The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 09.24.11
“You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.” F. Scott Fitzgerald
simpleman (above) by featured artist, halo jones. We first met halo swirlin' around our open mic madness a couple months ago. Then he made an appearance in the Poetry Forum last month with his poem "COINCIDENCE". Now halo jones is here, hanging 'round in the Mad Gallery as our featured artist. And we're happy he is. One look and we knew there would be no way we could resist his work. halo's canvases creatively entice the inner child to come out and play. We like it when that happens. And we know that you know that you wanna let your inner child come out and play too. - jo
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... our heartstrings were tugged, our headroom was challenged; we were teased with the good tastes of gourmet love; we were succoured with devotion that comes from defeat; we prayed for a playground, moon and breast and waist and chest; we admired the perfection of non-complicated conversation/copulation; we dressed the dream dilemma, undetermined duality; we wrought remorseful revelry, the athletic union, breakfast alone; we wound it all 'round ripe old love - rocking chair, chicken soup, nice old love. Slurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp. Sweet! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
The Flavor of These Years
In the summer sun
on the metal surface of the spoon
your hair looked like
water spilling, pooling
in a small puddle
I can almost taste it, still
Where the smell of grass
sound of wind in thick-leaved trees
green-heavy in the sun
and others’ children
make me remember
what you were like,
so long ago—
and I, too,
now aging complacently
in this warm, safe space
our sweatered shoulders,
just touching, bent
make me remember
the turn of earlier seasons
easy decisions that shaped us this way
but your hair, dripping with light,
tastes just as I remember
when I licked it first from the empty spoon
- Catherine McQuade
(1 poem added 09.24.11)
editor's note: Here's the spoon from which we should slurp our daily love elixir; familiarity, acceptance, comfort, yes! Thanks, Genevieve! - mh
The Confession
We’re at the Inn I’ve chosen
for our reunion
and he tells me right away
it’s over
He wants
out
as soon as possible
(“I love you – I hate
the marriage – there’s no hope --
I love you”)
At dinner
he eats for two
while I stare
at the food on my plate
wondering how it got there
He gets me drunk
(“Wine? I’ll order a bottle”)
and we get back to
our cottage
I am drunk
I say, “I’m drunk. Either
fuck me or I’ll sleep on the couch. Which is it?”
He doesn’t
understand. I begin to make up the couch
and he finally gets it
“I’m too tired to do anything more than service you”
“Fine” I say, dropping my clothes on the floor
and we fall into
a new world of
positions
sensations
pleasures
It was as if we had never
scratched the surface before
this
our last time
and he falls asleep instantly when it is over
and the next morning
enumerates what I had done incorrectly
before bounding up the stairs at the Inn
to call her before breakfast
- Sharon Cramer
(added 09.23.11)
editor's note: Ouch! The punishment before pancakes is, just like pancakes, only and ever about appetite. Alas, hunger ain't love. - mh
Use two pillows, sleep fast
Dreams swirl in like snow,
drift in piles -- lovers, loved.
I wrap each in burlap,
lash openings against the cold.
Some vanish by dawn --
frozen, quiet, quick to go.
Others -- warmed, stroked,
unbind themselves -- return, hot,
mute my muffled screams.
Candles I disrobe you by
drip waxy fire, memories wafting
across each fold and pleat.
Slow to know love from heat,
I warm myself in steam
rising from the open seams.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(1 poem added 09.22.11)
editor's note: Complicated is the parsing of love from heat. The secret is, "Layers! Dress in layers!" (See more from Timothy on his new page as a Contributing Poet. Welcome, Timothy!) - mh
Anthem for the Age
Two evenings a week
I go to Melissa’s,
to talk and to fuck.
We talk first,
we fuck later.
Summer, fall,
winter, spring,
nothing distracts us.
We are to each other now
what we were at the start:
someone to talk to,
someone to fuck.
