The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 01.07.12
“Submissive to everything, open, listening” Jack Kerouac
Ayahuasca (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 floated into this New Year tipping and tugging on old restraints; we acknowledged the harsh reality of forced retirement with no gold watch; we dabbled in dog-death remedies, found nothing to offer but pain management; we found a new acolyte, eager to please, enlightenment understood - all about "him"; we continued the cult, twanged a taught thread, unraveled his god-like garment; that god discarded, we found a new one (long old), coldly controlling our conscpicuous consumption; lastly, we dumped that one, too, grabbed no substitute, rather strung our strained supplication through the stars, looking for a Listener... still waiting for a reply. - mh
•••••••••••
A letter to God
O Lord! I feel where you dwell: in corners
or on walls; in the streets or on tall tower-tops –
you are not beyond my ken
but you pretend you are a million miles away…
you just see the way stone statues do.
But oh!
MISERIES WE LIVE; MISERIES WE DIE.
We’re entangled on the hooks of questions that you,
and only you, can uncurl. Lord,
O Lord!
Your world is but half unfinished.
You have left everything in a mess!
Are we to finish it with our miseries
of minds and hearts?
Are we to act for you?
I’m surprised how you just see your creation roll down
and down
I’m surprised how you just see your children
grow wilder each passing day.
While I’m awake, you seem to be asleep
While I’m mad, you seem to be carefree
While I’m begging for your attention, you seem to be preoccupied
Oh Lord! What obliges you to latch your compassion?
I fear you might spot me for my grumble
But this is what I have to ask you for your grace.
Your eternal serenity, silence or peace
is what we all need, Oh Lord!
This soul has waited for so long for your smiling glance!
Keep me on your lap.
Show me the way forth.
Humanity, my love, is so desperate to dance in your kingdom!
Your world has resorted to
such dangerous paths
of clashes
between religions
between cultures
between impulses of devilish hungers.
I reckon man is to reverse his way
and join the Nazis’ uproar
or kill himself for a side of a coin.
Oh Lord! Isn’t there any limit
to your toleration?
You mustn’t be silent, O Lord!
You live in every breath of our lives:
you are a beggar; you are a billionaire
you are so generous; you are so mean –
every story has you, the silent side,
at the rear or in deep
letting go things unnoticed
and uncontrolled.
How could you be dead
when I can intensely feel you?
Come forth, my Lord!
Take back
the power from our miserable lives!
We are bad at giving and we are bad at taking.
That is the only problem we have been living.
Lord, come forth and release us from our guilt-ridden psyche!
- Chiranjibi Niroula
(1 poem added 01.07.12)
editor's note: Our earthly brain tweakers and soul preachers can't answer these questions, though good they are. We trust celestial answers are pending in frequencies our fragile ears can register. Shush now... listen. - mh
MOVING IMAGES OF THE 2nd DIMENSION
It's fantasy.
Created for your mind.
And you willingly submit yourself to an entrapment...
You are trapped in space and time -
It's a fault of the system you created once - the routined existence...
and you shall pay for it
with things that are dear to you -
pay with money, emotions, and time.
Emotions cannot reason,
you cannot think with that little corner in the brain you call heart (I call it amygdala)...
It begins and ends in your home...
In your living room...
With a smaller canvas 14 to 40 inches;
or papers filled with information that lures you;
Lures you out of your home,
and into the big dark castle - with surround sound.
It is a Fantasy Dome.
In there, you expect to travel into a new space every time;
and you are never traveling light,
you carry these commodities,
for the other senses that you don't indulge,
you want to make the best of the 2 hours; the culture of it, the whole experience of it.
Your sense of taste,
of smell and of touch...
you want to feel good.
The Show begins.
First they'll flirt with you.
They may make you laugh,
smile; make you start liking what you see.
They have to. You have to.
You have to be eased into the whole process;
They will never use force,
your indulgence is too precious.
It's all a relaxing supply of serotonin and dopamine...
quiet little chemical impulses, in your brain...
