The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 12.17.11
“We are the facilitators of our own creative evolution.” Bill Hicks
Transition at Night (above) by featured artist, Christian Millet, 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 mo' fo' sho' so move that mad mouse of yo's right over here and a-way you'll GO!
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we attacked idols, unworthy of our acquiescence; we raved a beastly rave; rhapsodized the storytelling tendencies of sound waves in air and space; we witnessed the moldering memory of slapped kid and girl in urn; we blamed the casual catalysts of the familial chasm on ourselves, only ourselves; we sent a bitterly seasoned season's greeting, invoked the strike of a match, the flare of the flame; all to yield control, to change our personal focus to the management of drool. Delightful! What cathartic joy. The coming week must contrast surely to all this introspective ennui. I'm gonna, by god, jingle my bells! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Control
was my problem
- lack of it
and need for it -
according to my Pop
psychologist who paid the bills
with child-like scribblings on checks from crazies
worse than ME
but submissive enough
to believe her daily diatribes.
"So, you think you're cured?"
"No, but I believe you're insane."
The White Jacketed One,
glasses steamed-up with rage,
pounded my chest
before punching me
in the crotch. After my ass-kicking
she waved, "Goodbye,"
through the tiny door window.
I would have given her my best
one-finger salute
but with my arms tied
criss-crossed in front of me
all I could do
was stick out my tongue
and drool...
- Joseph D. DiLella
(2 poems added 12.17.11)
editor's note: Lost yours, restrained by theirs? Be Houdini! And, wipe your chin. (Another one from Joseph, a bit o' funereal fun, on his page - check it out!) - mh
This Sure As Hell Ain't From Hallmark
I should tell you that I hate you,
but I actually want to thank you
that 'relationship' we had was the absolute
worst mistake I ever made in my life,
but I have to say now
that it really opened my eyes
and taught me how devious and black-hearted
fast-talking men really were,
how they could sweep you off your feet
while simultaneously pulling the rug out from underneath
is entirely devastating;
you really fucked with my heart and my mind,
but I must tell you that it strengthened me
and made me a better woman
it was a hell of a lesson,
but one well-learned
so I want to thank you for that
and, since you had the nerve to resurface
and try to contact me again,
I must admit that you've definitely
cured my recent spell of writer's block—
now the words flow like blood;
I'm writing a poem a day
and they're all about you, darling,
so, from the bottom of my heart,
I thank you
P.S.: Burn in Hell
- Cynthia Ruth Lewis
(added 12.16.11)
editor's comments: Well, it depends on your personal season to color your greeting. Actually, I think you might find this one in the Hallmark catalogue - look under "dead-beat dialogue." - mh
it wasn't her fault
when her family arrived
i stayed in my bedroom
listening to prince and madonna
cassette tapes
because i'd spied her from my window
blonde and tan
more beautiful than i remembered
i'd become a fat and lonely monster
since we'd last seen each other
and i didn't want to disappoint her
so i thought that i'd just stay in the bedroom
the whole time her family visited with mine
but it only took ten minutes
for my mother to knock on the door
then open it
without me saying to do so
and there she stood before me
so goddamned blonde and tan
california gold from head to toe
the smile fading from her face
as my mom grinned and shut the door to my dungeon
leaving the two of us alone
to sit on opposite sides of the bed
listening as the music played
hoping that it wouldn't be long
before they all called us downstairs to dinner.
- John Grochalski
(1 poem added 12.15.11)
editor's comments: Here's a great holiday tweaker for us. How's that go about family and fish? Get ready, folks; the family will be arriving soon. - mh
Mush rooms
Another year relaxes in its embers
We gather for our farewell
Through the months cuckoos have called
You have not heard, I wouldn’t know
Leaves fell off branches, regardless
In the evening sun on a Bandon hill
Still at this familiar hole
I try to think of your face
Taste the earth in the air
Your intake of breath is what I remember
That preoccupied, sucking - yeah!
Peculiar to this parish as you were
We can’t confuse you with mother
You are absent-bodied no more
We came here together apart thirty years
We carried each other once a piece
Me a slapped kid, you in the urn
We shared similar meals in between
Those blood red beef stews we loved
Stock full of juice and mushrooms
This is all we had though, moments at dinner
Dirt chewed today is spat tomorrow
My thoughts slip away leaving you
Under mouldering heaps
I head towards laundry and tea
As the moon balls out above the church
We have both gone
To a colder ground called home
- Anthony Murphy
(2 poems added 12.14.11)
editor's note: Not your usual psychedelic, fungal, Friday-nite freakout, nope. This trip is a downer that comes with no actual ingestion, just a year-end suggestion of fungus past and passed. (Murph has another good one on his page; a Fall fox-fuck fright-flight - check it out.) - mh
Life in a Hospital
Male pattern baldness
does not exist in my family line.
