The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 01.12.13
“I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.” Jack London
Dawn On Me (above) by Johnny O, 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 started with star-struck tablecloth tales; we relinquished love for knowing, not for eloquence envy; we sat to sup another meal, marveling that we would feel no fear, no tears; we, for self and sacred space, fended, echoing love and spoon unbended; we conceded an argument, unengaged, bested, not by ardor but ignorance, dull destiny manifested; we cited the slickest means of slaughter, hammer holds not high as laughter (direct dispatch, no clean up after); we nixed a night-long, blow-borne fog, deterred from ranting by canine panting, to step outdoors and walk the dog. Sirius-ly? We're back to stars! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
ANY NIGHT
I was going to go to East 6th street
But it was much easier to get blow
And stay all night doing everything important
At my house
The sun rested like a tired bear
Forgetting all the things it should do
Tomorrow
Sleeping for weeks
But then like a cat
Ducking
The thin weeds of the neighbor's lawn
Hiding like a bobcat in the mesquites of Cedar Creek Lake
It stands in front of the hallway mirror
Maybe still asleep
Next to the indoor palm
Breathing heavily because it's funner when we're scared
Courtney would be sleeping
I would be sleeping
Delroy would be thinking about ways to wake me up
Making sleep uncomfortable
When I dream of someone
Someone else dies
I wake up to a dog making sure I have woken up
Breathing heavily on my waking eye testing it
I roll out of bed quickly
Put on shoes before I have to decide which ones to wear
Grab poop bags
Grab keys
Check time again
Say goodbye
Walk
- Jericho Joyce
(added 01.12.13)
editor's note: It's a dog's life in this man's world. Both are out to smell the sights, tails waggin'. - mh
Love and Slaughter
Sheep are by a goat while
cattle are like swine, prodded, yet
cattle go by hammer while
swine are by the hind leg hung
then swung about to spigot.
Quicker, infinitely cleaner, is
the hacksaw of sweet Susan's laughter.
- Donal Mahoney
(2 poems added 01.11.13)
editor's note: In the classification of cutlery, always include the clean cut of laughter. (Another cut-up from Donal on his page, check it out.) - mh
u.s. male
the u.s. male
has his hand on this arab girl’s wrist
i’m not lying
this is going on right at the corner
of bay ridge parkway and colonial avenue
a fitting street for the u.s. male to be standing on
if you ask me
because he knows everything about the founding of america
the u.s. male keeps telling this arab girl
that america was founded on judeo-christian beliefs
you can’t deny it, he tells her
america is a judeo-christian nation to its core
giving her wrist a little tug as her kid cries
where else can you get this kind of democracy?
he asks
egypt? they want to kill all of us, he tells her
because this u.s. male is obviously well-informed
so well informed that he’d make rupert murdoch proud
i don’t know what the arab girl is saying back to him
she looks nervous and she talks so quietly
plus her kid is crying and making a lot of noise
she can’t really get a word in edgewise
what with the u.s. male shouting into the november cold
and schooling this chick on decades
of american foreign policy
while all of his good old neighbors walk by
telling the girl to go back to where she came from
you’re probably asking yourself why i won’t get involved
and you’d be right to ask this
but, see, i’m just a guy on a street corner
on his way to the grocery store
all i wanted in this world on a saturday afternoon
was a six-pack of beer and some barbequed chips
i didn’t want to come face to face with the u.s. male
i’ve been there plenty of times and i always lose
because there’s no arguing with ignorance
and a corrupt sense of manifest destiny
plus this just seems too surreal to be happening
some wealthy
white-bearded
golf hat wearing
windbreaker loving
u.s. male douche bag
tugging on this arab girl’s wrist
right here on a sunny autumn street
telling her to take off her hijab
if she knows what’s good for her
but it is happening
i’m serious about this
this is going on right now on a regular block in brooklyn, new york
in america in the twenty-first century
less than a week to election day
and four days after another annual
once-in-a-lifetime-hurricane
that has them still plucking bodies out of soaked basements
with another storm
on the way.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 01.10.13)
editor's note: When this one hits the box, mark Return to Sender. It's got waaaay insufficient postage anyway. (Another one on the state of things post Sandy on John's page - check it out.) - mh
I AM
Bended spoon, unwinding
twisted folk, bowing
soothing, crooning
Orbing sound rebounding
Creating space
Sacred One Opening
OM SHANTI OM
Heart Bouncing
across oceans beyond infinite
waves of consciousness
Love Echoing
throughout here and now
within this heart.