Making you happy,
taking you into that fantasy you want.
They'll even use examples from your daily life.
Things you need to relate to,
Things that make you feel, "That is me,
that is my idea, my voice."
And you use all your reasoning - but everything based on emotions...
They sum you up into simple formulas of life,
A Mission you always wanted to achieve,
Romance - love letters, beautiful conversations,
a kiss on the first date, or the wish for it.
Adventures, fears, and everything you wished for in your
boring little life.
Accompanied with music,
to entrap your emotions some more...
make you feel like it's you that you are watching...
And then before you know it - a twist.
Overworking your amygdala,
they present you with another mission to accomplish.
And another, and another.
You never get tired of the indulgence,
while always sitting in that dark space.
You forget the thousands like you; watching, feeling,
because you find your connection.
They want you connected.
They will never let you go free.. and you do not want to be free either;
you want escape...
into the mind of a bunch of men and women taking you for a ride into their minds...
their imaginations.
But you make it your own...
when they leave you,
you still don't come out of it,
and you are never free when you leave the dark dome.
The trip is never over...
Right after you go home,
that girl from Twilight will sell you an I-pod in your living room.
- AbhiManyu Dixit
(added 01.06.12)
editor's note: The same cluster of nuclei resides within all; TV Land is omnipresent. Buyer beware! - mh
Pale Girl
The phantom, the naïve flirting
her infant of a thousand parents
she had a “bad heart”
always for him
up on the hill, Dr. The Great
Bear is happier but really envied
because we strip tease and
weep upon a big rainbow
for my Triassic funny bone,
the little orphaned thread to my heart.
Angel veins are like jelly
fish twisted in my fingernails
I stand in your momentary
swoon skin and bone,
I do it gold baby.
Herr and burn-
Let’s stay for the air.
- Kayla Siobhan
(1 poem added 01.05.12)
editor's note: He musta been some nattily dressed professorial so-and-so. He can herringbone choke on his own self-adoration, cuz we won't. - mh
book store
I tortured you with long French titles and how I love Les Mis,
and you took it well, bored but smiling, yawning but trying
to be interested in what I was.
You mocked my lack of reading and listed the ones I should.
I wrote them all in my purple pad and hoped I really would
to learn about you and your interests.
It wasn’t until I was quiet and reading, yes reading, on my own
that you crept beside me, and happily I obliged thee
for a moment stolen amongst the stacks, playwrights in fact.
At least we have one interest in common;
at least we are both interested in you.
- GMSpear
(added 01.04.12)
editor's note: Hmmm. Let's read him to be him. Every author, even god, aspires to this. - mh
Matter of Time
A dog dying on my living room floor,
The vet said only a matter of time,
pain killers given for the pain,
but what of the rest of us,
dying always only a matter of time,
Where are my pills?
- Douglas Polk
(added 01.03.12)
editor's note: Doctor can't prescribe the right remedy? Self medicate; the antidotes are multiple, the gamble is an adventure. It is a dog's life! - mh
Getting Religion
After having worked all your life,
The new lords of management
Have arrived with their new religion,
Preaching the glories of poverty,
Not for them, just for you
And others of your ilk and age.
Soon you will be shown the door,
The imprint of a large iron boot
Bruised into your backside.
The lords of management encourage you
To enjoy your new freedom
As you fight among the beggars
For a place on the sidewalk
With a cardboard bed,
And an open air urinal.
- Joseph Farley
(1 poem added 01.02.12)
editor's note: This is enough to make atheists of us all. No god but mammon? (Let's welcome Joe to our Contributing Poets, read more on his page.) - mh
Scull
Nothing more
than a small un-painted boat,
cracked boards leaking water
no name on the stern
pulling gently on its chain
like an old dog
eager to be home;
but if I lie back on those boards
mouth open wide
to suckle a little rain
I would howl and howl
till the river roared back,
and between us
we broke our chains.
- Ian Mullins
(added 01.01.12)
editor's note: What way to begin a year full of new is better than to swim in the stream up or down unfettered? - 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...