What’s wrong with that data?
If you want to head out, head out.
We’re not holding you hostage.
He’s so distracted.
He’s flying back tomorrow.
My left atrium’s here
but to you it’s on the right.
Code blue is cardiac arrest.
Green is crazy.
Yellow they need police.
Red is fire.
It’s like a Ferrari.
- Patty Mooney
(added 12.13.11)
editor's note: A rainbow of random utterances, congealed by context. Good Air, Patty! - mh
Beast
I am the beast in the bar
The beast who drinks anything and everything
The beast who sits devouring whatever it is that comes my way
The beast inside takes control the more I drink for
I am the beast in the bar
The beast who repels women with my je ne sais quoi
I am the beast who simply can’t say no to a drink or the chance to get high
The beast that drinks just to get drunk
I am the beast who prowls the bar looking for cast-off drink and cast-off women for
I am the beast
- Bradford Middleton
(added 12.12.11)
editor's note: Stimulation of this alcohol economy by wholesale consumption of the drops and the dregs is just, I don't know what, "Beastly." Drink with dignity! - mh
Gods and Demons
Dionysus, god of wine,
old and comfortable friend.
I dream of Aphrodite,
goddess of love, beauty, desire,
all my dreams, all my hopes,
unrequited.
In the pantheon of demons,
the emptiness at the heart
of human existence is
Zeus, king of gods, ruler of Olympus.
Next comes boredom, Ares,
god of war, violence, and
the self-destructive turmoil in
so many of our souls.
On a mission to find antidote,
Zeus too exalted,
too distant to hear my appeal.
My quest is for relief,
real, lasting, meaningful.
Damn,
that eliminates all my favorites,
beer, Scotch, wine,
casual sex,
movies, Internet.
Many souls, many solutions.
Mine, I begin to see,
is here, right now,
on this page, Aphrodite's approval
irrelevant.
- Paul Hellweg
(added 12.11.11)
editor's note: Trash your idols, deify your vices - absolve yourself with a few verses. Just a few words... peace will come - 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...
Facilitatin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Transition at Night (above) by featured artist, Christian Millet, 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 mo' fo' sho' so move that mad mouse of yo's right over here and a-way you'll GO!
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we attacked idols, unworthy of our acquiescence; we raved a beastly rave; rhapsodized the storytelling tendencies of sound waves in air and space; we witnessed the moldering memory of slapped kid and girl in urn; we blamed the casual catalysts of the familial chasm on ourselves, only ourselves; we sent a bitterly seasoned season's greeting, invoked the strike of a match, the flare of the flame; all to yield control, to change our personal focus to the management of drool. Delightful! What cathartic joy. The coming week must contrast surely to all this introspective ennui. I'm gonna, by god, jingle my bells! - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Control
was my problem
- lack of it
and need for it -
according to my Pop
psychologist who paid the bills
with child-like scribblings on checks from crazies
worse than ME
but submissive enough
to believe her daily diatribes.
"So, you think you're cured?"
"No, but I believe you're insane."
The White Jacketed One,
glasses steamed-up with rage,
pounded my chest
before punching me
in the crotch. After my ass-kicking
she waved, "Goodbye,"
through the tiny door window.
I would have given her my best
one-finger salute
but with my arms tied
criss-crossed in front of me
all I could do
was stick out my tongue
and drool...
