The Best of Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum : 04.20.13
“None but ourselves can free our minds.” Bob Marley
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we sluffed life's slew to hear enough talking sleepwalking to tighten our belt and take a flier; we trilled a triumphant aside, emitting from our ancillary existence; we ditched our programmed propriety, glitched our subjected society; we blew capricious bliss on a dysfunctional koan; we sought to soften thick skin with hard feelings; we submitted to swallow the certainty that our less is the market's more (gagged instead on garrulous gobbledy-gook); we, lastly, let go of (or, were let go by) drudgery with prospects plenty, resorted not to a 10-15, in favor of a good 4/20. Feeling lighter by the minute! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Office Worker
When they streamlined
the company
they let go
of the guy who
daydreamed at
the watercooler
and whistled
in his cubicle
you know that
guy who always
had something
nice to say
or said nothing
at all
the one who
always came
in late
and left early
has been laid off
and I heard
he stopped
to smell
some roses
on his way
to the exit
door
- Ivan Jenson
(2 poems added 04.20.13)
editor's note: Until they start charging for smelling, better sniff all we can - damn few things are free in this world anymore. (Another good one from Ivan on his page - check it out.) - mh
S & M In The Work Place
The leather is subdued,
kept to belts, purses, shoes.
All good workers learn to kneel,
take the beatings without a squeal.
“Thank you master,” you must say
when managers take pensions and benefits away.
“Be thankful you still have a job,” is what you hear
while budget projections are rammed up your rear.
“No raises this year. Some reductions may occur.
Increase production you lazy curs.”
We bear the stripes upon our backs,
kiss the boots and grovel home,
still blind and proud in our American faith
in truth, justice and the marketplace.
- Joseph Farley
(1 poem added 04.19.13)
editor's note: Marketplace monotony molds our moods to mutual benefit - that's the line! Any one biting? - mh
Man-up
Spasmodic ‘ruptions of life
in our death, dear,
is what makes us Human.
If Hu-man becomes Wo(o)-man
we enter the home of whores and poets.
Feelings - the effeminate liquids that oozed
hardened, wisened.
We are one giant slab of epidermis
saving the world from collapsing
into vulnerability.
- Saheli Khastagir
(1 poem added 04.18.13)
editor's note: Well, OUR world, anyway. I think we give the wide world a rash. - mh
Why Is This?
Like a bolt
Out of wherever
Peace of mind
Comes upon him.
He wonders why?
Is this it?
He can’t understand
Peace’s fleeting appearance.
Maybe watching ducks
Fly the swamp;
Maybe it’s Jupiter
Beside the moon?
Maybe it’s because
He can’t explain
Why it happens
That it does.
And that pisses
Him off and
There goes peace
Out the window.
For AH
- Hal J. Daniel III
(1 poem added 04.17.13)
editor's note: Tell me the sound of one hand clapping and I'll smack you for interrupting my moment of zen. Thanks, Hal! Now I lost it, too. (Let's welcome Hal to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets. More of his singular insanity on his new page - check it out.) - mh
Artificial in semblace
"Aye, I...
Had a question about…
A.I."
Question?
You are in joyous solitude…
No need for questions…
"Can you please tell your umbrella to stop raining on my clouds?"
Computer! Translate nonsensical human statement.
Processing...
Today's memento is for the disintegration of the human spirit
in the sentient universe as it's come to be learned as,
preferred as...
A solvent, attainable body of neurotransmitters, tender, destined
for Earthspread
brain / brawn / detergent distribution committees
are rounding up the best of these men that are left
for a "burning tribute on the altar" "last hurrah engulfed in flames"
approach, and 720000 other results in similar phrase
History modules show elemental cleansing to be desirable custom
not to be mixed up with the monikers:
"ethnic cleansing"
"where there's smoke there's a fire!"
"where there's life, there's ominous death,
or termination of robo-genetic consciousness"
In data sponges, there is no shortage of thoughtful inquiry.
It wasn't always like this in a nanointelligent machine society
Gathering wood, is cultivating Solaris.
Engaging the enemy fort is taming the biosphere.
I suppose we're bygones when Earth's gone.
even in animated terms, reality has a smog-borne harshness to it.
The bitterness of the limb output station and Blueshard epoxy withdrawal
compounded into a 'be all you can be' camaraderie.
Downloading ABSOLUTE MORALITY was the first step to purity.
Puberty? Computer! Assist in wording:
Processing...
"Progeny."
We didn't intend for the people to become drone-like.
