The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 12.03.11
“My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.” John Lennon
Hunger (above) by featured artist, Christian Millet. Although it may be be needless to say we'll say it anyway, his work is quite applauded around these here parts. This returning favorite's style is profound, bold, and just a tad off in it's subtly eerie madness. The newly added set of paintings by Millet have a fresh feel of simplicity at first glance. But take a closer look and his art is far from simple. It requires a keen talent to play with color and shape in the adventurous ways Christian does. And for that, we hope you applaud him with us. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we eavesdropped on a dreaming eavesdropper, jealousy ensued; we rose above the dreamscape, aired our insecurities; we tilted with an umbrella, thought to unseat sleet; we shifted back into dream (did we ever leave?), shadows in shadow; we hopped a harrowing house helix, out of one, into one, back out again into one; we wrung the rungs of Life's ladder, up one side, down the other; lastly we reveled in the reverie of a dog's life, perhaps the best life of all. I'll take a dog's dream any day... - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
The Collector
The sun sets
Shivers on the evening.
The dog inhales weaknesses
These woods bring
To his cold muzzle.
I unclip a steel ring from its chain.
Half beagle, pure dog,
He measures to no one –
For an hour he’ll worry creatures who alone
Store the earth’s few treasures.
‘That’s enough!’
Only his tail and paws stop as I call out
In rough Old English.
Tongue-tied by my small mind,
He pees in a buttercup.
The trees suddenly give up.
Alone in the clearing,
He nuzzles the tall sky.
I am brought to my knees
As fingers twirl in tufts above his heart
Where quiet strands unwind my nerves,
His eyes clear and guiltless, destroy
My collection of fear.
- Derrick Gaskin
(1 poem added 12.03.11)
editor's note: Yes, let's exchange our cowardly contraband for the canine collection. They're the gods and we the domesticated pets. Give your god a rump-scratch; store up treasures in heaven. - mh
THEORY OF RELATIVITY
I hear the unemployment rate
is staggering, people crowding
sidewalks smashing heads fighting
to get in the door, score a
gainful opportunity
but see,
I’m staggering too, crowding the
door and smashing heads fighting
to get the hell out, shout my way
down the street into obscure
unproductive retirement...
Theory of Relativity.
- Joseph Roque
(1 poem added 12.02.11)
editor's note: Tag-team again - we wanting out are more than happy to make way for those wanting in. Both directions seem like the best direction at the time. - mh
UNTITLED
you were born in a house that was living and you live in a house that is haunted and you'll die in a house that is laughing and then you wake up in a house that is no house
- Nicholas Martin
(1 poem added 12.01.11)
editor's note: Thus, a vacancy is created, the tag-team cycle repeated. The rent is due at the end of your stay and the cleaning deposit is non-refundable - so, keep it neat. - mh
The City
This day slips away
into darkness it falls
the back streets are my home
on the edges at the boundaries
I sit drinking coffee
wondering about other days;
this city has taught me
we are all fools in its grand masquerade;
Each street is marked out in shadows
no one sleeps, the darkness lingers
savage and silent
waiting, waiting...
In blue balance the darkness gathers
as evening crowds and shrouds this place.
Street lights dim and white
keep the darkness firmly in check;
while a neon cross flashes a bill board salvation.
In this mechanical clock work
each day falls away;
the darkness gathers,
dark blue turns to black.
While in the back street shadows chase the light
wishing to consume it;
In the shadows they linger chasing.
Here we are shadows scotched by the light that casts us into darkness;
shadows we linger on this thin line;
empty figments of the imagination we are but shadows;
shadows cast by the light;
In the back streets shifting shadows change
and in a moment fade
in this mad dash into night.
This city has taught me to dream;
it changes, it fades and then it lives again with the day.
Everything must change in this dusty masquerade
and if we are to live as we should
we change with it as we fade into the night.
- John Najjar
(2 poems added 11.30.11)
editor's note: Now the butterfly dreams he is a man, exchanging nectar for coffee; brightly colored wings for transitory shadows. Quickly, lay those eggs before you die! (Read another, a farewell to lost love, on John's page.) - mh
The tilt
Two people together
trying to tilt toward themselves
an umbrella – unfurled
and so
with stretched tiny holes.
Is the sleet something?
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 11.29.11)
editor's note: Is it? Well, only if you feel the cold. Is everything something? If not, that would be something anyway. (Let's welcome Haris as our newest Contributing Poet. See more of his poems on his new page.) - mh
As a vast dream lying
As a vast dream lying
You stare at the sky
Back to the air, fleeting.
