The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 01.14.12
“Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better” Martin Luther King, Jr
Digital illustration by Johnny Olson
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we got behind the wheel of a fast dash from a checkered past; white-line weary, we shot our wad at a road-side rest; next morning garden gaiety gripped us, unaware of all blossoms bring to arrest attentions; which next went 2D, LCD-screen flat, fueled by avarice, our insatiable, media-whetted appetites; to compensate, forbidden fruit floating from our gaping maws, we contemplated constraint and a cloistered life; we were consumed in the story of our own falling, frozen decision and frittered dominion; finally we cashed in all for a pilfered pass to paradise, Peter pacified, Paul's pocket picked. Saints preserve us, saints be all! - mh
Sweeping generalities
(under the table)
Just because
everything
is falling together
doesn’t mean
it isn’t falling
and just because
everything
is coming together
doesn't mean
it can’t come apart
so I am going
to go through with
my obligatory
responsibilities
with white trash
panache
and allow myself
to be midwifed
into mid-life
and then
I will party
crash the pearly
gates
with my
never-said-I-was-a-saint
VIP pass
which I stole
from Paul
to give to
Peter
- Ivan Jenson
(1 poem added 01.14.12)
editor's note: Falling and coming, it's all for the benefit of middle-aged passage from here to the next. Paul's got pockets full that will never be missed and Peter will be none the wiser. - mh
Decision and Dominion
One decade held in pixels, stalled
forced figure locked in motion.
His dominion his decision then
by art of stealing souls preserved
the camera caught The Falling Man.
Though eyes perceive new narratives,
I will not claim to know his thoughts.
That leaping man, I too can see,
as many do, and many will
I too can cast his narrative,
suggestive claim his state of mind.
Yet Falling Man remains unknown.
Refuse my impositions slight
dominion his decision, though
I too will stare, I too can see:
reject my need for knowledge.
For the Falling Man now pixel print
symbolic held one decade framed.
Existence is decision and
dominion I refuse to steal.
- JW Mark
(added 01.13.12)
editor's note: It's all about to be or not. Choose dominion, bear responsibility; while decision defies choosing, ye be what ye be. - mh
Nun
I would have been a nun
had I kept my soft virginal glory
intact -
the whisky replaced by the tea-caddy,
the negligee by the gown.
The cock replaced by the crucifix;
according to the law of purity.
Waiting for bread to break its
silence.
The soup to stir -
filling the air with condensation,
and in this way blessing us. Now it is
weeping tears of joy, unable to
stop.
The fruit remains a mystery.
- A. Swimmer
(1 poem added 01.12.12)
editor's note: Oh, what we could be, would be. Eat the fruit, don't eat the fruit; the air is still full of condensate, your tears or someone else's. - mh
Depredation
The works of man, o builders,
are smothering our planet,
suffocating the surface
with endless coats of concrete,
denying respiration,
yet expecting survival.
Toxins pollute the land,
poison the air,
sterilize the seas.
Those who care,
hoping our children
will have a future,
bravely raise their voices,
but are thoroughly stifled
by the confusing clamor
broadcasted daily
by the servants of profit
to distract us from tomorrows.
- Gary Beck
(1 poem added 01.11.12)
editor's note: We thought we heard something here, but the TV was loud and there was a commercial about something we want. Now we've forgotten both, damn! - mh
Snapdragons Crackle
Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,
a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.
Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes
and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.
Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura
and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
- Donal Mahoney
(1 poem added 01.10.12)
editor's note: Flower garden subterfuge abounds. Cinderella inflorescence fills the stunted bloom, deformed by jealous over-pruning. - mh
Ten years Later #5
The road is long
and cold:
this scandalous sex
living hugeness,
vivacious,
unscrupulously spread itself
before my amazed eyes.
The road is long
and dry:
the uterus is rotten
blood drips
slowly
the world
implodes.
The road is long
but I feel good
and on your body
I explode
through all the pores
of my skin.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(1 poem added 01.09.12)
editor's note: It's not the road, so much. It's the mileage... and knowing the good road-side rest-stops. - mh
Driven
Mesmerized.
Yellow lines flash.
Blending;
the hum of the open road.
Driven to fly;
shedding shackles.
Haunted.
Her tear stained face.
Calling me back.
Drinking dandelion wine together;
we had it all.
Driven,
unable to turn back.
- Mike Berger
(1 poem added 01.08.12)
editor's note: Even turning back becomes the new forward. Keep the pedal to the metal and the windows down. - 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...