"Do the right thing" said the bionic man to the farmer joes.
arthropods in a circle of life spliced by the horn of creational irony
Self sustainable, but pardon the necropolis effect,
like what happened in New Haven.
Stethochips lodged into their necks.
The "self enriching existentiers" manipulated into joyous servitude…
Computer: We still have work to do.
- Erik Moshe
(added 04.16.13)
editor's note: Yes, we are the only solvent which will not result in a solution. Nothing computes! - mh
Infinite Creatures We Be
Creatures with all your power
Lusting after your mortal coils
Blazing through life’s angular tiles
Abandoning hopes and dreams
Begging to just be
Longing for sleep again
Bursting to awakening
Morning after morning
Sluggish nor slothful
Diligent and ever present
Where do you go?
And where do you come from?
You timid wild ones
You ancillary subjects of eternity
You crying crashed happy ones
With the affinity for indulging and living
Burning ships
And setting sail with new ones
Crying, “These are the days my God!”
With graveyard tans and carrying crosses
Burying the seven sins to lift up the seven virtues
And somewhere, everywhere, in between
Breaking equilibrium with entropic madness
Till finally settling for the night
Creatures with all our power
Softly and slowly letting go...
- Kelly M. Doolittle
(added 04.15.13)
editor's note: All we "crying crashed happy ones" will NOT SLEEP; will not budge, but grudge each moment robbed from "these are the days." Will not, will not... (getting tired)... WILL NOT... (sleepy)... zzzzzzzzzzz. - mh
The light kite and his flight
Sleepwalker, he sings,
Looking for the dream
In the sky to catch.
He lets his welkin ring
Pull gently on the rein,
A world of never land to see,
Controlling the steed.
Small bobbin he rolls,
Lurking in the void,
Throwing its shadow beneath
In the luminous doubt.
Somnolent found is the city,
Proximity of which, is very material,
Had kept less ears aesthetic, to listen to
Creative sanguine flow.
Indignant kite that,
Pushing once again, the wind,
Along with fluctuating dream,
Betokening to go ahead,
Unseen behind, to make it see
The paper, where the horizon rolls
Entangled into his finger tips.
The kite is landed
Unharness the belt.
- Hem Raj Bastola
(1 poem added 04.14.13)
editor's note: I'd rather pull the belt tighter and go for another flight. Nice! - 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...
Gettin' Free,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
•••••••••••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we sluffed life's slew to hear enough talking sleepwalking to tighten our belt and take a flier; we trilled a triumphant aside, emitting from our ancillary existence; we ditched our programmed propriety, glitched our subjected society; we blew capricious bliss on a dysfunctional koan; we sought to soften thick skin with hard feelings; we submitted to swallow the certainty that our less is the market's more (gagged instead on garrulous gobbledy-gook); we, lastly, let go of (or, were let go by) drudgery with prospects plenty, resorted not to a 10-15, in favor of a good 4/20. Feeling lighter by the minute! ~ mh
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Office Worker
When they streamlined
the company
they let go
of the guy who
daydreamed at
the watercooler
and whistled
in his cubicle
you know that
guy who always
had something
nice to say
or said nothing
at all
the one who
always came
in late
and left early
has been laid off
and I heard
he stopped
to smell
some roses
on his way
to the exit
door
- Ivan Jenson
(2 poems added 04.20.13)
editor's note: Until they start charging for smelling, better sniff all we can - damn few things are free in this world anymore. (Another good one from Ivan on his page - check it out.) - mh
S & M In The Work Place
The leather is subdued,
kept to belts, purses, shoes.
All good workers learn to kneel,
take the beatings without a squeal.
“Thank you master,” you must say
when managers take pensions and benefits away.
“Be thankful you still have a job,” is what you hear
while budget projections are rammed up your rear.
“No raises this year. Some reductions may occur.
Increase production you lazy curs.”
We bear the stripes upon our backs,
kiss the boots and grovel home,
still blind and proud in our American faith
in truth, justice and the marketplace.
- Joseph Farley
(1 poem added 04.19.13)
editor's note: Marketplace monotony molds our moods to mutual benefit - that's the line! Any one biting? - mh
Man-up
Spasmodic ‘ruptions of life
in our death, dear,
is what makes us Human.
If Hu-man becomes Wo(o)-man
we enter the home of whores and poets.
Feelings - the effeminate liquids that oozed
hardened, wisened.
We are one giant slab of epidermis
saving the world from collapsing
into vulnerability.
- Saheli Khastagir
(1 poem added 04.18.13)
editor's note: Well, OUR world, anyway. I think we give the wide world a rash. - mh
Why Is This?
