The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 08.13.11
“I shut my eyes in order to see.” Paul Gauguin
Manufacturing Vanity (above) by featured artist, Ana Vohryzek. Ana's Impressionistic style impressed us immediately upon reviewing. Her work varies from full-spectrum splashes of colors to one-color sketches, from portraits to abstract landscapes. We just didn't know what to expect next... and that's the way we like it! So without further ado, we invite you to take a look thru the mad artistic eye of the self-proclaimed Batman of artists (she's an international lawyer by day and a painter by night) Ana Vohryzek and get your impression on. All you got to do is move that mad mouse of yours right over here and away... you'll... GO! - jo
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... was engaged in debate with angels; first, a supplication for stopped tears, shunned shame and songs of first-child breath; next, a peek at celestial salaciousness; then, we burned our ebullient brains with a seven-sequenced sin-fest; after, we diverted our cloyed confession to a divine dare; then, unsullied and self-aware, we sustained our unsilent tirade against suffering and sweet nothings; next, we regained our reverent reflection on angelic rescue and earthly escape; finally, we tumbled back to earth, out-lucking Lucifer to lay down here with life all around us. World without end, amen! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
this is life all around me
i take in the sound
of the upstairs neighbors fucking
repetitive and dull
almost a sunday chore
hear the dogs barking outside
watch the balls of dust
roll from my desk
collect the cat hair in lumps
and then let them go
watch muted televisions
strain for the music
touch my dead grandfather’s watch
stare at the brown stains in the toilet
the hair clumps clogging up the sink
avoid the soap rings
in the shower
have the coffee and the wine
in one cup
step over the tape
holding the floor together
take in great art on the weekend
without a care
walk the park with everyone else
pick the scabs that won’t heal
misinterpret joy as salvation
beer drafts as intellect
try to think of hatred in the abstract
boredom as a nuisance
film as diversion
look to apocalyptic cities for comfort
while at the street corner
of misery lane and desolation way
there shines a final light
that no one sees
as car horns blare
and little kids cry sonnets
to their lifeless parents
their tears are shed
over nothing and everything
as i say absolutely to myself
this is life all around me.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 08.13.11)
editor's note: Everyone sees that final light, just not while there is all this nuisance and diversion and comfort to find. (More on a specific nuisance on John's page - check it out!) - mh
AN ANGEL IN MY GARDEN
At dawn, I speak to the whooper swan in my garden. Upstairs, my landlord is still asleep. Below, in my basement apartment, a little home, my home and refuge from the world of people, I see a glimmer of light. It is time. I throw on an old pair of jeans, sneakers, a yellow T-shirt, and my mask, an antidote for the human sickness of hatred spreading across the globe.
Leaving my subterranean haven, I climb the stairs and open the door to the universe beyond. A gold sun is rising. I smell the sweet earth and my flaming red roses around the bend. I trudge toward my garden, which is not really mine. Still, it belongs to me. I nurture it. The old lady who owns it allows me to feed it love with my poetic words and whispered songs and soulful hands.
I reach my private Heaven and see the familiar whooper swan, an angel in my garden. “Hello,” I whisper to the majestic white bird with black and yellow bill. The mammoth creature smiles at me. I move closer and hide within its eight-foot wingspan, my small, skeletal body hunched over, almost reaching the earth.
“My old olive-colored flesh is tired.” The white angel hugs me with its massive wings, longer than the little garden I care for. “When will you take me away? I need to fly with you and soar to the Heavens.”
Now, I listen to the fierce flutter of wings, and a vast sadness consumes my soul. “Don’t leave!” I shriek silently. But the whooper swan runs away, across the barren street as it ferociously beats its mammoth wings and sails high toward a gold sun.
Perhaps tomorrow, it will return to my garden. I will speak once more to the whooper swan and it will serenade me. And together, we will fly away, vanishing from the earth, in search of a celestial home.
- Mel Waldman
(2 poems added 08.12.11)
editor's note: Gaining a seat on Air Angel comes by assignment only. We are all on perpetual stand-by. Patience... (Another one worth remembering on Dr. Mel's page - check it out!) - mh
Halos and madness
The Gods are squeaky clean
And I am laden
With dirt –
Their halos and harps
And my mayhem
And madness.
I do not recoil
From my horror –
I have lived
There for years
And it has settled.
Love is the Gods' undoing,
An undoing
Of sweet nothings.
I can hear them
Echoing the night away –
Telling stories
Of hearts, love potions,
And a general high
Of epic proportions.
I have suffered
The violence of man
And will no longer
Be silent,
No longer be silent,
No longer be silent.