Dedicatedin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Digital illustration by Johnny Olson
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we got behind the wheel of a fast dash from a checkered past; white-line weary, we shot our wad at a road-side rest; next morning garden gaiety gripped us, unaware of all blossoms bring to arrest attentions; which next went 2D, LCD-screen flat, fueled by avarice, our insatiable, media-whetted appetites; to compensate, forbidden fruit floating from our gaping maws, we contemplated constraint and a cloistered life; we were consumed in the story of our own falling, frozen decision and frittered dominion; finally we cashed in all for a pilfered pass to paradise, Peter pacified, Paul's pocket picked. Saints preserve us, saints be all! - mh
Sweeping generalities
(under the table)
Just because
everything
is falling together
doesn’t mean
it isn’t falling
and just because
everything
is coming together
doesn't mean
it can’t come apart
so I am going
to go through with
my obligatory
responsibilities
with white trash
panache
and allow myself
to be midwifed
into mid-life
and then
I will party
crash the pearly
gates
with my
never-said-I-was-a-saint
VIP pass
which I stole
from Paul
to give to
Peter
- Ivan Jenson
(1 poem added 01.14.12)
editor's note: Falling and coming, it's all for the benefit of middle-aged passage from here to the next. Paul's got pockets full that will never be missed and Peter will be none the wiser. - mh
Decision and Dominion
One decade held in pixels, stalled
forced figure locked in motion.
His dominion his decision then
by art of stealing souls preserved
the camera caught The Falling Man.
Though eyes perceive new narratives,
I will not claim to know his thoughts.
That leaping man, I too can see,
as many do, and many will
I too can cast his narrative,
suggestive claim his state of mind.
Yet Falling Man remains unknown.
Refuse my impositions slight
dominion his decision, though
I too will stare, I too can see:
reject my need for knowledge.
For the Falling Man now pixel print
symbolic held one decade framed.
Existence is decision and
dominion I refuse to steal.
- JW Mark
(added 01.13.12)
editor's note: It's all about to be or not. Choose dominion, bear responsibility; while decision defies choosing, ye be what ye be. - mh
Nun
I would have been a nun
had I kept my soft virginal glory
intact -
the whisky replaced by the tea-caddy,
the negligee by the gown.
The cock replaced by the crucifix;
according to the law of purity.
Waiting for bread to break its
silence.
The soup to stir -
filling the air with condensation,
and in this way blessing us. Now it is
weeping tears of joy, unable to
stop.
The fruit remains a mystery.
- A. Swimmer
(1 poem added 01.12.12)
editor's note: Oh, what we could be, would be. Eat the fruit, don't eat the fruit; the air is still full of condensate, your tears or someone else's. - mh
Depredation
The works of man, o builders,
are smothering our planet,
suffocating the surface
with endless coats of concrete,
denying respiration,
yet expecting survival.
Toxins pollute the land,
poison the air,
sterilize the seas.
Those who care,
hoping our children
will have a future,
bravely raise their voices,
but are thoroughly stifled
by the confusing clamor
broadcasted daily
by the servants of profit
to distract us from tomorrows.
- Gary Beck
(1 poem added 01.11.12)
editor's note: We thought we heard something here, but the TV was loud and there was a commercial about something we want. Now we've forgotten both, damn! - mh
Snapdragons Crackle
Snapdragons crackle
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait,
a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever
let a suitor savor.
Maura knows
that in her wake
men with scythes
and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.
Nora and Maureen
can smell these men.
Unlike Maura
and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
- Donal Mahoney
(1 poem added 01.10.12)
editor's note: Flower garden subterfuge abounds. Cinderella inflorescence fills the stunted bloom, deformed by jealous over-pruning. - mh
Ten years Later #5
The road is long
and cold:
this scandalous sex
living hugeness,
vivacious,
unscrupulously spread itself
before my amazed eyes.
The road is long
and dry:
the uterus is rotten
blood drips
slowly
the world
implodes.
The road is long
but I feel good
and on your body
I explode
through all the pores
of my skin.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(1 poem added 01.09.12)
editor's note: It's not the road, so much. It's the mileage... and knowing the good road-side rest-stops. - mh
Driven
Mesmerized.
Yellow lines flash.
Blending;
the hum of the open road.
Driven to fly;
shedding shackles.
Haunted.
Her tear stained face.
Calling me back.
Drinking dandelion wine together;
we had it all.
Driven,
unable to turn back.
- Mike Berger
(1 poem added 01.08.12)
editor's note: Even turning back becomes the new forward. Keep the pedal to the metal and the windows down. - 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...
Dedicatedin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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