The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 03.03.12
“There's a bit of magic in everything, and some loss to even things out.” Lou Reed
Cobalt (above) by featured artist, Sheri L. Wright.
This months mad artist comes to us with a fresh, innovative style. And who could say no to fresh and innovative? Needless to say, but we'll say it anyway, we say yes to Sheri L. Wright! Sheri prides herself in her ability to capture the 'discarded and overlooked' - the ordinary bits of everyday life - in a not-so-ordinary way. Art exists everywhere around us, though sometimes hard to see with the naked eye. Only a special few can find beauty in an old beat-up Chevy. Thanks to Sheri, we all can. That is, of course, if we all click here, and check out her astounding photography. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we almost didn't get off the dime, beginning, beginning, beginning; we were blessed with the beauty of birdsong beatitudes; we sluffed the sting of smoke in our eyes to smile and snicker at the grand inquisition; we unwound the ire of a continent unsettled and ignored, learned not to laugh in the line of fire; we hung arrhythmic heart-thrums on hurtful sights; we watched ripples of submarine vision slow to still, then heard the world differently; lastly, with our ears now tuned, we searched the silence for salvation in birdsong again. Gray matter perception parsed the week from stalled beginning to sing-song end.
SWEET PASSERINE
The bird visited in my thirty-eighth year
I heard from this window tunes of freedom
Abandoned to the world as she was
In the dawn and the dusk she would always appear
On the same branch perched and unfussed
Singing lustily, thrusting out song to my ear
For two years she came to a sick cell’s outlook
And I’m sure others shared in the pleasure I took
For she didn’t care who heard her, not neighbour
Nor jailer, she was fearless
And then one full starred night she appeared silent
Her throat dry or her talent spent or her needs unrequited
I sat in my room and held the moon
Between finger and thumb for only a moment
- Anthony Murphy
(1 poem added 03.03.12)
editor's note: What portends this cessation of song? Learn to whistle or hum or tap the tune with thumb and forefinger - keep the silence away. - mh
Nightwater
This is how the songs form
with the rain
they come down
in hail and lightning
to the water at night
a line of moon on the ground
Thunder and one long note
brings the nightwater
floating under patterns
bottle-blue spirits
bob and convulse
A mirror above, below
alive in both worlds
sinking down to watch the surface
ripples tremble then still
one solid pane of glass
lined by blinds
that let in slits of light
In water space
voices narrow
and take me with them
I see the world from underwater.
- Summer Qabazard
(added 03.02.12)
editor's note: We are at the bottom of a sea, wondering how long we can hold our breath. Exhale to see another world. - mh
vision is a septal defect.
you will envisage
a reaction to misplaced rhythm
buried within my soft torso
your forearm quarrying, into the cavern
covetous, your hand thrusting past
my unhinged jaw, my meted throat
you will not see, grasping
but it is hanging in my eyes
© 2012
- Heather Brager
(1 poem added 03.01.12)
editor's note: The good doctors move to treat the physical and obvious; oblivious to the possibility that our heart troubles originate with what we see. (Welcome Heather to our Contributing Poets. See more of her poetry on her page.) - mh
Africa Lament
They have made a caricature of me
Those evil linens on skyscrapers
They have decreased me lower than the status of ants
Those bloody lions from the Western dens
In mockery and scornful merriments
With contempt from top to bottom
They have stamped false names on my identity card.
But you, remember now your long promise
To wholly shower on me treasures of darkness
To freely give unto me hidden riches of secret places
So establish now that which you had promised
So revive now my pure jealous glory
And become the Lord of my pistol
I will rename you King of the Sahara.
These dogs that seek to ravish my beauty
O restore now my cloak of barbed wire
To pierce and electrocute them all
These dry fruits that seek to sore my tongue
O restore now my appetite for safety
With vessels virtuous and succulent
Then you can take charge over my trigger.
