The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 10.08.11
"The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy" ~ Allen Ginsberg
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we mocked a mole and alienated freedom; we groped for teeth while dodging the bite; we bid on blessings with an open bar but no vacancy; we gambled a poet's heart for a stainless bloodletting, "Out damned spot!"; we witnessed what a whole "will" weighs; we joined a suicide watch, flowers were the funeral; lastly we saw irrational fear try to kill a witch with a far more wicked witchcraft. Wow! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
THE DAY AFTER
How often
I’ve hated myself,
After
Cold gin
Has
Warmed
In my stomach
And dirtied glasses
Lined up
On the counter
Reminded me
Of wasted hours
Spent
Sipping martinis
And dreaming of things
I
Could have done,
Should have done,
And will never do
As long as
Empty bottles
Are replaced with frequency
And gin soaked
Olives
Look better
To me
Than life.
- Sheree La Puma-Watson
(2 poems added 10.08.11)
editor's note: This is a familiar view; this world through an empty glass. Heavy the weight that would keep our view locked on that blurred lens. Turn around; the window is open, the sun is shining. (Another hard confession from Sheree on her page - check it out.) - mh
The Eyes of a Flower
A flower like a suicide leapt
It's plume diffuse spread Grace into a gust
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
out from arboreal care it stepped
Earth, dawn-rain and air into it's bust
A flower like a suicide leapt
With evening rain, on pre-starred breeze was swept
this green stemmed thing, beneath a sky of rust
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
Colours here, like fine words, are inept
We do, not watch, that which we're taught we must
A flower like a suicide leapt.
the tree, in loss, can naught now but accept
What utterly changed, these petals in the dust
A flower like a suicide leapt
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
- Christopher Smith
(added 10.07.11)
editor's note: Thankfully, this poet did watch, did not do what must. Instead, we see this floral sacrifice and ponder saviors. - mh
Are You Willing?
To accept me as I am
with all of my faults and idiosyncrasies
and do not judge or try to change me?
To take the love that I have to give
understand that sometimes it may be too much
and others not as expressive but still there?
To catch me when I fall
reassure me that you are still and always will be
my security and protector?
To let me learn from you and about you
and you from and about me
and combine our knowledge and talents to become
a tremendous force together?
To share the good times and the bad
the ups and downs
enjoying the ride along the way?
To support me in my endeavors,
no matter how crazy or silly they may seem
and offer opinions and solutions, not criticism
if you don’t agree?
To let go of grudges, vengeance and the desire for paybacks
and let judgment be dealt with by a higher power?
To be honest and forthright
not be mean or brutal
but fair and forgiving?
To be there
with me
until the very end?
- Jeanette Fields
(added 10.06.11)
editor's note: Well? Are you? - mh
By This Poet's Own Blood
Alone with the night, I listen to the music on your
play list, the cool white plaster of my bedroom walls
reverberates through the echoes of inspiration, eager
to inscribe themselves there in the simplicity of odd
little lyrics and mesmerizing tempos.
I try to seize upon the greatness of the unassuming,
disappearing then reappearing with artistic modesty
against the perpetual yet immortal energies of their
cries, where beautiful waves of love reside, captured
by humble moments.
If it's a good night, I can see myself in your eyes,
tap into your consciousness, fire up your sensibilities
to the point where you impulsively appear as a neon
glow in the dark sky, the architect of the moon and all
its tempestuous rights.
When words fail I am that someone in your arms that feels
the lifting of your breathing through the blanket aspirations
of blue, you, completely unaware of the opposite forces of
my breath as they seek to find a happy medium within the
tedium of life.
I like the ambiguity of light and sound that ignites the look
of lust; the grasp of a moving hand as it maps and changes
vacant faces with the culmination of all things poetic, resilient
to shifting sands and sterile lands where half-thoughts and
half-truths reign supreme.
I think I have started to fall for you within the hopelessness
of leisure; an instinct for self-declaration, drunk on you, yet
provoked to defense and denial, motivated by the fear of
rejection, by the fear of you somehow being out of my league,
like rain that comes and goes honorably, willingly.
