The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 04.28.12
“We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand.” C. Day Lewis
The inner is a mirror of the outer (above) by featured artist, David Arthur-Simons, 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!
•••••••••••
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...
[Hello I’ll Be]
Hello my name’s Steven and I’ll be
your imperative this evening
Can I...
finish you off
with something else to drink?
Tonight we're featuring rapid descent.
Decided have you?
Can I take your...
What?
Please relax...
We don't offer take away
and your chin's too wet
for any more
Anyway...
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 04.28.12)
editor's note: The downward plummet will be comfy cuz Steven is here to make it so. Buckle up and wipe your chin. - mh
Night Observatories #19
In the luminous narthex, the proboscis perforates our worn lepidopteran abdomen
in the gaping aisles, the cells swarm the pagan desires.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(1 poem added 04.27.12)
editor's note: In the Church of Insect Adoration, a butterfly sacrifice appeases impenitent bees. - mh
Constant Reminder
Light left on to
Fight the shadows.
Up late
With no tomorrow.
Not defeated,
No marks to show.
How exactly
Does it hurt you?
How exactly
Did your anger say?
How meaningful
The torture
And the darkness
I inherited.
The madness
Made from everyday
ingredients
lingers.
If nothing else,
It reminds me of you.
- Clay Driver
(added 04.26.12)
editor's note: After the fracas, we still hear those words meant to break us. Sticks and stones... - mh
Ask Fante
Dust on the lamp,
Bachelor dust,
The dust that clings like
Misery.
There have been a lot of women
In this room,
But not one has ever stopped
To clean the
Dust,
Make tea,
Stay for dinner.
They have all been too
Busy
For such things,
And have kept me too busy
To notice it,
Until now,
Valentine’s Day 2012,
And I look deeply into that
Dust
Clinging on the lamp:
Five years
Worth.
- Robert D. Lyons
(1 poem added 04.25.12)
editor's note: Archeologists, years from now, will excavate these rich layers to find the secrets of a lost civilization - while their own dust gathers. (Welcome Robert to our sometimes cryptic crew of Contributing Poets.) - mh
Moon Prayer
Yesterday
in that waned
or waxed time of night
on the long walk home
with the moon hidden
so hidden
in fact
it was just a smear
of white under more white
the way the sun can be at times
both blotted and blotting us out,
I said your name out loud
without expecting you to answer.
And for a moment I was more than less.
I could be that indifferent element
that charred wood,
that spark of flame,
that bubble of water,
that small breeze,
that rustles the back of a single leaf.
Or more, an atom
a muscle strained, unstrained,
strained again.
Something simpler.
Praise to the child king
and the walking stick.
Praise to the warrior girl,
the tallest trees,
praise to the mushroom,
the hot hot sand and the wettest sea,
praise to the next life,
praise to the train tracks and leaf blades
to the molecule splitting,
to the whale, floating weightless
praise to the moon.
Praised be.
- Ally Malinenko
(1 poem added 04.24.12)
editor's note: Speak a name, praised be! Believing there are ears to hear is more than less indeed. - mh
NO MARCH BLUES
In the redolent
snow kisses
the relief muted
at a posthoumous season
incognito you carry
your sax
by a surprising storm
and drang
stiffened by fishers
of buried ice
your carmelized socks
fallen in liquid silence
by your wet shadow
consumed by sunshine
over the long steppes
traced by a red scarfed
poet glazed
by falling birds
on an absent sky
- BZ Niditch
(added 04.23.12)
editor's note: Saxophone stress, as perceived by a perennial poet, too cold for a red scarf. - mh
The blank nothingness
The blank nothingness
Of my daily life
Settles deep into my bones
Like an intense winter
Coldness that cuts past
Blood, past flesh, and
Inches its way
Into the deep marrow
Of my soul.
I feel it pulling at me
Like a child tugging
At my coat
For my devout attention.
My soul is tattered
Like a wind sock
And sways crazily
In the freezing wind.
I cannot get back
To myself.
- Dawnell Harrison
(added 04.22.12)
editor's note: When lost in nothingness, nothing is lost. - 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...