- Kufre Udeme
(1 poem added 02.29.12)
editor's note: The conquered continent will not be ignored, nor conquered forever. If you can't set the safety on, best get out of the line of fire. (Kufre joins our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this poem. See some of his other work on his new page. Welcome, Kufre!) - mh
Above the Rest
Smoke sees the tumult prior to my departure,
It rises; ready, I glance at its eyes
Accepting the paroxysm that waits
When my fate arrives.
Smoke's vision, clearer than my own,
Lies to no man once determined.
A ghastly and costly affair,
It suffocates and drowns.
Our eyes refused to meet at first,
You see, my brain chemistry in question,
I honestly deluded myself into immortality,
Like Gaia, above the rest.
I discovered too late my laziness
Earned below average results,
Only my girl, pounding me with pills,
Feels differently.
A dying man can avoid desperation:
If I can muster the breath,
I'll chuckle my way to my judgment.
I'll ask my girl to place a smile on my corpse.
- Sander Blome
(2 poems added 02.28.12)
editor's note: With tears streaming, no telling what we see in any case; true love, life's struggle. Might's well lie down, swallow another pill, exit with a little laugh! (See another one from Sander on his page - some nighttime chatter, it's a call for you.) - mh
If Birds were to be Believed
If birds were to be believed,
Home birthing would make more sense than
Most modern measures of cutting or drugging.
If we listened to cattle’s low,
Funding would spill easier than
Pay per SEO words or term papers.
If grasshoppers were heeded,
Planted truths would multiply faster than
Convergent media cottoning, including their picking among principles.
If we dared to reinforce personal event verities,
Taking responsibility would become simpler than
Combing hair with fingers or brushing teeth without paste.
Hitherto, birdsong, reliable agronomics, media ethics, interpersonal niceties
Remain rarer than instances of assorted rhetorical styles of dead, Greek orators.
After all, commerce’s kudzu reaches no friendly tentacles or praise toward common folk.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 02.27.12)
editor's note: No kudzu would sate the common appetite, nor graecus oratorius speak an apology. Foreign is foreign and such a shame when all are common after all. - mh
A Beginning
Beginning is beautiful
The first ray of the sun battling against the last curtain of darkness
The male dogs exercising faintly
male drivers honking, whistling, teasing female drivers
Traffic police jumping off the round-about stopping the microbus
Becoming a human shield
This is a beginning
Employers at NTC coming late for the job
Criticizing me deliberately
This is a beginning
Walking in the dusty road
Sitting in an ancient temple
An idea strikes in the mind
A Beginning is all I need,
I sang a beautiful song, crap.
I tried to rap, crap.
I became the PM of Nepal, crap.
I’ve stopped sleeping, crap.
Beginning is beautiful
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 02.26.12)
editor's note: Who says the goal is the prime objective, when the track is fraught with obstacles? Better the exhilaration from approaching the starting line. Get ready... Get Set... - 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...
Keepin' It Even,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Come and check out the Mad Swirl Bunch!
Join Mad Swirl on 03.07.12 when we will feature... the Mad Swirl Bunch! Swirve will kick things off at 8:00 and then starting at 8:30, we will be featuring the Mad Swirl staffers and founders... Johnny O (Papa Swirl, founder & editor-in-chief), MH Clay (our illustrious poetry editor), Tyler Malone, (our newly appointed short story editor extraordinaire), Madelyn Olson (visionary visual editor), Lisa "Ohhh" Carmen (Mama Swirl & co-founder) and Cheyenne Gallion (co-founder & mad creative consultant)! You DO NOT want to miss this kick-off feature set. Why? Because we will also be starting our new streamlined set-list. Yes, instead of just swirling and whirling along until time runs out and we can’t stay on the mic any longer, we will be limiting the list to 15 - 18 spots... first come, first on!
Come one, come all! Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to be a part of this swirlin' madness!
Where's this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
And please, by all means, FEEL FREE TO SPREAD THE WORD!
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
Cobalt (above) by featured artist, Sheri L. Wright.