I see the redness in the silent joy; I have a knack for foretelling
the future. The casual reader advises me to go for it, not fully
understanding the complications in my life. I come with a lot of
baggage, with a lot of mingled elements that combine and capture
leaving my heart bleeding quietly unsecured.
So, I will offer you this instead; the words that will never refuse
you, even as they challenge you, the words that sort through the
facade aiming for the truth, the words you will find attractive,
even when my character is flawed, the words that filter all impurities,
cleansing you of any hurt,
the words brought and paid for you by this poet's own blood.
- Teresita Garcia
(added 10.05.11)
editor's note: Poets are compelled to pay the price: blood for time; their blood, our time. Reading is recompense. - mh
See Vacancy
in the cathedral
where
they're
suspicious
see Vacancy
’sa pissing contest
says
the board member
‘scalled Vacancy
and ’snot to be
confused
with a silent auction
‘sin the cathedral
where
they’re
suspicious
of any group
that wouldn’t
want
an open bar
there’ll be an open bar
and
quiet art to
be bought with a quick
pen and
one-upmanship
for the historic
foundation
an open bar’s
pissing
contest
sees Vacancy
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 10.04.11)
editor's note: All things are holy, especially the gathering of alms. Don't need to be poor - just get the alms, dammit! (Steven joins our Contributing Poets with this one - see his others on his new page. Welcome, Steven!) - mh
september
i remember
the weeks i couldn’t stop
biting my lip,
in fear of shame,
or something worse:
dreams of baby teeth
and secrets;
waking myself up
in the middle of the night
to flip my pillow,
to see if you
had hidden anything there.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(1 poem added 10.03.11)
editor's note: Only a bill from the Tooth Fairy, with the standard disclaimer against toothless debtors. - mh
There's an attractive guy
In my Freedom and Alienation tutorial
Who has hairy moles
The hair is so long it curls
If I was as attractive as that guy
I would take more care in my appearance
- Scott Jardany Lewis
(added 10.02.11)
editor's note: Maybe this attractive guy is exercising his freedom to alienate on sight. I shudder to think what might happen in a Negotiating in Conflict tutorial... - 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...
Feelin' the Holinesses,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy" ~ Allen Ginsberg
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we mocked a mole and alienated freedom; we groped for teeth while dodging the bite; we bid on blessings with an open bar but no vacancy; we gambled a poet's heart for a stainless bloodletting, "Out damned spot!"; we witnessed what a whole "will" weighs; we joined a suicide watch, flowers were the funeral; lastly we saw irrational fear try to kill a witch with a far more wicked witchcraft. Wow! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
THE DAY AFTER
How often
I’ve hated myself,
After
Cold gin
Has
Warmed
In my stomach
And dirtied glasses
Lined up
On the counter
Reminded me
Of wasted hours
Spent
Sipping martinis
And dreaming of things
I
Could have done,
Should have done,
And will never do
As long as
Empty bottles
Are replaced with frequency
And gin soaked
Olives
Look better
To me
Than life.
- Sheree La Puma-Watson
(2 poems added 10.08.11)
editor's note: This is a familiar view; this world through an empty glass. Heavy the weight that would keep our view locked on that blurred lens. Turn around; the window is open, the sun is shining. (Another hard confession from Sheree on her page - check it out.) - mh
The Eyes of a Flower
A flower like a suicide leapt
It's plume diffuse spread Grace into a gust
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
out from arboreal care it stepped
Earth, dawn-rain and air into it's bust
A flower like a suicide leapt
With evening rain, on pre-starred breeze was swept
this green stemmed thing, beneath a sky of rust
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
Colours here, like fine words, are inept
We do, not watch, that which we're taught we must
A flower like a suicide leapt.
the tree, in loss, can naught now but accept
What utterly changed, these petals in the dust
A flower like a suicide leapt
With a heart that's full of secrets kept
- Christopher Smith
(added 10.07.11)
editor's note: Thankfully, this poet did watch, did not do what must. Instead, we see this floral sacrifice and ponder saviors. - mh
Are You Willing?
To accept me as I am
with all of my faults and idiosyncrasies
and do not judge or try to change me?
To take the love that I have to give
understand that sometimes it may be too much
and others not as expressive but still there?