- Donal Mahoney
(added 09.21.11)
editor's note: A perfect depiction of priapic pragmatism. - mh
Let the Moon Come
We will not live long
For the day is too bright
Sun do not favour love
Let us rest
Until the moon comes
Tonight, the moon will be on
Full and charming like your breasts
Arm in arm we will walk
Our shadows following us to the playground
Bring your ears let me whisper more
I will hold your waist
You will hold my shoulders
And we will sway to the drums of the night
The gods will smile
Our children will be plenty like the stars above
Pray for darkness to fall
And veil the eyes who wish us apart
Pray for the moon to rise
And bring strength to our love
Don't just smile and play with my chest, pray my love, pray...
- Kufre Udeme
(09.20.11)
editor's note: Love and prayer in a playground? Love, god, stars, love; yes, pray! - mh
And then there was You
To not ever give up for what you need-
Knowing one day that heart will be freed…
Send the message to all concerned-
Defeat takes much more than getting burned…
Now, I can see beyond the trees,
Through the forest, beyond raging seas…
Tiny moments unraveling in time-
Sharing all of it with my someone, in rhyme…
Someone to touch this life that is shared,
Like new Love & second chances compared…
To have, to hold to follow all the way through-
I looked up, And then there was You.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 09.19.11)
editor's note: Here's to the second chance, to the looking up despite the weight of failure that would drag us down. Yes! - mh
A Life Without Love
a life without love.
not many friends.
my family sticks by me
but family love only goes so far.
this is the meat and potatoes of love
but meat and potatoes is boring.
I want gourmet with fine wine,
with all the trimmings.
I want dessert,
not just vanilla ice cream
but a hot fudge sundae
topped with peanuts.
I want the cherry on top.
I want the excitement of love.
I want the beautiful girl
with olive skin
walking across my room
in a black satin dress,
telling me,
"it stinks in here,"
as I pour her a glass of 85
Chardonnay.
- Mike Meraz
(1 poem added 09.18.11)
editor's note: Love like in the movies? Fix your tie, shine your shoes, look into the camera. Cherry on top chardonnay love scene take 102... - 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...
Sayin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
simpleman (above) by featured artist, halo jones. We first met halo swirlin' around our open mic madness a couple months ago. Then he made an appearance in the Poetry Forum last month with his poem "COINCIDENCE". Now halo jones is here, hanging 'round in the Mad Gallery as our featured artist. And we're happy he is. One look and we knew there would be no way we could resist his work. halo's canvases creatively entice the inner child to come out and play. We like it when that happens. And we know that you know that you wanna let your inner child come out and play too. - jo
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... our heartstrings were tugged, our headroom was challenged; we were teased with the good tastes of gourmet love; we were succoured with devotion that comes from defeat; we prayed for a playground, moon and breast and waist and chest; we admired the perfection of non-complicated conversation/copulation; we dressed the dream dilemma, undetermined duality; we wrought remorseful revelry, the athletic union, breakfast alone; we wound it all 'round ripe old love - rocking chair, chicken soup, nice old love. Slurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp. Sweet! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
The Flavor of These Years
In the summer sun
on the metal surface of the spoon
your hair looked like
water spilling, pooling
in a small puddle
I can almost taste it, still
Where the smell of grass
sound of wind in thick-leaved trees
green-heavy in the sun
and others’ children
make me remember
what you were like,
so long ago—
and I, too,
now aging complacently
in this warm, safe space
our sweatered shoulders,
just touching, bent
make me remember
the turn of earlier seasons
easy decisions that shaped us this way
but your hair, dripping with light,
tastes just as I remember
when I licked it first from the empty spoon
- Catherine McQuade
(1 poem added 09.24.11)
editor's note: Here's the spoon from which we should slurp our daily love elixir; familiarity, acceptance, comfort, yes! Thanks, Genevieve! - mh
The Confession
We’re at the Inn I’ve chosen
for our reunion
and he tells me right away
it’s over
He wants
out
as soon as possible
(“I love you – I hate
the marriage – there’s no hope --
I love you”)
At dinner
he eats for two
while I stare
at the food on my plate
wondering how it got there
He gets me drunk
(“Wine? I’ll order a bottle”)
and we get back to
our cottage
I am drunk
I say, “I’m drunk. Either
fuck me or I’ll sleep on the couch. Which is it?”
