The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 01.21.12
“I’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions: tragedy, ecstasy, doom, and so on.” Mark Rothko
Pollution Crunch (above) by featured artist, Fabio Sassi. Please join us in saying 'Benvenuto!' to our newest featured artist. Fabio's striking works of art captured our eyes from miles away, from the tasty sounding city of Bologna in that boot-shaped country half-way across the world to our cozy lil Mad Swirl cave in Dallas, now delivered to your senses right here in the Mad Gallery. His works of art have an extreme feel of cultural awareness. Immediately one can tell that Fabio is not just concerned with making art. He brings a new level to it. He makes art with profound messages one can take with them long afterwards. He has a rather simple style, but with a big, screaming meaning behind it. Check out Fabio's work and be prepared to say 'Fantastico!' to his profound messages, political and cultural mindfulness... with a mad twist of 'The King' in space... for good measure. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we endured the annals of an exiled poet, identified with the disenfranchised; we found cause for celebration in universal reconciliation, killed the fatted calf; from reconciliation we viewed a fair salvation, from bible, beer and the eye of god; then we stole another view, a clear-eyed peak at (im)mortality; mortality stared back through a cold Dear John, written by a pragmatic (soon to be ex) partner; we stared some more at beauty sublime but untouchable, we were not the sun to make that flower bloom; but, undaunted, we ran with the love we had, the luck we didn't - damn them both, our blindness makes the two the same. Now, poets all, write a couplet to complete this sonnet de la semaine. - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
sir baden powell patrol award winners, 2003-04
i took off running
with your hand in my pocket
to get a head start
on kissing the revolution
back to life,
because if we give those
meddling kids a chance,
they’ll steal the fun
right from our drinks
and laugh all the way home
with nothing to lose,
to open all the windows
for fear of suffocation,
or waking up
in a room
that smells like sleep;
i took a chance on you
the moment i held my breath
“because luck,
and love
are just walking around
with your eyes closed;”
believe me:
if i could see the moon
from my bedroom window
i would have started shooting
months ago.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(1 poem added 01.21.12)
editor's note: Blind are both, luck and love. But, blind or not, good scouts keep their guns cleaned and ready. "Always be prepared!" - mh
Tea in the Flower Shop
For CW
You are the center
of a million thoughts
fizzling smoke-like from a cannon,
just trapped outlining a powder
keg
in the rain.
The teeth in your mouth
are an effervescent
glare
against the bottle of bourbon in the top drawer
of the borrowed dresser you loaned me.
You’re pretty,
Like hibiscus in a tea bag,
and I want to taste you.
I wont,
ever,
because when I come around
you’re only a bud and
not a
bloom.
- Zach Fishel
(1 poem added 01.20.12)
editor's note: The bourbon bees buzz this blossom to no avail. Alas, no bloom, no bliss. - mh
Letter to a lifer
Phil,
I hope this letter finds you well.
There’s no easy way to say this
so I’ll just blurt it right out.
You know you always said
I should find somebody else?
His name is Mark, I think you’d like him.
He’s so selfless and loves the kids.
He doesn’t, can’t love them like you do,
but it’s killing them that you’re gone
for so long, and me too.
I know why you did it and will always stand by you,
but we’re all in a sentence.
Mark is the same age as me and he has a good job.
I know this isn’t going to help much,
but he supports United.
Forgive me. I’d like a divorce.
All my love,
Rosie xx
- Michael Holme
(added 01.19.12)
editor's note: This is one sad "day in the life" with sentence unsaid, but pragmatism poetic. Sorry, Phil! - mh
THEY ALWAYS GIVE YOU AWAY
Fading light but
open wide & crystal clear.
Full-on desperate but
no hint of fear.
Mortality bleeds out but
espies one more day.
The eyes always give you away.
