The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 12.15.12
“We are the facilitators of our own creative evolution.” Bill Hicks
Several Ways of Looking at a Cranium (above) by K.R. Copeland, 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 wound winter wisdom into a well-stocked cellar with frantic fire prevention - stop, drop and roll; we got over what was under with a couple of rounds; we sheltered our past fumbles in divine forgiveness and a well-ordered shed; we enjoyed some instruction, a jazz-mother's rapt repetitions, skit from skat; we dallied least in a dearth of dining fodder, but death's late feast; we skulked alone in our sketched scatter, away from wind, stretched lower, flatter; lastly, we circled a sweet swaying siren, panting for a puerile peek beneath. We are voyeurs all; our eyes, great mouths; these words, a banquet. (belch) ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
What Entrances Them
it is not
the flower
caressing
her ribs
it is not
the vinous
stain on
her lips
how they
blossom
smile and
wilt
it is not
her nails
emerald
cerulean
crimson
or jade
it is not
her bracelets
or anklets
of wind
bright as
the sun
balanced on
her hips
it is not
the feathers
or wings
of her hair
or the waterfall
of sequins
pouring from
her breasts
it is not
her arms
or legs
incarnadine
serpents
it is not
the crowd
or their brazen
ululations
it is not
the howls
of master
or servant
it is
the veil
that will not
be lifted
in the spiral
arcade
of her
dance
- Quinten Collier
(1 poem added 12.15.12)
editor's note: Salivating salacious slurping curs, we wanna see what's behind that veil, damn right! Not... going... anywhere... - mh
Smudge
I shall sketch
these utensils
in charcoal
and chalk
outline –
forks,
spoon,
heart –
and hide under
their shadowed
canvas. Please,
don’t open that
window; the
slightest breeze
will unfurl these
edges, and send
us flying.
- De Jackson
(added 12.14.12)
editor's note: Hold tight with suction cup fingers and toes, don't let go; lest wet dragonfly wings unfurl and wind becomes wonder. - mh
Death in the Woods
The taste of many brittle years already spread
Across paddocks without a drop of rain
Is bitterness profound as Death begins to tread
Upon the graves of names which still remain.
Death is slowly passing through the woods alone
With many kinds of trees becoming prone
To loss of grip among the ageing leaves
Succumbing to the might which Death receives.
The air surrounding Death becomes so strong
As winds impose a sense of might upon each tree.
The branches shaking left and right, belong
To the dance of Death declaring how all things should be.
The curse which came upon the ones who died
With wounds inflicted by the sword of pride
Is kept beneath the ground until the day
Death decides to spread to other forms of prey.
- Jason Constantine Ford
(added 12.13.12)
editor's note: After he's devoured all the living, he'll dessert on his proud dead. Slim pickin's, I'm thinkin'! - mh
Jazz²
1948
Autumn NY
Song Repetition
Jazz was
the constant equation
Parker
was Jazz
Be Bop Jazz
Linking
Parker, Porcino, Wetzel, Metome,
Harris,
Varsalona, Jacobs, LaPorta, Williams,
Salad,
Phillips, Mondello, Caplan,
Katzman,
Orloff, Smirnoff, Harris,
Russell,
Manne, Iborra, Hefti
Skit skat
Repetition
Refrain
No other
place could they meet
Maybe a
diner
Or
crowded table filled with
Fried
chicken wings, Blintzes, boiled eggs,
Pierogies, lox,
minestrone, beer, vodka,
soda,
tea, coffee, bourbon
Refrain
Repetition
Skit skat
No other
time was then
In a
closet crammed with
coats,
scarves, umbrellas,
boots,
raincoats, sweaters,
fur
wraps, cardigans
Skit skat
Refrain
Repetition
On a
stage with
Sax,
bongos, voices, hands,
Bass,
drums, French horns, guitar,
Violin,
piano, harp, trumpet, oboe
Refrain
Skit skat
Repetition
- Gayle Bell
(1 poem added 12.12.12)
editor's note: She's showing us the only refrain which never holds back; skit skat - thanks for that, Linn! - mh
Radio Molar Signal #1.3
Cliff upset with needles walking running finger prints –
those thin lights, driven hallowed, blackberry cloud mother floating
around in the sky.