- Dawnell Harrison
(added 08.11.11)
editor's note: Sour go the harp-string tones of angels when mixed with our cacophonous calamities. If a human cries in the forest, but there are no angels to hear it, does she/he make any sound at all? - mh
COINCIDENCE
murder the martyr
the kindergartner
the mass marauder
with no home
and no father
why try
when you won't even bother
why listen
when your words are twisted
why lie
when the truth makes you cry
why paralyze the paranoid
with your delusional spin control
why manifest the disease
when you're only killing the fleas
that feed on your needs
on hands and knees
singing pretty please
answer this prayer for me
and i'll be good
you'll see
- Halo Jones
(added 08.10.11)
editor's note: His inbox is overloaded. An answer will be forthcoming; but in the meantime, a long time being bad ensues. - mh
The Seven Unlocked
Internet porn, neighbor’s wife, “Girls gone wild”,
Indecent thoughts of an adolescent child,
No wanton desires left confined,
Unlock the lustful mind.
Super size, buffet line, Maxed credit cards
Drunken idiots without any regards,
Illicit drugs being mainlined,
Unlock the voracious mind.
Oil and money, Wall Street, political reign,
Massive wealth & power to obtain,
Selfish actions are so inclined,
Unlock the greedy mind.
Welfare, Food Stamps, free handout meal,
Why labor when you can steal,
Hard work is always declined,
Unlock the indolent mind.
Revenge, animosity, Racist rapport,
Vengeance in settling the score,
Contemplation forever unkind,
Unlock the angry mind.
Jealousy, spite, begrudging your brother,
Yearning for chattels of another,
Contentment forever consigned,
Unlock the envious mind.
Blue eyes, blonde hair, no gene disorder,
Playing god, unnatural selective order,
The Nuclear family redesign,
Unlock the prideful mind.
- Laura Funk
(added 08.09.11)
editor's note: Damn! Seven wild beasts unleashed, one cage to contain them, which do we lock-up first? Pandora, can you tell us? - mh
HAIKU: LITTLE ANGELS
Listen to a door:
Love has gotten into Hell
Sins of the Rainbow¡
- Daniel de Cullá
(added 08.08.11)
editor's note:
Not even Michael
Can resist such temptation
Helpless rebellion
- mh
Since You Can
Hear me when I cry
Hear me since you can
These rivers in my eyes
Dry them from my face
Dry them since you can
I weep for none but you
Cast this shame from me
Cast it since you can
I want to sing and dance
So give a song to me
So give it since you can
Maker of all that breath
Breath in me a child
Breath in since you can.
- Kufre Udeme
(added 08.07.11)
editor's note: When the asking is nicely and the giving gracious, we can since we can! - 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...
With Eyes Wide Shut,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Manufacturing Vanity (above) by featured artist, Ana Vohryzek. Ana's Impressionistic style impressed us immediately upon reviewing. Her work varies from full-spectrum splashes of colors to one-color sketches, from portraits to abstract landscapes. We just didn't know what to expect next... and that's the way we like it! So without further ado, we invite you to take a look thru the mad artistic eye of the self-proclaimed Batman of artists (she's an international lawyer by day and a painter by night) Ana Vohryzek and get your impression on. All you got to do is move that mad mouse of yours right over here and away... you'll... GO! - jo
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... was engaged in debate with angels; first, a supplication for stopped tears, shunned shame and songs of first-child breath; next, a peek at celestial salaciousness; then, we burned our ebullient brains with a seven-sequenced sin-fest; after, we diverted our cloyed confession to a divine dare; then, unsullied and self-aware, we sustained our unsilent tirade against suffering and sweet nothings; next, we regained our reverent reflection on angelic rescue and earthly escape; finally, we tumbled back to earth, out-lucking Lucifer to lay down here with life all around us. World without end, amen! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
this is life all around me
i take in the sound
of the upstairs neighbors fucking
repetitive and dull
almost a sunday chore
hear the dogs barking outside
watch the balls of dust
roll from my desk
collect the cat hair in lumps
and then let them go
watch muted televisions
strain for the music
touch my dead grandfather’s watch
stare at the brown stains in the toilet
the hair clumps clogging up the sink
avoid the soap rings
in the shower
have the coffee and the wine
in one cup
step over the tape
holding the floor together
take in great art on the weekend
without a care
walk the park with everyone else
pick the scabs that won’t heal
misinterpret joy as salvation
beer drafts as intellect
try to think of hatred in the abstract
boredom as a nuisance
film as diversion
look to apocalyptic cities for comfort
while at the street corner
of misery lane and desolation way
there shines a final light
that no one sees
as car horns blare
and little kids cry sonnets
to their lifeless parents
their tears are shed
over nothing and everything
as i say absolutely to myself
this is life all around me.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 08.13.11)
editor's note: Everyone sees that final light, just not while there is all this nuisance and diversion and comfort to find. (More on a specific nuisance on John's page - check it out!) - mh
AN ANGEL IN MY GARDEN
At dawn, I speak to the whooper swan in my garden. Upstairs, my landlord is still asleep. Below, in my basement apartment, a little home, my home and refuge from the world of people, I see a glimmer of light. It is time. I throw on an old pair of jeans, sneakers, a yellow T-shirt, and my mask, an antidote for the human sickness of hatred spreading across the globe.