- Mike Owens
(added 01.18.12)
editor's note: First to blink picks up the tab; life for life is a pretty steep bill. Order another day - keep the maitre d' at bay. - mh
far from salvation
It’s easier to wish on stars
when stuck with reality
as far as intentions go -
I’ve laid a graceful plan
that I hardly keep
I’ve been observing
the conservative right
pushing their religious views
Alienating more than half the population
is as solvent as drinking beer
and reading the Bible
As I do
It’s wiser to keep such things separate
since we all fall short of the glory
We’re deserving of cold astray nights
far from the sun
that grand star
all seeing eye
Could be a version of God
- Rafael Andrade Garza
(1 poem added 01.17.12)
editor's note: The graceful plans are hard to keep. Beer goes down easier out of the hot sun. Wish away! - mh
Feast
I had this dream slide over me, like a silk scarf slips from the neck. There were no words, no images, just this sensation and some kind of perfume. A faceless ghost lover passed through me, leaving something different than a memory. A haunting.
I woke up thinking of the prodigal son, how the father waits for his son, deep sorrow and faint hope bound together. How many are like that man, with much to rejoice, but a wound that colors everything. There is a table in these hearts laid for a feast. They await the day when their burden turns to celebration.
- Robert Vaughan
(added 01.16.12)
editor's note: Everyone is the errant offspring. Everyone, also the pining parent. Dinner is served, please be seated. - mh
URBAN READING
The exiled poet
without papers
passport
or green card
only wth a letter
from Ginsburg
gets into the cab,
hears Coltrane riffs
and the blues,
it starts to snow
on the windshield
tiny flakes
like stolen kisses,
the sky is absent
and the fare rises
the hungry poet
jumps out of the taxi
on asphalt streets
hitches for a ride
on moonstruck miles
a surrealist
with action paintings
in her car
picks up the poet
who goes to the university
Ginsburg is there
with kisses for us.
- BZ Niditch
(added 01.15.12)
editor's note: No fare? Then it's fair to jump ship and hitch with another passing in the night. Ginsberg watches over all wayward poets. - 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...
Expressin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Pollution Crunch (above) by featured artist, Fabio Sassi. Please join us in saying 'Benvenuto!' to our newest featured artist. Fabio's striking works of art captured our eyes from miles away, from the tasty sounding city of Bologna in that boot-shaped country half-way across the world to our cozy lil Mad Swirl cave in Dallas, now delivered to your senses right here in the Mad Gallery. His works of art have an extreme feel of cultural awareness. Immediately one can tell that Fabio is not just concerned with making art. He brings a new level to it. He makes art with profound messages one can take with them long afterwards. He has a rather simple style, but with a big, screaming meaning behind it. Check out Fabio's work and be prepared to say 'Fantastico!' to his profound messages, political and cultural mindfulness... with a mad twist of 'The King' in space... for good measure. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we endured the annals of an exiled poet, identified with the disenfranchised; we found cause for celebration in universal reconciliation, killed the fatted calf; from reconciliation we viewed a fair salvation, from bible, beer and the eye of god; then we stole another view, a clear-eyed peak at (im)mortality; mortality stared back through a cold Dear John, written by a pragmatic (soon to be ex) partner; we stared some more at beauty sublime but untouchable, we were not the sun to make that flower bloom; but, undaunted, we ran with the love we had, the luck we didn't - damn them both, our blindness makes the two the same. Now, poets all, write a couplet to complete this sonnet de la semaine. - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
sir baden powell patrol award winners, 2003-04
i took off running
with your hand in my pocket
to get a head start
on kissing the revolution
back to life,
because if we give those
meddling kids a chance,
they’ll steal the fun
right from our drinks
and laugh all the way home
with nothing to lose,
to open all the windows
for fear of suffocation,
or waking up
in a room
that smells like sleep;
i took a chance on you
the moment i held my breath
“because luck,
and love
are just walking around
with your eyes closed;”
believe me:
if i could see the moon
from my bedroom window
i would have started shooting
months ago.