A segmented time piece of rooms hanging to vultures on string, to the
sun, silently to our father, for umbrellas. Often times raining hand
tools, hammers, saw blades, screw guns into landings, hung nicely now
in the shed, overgrown.
- Zachary Scott Hamilton
(added 12.11.12)
editor's note: The pricks and piffles of our precarious lives are judged from on high by the tools of our deconstruction... or, maybe it's just our putting off overgrown urgencies to clean up the yard, rake last leaves before first snow. - mh
See Ya Next Round
i could run circles
around you with out
getting out of my chair
which is actually a love seat
which actually you're over already
There's no need to go on
i could run circles
around you with out
getting out of my seat
which is actually a bar stool
which actually you're under already
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 12.10.12)
editor's note: Circular reasoning for the yin and yang of a relationship gone bad. Beer, bartender, beer! - mh
Hungers
If you have a hen and rooster
eat eggs not soup,
second rooster, have eggs in your stew
and one day when I wanted
only meat
I killed that lonely hen.
Never send salted water into your garden
lest it kill the crop this year
and next
and still I poured old broth
upon new growth
which wilted and has died.
In troubled times, store the last
potato, onion, rutabaga
for seed in civil springs
don’t do as I and eat
until dirt is the only dinner
while arid winter lingers.
When the land is dry
never kick a burning log
as I did
the sparks flying there, and there
and here
fires licking to life where any ember landed.
When all around are flames
just hold your breath
and your hope.
- Randall Johnson
(1 poem added 12.09.12)
editor's note: Hold hunger over hope. Don't kick those flames in the first place. Thanks for the wisdom, Randall! - 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...
Facilitatin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we wound winter wisdom into a well-stocked cellar with frantic fire prevention - stop, drop and roll; we got over what was under with a couple of rounds; we sheltered our past fumbles in divine forgiveness and a well-ordered shed; we enjoyed some instruction, a jazz-mother's rapt repetitions, skit from skat; we dallied least in a dearth of dining fodder, but death's late feast; we skulked alone in our sketched scatter, away from wind, stretched lower, flatter; lastly, we circled a sweet swaying siren, panting for a puerile peek beneath. We are voyeurs all; our eyes, great mouths; these words, a banquet. (belch) ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
What Entrances Them
it is not
the flower
caressing
her ribs
it is not
the vinous
stain on
her lips
how they
blossom
smile and
wilt
it is not
her nails
emerald
cerulean
crimson
or jade
it is not
her bracelets
or anklets
of wind
bright as
the sun
balanced on
her hips
it is not
the feathers
or wings
of her hair
or the waterfall
of sequins
pouring from
her breasts
it is not
her arms
or legs
incarnadine
serpents
it is not
the crowd
or their brazen
ululations
it is not
the howls
of master
or servant
it is
the veil
that will not
be lifted
in the spiral
arcade
of her
dance
- Quinten Collier
(1 poem added 12.15.12)
editor's note: Salivating salacious slurping curs, we wanna see what's behind that veil, damn right! Not... going... anywhere... - mh
Smudge
I shall sketch
these utensils
in charcoal
and chalk
outline –
forks,
spoon,
heart –
and hide under
their shadowed
canvas. Please,
don’t open that
window; the
slightest breeze
will unfurl these
edges, and send
us flying.
- De Jackson
(added 12.14.12)
editor's note: Hold tight with suction cup fingers and toes, don't let go; lest wet dragonfly wings unfurl and wind becomes wonder. - mh
Death in the Woods
The taste of many brittle years already spread
Across paddocks without a drop of rain
Is bitterness profound as Death begins to tread
Upon the graves of names which still remain.