I AM
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 01.09.13)
editor's note: We twisted folk can relax in this echo and bounce. Peace for all, indeed! - mh
After Our First Supper
We meet. Our supper and wine, briskly taken;
No mistakes. Fast forward to another place,
To supper and our kiss, lips meeting lips,
In another year more. Our door rarely open,
Rays sweeping the bare floor, we flourish.
No mistake. Dare you slap at me! We laugh!
So few tears, so few tears, since we met.
- Sander Blome
(1 poem added 01.08.13)
editor's note: Brisk supper, lust desserts. No pains; in time, no hurts. So far, so good! - mh
I don’t have a title for this poem (or Shit Sonnet)
Your words and schemes, symbols and beating things
I can analyze, criticize, and read.
Your images (the falcon, the grave, and
the bloody shoe) I know well; as well as you.
For I have read with Eliot, Pound, and Yeats;
I have heard Henry and Mr. Bones dream.
I have gone to Plath, Sexton, and Millay
for love and fairy tales (not like they seem).
But I cannot- I cannot do what you
do so well. What pours from you is far from
being in me. I cannot do what you
do. The fragments and images are gone.
“I do not love you,” the one true sentence,
but I’ll be damned if I don’t know you.
- Mary Vasquez
(added 01.07.13)
editor's note: To know one is to love one, except where poetry and jealousy arm-wrestle over the turn of a phrase. - mh
eat lunch over black fabric
I sometimes think in thoughts given away
Of someone with something much better to say
I sometimes think in prayers never heard
Of someone who would have easily never occurred
I sometimes think in dreams alive and dead
Of someone who choked on all the wished he had saids
And I sometimes think in truth and lies
Of someone with every reason but a reason why
I’m a hundred million different people all at once
But all these different people still eat the same lunch
All of us are stars at night
Shining bright and white
But shining old light
I sometimes think we're holes in the same black fabric
That’s draped over the sun when the days are over.
- Jacob Grieco
(added 01.06.13)
editor's note: We all rehash the stories told in those pinprick lights; so old to sky, so new to us. - 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...
Glowin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we started with star-struck tablecloth tales; we relinquished love for knowing, not for eloquence envy; we sat to sup another meal, marveling that we would feel no fear, no tears; we, for self and sacred space, fended, echoing love and spoon unbended; we conceded an argument, unengaged, bested, not by ardor but ignorance, dull destiny manifested; we cited the slickest means of slaughter, hammer holds not high as laughter (direct dispatch, no clean up after); we nixed a night-long, blow-borne fog, deterred from ranting by canine panting, to step outdoors and walk the dog. Sirius-ly? We're back to stars! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
ANY NIGHT
I was going to go to East 6th street
But it was much easier to get blow
And stay all night doing everything important
At my house
The sun rested like a tired bear
Forgetting all the things it should do
Tomorrow
Sleeping for weeks
But then like a cat
Ducking
The thin weeds of the neighbor's lawn
Hiding like a bobcat in the mesquites of Cedar Creek Lake
It stands in front of the hallway mirror
Maybe still asleep
Next to the indoor palm
Breathing heavily because it's funner when we're scared
Courtney would be sleeping
I would be sleeping
Delroy would be thinking about ways to wake me up
Making sleep uncomfortable
When I dream of someone
Someone else dies
I wake up to a dog making sure I have woken up
Breathing heavily on my waking eye testing it
I roll out of bed quickly
Put on shoes before I have to decide which ones to wear
Grab poop bags
Grab keys
Check time again
Say goodbye
Walk
- Jericho Joyce
(added 01.12.13)
editor's note: It's a dog's life in this man's world. Both are out to smell the sights, tails waggin'. - mh
Love and Slaughter
Sheep are by a goat while
cattle are like swine, prodded, yet
cattle go by hammer while
swine are by the hind leg hung
then swung about to spigot.
Quicker, infinitely cleaner, is
the hacksaw of sweet Susan's laughter.