- Andrew Chmielowiec
(1 poem added 01.21.12)
editor's note: Blind are both, luck and love. But, blind or not, good scouts keep their guns cleaned and ready. "Always be prepared!" - mh
Tea in the Flower Shop
For CW
You are the center
of a million thoughts
fizzling smoke-like from a cannon,
just trapped outlining a powder
keg
in the rain.
The teeth in your mouth
are an effervescent
glare
against the bottle of bourbon in the top drawer
of the borrowed dresser you loaned me.
You’re pretty,
Like hibiscus in a tea bag,
and I want to taste you.
I wont,
ever,
because when I come around
you’re only a bud and
not a
bloom.
- Zach Fishel
(1 poem added 01.20.12)
editor's note: The bourbon bees buzz this blossom to no avail. Alas, no bloom, no bliss. - mh
Letter to a lifer
Phil,
I hope this letter finds you well.
There’s no easy way to say this
so I’ll just blurt it right out.
You know you always said
I should find somebody else?
His name is Mark, I think you’d like him.
He’s so selfless and loves the kids.
He doesn’t, can’t love them like you do,
but it’s killing them that you’re gone
for so long, and me too.
I know why you did it and will always stand by you,
but we’re all in a sentence.
Mark is the same age as me and he has a good job.
I know this isn’t going to help much,
but he supports United.
Forgive me. I’d like a divorce.
All my love,
Rosie xx
- Michael Holme
(added 01.19.12)
editor's note: This is one sad "day in the life" with sentence unsaid, but pragmatism poetic. Sorry, Phil! - mh
THEY ALWAYS GIVE YOU AWAY
Fading light but
open wide & crystal clear.
Full-on desperate but
no hint of fear.
Mortality bleeds out but
espies one more day.
The eyes always give you away.
- Mike Owens
(added 01.18.12)
editor's note: First to blink picks up the tab; life for life is a pretty steep bill. Order another day - keep the maitre d' at bay. - mh
far from salvation
It’s easier to wish on stars
when stuck with reality
as far as intentions go -
I’ve laid a graceful plan
that I hardly keep
I’ve been observing
the conservative right
pushing their religious views
Alienating more than half the population
is as solvent as drinking beer
and reading the Bible
As I do
It’s wiser to keep such things separate
since we all fall short of the glory
We’re deserving of cold astray nights
far from the sun
that grand star
all seeing eye
Could be a version of God
- Rafael Andrade Garza
(1 poem added 01.17.12)
editor's note: The graceful plans are hard to keep. Beer goes down easier out of the hot sun. Wish away! - mh
Feast
I had this dream slide over me, like a silk scarf slips from the neck. There were no words, no images, just this sensation and some kind of perfume. A faceless ghost lover passed through me, leaving something different than a memory. A haunting.
I woke up thinking of the prodigal son, how the father waits for his son, deep sorrow and faint hope bound together. How many are like that man, with much to rejoice, but a wound that colors everything. There is a table in these hearts laid for a feast. They await the day when their burden turns to celebration.
- Robert Vaughan
(added 01.16.12)
editor's note: Everyone is the errant offspring. Everyone, also the pining parent. Dinner is served, please be seated. - mh
URBAN READING
The exiled poet
without papers
passport
or green card
only wth a letter
from Ginsburg
gets into the cab,
hears Coltrane riffs
and the blues,
it starts to snow
on the windshield
tiny flakes
like stolen kisses,
the sky is absent
and the fare rises
the hungry poet
jumps out of the taxi
on asphalt streets
hitches for a ride
on moonstruck miles
a surrealist
with action paintings
in her car
picks up the poet
who goes to the university
Ginsburg is there
with kisses for us.
- BZ Niditch
(added 01.15.12)
editor's note: No fare? Then it's fair to jump ship and hitch with another passing in the night. Ginsberg watches over all wayward poets. - 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...
Expressin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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