Leaving my subterranean haven, I climb the stairs and open the door to the universe beyond. A gold sun is rising. I smell the sweet earth and my flaming red roses around the bend. I trudge toward my garden, which is not really mine. Still, it belongs to me. I nurture it. The old lady who owns it allows me to feed it love with my poetic words and whispered songs and soulful hands.
I reach my private Heaven and see the familiar whooper swan, an angel in my garden. “Hello,” I whisper to the majestic white bird with black and yellow bill. The mammoth creature smiles at me. I move closer and hide within its eight-foot wingspan, my small, skeletal body hunched over, almost reaching the earth.
“My old olive-colored flesh is tired.” The white angel hugs me with its massive wings, longer than the little garden I care for. “When will you take me away? I need to fly with you and soar to the Heavens.”
Now, I listen to the fierce flutter of wings, and a vast sadness consumes my soul. “Don’t leave!” I shriek silently. But the whooper swan runs away, across the barren street as it ferociously beats its mammoth wings and sails high toward a gold sun.
Perhaps tomorrow, it will return to my garden. I will speak once more to the whooper swan and it will serenade me. And together, we will fly away, vanishing from the earth, in search of a celestial home.
- Mel Waldman
(2 poems added 08.12.11)
editor's note: Gaining a seat on Air Angel comes by assignment only. We are all on perpetual stand-by. Patience... (Another one worth remembering on Dr. Mel's page - check it out!) - mh
Halos and madness
The Gods are squeaky clean
And I am laden
With dirt –
Their halos and harps
And my mayhem
And madness.
I do not recoil
From my horror –
I have lived
There for years
And it has settled.
Love is the Gods' undoing,
An undoing
Of sweet nothings.
I can hear them
Echoing the night away –
Telling stories
Of hearts, love potions,
And a general high
Of epic proportions.
I have suffered
The violence of man
And will no longer
Be silent,
No longer be silent,
No longer be silent.
- Dawnell Harrison
(added 08.11.11)
editor's note: Sour go the harp-string tones of angels when mixed with our cacophonous calamities. If a human cries in the forest, but there are no angels to hear it, does she/he make any sound at all? - mh
COINCIDENCE
murder the martyr
the kindergartner
the mass marauder
with no home
and no father
why try
when you won't even bother
why listen
when your words are twisted
why lie
when the truth makes you cry
why paralyze the paranoid
with your delusional spin control
why manifest the disease
when you're only killing the fleas
that feed on your needs
on hands and knees
singing pretty please
answer this prayer for me
and i'll be good
you'll see
- Halo Jones
(added 08.10.11)
editor's note: His inbox is overloaded. An answer will be forthcoming; but in the meantime, a long time being bad ensues. - mh
The Seven Unlocked
Internet porn, neighbor’s wife, “Girls gone wild”,
Indecent thoughts of an adolescent child,
No wanton desires left confined,
Unlock the lustful mind.
Super size, buffet line, Maxed credit cards
Drunken idiots without any regards,
Illicit drugs being mainlined,
Unlock the voracious mind.
Oil and money, Wall Street, political reign,
Massive wealth & power to obtain,
Selfish actions are so inclined,
Unlock the greedy mind.
Welfare, Food Stamps, free handout meal,
Why labor when you can steal,
Hard work is always declined,
Unlock the indolent mind.
Revenge, animosity, Racist rapport,
Vengeance in settling the score,
Contemplation forever unkind,
Unlock the angry mind.
Jealousy, spite, begrudging your brother,
Yearning for chattels of another,
Contentment forever consigned,
Unlock the envious mind.
Blue eyes, blonde hair, no gene disorder,
Playing god, unnatural selective order,
The Nuclear family redesign,
Unlock the prideful mind.
- Laura Funk
(added 08.09.11)
editor's note: Damn! Seven wild beasts unleashed, one cage to contain them, which do we lock-up first? Pandora, can you tell us? - mh
HAIKU: LITTLE ANGELS
Listen to a door:
Love has gotten into Hell
Sins of the Rainbow¡
- Daniel de Cullá
(added 08.08.11)
editor's note:
Not even Michael
Can resist such temptation
Helpless rebellion
- mh
Since You Can
Hear me when I cry
Hear me since you can
These rivers in my eyes
Dry them from my face
Dry them since you can
I weep for none but you
Cast this shame from me
Cast it since you can
I want to sing and dance
So give a song to me
So give it since you can
Maker of all that breath
Breath in me a child
Breath in since you can.
- Kufre Udeme
(added 08.07.11)
editor's note: When the asking is nicely and the giving gracious, we can since we can! - 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...
With Eyes Wide Shut,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Comments