Understandin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Come one, come all! Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
On 05.02.12, starting at 8:00 sharp, Mad Swirl will feature some of the maddest poets that we knoweth... Desmene Statum & Chris Zimmerly! You just never know what you're gonna get when these two get on the mic but you DO KNOW it's gonna be mad, damn mad! Get there early to enjoy the show and stick around to get your spot on our open mic set-list. Host Johnny O and guest co-host Chris Zimmerly will be callin' all you mystically mad poets, musicians, dancers, actors, singers, performers & any other miscellaneous mad ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth area to come & strut your mad stuff! We will be limiting the list to 15 - 18 spots... first come, first on the list! So get there early!
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
•••••••••••
Just in case you missed it, here's just a taste of the poetry we featured this week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...
[Hello I’ll Be]
Hello my name’s Steven and I’ll be
your imperative this evening
Can I...
finish you off
with something else to drink?
Tonight we're featuring rapid descent.
Decided have you?
Can I take your...
What?
Please relax...
We don't offer take away
and your chin's too wet
for any more
Anyway...
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 04.28.12)
editor's note: The downward plummet will be comfy cuz Steven is here to make it so. Buckle up and wipe your chin. - mh
Night Observatories #19
In the luminous narthex, the proboscis perforates our worn lepidopteran abdomen
in the gaping aisles, the cells swarm the pagan desires.
- Walter Ruhlmann
(1 poem added 04.27.12)
editor's note: In the Church of Insect Adoration, a butterfly sacrifice appeases impenitent bees. - mh
Constant Reminder
Light left on to
Fight the shadows.
Up late
With no tomorrow.
Not defeated,
No marks to show.
How exactly
Does it hurt you?
How exactly
Did your anger say?
How meaningful
The torture
And the darkness
I inherited.
The madness
Made from everyday
ingredients
lingers.
If nothing else,
It reminds me of you.
- Clay Driver
(added 04.26.12)
editor's note: After the fracas, we still hear those words meant to break us. Sticks and stones... - mh
Ask Fante
Dust on the lamp,
Bachelor dust,
The dust that clings like
Misery.
There have been a lot of women
In this room,
But not one has ever stopped
To clean the
Dust,
Make tea,
Stay for dinner.
They have all been too
Busy
For such things,
And have kept me too busy
To notice it,
Until now,
Valentine’s Day 2012,
And I look deeply into that
Dust
Clinging on the lamp:
Five years
Worth.
- Robert D. Lyons
(1 poem added 04.25.12)
editor's note: Archeologists, years from now, will excavate these rich layers to find the secrets of a lost civilization - while their own dust gathers. (Welcome Robert to our sometimes cryptic crew of Contributing Poets.) - mh
Moon Prayer
Yesterday
in that waned
or waxed time of night
on the long walk home
with the moon hidden
so hidden
in fact
it was just a smear
of white under more white
the way the sun can be at times
both blotted and blotting us out,
I said your name out loud
without expecting you to answer.
And for a moment I was more than less.
I could be that indifferent element
that charred wood,
that spark of flame,
that bubble of water,
that small breeze,
that rustles the back of a single leaf.
Or more, an atom
a muscle strained, unstrained,
strained again.
Something simpler.
Praise to the child king
and the walking stick.
Praise to the warrior girl,
the tallest trees,
praise to the mushroom,
the hot hot sand and the wettest sea,
praise to the next life,
praise to the train tracks and leaf blades
to the molecule splitting,
to the whale, floating weightless
praise to the moon.
Praised be.
- Ally Malinenko
(1 poem added 04.24.12)
editor's note: Speak a name, praised be! Believing there are ears to hear is more than less indeed. - mh
NO MARCH BLUES
In the redolent
snow kisses
the relief muted
at a posthoumous season
incognito you carry
your sax
by a surprising storm
and drang
stiffened by fishers
of buried ice
your carmelized socks
fallen in liquid silence
by your wet shadow
consumed by sunshine
over the long steppes
traced by a red scarfed
poet glazed
by falling birds
on an absent sky
- BZ Niditch
(added 04.23.12)
editor's note: Saxophone stress, as perceived by a perennial poet, too cold for a red scarf. - mh
The blank nothingness
The blank nothingness
Of my daily life
Settles deep into my bones
Like an intense winter
Coldness that cuts past
Blood, past flesh, and
Inches its way
Into the deep marrow
Of my soul.
I feel it pulling at me
Like a child tugging
At my coat
For my devout attention.
My soul is tattered
Like a wind sock
And sways crazily
In the freezing wind.
I cannot get back
To myself.
- Dawnell Harrison
(added 04.22.12)
editor's note: When lost in nothingness, nothing is lost. - 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...
Understandin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
P.S. Come one, come all! Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
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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