Death is slowly passing through the woods alone
With many kinds of trees becoming prone
To loss of grip among the ageing leaves
Succumbing to the might which Death receives.
The air surrounding Death becomes so strong
As winds impose a sense of might upon each tree.
The branches shaking left and right, belong
To the dance of Death declaring how all things should be.
The curse which came upon the ones who died
With wounds inflicted by the sword of pride
Is kept beneath the ground until the day
Death decides to spread to other forms of prey.
- Jason Constantine Ford
(added 12.13.12)
editor's note: After he's devoured all the living, he'll dessert on his proud dead. Slim pickin's, I'm thinkin'! - mh
Jazz²
1948
Autumn NY
Song Repetition
Jazz was
the constant equation
Parker
was Jazz
Be Bop Jazz
Linking
Parker, Porcino, Wetzel, Metome,
Harris,
Varsalona, Jacobs, LaPorta, Williams,
Salad,
Phillips, Mondello, Caplan,
Katzman,
Orloff, Smirnoff, Harris,
Russell,
Manne, Iborra, Hefti
Skit skat
Repetition
Refrain
No other
place could they meet
Maybe a
diner
Or
crowded table filled with
Fried
chicken wings, Blintzes, boiled eggs,
Pierogies, lox,
minestrone, beer, vodka,
soda,
tea, coffee, bourbon
Refrain
Repetition
Skit skat
No other
time was then
In a
closet crammed with
coats,
scarves, umbrellas,
boots,
raincoats, sweaters,
fur
wraps, cardigans
Skit skat
Refrain
Repetition
On a
stage with
Sax,
bongos, voices, hands,
Bass,
drums, French horns, guitar,
Violin,
piano, harp, trumpet, oboe
Refrain
Skit skat
Repetition
- Gayle Bell
(1 poem added 12.12.12)
editor's note: She's showing us the only refrain which never holds back; skit skat - thanks for that, Linn! - mh
Radio Molar Signal #1.3
Cliff upset with needles walking running finger prints –
those thin lights, driven hallowed, blackberry cloud mother floating
around in the sky.
A segmented time piece of rooms hanging to vultures on string, to the
sun, silently to our father, for umbrellas. Often times raining hand
tools, hammers, saw blades, screw guns into landings, hung nicely now
in the shed, overgrown.
- Zachary Scott Hamilton
(added 12.11.12)
editor's note: The pricks and piffles of our precarious lives are judged from on high by the tools of our deconstruction... or, maybe it's just our putting off overgrown urgencies to clean up the yard, rake last leaves before first snow. - mh
See Ya Next Round
i could run circles
around you with out
getting out of my chair
which is actually a love seat
which actually you're over already
There's no need to go on
i could run circles
around you with out
getting out of my seat
which is actually a bar stool
which actually you're under already
- Steven Minchin
(1 poem added 12.10.12)
editor's note: Circular reasoning for the yin and yang of a relationship gone bad. Beer, bartender, beer! - mh
Hungers
If you have a hen and rooster
eat eggs not soup,
second rooster, have eggs in your stew
and one day when I wanted
only meat
I killed that lonely hen.
Never send salted water into your garden
lest it kill the crop this year
and next
and still I poured old broth
upon new growth
which wilted and has died.
In troubled times, store the last
potato, onion, rutabaga
for seed in civil springs
don’t do as I and eat
until dirt is the only dinner
while arid winter lingers.
When the land is dry
never kick a burning log
as I did
the sparks flying there, and there
and here
fires licking to life where any ember landed.
When all around are flames
just hold your breath
and your hope.
- Randall Johnson
(1 poem added 12.09.12)
editor's note: Hold hunger over hope. Don't kick those flames in the first place. Thanks for the wisdom, Randall! - 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...
Facilitatin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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