Submittingly Yours,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Ayahuasca (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 floated into this New Year tipping and tugging on old restraints; we acknowledged the harsh reality of forced retirement with no gold watch; we dabbled in dog-death remedies, found nothing to offer but pain management; we found a new acolyte, eager to please, enlightenment understood - all about "him"; we continued the cult, twanged a taught thread, unraveled his god-like garment; that god discarded, we found a new one (long old), coldly controlling our conscpicuous consumption; lastly, we dumped that one, too, grabbed no substitute, rather strung our strained supplication through the stars, looking for a Listener... still waiting for a reply. - mh
•••••••••••
A letter to God
O Lord! I feel where you dwell: in corners
or on walls; in the streets or on tall tower-tops –
you are not beyond my ken
but you pretend you are a million miles away…
you just see the way stone statues do.
But oh!
MISERIES WE LIVE; MISERIES WE DIE.
We’re entangled on the hooks of questions that you,
and only you, can uncurl. Lord,
O Lord!
Your world is but half unfinished.
You have left everything in a mess!
Are we to finish it with our miseries
of minds and hearts?
Are we to act for you?
I’m surprised how you just see your creation roll down
and down
I’m surprised how you just see your children
grow wilder each passing day.
While I’m awake, you seem to be asleep
While I’m mad, you seem to be carefree
While I’m begging for your attention, you seem to be preoccupied
Oh Lord! What obliges you to latch your compassion?
I fear you might spot me for my grumble
But this is what I have to ask you for your grace.
Your eternal serenity, silence or peace
is what we all need, Oh Lord!
This soul has waited for so long for your smiling glance!
Keep me on your lap.
Show me the way forth.
Humanity, my love, is so desperate to dance in your kingdom!
Your world has resorted to
such dangerous paths
of clashes
between religions
between cultures
between impulses of devilish hungers.
I reckon man is to reverse his way
and join the Nazis’ uproar
or kill himself for a side of a coin.
Oh Lord! Isn’t there any limit
to your toleration?
You mustn’t be silent, O Lord!
You live in every breath of our lives:
you are a beggar; you are a billionaire
you are so generous; you are so mean –
every story has you, the silent side,
at the rear or in deep
letting go things unnoticed
and uncontrolled.
How could you be dead
when I can intensely feel you?
Come forth, my Lord!
Take back
the power from our miserable lives!
We are bad at giving and we are bad at taking.
That is the only problem we have been living.
Lord, come forth and release us from our guilt-ridden psyche!
- Chiranjibi Niroula
(1 poem added 01.07.12)
editor's note: Our earthly brain tweakers and soul preachers can't answer these questions, though good they are. We trust celestial answers are pending in frequencies our fragile ears can register. Shush now... listen. - mh
MOVING IMAGES OF THE 2nd DIMENSION
It's fantasy.
Created for your mind.
And you willingly submit yourself to an entrapment...
You are trapped in space and time -
It's a fault of the system you created once - the routined existence...
and you shall pay for it
with things that are dear to you -
pay with money, emotions, and time.
Emotions cannot reason,
you cannot think with that little corner in the brain you call heart (I call it amygdala)...
It begins and ends in your home...
In your living room...
With a smaller canvas 14 to 40 inches;
or papers filled with information that lures you;
Lures you out of your home,
and into the big dark castle - with surround sound.
It is a Fantasy Dome.
In there, you expect to travel into a new space every time;
and you are never traveling light,
you carry these commodities,
for the other senses that you don't indulge,
you want to make the best of the 2 hours; the culture of it, the whole experience of it.
Your sense of taste,
of smell and of touch...
you want to feel good.
The Show begins.
First they'll flirt with you.
They may make you laugh,
smile; make you start liking what you see.
They have to. You have to.
You have to be eased into the whole process;
They will never use force,
your indulgence is too precious.
It's all a relaxing supply of serotonin and dopamine...
quiet little chemical impulses, in your brain...
Making you happy,
taking you into that fantasy you want.