To catch me when I fall
reassure me that you are still and always will be
my security and protector?
To let me learn from you and about you
and you from and about me
and combine our knowledge and talents to become
a tremendous force together?
To share the good times and the bad
the ups and downs
enjoying the ride along the way?
To support me in my endeavors,
no matter how crazy or silly they may seem
and offer opinions and solutions, not criticism
if you don’t agree?
To let go of grudges, vengeance and the desire for paybacks
and let judgment be dealt with by a higher power?
To be honest and forthright
not be mean or brutal
but fair and forgiving?
To be there
with me
until the very end?
- Jeanette Fields
(added 10.06.11)
editor's note: Well? Are you? - mh
By This Poet's Own Blood
Alone with the night, I listen to the music on your
play list, the cool white plaster of my bedroom walls
reverberates through the echoes of inspiration, eager
to inscribe themselves there in the simplicity of odd
little lyrics and mesmerizing tempos.
I try to seize upon the greatness of the unassuming,
disappearing then reappearing with artistic modesty
against the perpetual yet immortal energies of their
cries, where beautiful waves of love reside, captured
by humble moments.
If it's a good night, I can see myself in your eyes,
tap into your consciousness, fire up your sensibilities
to the point where you impulsively appear as a neon
glow in the dark sky, the architect of the moon and all
its tempestuous rights.
When words fail I am that someone in your arms that feels
the lifting of your breathing through the blanket aspirations
of blue, you, completely unaware of the opposite forces of
my breath as they seek to find a happy medium within the
tedium of life.
I like the ambiguity of light and sound that ignites the look
of lust; the grasp of a moving hand as it maps and changes
vacant faces with the culmination of all things poetic, resilient
to shifting sands and sterile lands where half-thoughts and
half-truths reign supreme.
I think I have started to fall for you within the hopelessness
of leisure; an instinct for self-declaration, drunk on you, yet
provoked to defense and denial, motivated by the fear of
rejection, by the fear of you somehow being out of my league,
like rain that comes and goes honorably, willingly.
I see the redness in the silent joy; I have a knack for foretelling
the future. The casual reader advises me to go for it, not fully
understanding the complications in my life. I come with a lot of
baggage, with a lot of mingled elements that combine and capture
leaving my heart bleeding quietly unsecured.
So, I will offer you this instead; the words that will never refuse
you, even as they challenge you, the words that sort through the
facade aiming for the truth, the words you will find attractive,
even when my character is flawed, the words that filter all impurities,
cleansing you of any hurt,
the words brought and paid for you by this poet's own blood.
- Teresita Garcia
(added 10.05.11)
editor's note: Poets are compelled to pay the price: blood for time; their blood, our time. Reading is recompense. - mh
See Vacancy
in the cathedral
where
they're
suspicious
see Vacancy
’sa pissing contest
says
the board member
‘scalled Vacancy
and ’snot to be
confused
with a silent auction
‘sin the cathedral
where
they’re
suspicious
of any group
that wouldn’t
want
an open bar
there’ll be an open bar
and
quiet art to
be bought with a quick
pen and
one-upmanship
for the historic
foundation
an open bar’s
pissing
contest
sees Vacancy
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 10.04.11)
editor's note: All things are holy, especially the gathering of alms. Don't need to be poor - just get the alms, dammit! (Steven joins our Contributing Poets with this one - see his others on his new page. Welcome, Steven!) - mh
september
i remember
the weeks i couldn’t stop
biting my lip,
in fear of shame,
or something worse:
dreams of baby teeth
and secrets;
waking myself up
in the middle of the night
to flip my pillow,
to see if you
had hidden anything there.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(1 poem added 10.03.11)
editor's note: Only a bill from the Tooth Fairy, with the standard disclaimer against toothless debtors. - mh
There's an attractive guy
In my Freedom and Alienation tutorial
Who has hairy moles
The hair is so long it curls
If I was as attractive as that guy
I would take more care in my appearance
- Scott Jardany Lewis
(added 10.02.11)
editor's note: Maybe this attractive guy is exercising his freedom to alienate on sight. I shudder to think what might happen in a Negotiating in Conflict tutorial... - 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...
Feelin' the Holinesses,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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