Dressed all in purple
mounted the hilltop
Calling down a storm
on all my enemies
Pounding a sonic wave
that crushed their ear drums.
Then my elephant warrior
my soul’s true protector
Stood tall against all my errant
thoughts and discordant emotions
and claimed victory as I watched
Evil coil back into its shadows
yielding to the advancing
Armies of God's Angels.
Then a restful sleep
finally came to me
As I listened to
distant Tibetan monks
chanting and singing
along with
their triumphant
bells and horns
Love's healing stream
of GRACE.
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 06.26.11)
editor's note: The smallest things keep us safe from the biggest threats, or so we hope as we hide in the dark with our hands in prayer position under the cool side of a pillow—a knuckle’s worth of faith can keep any malevolence, as well as any entity with nothing but enmity, at bay. When all seems hopeless, and you turn to the human imagination, you might just find how endless reverie can be—you may just find the magic beneath your pillow. - tm
•••••••••••
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...
Technicolor Thinkin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
“If no one ever did anything silly, nothing intelligent would ever be done.” ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein
Are you ready to get your silly on? We sure are. It's been TOO dang long since we did and we are overdue! And if it begets something intelligent too... well then whoo-hoo!
On 07.06.11, starting at 8:00-ish, Mad Swirl will continue doing the open mic voodoo that what we do do! Join host Johnny O and co-host MH Clay, along with the musically magical trio Swirve and the usual unusual mad suspects as we do our darndest to both blow and open your minds. We will be callin' all you mystically mad poets, musicians, dancers, actors, singers, performers & any other miscellaneous mad ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth area to come & strut your mad stuff!
If you're interested in rage, raging against the dying of the light then show up the night of and get on the list!
Where's this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
And please, by all means, FEEL FREE TO SPREAD THE WORD!
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
Mad Swirl Open Mic: It's THE place to be on the first Wednesday of the month!
Dream City (above) by featured artist and fellow mad one, Adam Yeater, 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 were prescribed pachyderm protection for our weekly jaunt through dreamland; visited the old neighborhood for elbows-on-sill assurance that all is as it was/will be; reviewed the repercussions of rat-on-cat reverse psychology; turned our attentions to elevations of love on lake-borne windy whisperings; viewed a vulnerable lovelorn evisceration; recapped the reason-lapsed results of "leap first, love later"; then layed us down to rest in good company to the fifth degree. Delightful!
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
•••••••••••
Final Departure
(This poem is inspired from James Joyce book, "a portrait of the artist as a young man")
The God is my name,
Nepal is my nation.
Chitwan is my dwelling place
And heaven my expectation.
They crucified him for valid claim,
and, before my final departure, here is my wish,
Dingdong! The bell!
Farewell, my dearest ones,
Wherever, you entail,
I know you will burn me,
but bury me,
in some graveyard of our garden,
beside my great-great-grandfather.
My coffin shall be blue,
Five angels at my back,
Two to sing and pray
and, two to carry my soul far away.
- Santosh Kalwar
(1 poem added 07.02.11)
editor's note: Dingdong, indeed! And, how 'bout that fifth? What to do, but crack it open and pour over ice. Start the eternal leg in style and good company. - mh
•••••••••••
NEVER THE END TO BECOME
The first time I saw you in your overalls
your hair flowing, curling towards the end
trying to hold hands
turquoise eyes pale lips and a crooked nose
me with my pock marks, hazel eyes and tar stained teeth
bonded by peculiarities
two peas in the misfit conditioning
a paranoid and a bimbo like you once said
and if I were blue and you were yellow we would make green
Driving through Prescott
a picture of your son who you abandoned
brought you almost to tears
I also learned you had beaten up your mother
reasons for love are never absolute
Never the end to become
- Bob Eager
(added 07.01.11)
editor's note: Life is too short; it's hard to see the end of anything, much less love. We'll take what comes and hope for the best. - mh
•••••••••••
Visceral
Solitary,
Waking to silence
The hollow bitterness
Of alone.
Sexualized,
Under-appreciated and used.
What a pretty smile,
You hide behind.
Fragmented,
Pulled and pulling,
“Where do I belong?”
Not here.
- Renee Garafola
(added 06.30.11)
editor's note: Not here, but where? Feels good, but badly. Full of angst, but empty. That's love disguised as true - deep down we feel something, but it's not good. - mh
•••••••••••
Lake Love
On the rhythmic chest
a whisper rolls
quiet, untraceable.