- Joseph D. DiLella
(2 poems added 12.17.11)
editor's note: Lost yours, restrained by theirs? Be Houdini! And, wipe your chin. (Another one from Joseph, a bit o' funereal fun, on his page - check it out!) - mh
This Sure As Hell Ain't From Hallmark
I should tell you that I hate you,
but I actually want to thank you
that 'relationship' we had was the absolute
worst mistake I ever made in my life,
but I have to say now
that it really opened my eyes
and taught me how devious and black-hearted
fast-talking men really were,
how they could sweep you off your feet
while simultaneously pulling the rug out from underneath
is entirely devastating;
you really fucked with my heart and my mind,
but I must tell you that it strengthened me
and made me a better woman
it was a hell of a lesson,
but one well-learned
so I want to thank you for that
and, since you had the nerve to resurface
and try to contact me again,
I must admit that you've definitely
cured my recent spell of writer's block—
now the words flow like blood;
I'm writing a poem a day
and they're all about you, darling,
so, from the bottom of my heart,
I thank you
P.S.: Burn in Hell
- Cynthia Ruth Lewis
(added 12.16.11)
editor's comments: Well, it depends on your personal season to color your greeting. Actually, I think you might find this one in the Hallmark catalogue - look under "dead-beat dialogue." - mh
it wasn't her fault
when her family arrived
i stayed in my bedroom
listening to prince and madonna
cassette tapes
because i'd spied her from my window
blonde and tan
more beautiful than i remembered
i'd become a fat and lonely monster
since we'd last seen each other
and i didn't want to disappoint her
so i thought that i'd just stay in the bedroom
the whole time her family visited with mine
but it only took ten minutes
for my mother to knock on the door
then open it
without me saying to do so
and there she stood before me
so goddamned blonde and tan
california gold from head to toe
the smile fading from her face
as my mom grinned and shut the door to my dungeon
leaving the two of us alone
to sit on opposite sides of the bed
listening as the music played
hoping that it wouldn't be long
before they all called us downstairs to dinner.
- John Grochalski
(1 poem added 12.15.11)
editor's comments: Here's a great holiday tweaker for us. How's that go about family and fish? Get ready, folks; the family will be arriving soon. - mh
Mush rooms
Another year relaxes in its embers
We gather for our farewell
Through the months cuckoos have called
You have not heard, I wouldn’t know
Leaves fell off branches, regardless
In the evening sun on a Bandon hill
Still at this familiar hole
I try to think of your face
Taste the earth in the air
Your intake of breath is what I remember
That preoccupied, sucking - yeah!
Peculiar to this parish as you were
We can’t confuse you with mother
You are absent-bodied no more
We came here together apart thirty years
We carried each other once a piece
Me a slapped kid, you in the urn
We shared similar meals in between
Those blood red beef stews we loved
Stock full of juice and mushrooms
This is all we had though, moments at dinner
Dirt chewed today is spat tomorrow
My thoughts slip away leaving you
Under mouldering heaps
I head towards laundry and tea
As the moon balls out above the church
We have both gone
To a colder ground called home
- Anthony Murphy
(2 poems added 12.14.11)
editor's note: Not your usual psychedelic, fungal, Friday-nite freakout, nope. This trip is a downer that comes with no actual ingestion, just a year-end suggestion of fungus past and passed. (Murph has another good one on his page; a Fall fox-fuck fright-flight - check it out.) - mh
Life in a Hospital
Male pattern baldness
does not exist in my family line.
What’s wrong with that data?
If you want to head out, head out.
We’re not holding you hostage.
He’s so distracted.
He’s flying back tomorrow.
My left atrium’s here
but to you it’s on the right.
Code blue is cardiac arrest.
Green is crazy.
Yellow they need police.
Red is fire.
It’s like a Ferrari.
- Patty Mooney
(added 12.13.11)
editor's note: A rainbow of random utterances, congealed by context. Good Air, Patty! - mh
Beast
I am the beast in the bar
The beast who drinks anything and everything
The beast who sits devouring whatever it is that comes my way
The beast inside takes control the more I drink for
I am the beast in the bar
The beast who repels women with my je ne sais quoi
I am the beast who simply can’t say no to a drink or the chance to get high
The beast that drinks just to get drunk
I am the beast who prowls the bar looking for cast-off drink and cast-off women for
I am the beast
- Bradford Middleton
(added 12.12.11)
editor's note: Stimulation of this alcohol economy by wholesale consumption of the drops and the dregs is just, I don't know what, "Beastly." Drink with dignity! - mh
Gods and Demons
Dionysus, god of wine,
old and comfortable friend.
I dream of Aphrodite,
goddess of love, beauty, desire,
all my dreams, all my hopes,
unrequited.
In the pantheon of demons,
the emptiness at the heart
of human existence is
Zeus, king of gods, ruler of Olympus.
Next comes boredom, Ares,
god of war, violence, and
the self-destructive turmoil in
so many of our souls.
On a mission to find antidote,
Zeus too exalted,
too distant to hear my appeal.
My quest is for relief,
real, lasting, meaningful.
Damn,
that eliminates all my favorites,
beer, Scotch, wine,
casual sex,
movies, Internet.
Many souls, many solutions.
Mine, I begin to see,
is here, right now,
on this page, Aphrodite's approval
irrelevant.
- Paul Hellweg
(added 12.11.11)
editor's note: Trash your idols, deify your vices - absolve yourself with a few verses. Just a few words... peace will come - 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...
Facilitatin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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