This months mad artist comes to us with a fresh, innovative style. And who could say no to fresh and innovative? Needless to say, but we'll say it anyway, we say yes to Sheri L. Wright! Sheri prides herself in her ability to capture the 'discarded and overlooked' - the ordinary bits of everyday life - in a not-so-ordinary way. Art exists everywhere around us, though sometimes hard to see with the naked eye. Only a special few can find beauty in an old beat-up Chevy. Thanks to Sheri, we all can. That is, of course, if we all click here, and check out her astounding photography. - mio
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we almost didn't get off the dime, beginning, beginning, beginning; we were blessed with the beauty of birdsong beatitudes; we sluffed the sting of smoke in our eyes to smile and snicker at the grand inquisition; we unwound the ire of a continent unsettled and ignored, learned not to laugh in the line of fire; we hung arrhythmic heart-thrums on hurtful sights; we watched ripples of submarine vision slow to still, then heard the world differently; lastly, with our ears now tuned, we searched the silence for salvation in birdsong again. Gray matter perception parsed the week from stalled beginning to sing-song end.
SWEET PASSERINE
The bird visited in my thirty-eighth year
I heard from this window tunes of freedom
Abandoned to the world as she was
In the dawn and the dusk she would always appear
On the same branch perched and unfussed
Singing lustily, thrusting out song to my ear
For two years she came to a sick cell’s outlook
And I’m sure others shared in the pleasure I took
For she didn’t care who heard her, not neighbour
Nor jailer, she was fearless
And then one full starred night she appeared silent
Her throat dry or her talent spent or her needs unrequited
I sat in my room and held the moon
Between finger and thumb for only a moment
- Anthony Murphy
(1 poem added 03.03.12)
editor's note: What portends this cessation of song? Learn to whistle or hum or tap the tune with thumb and forefinger - keep the silence away. - mh
Nightwater
This is how the songs form
with the rain
they come down
in hail and lightning
to the water at night
a line of moon on the ground
Thunder and one long note
brings the nightwater
floating under patterns
bottle-blue spirits
bob and convulse
A mirror above, below
alive in both worlds
sinking down to watch the surface
ripples tremble then still
one solid pane of glass
lined by blinds
that let in slits of light
In water space
voices narrow
and take me with them
I see the world from underwater.
- Summer Qabazard
(added 03.02.12)
editor's note: We are at the bottom of a sea, wondering how long we can hold our breath. Exhale to see another world. - mh
vision is a septal defect.
you will envisage
a reaction to misplaced rhythm
buried within my soft torso
your forearm quarrying, into the cavern
covetous, your hand thrusting past
my unhinged jaw, my meted throat
you will not see, grasping
but it is hanging in my eyes
© 2012
- Heather Brager
(1 poem added 03.01.12)
editor's note: The good doctors move to treat the physical and obvious; oblivious to the possibility that our heart troubles originate with what we see. (Welcome Heather to our Contributing Poets. See more of her poetry on her page.) - mh
Africa Lament
They have made a caricature of me
Those evil linens on skyscrapers
They have decreased me lower than the status of ants
Those bloody lions from the Western dens
In mockery and scornful merriments
With contempt from top to bottom
They have stamped false names on my identity card.
But you, remember now your long promise
To wholly shower on me treasures of darkness
To freely give unto me hidden riches of secret places
So establish now that which you had promised
So revive now my pure jealous glory
And become the Lord of my pistol
I will rename you King of the Sahara.
These dogs that seek to ravish my beauty
O restore now my cloak of barbed wire
To pierce and electrocute them all
These dry fruits that seek to sore my tongue
O restore now my appetite for safety
With vessels virtuous and succulent
Then you can take charge over my trigger.
- Kufre Udeme
(1 poem added 02.29.12)
editor's note: The conquered continent will not be ignored, nor conquered forever. If you can't set the safety on, best get out of the line of fire. (Kufre joins our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this poem. See some of his other work on his new page. Welcome, Kufre!) - mh
Above the Rest
Smoke sees the tumult prior to my departure,
It rises; ready, I glance at its eyes
Accepting the paroxysm that waits
When my fate arrives.