Is it me or the wind
making an illegal love?
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 06.29.11)
editor's note: When it comes to Love, puncture those water-wings and let yourself sink - deep. Hope it's the wind.(Oh, and BTW... click right here to get yourself a copy of Arun's new book, "Edge") - mh
•••••••••••
Imposing intelligence
I use double psychology on my cat,
acting as if I am locking her out
so she will dart in.
She cannot miss my line
of dead rats on the porch.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(added 06.28.11)
editor's note: Such psychology is not reserved for our pets only. Every one of us has a dead rat feast we can't resist. Get in line... - mh
•••••••••••
The Old Neighborhood, Without Association
1.
When we arrive, two pigeons.
She filters the grass for food
the thick-necked male pressing his breast and cooing.
The robin, startled by the clap of car door,
lifts and lands on the fence post,
drops a white stroke of waste
to the upturned palms
of fern and soil.
2.
Early morning, a night crawler drowns.
The garter snake slithering through smooth rock
eats small things, is free of venom, nips his own tail.
The robin, holed up in a tree somewhere,
just south of Springfield
expands his redness, releases
a song he has been practicing all winter.
Every neighbor child on their elbows at the sill.
3.
The crack and flash of rain
testing the resolve of Spring stems & petals.
She said, from beneath the eave,
I didn’t think mother robins had red.
But look how fat she is! And he is
protecting them, I think (the eggs
born blue).
Her white haired husband ratchets
pipes at the joint. Weeping
robin, song sodden & wetting the soil,
remembers the first time
he felt rain.
- Jim Davis
(added 06.27.11)
editor's note: The daily transactions of every neighborhood are the same. We humans are the constant in these - flora and fauna vary. - mh
•••••••••••
Magic Beneath My Pillow
Lost in a dark dreamscape
amidst an evil storm
doors slamming shut
Wailing and tearful laments
Dad and Mom raging at each other.
I reached beneath my pillow
and clutched a small
marble elephant.
My Guardian Spirit, My Elephant
Totem warrior rose up within my dream
and moved to protect me from my foes.
Up on her hind quarters
swinging tusks high in the air
Stomping and shaking the earth
bellowing out a loud continuous voice.
Calling forth kindred spirits
from the four corners
heaven’s foot soldiers.
Seven tall spirits of royalty
Dressed all in purple
mounted the hilltop
Calling down a storm
on all my enemies
Pounding a sonic wave
that crushed their ear drums.
Then my elephant warrior
my soul’s true protector
Stood tall against all my errant
thoughts and discordant emotions
and claimed victory as I watched
Evil coil back into its shadows
yielding to the advancing
Armies of God's Angels.
Then a restful sleep
finally came to me
As I listened to
distant Tibetan monks
chanting and singing
along with
their triumphant
bells and horns
Love's healing stream
of GRACE.
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 06.26.11)
editor's note: The smallest things keep us safe from the biggest threats, or so we hope as we hide in the dark with our hands in prayer position under the cool side of a pillow—a knuckle’s worth of faith can keep any malevolence, as well as any entity with nothing but enmity, at bay. When all seems hopeless, and you turn to the human imagination, you might just find how endless reverie can be—you may just find the magic beneath your pillow. - tm
•••••••••••
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...
Technicolor Thinkin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
“If no one ever did anything silly, nothing intelligent would ever be done.” ~ Ludwig Wittgenstein
Are you ready to get your silly on? We sure are. It's been TOO dang long since we did and we are overdue! And if it begets something intelligent too... well then whoo-hoo!
On 07.06.11, starting at 8:00-ish, Mad Swirl will continue doing the open mic voodoo that what we do do! Join host Johnny O and co-host MH Clay, along with the musically magical trio Swirve and the usual unusual mad suspects as we do our darndest to both blow and open your minds. We will be callin' all you mystically mad poets, musicians, dancers, actors, singers, performers & any other miscellaneous mad ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth area to come & strut your mad stuff!
If you're interested in rage, raging against the dying of the light then show up the night of and get on the list!
Where's this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
And please, by all means, FEEL FREE TO SPREAD THE WORD!
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
Mad Swirl Open Mic: It's THE place to be on the first Wednesday of the month!
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