The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 02.09.13
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This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we conferred to confess our conspiracy in cosmic consumption; we turned out the trespasses from our misunderstood passed pasts; we lost love for a lover who learned too late his ill chosen color; we ziplined love's fountain for a green tea scrapbook accountant; we threw the heroes race for a quiet happy place; we saw a pensive puerile maid at large, dared not to be the cause for her discharge; we planted seeds we hoped to keep, glad to sew, we did not know we would not reap. What goes around... makes me dizzy. ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
In Search of Life
I searched for seeds I cannot
See in the largest pods I know
And in the hunger of this frustration
I eat again this lesson.
Ground damp and fertile I pause
Before I sow; up or flat I ask.
Being wise I take a second
And put them to bed together.
He up, she lying on her side
Each week I visit, dusting
Tidying, drooling as I go.
I tell them stories they don’t like
Of tarts and desserts and splits.
Of pies and sandwiches. Of funny
Slippery tales. I wait.
One sunny morning I cast a jealous
Eye towards my neighbour’s patch
And slowly permit myself a peep.
I weep to see the growing harvest
Wink and point my way.
I shout my first annoyance.
And dip and dig to chastise,
To find they’ve all left home.
A yellow note is posted on their bed
In writing all grown up,
‘Look wisely you silly man’,
And there they were all waving
From all neighbour’s fields.
- Gene Barry
(3 poems added 02.09.13)
editor's note: A gardener's life can be a "seedy" existence, a lot of work to make salad days for the neighbors. (We are pleased to welcome Gene back into the Swirl as a Contributing Poets again. See more great poems on his page.) - mh
At Thanksgiving Celebration (she reads in the other room)
She is a Leyden jar
Condensing the currents
Of a properly held
History book.
Lady Leyden Jar is so upset you can’t see it.
The fey maenad sits proper and still.
Can you spy? The shadow is
Whipping her wild,
Waking her up in a
Shoebox diorama.
- Chris Zimmerly
(added 02.08.13)
editor's note: And where is that shoeboax diorama? It's inside a Leyden jar, inside a shoebox diorama, inside a Leyden jar, ad infinitum. Keep that lid on tight or you better WATCH OUT! zzzzZZZZZAP! - mh
HOURGLASS
Ordinary people, extraordinary times,
who will sprinkle wisdom, who will
stop the crimes of our indifference?
Lack of common sense and reason push
beyond safe limit, our humanity bereft,
this world eviscerates the spirit,
there are no heroes left.
Absurdity runs rampant, insanity rules,
politicians on a rant, backed by lying fools.
There is a place that you can hide, separate
but true, there is no fee, no alibi required—
that place is inside you.
Hurry, and take shelter there, safe from fear and
aggravation. A shared and happy quiet place where
every single revelation is your own, and every ray of
hope for all of us is in each other’s care.
- Joseph Roque
(1 poem added 02.07.13)
editor's note: Each other's care; let's make more of that - before these sands run out. Thanks, Joseph! - mh
ZIPLINE
Oh my god!—the elegance of panic
(whee!!): I love you, I love you, spike!
One ginseng green tea and we're reckless
on a shoe-string budget
but savagely wild and full of psycho bravery.
Swoosh, hovering light-speed above the leafy canopy.
I swear, Jules, I thought you were kidding.
Some joke for the scrapbook, evidence
of misspent youth. OK, mah jong, mai tais…but this?
Really? Velocity transmutes a multitude of sins—
the endorphin rush alone puts us squarely in the Now
where we begin to notice how every little freaking thing
is a total miracle of microcosmic grace. You're awesome,
amazing, no shit, for an accountant. Crunch numbers long
enough and you're bound to go crazy. Dr. Oz
has you eating dark chocolate like it's manna from Maui.
We'll kamikaze into waves of air with seaweed in our hair.
Butterfly biscuits! Let's leave hoof-prints on the moon.
Stars and jazz, the brief molecules of this life.
Skyscraping over vast enormous emeralds,
our bones ripple with aqueous gladness, the unmistakable
gratitude of bees doused in their own honey.
- Kallima Hamilton
(added 02.06.13)
editor's note: High speed transmutation, YES! Gonna change my name to Jules and carry a jar o' honey. - mh
Brown Ones
I really liked her,
we’d been going out
for about a month.
I wanted to do
something nice for her.
She was into hedgehogs,
she had about thirty
hedgehog ornaments
on windowsills, up on shelves,
all over the place.
I searched the shops
in town but couldn’t find
what I was looking for,
I’d have to make my own.
The effort you put in
when you like someone
is unbelievable,
it took me a week.
I turned up at her door
and handed her the box.
“You shouldn’t have”
she said smiling
as she opened the lid.
I rocked back upon my heels
waiting for the squeal of delight.
“It’s a stuffed hedgehog!”
she gasped, dropping the box
and slamming the door in my face.
“But I just wanted to get you
your own real one.”
I urged through the letterbox.
As I walked away
I realized the problem.
I’d obviously got the wrong colour
she already had loads of brown ones.
- Paul Tristram
(added 02.05.13)
editor's note: Oh, too bad! Love's hard enough, no matter how you color it. - mh
A Better Perspective
Cobbled trails cornered brick turning
Wheels of other minds
Self-sanctuary among worldly creations
Leathered landscapes to the partial way
Same star nights whisper to silent travelers
Style soaked vines delved in the misunderstood
Pasts, to recognize is to forgive
To release is to live
- Eric Caulfield
(added 02.04.13)
editor's note: Yes, appropriate a penchant to seek the partial way. And, when acquired; yes, yes - Let'er go! - mh
Where We Are Coming From
What does it mean to be counterproductive
when the house is on fire
the sky really is falling
the fish are fleeing the sea?
What does it mean to go too far
when ice no longer holds its breath
the bears beg amnesty of the bees
the trees are in need of counseling?
What does it mean to say sorry
when the damage is done
the fix is in
the chips are down
the good old days are a souvenir t-shirt?
Water continues to run down hill
children to be born
men to lust after women
women to dream of love
all the gods to be silent.
The birds argue the virtues of singing
while axes gnaw at the trees.
Even knowing we are more ocean than beach
we keep on building on the sand.
The wind argues the virtues of violence
with the clouds as the sky
fades from blue to black behind our backs.
The campfires of those we left behind
when we stepped through the hole in the sky
sparkle over our heads.
- David Thornbrugh
(added 02.03.13)
editor's note: It's the nature of stars to consume all, burn brightly; as with 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...
Roadin' It,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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