Smoke's vision, clearer than my own,
Lies to no man once determined.
A ghastly and costly affair,
It suffocates and drowns.
Our eyes refused to meet at first,
You see, my brain chemistry in question,
I honestly deluded myself into immortality,
Like Gaia, above the rest.
I discovered too late my laziness
Earned below average results,
Only my girl, pounding me with pills,
Feels differently.
A dying man can avoid desperation:
If I can muster the breath,
I'll chuckle my way to my judgment.
I'll ask my girl to place a smile on my corpse.
- Sander Blome
(2 poems added 02.28.12)
editor's note: With tears streaming, no telling what we see in any case; true love, life's struggle. Might's well lie down, swallow another pill, exit with a little laugh! (See another one from Sander on his page - some nighttime chatter, it's a call for you.) - mh
If Birds were to be Believed
If birds were to be believed,
Home birthing would make more sense than
Most modern measures of cutting or drugging.
If we listened to cattle’s low,
Funding would spill easier than
Pay per SEO words or term papers.
If grasshoppers were heeded,
Planted truths would multiply faster than
Convergent media cottoning, including their picking among principles.
If we dared to reinforce personal event verities,
Taking responsibility would become simpler than
Combing hair with fingers or brushing teeth without paste.
Hitherto, birdsong, reliable agronomics, media ethics, interpersonal niceties
Remain rarer than instances of assorted rhetorical styles of dead, Greek orators.
After all, commerce’s kudzu reaches no friendly tentacles or praise toward common folk.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 02.27.12)
editor's note: No kudzu would sate the common appetite, nor graecus oratorius speak an apology. Foreign is foreign and such a shame when all are common after all. - mh
A Beginning
Beginning is beautiful
The first ray of the sun battling against the last curtain of darkness
The male dogs exercising faintly
male drivers honking, whistling, teasing female drivers
Traffic police jumping off the round-about stopping the microbus
Becoming a human shield
This is a beginning
Employers at NTC coming late for the job
Criticizing me deliberately
This is a beginning
Walking in the dusty road
Sitting in an ancient temple
An idea strikes in the mind
A Beginning is all I need,
I sang a beautiful song, crap.
I tried to rap, crap.
I became the PM of Nepal, crap.
I’ve stopped sleeping, crap.
Beginning is beautiful
- Arun Budhathoki
(1 poem added 02.26.12)
editor's note: Who says the goal is the prime objective, when the track is fraught with obstacles? Better the exhilaration from approaching the starting line. Get ready... Get Set... - 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...
Keepin' It Even,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Come and check out the Mad Swirl Bunch!
Join Mad Swirl on 03.07.12 when we will feature... the Mad Swirl Bunch! Swirve will kick things off at 8:00 and then starting at 8:30, we will be featuring the Mad Swirl staffers and founders... Johnny O (Papa Swirl, founder & editor-in-chief), MH Clay (our illustrious poetry editor), Tyler Malone, (our newly appointed short story editor extraordinaire), Madelyn Olson (visionary visual editor), Lisa "Ohhh" Carmen (Mama Swirl & co-founder) and Cheyenne Gallion (co-founder & mad creative consultant)! You DO NOT want to miss this kick-off feature set. Why? Because we will also be starting our new streamlined set-list. Yes, instead of just swirling and whirling along until time runs out and we can’t stay on the mic any longer, we will be limiting the list to 15 - 18 spots... first come, first on!
Come one, come all! Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to be a part of this swirlin' madness!
Where's this madness take place? Absinthe Lounge is at 1409 South Lamar Street, Dallas, TX 75215 (located in the SouthSide on Lamar building)
And please, by all means, FEEL FREE TO SPREAD THE WORD!
fo'mo'info' visit www.MadSwirl.com
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