The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 10.27.12
“An artist has every right - one may even say a duty - to exhibit his productions as prominently as he can.” ~ Jacques Barzun
zaza (above) by Toni Martin, one of over 20 featured 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 yours right over here and a-way you'll GO!
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we scrutinized solicitation to silence the hard sell, appeased the eccentric child; we observed an old ingenue adrift incognito; we delved out devotion to debtors, payments remiss, sealed with a kiss; we waved a wand to a wield a split sun over the question of dawn; we chased a cherished cherub from "hello" to "farewell;" we sliced our romantic schoolboy greenness on shattered shards of first-girl meanness; we lastly langored limply in eLove, found and lost on-line. No lie! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
JPeggie Sue
I have been following
your posts
your pics
your tweets
and your blog
and I must say
you have
the prettiest
profile on Facebook
I even watched as
your status changed
from “in a relationship”
to single
and I hope it is ok
that I checked you
out on OkCupid
and I even caught you
on Plenty of Fish
and now here we are
together
you are
texting on
your iPhone
as I sit with my
iPad on my lap
each of us
with eTickets
for a flight
to New York
and Lord Almighty
we are seated
next to each other
on the plane
but then
you get your Kindle
out and never
give me a second look
so I have no choice
but to whip out
my Nook
- Ivan Jenson
(3 poems added 10.27.12)
editor's note: Ah, sweet cyber love; nearness, but no nooky. (Two more killer poems on Ivan's page - check'em out, cuz I said so.) - mh
Mean Girls
When mean girls don’t feel
pretty, they hiss and hurl
words like bolts into beauty.
And if they don’t feel
love, they will watch
for it and strike it down like a viper
upon prey. With rumors and back
stabbing, hissing lies, little snakes
gather to take down their
victim. Mean girls threatened will hurt
with impunity, slither on the backs
of others. They are so full
of their own emptiness, that they spew
hatred until they crack, and fall
to hollow pieces on the ground, leaving
their dried up skins behind.
- Sarah Clark Monagle
(added 10.26.12)
editor's note: Listening, Fellas? Now you know why that beauty for whom you fell so hard stomped so painfully, heartlessly on your adolescent ego. Mean, just mean! - mh
Shell
Flaxen ringlets, eyes
precariously close to powder-blue;
lithe flesh and edible complexion
pleasantly festooning a stretch of
summer grass, lazily embracing
a manifest juvenescence.
She will die.
Before that, she will witness, inexorably,
bodily attributes
fading, warping, sagging,
being bent earthwards by
gravity, age, emotion, vicissitudes.
She will be erased,
living out the rigmarole -
infinitesimal
unrelenting
moments,
until pallbearers are the last
to carry the burden of her shell.
- Luke Prater
(added 10.25.12)
editor's note: Art appreciation taken to its ultimate conclusion; Boticelli bumps Venus straight from the clam to the slam. - mh
The Magic of the Dawn
It’s what we all think:
there is no such thing
as magic
all sleight of hand
trap doors and mirrors
nothing is real
or what it seems
as when the magician
waves his wand
and his assistant is
halved and disappears
and with another wave
returns again
as if always there
but there are no hollow boxes
filled with mumbo jumbo words
misdirection and trickery
when the sun magically halved
then concealed by night
re-emerges from the sea.
- Neil Ellman
(1 poem added 10.24.12)
editor's note: Whaddaya mean, no magic? Just yestereve the damn thing was going down; then, when I saw it again this morn, it was going up. Seems like magic to me!!! - mh
romance isn't dead, it's just mulling things over
so many bills through
the post
stuffed with return
envelopes.
now
toungue licked
dry
lips glue
sweet--
the most loving
kisses I've
tasted
in
months.
- Ross Leese
(added 10.23.12)
editor's note: Well, it's good to know there will always be someone who loves us. - mh
Mink Coat and Hat
In mink coat and hat she briskly walks
Summer and winter the same
Talking to herself in hushed tones
Making no contact with eyes
She is old and faded, lined and grey
But carries her height so well
I wonder if she knows how to dance
And imagine her at a ball
Perhaps she was a society girl
With men at her beck and call
She may well know passionate love
Though she looks an old maid now
In mink coat and hat she briskly walks
Summer and winter the same
A woman with secrets to hold
A starlet once in her day
- Chrissie Morris Brady
(added 10.22.12)
editor's note: One day, when each of us is "old and faded, lined and grey," may young poets see us as the stars we are. - mh
An appeal
The world
is a door
to my heart—
Come in,
Come in— O pain!
Come in— O joy!
But please
come in
like the love
of mother
or the reproach
of father.
Come in
like the fresh fragrance
of jasmine
or the lulling gust
of spring’s breeze.
But please
do not bang
the door—
my child
is eccentric.
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 10.21.12)
editor's note: Solicitors are OK, but not the hard sell. No ginsu knives, miracle cleaners or magazine subscriptions - go away! - 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...
Doin' Our Duty,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we scrutinized solicitation to silence the hard sell, appeased the eccentric child; we observed an old ingenue adrift incognito; we delved out devotion to debtors, payments remiss, sealed with a kiss; we waved a wand to a wield a split sun over the question of dawn; we chased a cherished cherub from "hello" to "farewell;" we sliced our romantic schoolboy greenness on shattered shards of first-girl meanness; we lastly langored limply in eLove, found and lost on-line. No lie! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
JPeggie Sue
I have been following
your posts
your pics
your tweets
and your blog
and I must say
you have
the prettiest
profile on Facebook
I even watched as
your status changed
from “in a relationship”
to single
and I hope it is ok
that I checked you
out on OkCupid
and I even caught you
on Plenty of Fish
and now here we are
together
you are
texting on
your iPhone
as I sit with my
iPad on my lap
each of us
with eTickets
for a flight
to New York
and Lord Almighty
we are seated
next to each other
on the plane
but then
you get your Kindle
out and never
give me a second look
so I have no choice
but to whip out
my Nook
- Ivan Jenson
(3 poems added 10.27.12)
editor's note: Ah, sweet cyber love; nearness, but no nooky. (Two more killer poems on Ivan's page - check'em out, cuz I said so.) - mh
Mean Girls
When mean girls don’t feel
pretty, they hiss and hurl
words like bolts into beauty.
And if they don’t feel
love, they will watch
for it and strike it down like a viper
upon prey. With rumors and back
stabbing, hissing lies, little snakes
gather to take down their
victim. Mean girls threatened will hurt
with impunity, slither on the backs
of others. They are so full
of their own emptiness, that they spew
hatred until they crack, and fall
to hollow pieces on the ground, leaving
their dried up skins behind.
- Sarah Clark Monagle
(added 10.26.12)
editor's note: Listening, Fellas? Now you know why that beauty for whom you fell so hard stomped so painfully, heartlessly on your adolescent ego. Mean, just mean! - mh
Shell
Flaxen ringlets, eyes
precariously close to powder-blue;
lithe flesh and edible complexion
pleasantly festooning a stretch of
summer grass, lazily embracing
a manifest juvenescence.
She will die.
Before that, she will witness, inexorably,
bodily attributes
fading, warping, sagging,
being bent earthwards by
gravity, age, emotion, vicissitudes.
She will be erased,
living out the rigmarole -
infinitesimal
unrelenting
moments,
until pallbearers are the last
to carry the burden of her shell.
- Luke Prater
(added 10.25.12)
editor's note: Art appreciation taken to its ultimate conclusion; Boticelli bumps Venus straight from the clam to the slam. - mh
The Magic of the Dawn
It’s what we all think:
there is no such thing
as magic
all sleight of hand
trap doors and mirrors
nothing is real
or what it seems
as when the magician
waves his wand
and his assistant is
halved and disappears
and with another wave
returns again
as if always there
but there are no hollow boxes
filled with mumbo jumbo words
misdirection and trickery
when the sun magically halved
then concealed by night
re-emerges from the sea.
- Neil Ellman
(1 poem added 10.24.12)
editor's note: Whaddaya mean, no magic? Just yestereve the damn thing was going down; then, when I saw it again this morn, it was going up. Seems like magic to me!!! - mh
romance isn't dead, it's just mulling things over
so many bills through
the post
stuffed with return
envelopes.
now
toungue licked
dry
lips glue
sweet--
the most loving
kisses I've
tasted
in
months.
- Ross Leese
(added 10.23.12)
editor's note: Well, it's good to know there will always be someone who loves us. - mh
Mink Coat and Hat
In mink coat and hat she briskly walks
Summer and winter the same
Talking to herself in hushed tones
Making no contact with eyes
She is old and faded, lined and grey
But carries her height so well
I wonder if she knows how to dance
And imagine her at a ball
Perhaps she was a society girl
With men at her beck and call
She may well know passionate love
Though she looks an old maid now
In mink coat and hat she briskly walks
Summer and winter the same
A woman with secrets to hold
A starlet once in her day
- Chrissie Morris Brady
(added 10.22.12)
editor's note: One day, when each of us is "old and faded, lined and grey," may young poets see us as the stars we are. - mh
An appeal
The world
is a door
to my heart—
Come in,
Come in— O pain!
Come in— O joy!
But please
come in
like the love
of mother
or the reproach
of father.
Come in
like the fresh fragrance
of jasmine
or the lulling gust
of spring’s breeze.
But please
do not bang
the door—
my child
is eccentric.
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 10.21.12)
editor's note: Solicitors are OK, but not the hard sell. No ginsu knives, miracle cleaners or magazine subscriptions - go away! - 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...
Doin' Our Duty,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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