The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 02.23.13

“All in all is all we are.” Kurt Cobain

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This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we couldn't unfreeze frozen love, no light could shine through unpulled blinds; we awaited the warm whisper of Spring to free us from the grip of ghosts; we braved a bruising to take in tangerine grins and old dude grinds; we unstuck story, captured the characters instead; we hyped some haiku hijinx, balanced blade edge on beating heart; we watched winter, not yet wan, though waning, wrest warmth from a child of ambiguous birth; we chanced the chide of "copyright infringement" to spawn a sprightly offspring of inspiration's impingement. It's all good. This Swirl is about bringing what goes around to come around. Dizzy again?!? ~ mh

Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...

JEFFREY LEWIS IS A MIGHTY FINE FELLA

This morning before I went out I sat in my flat
I listened to Jeffrey Lewis and lapped it up
He sang a song about going mad after one tab too much
I smoked a joint and thought it was fab
But now I can’t get the damn song out of my head
I just hope that he is a mighty fine fella cos
I feel like I may owe him money now
For the copyright infringement that I’ve done
By nicking this tune but changing the words
To become this poem you’ve just read

- Bradford Middleton

(1 poem added 02.23.13)

editor's note: One creative outburst is inspired by another, inspired by another, inspired by another, all the way back to the first. I hope god is a mighty fine fella, too. - mh

Irrational Affection

Floating in your mind stream, dark waters carry an erratic lofting heart drowning in misery, sunken chivalry, and wolves run the blackened stream bank, no howls or growls, fouled forest trees of grim and cascading heavens bleeding red rains and soaking stains, loss of prevalence, no gentle winds irrelevant, and child born shivering from the cold, fear and illness of unknown benevolence, never to know longevity as the dark stream consumes clarity and births ambiguity, no guilty minds only raggedy quilts, sour milk and hate fits.

- James Brown

(added 02.22.13)

editor's note: A dystopic descent into deprivation and despair, derived from a bleak beginning. We can decide otherwise! - mh

Over the Haikuku's Nest

cha cha cha
the sway of her
hip hip hips

your inner jungle a maze
this thick thick thick
lost machete

crazy swirl
her heart is beating beating beating
about the crush

- Virginie Colline

(1 poem added 02.21.13)

editor's note: She's got a crippling crush; haiku love bird swing that blade and dance, dance, dance. (This is Virginie's third accepted work and our pleasure to welcome her to our crazy - she leads the pack - congress of Contributing Poets. Check out her new poetry page.) - mh

The Selection

We always believe
that
It is only us,
Who create a drama...

But,
we refuse to realize that
dramas pick
the most appropriate
from us...

- Sam Rapth

(1 poem added 02.20.13)

editor's note: Hmmm. The story writes us; takes literary criticism to an "higher" level, doesn't it? (Let's welcome Sam to our congress of Contributing Poets with this one. More on his new page - check it out.) - mh

You can go home again

Managed a Sunday morning light run
through rural sidewalk-less streets
in Lemon Grove
on my bruised ligament,
joyful border radio blasting
Love Grows Where My Rosemary Goes
and commercials for Jarritos
the classic Mexican soda,
then a free tangerine,
toothless smile and a wave
from Vietnamese gardner
working on the foreclosed house's yard
around the corner
and an old dude seriously
grinding curbs in the parking lot
at Bank of America
all this more than enough
to limp me home again.

- Sissy Buckles

(added 02.19.13)

editor's note: A run through normalcy is all it takes to manage that inner pain. - mh

A PRAYER IN WHITE

Snow has whirled its ghosts
all this long winter, chilled
my dreams, drift after drift,

and grieved its ripples
across mirrored pools
of sleep.

The moon's breath covers the field
with crystal threads that crunch
beneath my boots with each step.

I send a prayer for hardness
to release me, finger to arm,
for ice to crack and the prisms

within its soul to drop
to earth and bloom into
colors only water can bring,

for the voice
of warmth to whisper
into the valley's opened hand.

- Patty Dickson Pieczka

(added 02.18.13)

editor's note: Sweet! On this downward slope o' the solstice, we can almost touch that thaw. Soon... soon! - mh

First Snow

Pressing my
spirit through
shapeless eyes,
towards the point
at which each
side
of her mouth meets,
while a season’s
first snow
peels down
that blackened
windowpane.
Until we,
like icicles,
about to fall,
do
fall and
shatter. I reach
towards last week’s dream
as if my hands are
fit to piece such
things together.
However, still, the blinds
as well as the sheets
must be pulled.

- Willie Nunnery

(1 poem added 02.17.13)

editor's note: It's a tricky task to handle with frostbit fingers. I'd pull the blinds, but not the sheets. (We welcome Willie/Jay to our congress of Contributing Poets with this accepted poem. See more poems on his page.) - 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',

Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor