The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 11.17.12
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This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum - we were silly surprised by smiles and hat similes; we enjoyed a journey, pampered by ear-plug platitudes; we slurped a licorice stick for a caffeine kick; we dallied in a daily regimen of condemnation and rage, exhausted; we singled our doubles in the ticks and odd trifles of troubles; we turned clouds of now into stars of when we carried the child from night to light; we inhaled deeply, whispering stopped - awaiting other shoe to drop...
Waiting...
Still waiting...
Still... ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Shoe
One shoe in the hedge
Freeing
That cry
- Christopher Smith
(1 poem added 11.17.12)
editor's note: One foot in the cold, dog on the run. - mh
ineffable predicament...
...I'm almost sure, now
this particular cloud has passed -
I am no longer in the throes of this mysterious gloom that visits me, calls on me, like some horrible lover I don't want, but who I know will come again.
...I squint my eyes, and hope for strength
as I hoist the terrible, thousand-pound child that is this life onto my shoulders, and head out
into the light...
- Ralph Freda
(added 11.16.12)
editor's note: Everyone, this weight must carry; everyone, this predicament afflicts. Life is disease and antidote, together. - mh
TROUBLES
Watch the daylight glow.
Soak in the Light.
Listen to the voices on the wind
close your eyes and all shall be forgotten.
Troubles slumber beneath trees these days.
Troubles have lost their fear of man.
They sit and smirk while gnashing teeth
in anticipation for man to step into their strategically placed traps.
They know us to be reckless.
They can see our beauty and seek to destroy us.
Troubles are the eaters of dreams and prayers.
Be mindful of the shadows.
Keep an eye on the horizon and never look back.
Go for the long haul.
Push more than ever.
Don't be scared to sleep.
We must stay strong and alert.
Troubles feed upon the weak.
The strong will always shake them off.
Be warned my dreaming children for Troubles do exist.
They do kill the innocent and they maim the by-standers who are fearful.
Never succumb.
Never go numb.
Hold true.
Hold tight.
Live for you and that which you love the most.
Keep strangers in sight.
Keep your friends in your heart.
Love your lovers with all your heart.
Love terrifies Troubles more than anything.
Don't be scared to love all you know and do.
When doing something you hate,
pretend to love it or it will be the thing that destroys your drive,
your ambition and your desire.
Fear not what others think.
Drive hard, drive fast!
Keep your eyes on the horizon.
Stay young inside.
Don't let Troubles age you before time is tasked with doing so.
Let enemies walk away.
Ignore fear.
Listen to your mother and father.
They should know more about fear and should be able to teach us
how to move past it before we grow too old
and scared in our youth.
We are young.
Troubles will always be...
It's up to us to kill them while we're still strong enough to do so.
If we allow Troubles to get us down now, then we'll never get up again.
The time to fight is now.
The time to hold tight is now.
Chase the dreams and remember your shadows.
Keep watch over your heart.
- Wes Chambers
(added 11.15.12)
editor's note: "Pack up your troubles in your old kit-bag, and smile, smile, smile . . ." Fine advise, indeed! So, heed. - mh
I sweat to return to disclosure
I sweat to return to disclosure.
I count the hours to recompense.
I tumble over where Meltdown and Stasis
bargain for chips and distance,
wobbliness and fame: there is no encore,
just this mere, faint, murmuring, leveling voice
saying to Yours Truly: You have failed again to answer the call
and the way − what are you going to do about it?
And another mime attains freedom
deep inside of me, saying
Keep trying, no offense, for the Rock you stand on
has opened up and received you
and I knew at that moment that “The Old Rugged Cross” was just a song,
the “cleft” therein a keeper as well as the terrace I am sitting on now,
under the Metal Awning
Derek put up, the same Arms holding it
The Mystery railed and wobbled about,
until Strength shook its locks and stood with me
while she acknowledged, partially, that every Home needs a Bosom,
that every Porch yearns for a swing to cling and clang,
while its chains all over do not really mean to connect the heart to frenzy,
though that's the Sunrise of the matter, isn't it?
The core in the cord, die of the dew, thirst of balm and fetch of carry.
Well, the morning's undressed me.
I think I'll make some espresso and salute Its garter in the grass.
Her robe's put aside now for post-fall things.
Reality's ragged coat supplicates in vain.
Even the chickadee's flit seems timed for pathos.
No Prisoner I − the tune's “Liberty.”
Let the good times abide with Thee − and Rage − !
- Shelby Stephenson
(added 11.14.12)
editor's note: It's a daily struggle just to keep faith; to listen for freedom in birdsong when the waking world sings chains. - mh
Bracing
Thrashing
into the morning
as coffee
double boils
into a cups dark as stale
licorice,
the blackness
sticking to teeth like
the grip
of immortal kamikaze’s
thumbs.
- Zach Fishel
(1 poem added 11.13.12)
editor's note: Nothing like a searing cuppa joe to remove that wake-up caul. - mh
Turn on Switch Off
You see it everyday on the street and on the transport system
Locked into their own little world, not caring or thinking about what is going on
I do it myself sometimes
If it makes me happy or blocks out some idiotic act
why should I not bury myself away in a world
of my own making?
Football chants become eclipsed by Beach Boy meditation routines or punk rock expletives
I turn on and switch off to block out the boredom of everyday life
but when will I be able to turn
on a different life altogether?
It’s when people make their private noise public that I get annoyed
If I wanted to listen to your rubbish music don’t you think I’d ask
If I wanted to know all the gossip from your life don’t you think I’d ask?
I would and you’d ignore me, claiming I was rude
Well why tell your friend on a train full of strangers
Can’t you wait 'til you get home??
- Bradford Middleton
(1 poem added 11.12.12)
editor's note: The repercussion of publicly displayed privacy is a poetically proscribed profile. - mh
Crazy, Man, Crazy
Crazy hat, crazy sunglasses,
She remembers the red tint,
The fake boa made her nose itch
and she remembers a bigger smile.
It's her favorite picture, the one she
carries in her wallet,
The one of her pulling her mother
to her so that the picture
made them look like one,
Though she is leaning to her
mother and trying harder
to stay close.
They are close now that they become one--
Same arm, same hand, same stupid hat.
It was a crazy moment
When everyone was laughing.
She never posed so willingly for such
a crazy picture.
She never poses willingly.
She never poses.
That's why it surprises her to see her smile.
It surprises her that she's so surprised that it's not larger.
Not that she's unhappy, but she would demand the
largest, best smile possible if she was going to bother.
It's her mother's smile that she remembers on her own lips.
Her all-too-white teeth make her look strange.
There's no room for smiles in her mother's life.
There's no room for smiles in her own life.
There's no room for craziness in her life.
That's why this is her favorite photo.
- Rachel Landis
(added 11.11.12)
editor's note: When a static mass collides with a dynamic mass of greater density, suddenly there is room. It's displacement theory actualized; in this case by a smile. Nice! - mh
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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...
Bein' Courageous,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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