- Donal Mahoney
(2 poems added 01.11.13)
editor's note: In the classification of cutlery, always include the clean cut of laughter. (Another cut-up from Donal on his page, check it out.) - mh
u.s. male
the u.s. male
has his hand on this arab girl’s wrist
i’m not lying
this is going on right at the corner
of bay ridge parkway and colonial avenue
a fitting street for the u.s. male to be standing on
if you ask me
because he knows everything about the founding of america
the u.s. male keeps telling this arab girl
that america was founded on judeo-christian beliefs
you can’t deny it, he tells her
america is a judeo-christian nation to its core
giving her wrist a little tug as her kid cries
where else can you get this kind of democracy?
he asks
egypt? they want to kill all of us, he tells her
because this u.s. male is obviously well-informed
so well informed that he’d make rupert murdoch proud
i don’t know what the arab girl is saying back to him
she looks nervous and she talks so quietly
plus her kid is crying and making a lot of noise
she can’t really get a word in edgewise
what with the u.s. male shouting into the november cold
and schooling this chick on decades
of american foreign policy
while all of his good old neighbors walk by
telling the girl to go back to where she came from
you’re probably asking yourself why i won’t get involved
and you’d be right to ask this
but, see, i’m just a guy on a street corner
on his way to the grocery store
all i wanted in this world on a saturday afternoon
was a six-pack of beer and some barbequed chips
i didn’t want to come face to face with the u.s. male
i’ve been there plenty of times and i always lose
because there’s no arguing with ignorance
and a corrupt sense of manifest destiny
plus this just seems too surreal to be happening
some wealthy
white-bearded
golf hat wearing
windbreaker loving
u.s. male douche bag
tugging on this arab girl’s wrist
right here on a sunny autumn street
telling her to take off her hijab
if she knows what’s good for her
but it is happening
i’m serious about this
this is going on right now on a regular block in brooklyn, new york
in america in the twenty-first century
less than a week to election day
and four days after another annual
once-in-a-lifetime-hurricane
that has them still plucking bodies out of soaked basements
with another storm
on the way.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 01.10.13)
editor's note: When this one hits the box, mark Return to Sender. It's got waaaay insufficient postage anyway. (Another one on the state of things post Sandy on John's page - check it out.) - mh
I AM
Bended spoon, unwinding
twisted folk, bowing
soothing, crooning
Orbing sound rebounding
Creating space
Sacred One Opening
OM SHANTI OM
Heart Bouncing
across oceans beyond infinite
waves of consciousness
Love Echoing
throughout here and now
within this heart.
I AM
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 01.09.13)
editor's note: We twisted folk can relax in this echo and bounce. Peace for all, indeed! - mh
After Our First Supper
We meet. Our supper and wine, briskly taken;
No mistakes. Fast forward to another place,
To supper and our kiss, lips meeting lips,
In another year more. Our door rarely open,
Rays sweeping the bare floor, we flourish.
No mistake. Dare you slap at me! We laugh!
So few tears, so few tears, since we met.
- Sander Blome
(1 poem added 01.08.13)
editor's note: Brisk supper, lust desserts. No pains; in time, no hurts. So far, so good! - mh
I don’t have a title for this poem (or Shit Sonnet)
Your words and schemes, symbols and beating things
I can analyze, criticize, and read.
Your images (the falcon, the grave, and
the bloody shoe) I know well; as well as you.
For I have read with Eliot, Pound, and Yeats;
I have heard Henry and Mr. Bones dream.
I have gone to Plath, Sexton, and Millay
for love and fairy tales (not like they seem).
But I cannot- I cannot do what you
do so well. What pours from you is far from
being in me. I cannot do what you
do. The fragments and images are gone.
“I do not love you,” the one true sentence,
but I’ll be damned if I don’t know you.
- Mary Vasquez
(added 01.07.13)
editor's note: To know one is to love one, except where poetry and jealousy arm-wrestle over the turn of a phrase. - mh
eat lunch over black fabric
I sometimes think in thoughts given away
Of someone with something much better to say
I sometimes think in prayers never heard
Of someone who would have easily never occurred
I sometimes think in dreams alive and dead
Of someone who choked on all the wished he had saids
And I sometimes think in truth and lies
Of someone with every reason but a reason why
I’m a hundred million different people all at once
But all these different people still eat the same lunch
All of us are stars at night
Shining bright and white
But shining old light
I sometimes think we're holes in the same black fabric
That’s draped over the sun when the days are over.
- Jacob Grieco
(added 01.06.13)
editor's note: We all rehash the stories told in those pinprick lights; so old to sky, so new to us. - 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...
Glowin',
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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