They'll even use examples from your daily life.
Things you need to relate to,
Things that make you feel, "That is me,
that is my idea, my voice."
And you use all your reasoning - but everything based on emotions...
They sum you up into simple formulas of life,
A Mission you always wanted to achieve,
Romance - love letters, beautiful conversations,
a kiss on the first date, or the wish for it.
Adventures, fears, and everything you wished for in your
boring little life.
Accompanied with music,
to entrap your emotions some more...
make you feel like it's you that you are watching...
And then before you know it - a twist.
Overworking your amygdala,
they present you with another mission to accomplish.
And another, and another.
You never get tired of the indulgence,
while always sitting in that dark space.
You forget the thousands like you; watching, feeling,
because you find your connection.
They want you connected.
They will never let you go free.. and you do not want to be free either;
you want escape...
into the mind of a bunch of men and women taking you for a ride into their minds...
their imaginations.
But you make it your own...
when they leave you,
you still don't come out of it,
and you are never free when you leave the dark dome.
The trip is never over...
Right after you go home,
that girl from Twilight will sell you an I-pod in your living room.
- AbhiManyu Dixit
(added 01.06.12)
editor's note: The same cluster of nuclei resides within all; TV Land is omnipresent. Buyer beware! - mh
Pale Girl
The phantom, the naïve flirting
her infant of a thousand parents
she had a “bad heart”
always for him
up on the hill, Dr. The Great
Bear is happier but really envied
because we strip tease and
weep upon a big rainbow
for my Triassic funny bone,
the little orphaned thread to my heart.
Angel veins are like jelly
fish twisted in my fingernails
I stand in your momentary
swoon skin and bone,
I do it gold baby.
Herr and burn-
Let’s stay for the air.
- Kayla Siobhan
(1 poem added 01.05.12)
editor's note: He musta been some nattily dressed professorial so-and-so. He can herringbone choke on his own self-adoration, cuz we won't. - mh
book store
I tortured you with long French titles and how I love Les Mis,
and you took it well, bored but smiling, yawning but trying
to be interested in what I was.
You mocked my lack of reading and listed the ones I should.
I wrote them all in my purple pad and hoped I really would
to learn about you and your interests.
It wasn’t until I was quiet and reading, yes reading, on my own
that you crept beside me, and happily I obliged thee
for a moment stolen amongst the stacks, playwrights in fact.
At least we have one interest in common;
at least we are both interested in you.
- GMSpear
(added 01.04.12)
editor's note: Hmmm. Let's read him to be him. Every author, even god, aspires to this. - mh
Matter of Time
A dog dying on my living room floor,
The vet said only a matter of time,
pain killers given for the pain,
but what of the rest of us,
dying always only a matter of time,
Where are my pills?
- Douglas Polk
(added 01.03.12)
editor's note: Doctor can't prescribe the right remedy? Self medicate; the antidotes are multiple, the gamble is an adventure. It is a dog's life! - mh
Getting Religion
After having worked all your life,
The new lords of management
Have arrived with their new religion,
Preaching the glories of poverty,
Not for them, just for you
And others of your ilk and age.
Soon you will be shown the door,
The imprint of a large iron boot
Bruised into your backside.
The lords of management encourage you
To enjoy your new freedom
As you fight among the beggars
For a place on the sidewalk
With a cardboard bed,
And an open air urinal.
- Joseph Farley
(1 poem added 01.02.12)
editor's note: This is enough to make atheists of us all. No god but mammon? (Let's welcome Joe to our Contributing Poets, read more on his page.) - mh
Scull
Nothing more
than a small un-painted boat,
cracked boards leaking water
no name on the stern
pulling gently on its chain
like an old dog
eager to be home;
but if I lie back on those boards
mouth open wide
to suckle a little rain
I would howl and howl
till the river roared back,
and between us
we broke our chains.
- Ian Mullins
(added 01.01.12)
editor's note: What way to begin a year full of new is better than to swim in the stream up or down unfettered? - 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...
Submittingly Yours,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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