- Nicolas Grenier
(added 11.28.11)
editor's note: Once again the question is posed, "Which is the dreamer and which the dream?" Recycled reverie! - mh
a scene overheard while recovering from tooth surgery
there is a man speaking loudly to someone or himself
it is 3:00 AM
i am on tylenol 3 and penicillin trying to sleep
he says fuck every second word
he is angry
he is in his backyard
i hear him though my open window
i imagine him as having an average to below average level of attractiveness
i imagine him as having an average to below average level of intelligence
he says she doesn't fucking know fucking anything.
he says if she wants to fucking leave, she should fucking get on with it
i assume he is talking on the phone
i assume he is talking about his girlfriend or wife
i feel guilty for listening in on such an intimate moment
i feel annoyed that he is being too loud to ignore
i am trying to sleep
i concentrate really hard on sleeping
he fucking loves her and she doesn't see it
he'd do fucking anything for this girl
he fucking loves her so much fuck
i think about him and his love for this girl
he seems to feel something i've never felt and can't imagine feeling
i both admire and pity him
his voice cracks as he finishes his next sentence with his favorite word
f~ck
he is openly sobbing now
it seems unnecessary, unseemly
to become so upset over someone who doesn't love him back
i don't know what i'm going to fucking do without her. i'm fucking nothing without her
he says between sobs
it seems irrational
to let your identity be defined so strongly by someone else as to loose meaning after they are gone
he stops sobbing. he screams. it scares me.
i've never heard anyone scream out of sadness before
it sounds painful, strained
like his emotions are so intense his body can't process them, and so they come out in inappropriate ways.
i half expect him to start laughing
he is talking quieter now. he has calmed down
it is nearly 4:00 AM
i am tired
i am embarrassed about what i just overheard
i feel sorry for the man
i feel curious as to what it would be like to feel what he feels
that intense, dramatic love that caused this late night scene
i am jealous of a foul-mouthed man sobbing openly in his backyard
- Sarah Tue-Fee
(added 11.27.11)
editor's note: A strange visitation from the tooth fairy renders jealousy over loutish love. - 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' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Hunger (above) by featured artist, Christian Millet. Although it may be be needless to say we'll say it anyway, his work is quite applauded around these here parts. This returning favorite's style is profound, bold, and just a tad off in it's subtly eerie madness. The newly added set of paintings by Millet have a fresh feel of simplicity at first glance. But take a closer look and his art is far from simple. It requires a keen talent to play with color and shape in the adventurous ways Christian does. And for that, we hope you applaud him with us. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we eavesdropped on a dreaming eavesdropper, jealousy ensued; we rose above the dreamscape, aired our insecurities; we tilted with an umbrella, thought to unseat sleet; we shifted back into dream (did we ever leave?), shadows in shadow; we hopped a harrowing house helix, out of one, into one, back out again into one; we wrung the rungs of Life's ladder, up one side, down the other; lastly we reveled in the reverie of a dog's life, perhaps the best life of all. I'll take a dog's dream any day... - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
The Collector
The sun sets
Shivers on the evening.
The dog inhales weaknesses
These woods bring
To his cold muzzle.
I unclip a steel ring from its chain.
Half beagle, pure dog,
He measures to no one –
For an hour he’ll worry creatures who alone
Store the earth’s few treasures.
‘That’s enough!’
Only his tail and paws stop as I call out
In rough Old English.
Tongue-tied by my small mind,
He pees in a buttercup.
The trees suddenly give up.
Alone in the clearing,
He nuzzles the tall sky.
I am brought to my knees
As fingers twirl in tufts above his heart
Where quiet strands unwind my nerves,
His eyes clear and guiltless, destroy
My collection of fear.
- Derrick Gaskin
(1 poem added 12.03.11)
editor's note: Yes, let's exchange our cowardly contraband for the canine collection. They're the gods and we the domesticated pets. Give your god a rump-scratch; store up treasures in heaven. - mh
THEORY OF RELATIVITY
I hear the unemployment rate
is staggering, people crowding
sidewalks smashing heads fighting
to get in the door, score a
gainful opportunity
but see,
I’m staggering too, crowding the
door and smashing heads fighting
to get the hell out, shout my way
down the street into obscure
unproductive retirement...
Theory of Relativity.
