The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 04.07.12
“I hate straight singing. I have to change a tune to my own way of doing it. That's all I know.” Billie Holiday
Digital illustration by Johnny Olson
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we polished a trophy; spun some wheels; trolled for bacon; fondled a muse; blew a kiss; pulled some skin and scoffed at a hero. Quick to state but long to ponder - still mulling it over. - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
LAWRENCE ON THE STREET WITH DESTRUCTION ON HIS MIND
Picture yourself sitting indoors with the TV blaring
Whilst outside all around is carnage everywhere
The rioters loot from the shop downstairs and
You worry that your flat is going to go up in flames
Just how you’ve seen on the television screen
Lawrence is on the street with destruction in his mind
So far he’s got a facebook page dedicated to him
Despite the fact that no one knew it was him who
Millions saw trying to rip a plasma TV off in a betting shop
You’re sat in yr flat watching the TV news
Thinking this isn’t how the revolution should be
Gill-Scott would be turning in his grave
This was not how he pictured the revolution
To be, it was not about a consumerist binge
Lawrence is on the street with destruction in his mind
So far he’s got a Facebook page dedicated to him
And a burgeoning celebrity career once all this is done
Burn down this, steal that, this is his revolution
What we have to ask is what revolution is for?
The bettering of a single life or an improvement for all
We downtrodden masses don’t want plasma screen TV’s
We just want a fair system that won’t hold us back
From doing what it is that we truly want to do
- Bradford Middleton
(1 poem added 04.07.12)
editor's note: Discerning the thug from the true revolutionary? If it's your TV that's stolen, Lawrence is a thug! - mh
RESTLESS
A face on a flag, the wind
gives it voice.
Steam from the day retires
nights grasp.
Horns and lights, the blood
of cities, pull at the weak.
People envy the closure of circles,
the place where end
is welcomed and faces are
familiar.
Lights breathe onto
crowded shorelines where
people are the high tide of waters,
pulling at the skin
of the city.
- Roger G. Singer
(1 poem added 04.06.12)
editor's note: It's a macrocosm of insomniac affliction, human corpuscles counted like sheep - still no sleep! - mh
AND NOW IT IS TIME TO SAY GOODBYE
Watching her go, I had a thought:
Now, this is the end of the end.
Stable but shaken & a bit distraught;
I realized our marriage we failed to mend…
Torn forever,
This time.
Better to sever,
For lack of rhyme…
Knowing all along,
This day would come
I tried to stay strong,
At least strong to some…
And finally, This:
(In just the blink of an eye)
I blew her a kiss-
And now it is time to say goodbye.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 04.05.12)
editor's note: Love gone wrong makes the saddest goodbye and the harshest weight-loss program. Blow that kiss, turn around... - mh
Just Friends
She crosses her legs, my words
Entangle in her stockings.
She leans towards me,
Her breath massaging my neck –
Our friendship closer than my own skin.
Bare shoulders shrug,
My mind goes into orbit,
My pulse racing as her smile
Slowly takes over the room.
A mere mortal she drags me onto
Mount Olympus, the sheer sides
Of her thighs hold onto
My eyes. When she laughs
Her head is thrown back
Her soft neck, her throat,
Tormenting my hands,
Though my fingers are empty.
We part without touching.
She walks away, the rhythm
Of her hips pounding my heart
With that rounded, tightness,
I will imagine throughout the night,
My hands still clinging to her shape
At dawn.
- Derrick Gaskin
(2 poems added 04.04.12)
editor's note: The object of our affection is most beautiful when just beyond our reach. (Another one for insomniacs on Derrick's page - check it out.) - mh
BACON AND TROLLS
bacon is so good,
trolls on the internet playing
bacon is still good
- Michael Ian Sattler
(1 poem added 04.03.12)
editor's note: Crispy or chewy, not even trolls can beat bacon. - mh
sunk
I awoke to darkness
and followed the moon.
The sky began to lighten
and the moon, then frightened,
was fading; a pallid pastel.
And westward I continued,
as slowly the moon sank
greeting the waves with a kiss
and into the sand my tires sink.
I drove to the horizon and fell.
- GMSpear
(added 04.02.12)
editor's note: Follow the white line. Leave the horizon in your wake before you wake. - mh
Badge
It would hang two inches by one,
of hallmarked silver, luring him into the shop.
It was detailed to the belly button.
The finely cast body made him sadden but excite,
when he saw Christ so clearly.
He bought a two foot chain for it,
and tried it on. It was modestly hidden by a shirt.
He smiled at the jeweller
and received no response,
as if their religions didn’t snap.
He wore it with pride,
but now it’s lying in his bedroom drawer,
neglected since his mania passed
one still, crisp
autumn morning.
The crucifix mingles with strips of lithium and risperidone.
He’d been taking those straight-jackets
since that turn of summer 98,
when his mind made runaway connections,
and he thought he’d finally grasped the truth.
- Michael Holme
(1 poem added 04.01.12)
editor's note: Bedroom drawers are the smartest place to keep old emblems of passed enlightenment. Damn, I had to get a tattoo! (Welcome Michael Holme to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets by reading more on his new poetry page.) - 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...