He doesn’t
understand. I begin to make up the couch
and he finally gets it
“I’m too tired to do anything more than service you”
“Fine” I say, dropping my clothes on the floor
and we fall into
a new world of
positions
sensations
pleasures
It was as if we had never
scratched the surface before
this
our last time
and he falls asleep instantly when it is over
and the next morning
enumerates what I had done incorrectly
before bounding up the stairs at the Inn
to call her before breakfast
- Sharon Cramer
(added 09.23.11)
editor's note: Ouch! The punishment before pancakes is, just like pancakes, only and ever about appetite. Alas, hunger ain't love. - mh
Use two pillows, sleep fast
Dreams swirl in like snow,
drift in piles -- lovers, loved.
I wrap each in burlap,
lash openings against the cold.
Some vanish by dawn --
frozen, quiet, quick to go.
Others -- warmed, stroked,
unbind themselves -- return, hot,
mute my muffled screams.
Candles I disrobe you by
drip waxy fire, memories wafting
across each fold and pleat.
Slow to know love from heat,
I warm myself in steam
rising from the open seams.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(1 poem added 09.22.11)
editor's note: Complicated is the parsing of love from heat. The secret is, "Layers! Dress in layers!" (See more from Timothy on his new page as a Contributing Poet. Welcome, Timothy!) - mh
Anthem for the Age
Two evenings a week
I go to Melissa’s,
to talk and to fuck.
We talk first,
we fuck later.
Summer, fall,
winter, spring,
nothing distracts us.
We are to each other now
what we were at the start:
someone to talk to,
someone to fuck.
- Donal Mahoney
(added 09.21.11)
editor's note: A perfect depiction of priapic pragmatism. - mh
Let the Moon Come
We will not live long
For the day is too bright
Sun do not favour love
Let us rest
Until the moon comes
Tonight, the moon will be on
Full and charming like your breasts
Arm in arm we will walk
Our shadows following us to the playground
Bring your ears let me whisper more
I will hold your waist
You will hold my shoulders
And we will sway to the drums of the night
The gods will smile
Our children will be plenty like the stars above
Pray for darkness to fall
And veil the eyes who wish us apart
Pray for the moon to rise
And bring strength to our love
Don't just smile and play with my chest, pray my love, pray...
- Kufre Udeme
(09.20.11)
editor's note: Love and prayer in a playground? Love, god, stars, love; yes, pray! - mh
And then there was You
To not ever give up for what you need-
Knowing one day that heart will be freed…
Send the message to all concerned-
Defeat takes much more than getting burned…
Now, I can see beyond the trees,
Through the forest, beyond raging seas…
Tiny moments unraveling in time-
Sharing all of it with my someone, in rhyme…
Someone to touch this life that is shared,
Like new Love & second chances compared…
To have, to hold to follow all the way through-
I looked up, And then there was You.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 09.19.11)
editor's note: Here's to the second chance, to the looking up despite the weight of failure that would drag us down. Yes! - mh
A Life Without Love
a life without love.
not many friends.
my family sticks by me
but family love only goes so far.
this is the meat and potatoes of love
but meat and potatoes is boring.
I want gourmet with fine wine,
with all the trimmings.
I want dessert,
not just vanilla ice cream
but a hot fudge sundae
topped with peanuts.
I want the cherry on top.
I want the excitement of love.
I want the beautiful girl
with olive skin
walking across my room
in a black satin dress,
telling me,
"it stinks in here,"
as I pour her a glass of 85
Chardonnay.
- Mike Meraz
(1 poem added 09.18.11)
editor's note: Love like in the movies? Fix your tie, shine your shoes, look into the camera. Cherry on top chardonnay love scene take 102... - 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...
Sayin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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