- Joseph Roque
(1 poem added 12.02.11)
editor's note: Tag-team again - we wanting out are more than happy to make way for those wanting in. Both directions seem like the best direction at the time. - mh
UNTITLED
you were born in a house that was living and you live in a house that is haunted and you'll die in a house that is laughing and then you wake up in a house that is no house
- Nicholas Martin
(1 poem added 12.01.11)
editor's note: Thus, a vacancy is created, the tag-team cycle repeated. The rent is due at the end of your stay and the cleaning deposit is non-refundable - so, keep it neat. - mh
The City
This day slips away
into darkness it falls
the back streets are my home
on the edges at the boundaries
I sit drinking coffee
wondering about other days;
this city has taught me
we are all fools in its grand masquerade;
Each street is marked out in shadows
no one sleeps, the darkness lingers
savage and silent
waiting, waiting...
In blue balance the darkness gathers
as evening crowds and shrouds this place.
Street lights dim and white
keep the darkness firmly in check;
while a neon cross flashes a bill board salvation.
In this mechanical clock work
each day falls away;
the darkness gathers,
dark blue turns to black.
While in the back street shadows chase the light
wishing to consume it;
In the shadows they linger chasing.
Here we are shadows scotched by the light that casts us into darkness;
shadows we linger on this thin line;
empty figments of the imagination we are but shadows;
shadows cast by the light;
In the back streets shifting shadows change
and in a moment fade
in this mad dash into night.
This city has taught me to dream;
it changes, it fades and then it lives again with the day.
Everything must change in this dusty masquerade
and if we are to live as we should
we change with it as we fade into the night.
- John Najjar
(2 poems added 11.30.11)
editor's note: Now the butterfly dreams he is a man, exchanging nectar for coffee; brightly colored wings for transitory shadows. Quickly, lay those eggs before you die! (Read another, a farewell to lost love, on John's page.) - mh
The tilt
Two people together
trying to tilt toward themselves
an umbrella – unfurled
and so
with stretched tiny holes.
Is the sleet something?
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 11.29.11)
editor's note: Is it? Well, only if you feel the cold. Is everything something? If not, that would be something anyway. (Let's welcome Haris as our newest Contributing Poet. See more of his poems on his new page.) - mh
As a vast dream lying
As a vast dream lying
You stare at the sky
Back to the air, fleeting.
- Nicolas Grenier
(added 11.28.11)
editor's note: Once again the question is posed, "Which is the dreamer and which the dream?" Recycled reverie! - mh
a scene overheard while recovering from tooth surgery
there is a man speaking loudly to someone or himself
it is 3:00 AM
i am on tylenol 3 and penicillin trying to sleep
he says fuck every second word
he is angry
he is in his backyard
i hear him though my open window
i imagine him as having an average to below average level of attractiveness
i imagine him as having an average to below average level of intelligence
he says she doesn't fucking know fucking anything.
he says if she wants to fucking leave, she should fucking get on with it
i assume he is talking on the phone
i assume he is talking about his girlfriend or wife
i feel guilty for listening in on such an intimate moment
i feel annoyed that he is being too loud to ignore
i am trying to sleep
i concentrate really hard on sleeping
he fucking loves her and she doesn't see it
he'd do fucking anything for this girl
he fucking loves her so much fuck
i think about him and his love for this girl
he seems to feel something i've never felt and can't imagine feeling
i both admire and pity him
his voice cracks as he finishes his next sentence with his favorite word
f~ck
he is openly sobbing now
it seems unnecessary, unseemly
to become so upset over someone who doesn't love him back
i don't know what i'm going to fucking do without her. i'm fucking nothing without her
he says between sobs
it seems irrational
to let your identity be defined so strongly by someone else as to loose meaning after they are gone
he stops sobbing. he screams. it scares me.
i've never heard anyone scream out of sadness before
it sounds painful, strained
like his emotions are so intense his body can't process them, and so they come out in inappropriate ways.
i half expect him to start laughing
he is talking quieter now. he has calmed down
it is nearly 4:00 AM
i am tired
i am embarrassed about what i just overheard
i feel sorry for the man
i feel curious as to what it would be like to feel what he feels
that intense, dramatic love that caused this late night scene
i am jealous of a foul-mouthed man sobbing openly in his backyard
- Sarah Tue-Fee
(added 11.27.11)
editor's note: A strange visitation from the tooth fairy renders jealousy over loutish love. - 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' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Comments