Singin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Digital illustration by Johnny Olson
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we polished a trophy; spun some wheels; trolled for bacon; fondled a muse; blew a kiss; pulled some skin and scoffed at a hero. Quick to state but long to ponder - still mulling it over. - mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
LAWRENCE ON THE STREET WITH DESTRUCTION ON HIS MIND
Picture yourself sitting indoors with the TV blaring
Whilst outside all around is carnage everywhere
The rioters loot from the shop downstairs and
You worry that your flat is going to go up in flames
Just how you’ve seen on the television screen
Lawrence is on the street with destruction in his mind
So far he’s got a facebook page dedicated to him
Despite the fact that no one knew it was him who
Millions saw trying to rip a plasma TV off in a betting shop
You’re sat in yr flat watching the TV news
Thinking this isn’t how the revolution should be
Gill-Scott would be turning in his grave
This was not how he pictured the revolution
To be, it was not about a consumerist binge
Lawrence is on the street with destruction in his mind
So far he’s got a Facebook page dedicated to him
And a burgeoning celebrity career once all this is done
Burn down this, steal that, this is his revolution
What we have to ask is what revolution is for?
The bettering of a single life or an improvement for all
We downtrodden masses don’t want plasma screen TV’s
We just want a fair system that won’t hold us back
From doing what it is that we truly want to do
- Bradford Middleton
(1 poem added 04.07.12)
editor's note: Discerning the thug from the true revolutionary? If it's your TV that's stolen, Lawrence is a thug! - mh
RESTLESS
A face on a flag, the wind
gives it voice.
Steam from the day retires
nights grasp.
Horns and lights, the blood
of cities, pull at the weak.
People envy the closure of circles,
the place where end
is welcomed and faces are
familiar.
Lights breathe onto
crowded shorelines where
people are the high tide of waters,
pulling at the skin
of the city.
- Roger G. Singer
(1 poem added 04.06.12)
editor's note: It's a macrocosm of insomniac affliction, human corpuscles counted like sheep - still no sleep! - mh
AND NOW IT IS TIME TO SAY GOODBYE
Watching her go, I had a thought:
Now, this is the end of the end.
Stable but shaken & a bit distraught;
I realized our marriage we failed to mend…
Torn forever,
This time.
Better to sever,
For lack of rhyme…
Knowing all along,
This day would come
I tried to stay strong,
At least strong to some…
And finally, This:
(In just the blink of an eye)
I blew her a kiss-
And now it is time to say goodbye.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 04.05.12)
editor's note: Love gone wrong makes the saddest goodbye and the harshest weight-loss program. Blow that kiss, turn around... - mh
Just Friends
She crosses her legs, my words
Entangle in her stockings.
She leans towards me,
Her breath massaging my neck –
Our friendship closer than my own skin.
Bare shoulders shrug,
My mind goes into orbit,
My pulse racing as her smile
Slowly takes over the room.
A mere mortal she drags me onto
Mount Olympus, the sheer sides
Of her thighs hold onto
My eyes. When she laughs
Her head is thrown back
Her soft neck, her throat,
Tormenting my hands,
Though my fingers are empty.
We part without touching.
She walks away, the rhythm
Of her hips pounding my heart
With that rounded, tightness,
I will imagine throughout the night,
My hands still clinging to her shape
At dawn.
- Derrick Gaskin
(2 poems added 04.04.12)
editor's note: The object of our affection is most beautiful when just beyond our reach. (Another one for insomniacs on Derrick's page - check it out.) - mh
BACON AND TROLLS
bacon is so good,
trolls on the internet playing
bacon is still good
- Michael Ian Sattler
(1 poem added 04.03.12)
editor's note: Crispy or chewy, not even trolls can beat bacon. - mh
sunk
I awoke to darkness
and followed the moon.
The sky began to lighten
and the moon, then frightened,
was fading; a pallid pastel.
And westward I continued,
as slowly the moon sank
greeting the waves with a kiss
and into the sand my tires sink.
I drove to the horizon and fell.
- GMSpear
(added 04.02.12)
editor's note: Follow the white line. Leave the horizon in your wake before you wake. - mh
Badge
It would hang two inches by one,
of hallmarked silver, luring him into the shop.
It was detailed to the belly button.
The finely cast body made him sadden but excite,
when he saw Christ so clearly.
He bought a two foot chain for it,
and tried it on. It was modestly hidden by a shirt.
He smiled at the jeweller
and received no response,
as if their religions didn’t snap.
He wore it with pride,
but now it’s lying in his bedroom drawer,
neglected since his mania passed
one still, crisp
autumn morning.
The crucifix mingles with strips of lithium and risperidone.
He’d been taking those straight-jackets
since that turn of summer 98,
when his mind made runaway connections,
and he thought he’d finally grasped the truth.
- Michael Holme
(1 poem added 04.01.12)
editor's note: Bedroom drawers are the smartest place to keep old emblems of passed enlightenment. Damn, I had to get a tattoo! (Welcome Michael Holme to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets by reading more on his new poetry page.) - 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...
Singin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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