Like a bolt
Out of wherever
Peace of mind
Comes upon him.
He wonders why?
Is this it?
He can’t understand
Peace’s fleeting appearance.
Maybe watching ducks
Fly the swamp;
Maybe it’s Jupiter
Beside the moon?
Maybe it’s because
He can’t explain
Why it happens
That it does.
And that pisses
Him off and
There goes peace
Out the window.
For AH
- Hal J. Daniel III
(1 poem added 04.17.13)
editor's note: Tell me the sound of one hand clapping and I'll smack you for interrupting my moment of zen. Thanks, Hal! Now I lost it, too. (Let's welcome Hal to our crazy confab of Contributing Poets. More of his singular insanity on his new page - check it out.) - mh
Artificial in semblace
"Aye, I...
Had a question about…
A.I."
Question?
You are in joyous solitude…
No need for questions…
"Can you please tell your umbrella to stop raining on my clouds?"
Computer! Translate nonsensical human statement.
Processing...
Today's memento is for the disintegration of the human spirit
in the sentient universe as it's come to be learned as,
preferred as...
A solvent, attainable body of neurotransmitters, tender, destined
for Earthspread
brain / brawn / detergent distribution committees
are rounding up the best of these men that are left
for a "burning tribute on the altar" "last hurrah engulfed in flames"
approach, and 720000 other results in similar phrase
History modules show elemental cleansing to be desirable custom
not to be mixed up with the monikers:
"ethnic cleansing"
"where there's smoke there's a fire!"
"where there's life, there's ominous death,
or termination of robo-genetic consciousness"
In data sponges, there is no shortage of thoughtful inquiry.
It wasn't always like this in a nanointelligent machine society
Gathering wood, is cultivating Solaris.
Engaging the enemy fort is taming the biosphere.
I suppose we're bygones when Earth's gone.
even in animated terms, reality has a smog-borne harshness to it.
The bitterness of the limb output station and Blueshard epoxy withdrawal
compounded into a 'be all you can be' camaraderie.
Downloading ABSOLUTE MORALITY was the first step to purity.
Puberty? Computer! Assist in wording:
Processing...
"Progeny."
We didn't intend for the people to become drone-like.
"Do the right thing" said the bionic man to the farmer joes.
arthropods in a circle of life spliced by the horn of creational irony
Self sustainable, but pardon the necropolis effect,
like what happened in New Haven.
Stethochips lodged into their necks.
The "self enriching existentiers" manipulated into joyous servitude…
Computer: We still have work to do.
- Erik Moshe
(added 04.16.13)
editor's note: Yes, we are the only solvent which will not result in a solution. Nothing computes! - mh
Infinite Creatures We Be
Creatures with all your power
Lusting after your mortal coils
Blazing through life’s angular tiles
Abandoning hopes and dreams
Begging to just be
Longing for sleep again
Bursting to awakening
Morning after morning
Sluggish nor slothful
Diligent and ever present
Where do you go?
And where do you come from?
You timid wild ones
You ancillary subjects of eternity
You crying crashed happy ones
With the affinity for indulging and living
Burning ships
And setting sail with new ones
Crying, “These are the days my God!”
With graveyard tans and carrying crosses
Burying the seven sins to lift up the seven virtues
And somewhere, everywhere, in between
Breaking equilibrium with entropic madness
Till finally settling for the night
Creatures with all our power
Softly and slowly letting go...
- Kelly M. Doolittle
(added 04.15.13)
editor's note: All we "crying crashed happy ones" will NOT SLEEP; will not budge, but grudge each moment robbed from "these are the days." Will not, will not... (getting tired)... WILL NOT... (sleepy)... zzzzzzzzzzz. - mh
The light kite and his flight
Sleepwalker, he sings,
Looking for the dream
In the sky to catch.
He lets his welkin ring
Pull gently on the rein,
A world of never land to see,
Controlling the steed.
Small bobbin he rolls,
Lurking in the void,
Throwing its shadow beneath
In the luminous doubt.
Somnolent found is the city,
Proximity of which, is very material,
Had kept less ears aesthetic, to listen to
Creative sanguine flow.
Indignant kite that,
Pushing once again, the wind,
Along with fluctuating dream,
Betokening to go ahead,
Unseen behind, to make it see
The paper, where the horizon rolls
Entangled into his finger tips.
The kite is landed
Unharness the belt.
- Hem Raj Bastola
(1 poem added 04.14.13)
editor's note: I'd rather pull the belt tighter and go for another flight. Nice! - 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...
Gettin' Free,
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
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