welcome to
mad swirl 's poetry forum. we have collected poetry from the maddest poets from the maddest corners of the world and have showcased them here in the forum just for you. catch the flowin' swirlin' madness from some our fellow mad ones ~ shawn r. misener, glenn still, rafael andrade garza, desmene m. statum, joseph goosey, moctezuma johnson & justin hyde...
"Who's Gonna Fuck You When You're Dead?"is certainly the best thing I’ve overheard
so I can’t take credit for it
but I can relay the splendor to you
and we can both laugh and chuckle
the couple was gone down the street
before I could react
they were incredibly fast walkers
for being so grey and poorly dressed
but what the man said
in that moment
has stuck with me for ten years
and by now the guy is a wise sage
in the rolodex of my memories
- shawn r. misener
(added 02.16.08)
Death Is Picking Me ApartDeath is picking me apart
I never realized
That it would come to this
On the other side of the fence
Like some bad neighbor
Throwing trash
Not respecting property owned
By others with dreams
Ya! Death is picking me apart slowly
Its come hard to the realization
This shit is getting crazy
My best friend just took a settle down
I didn’t even know it
I kept calling and calling
No answer!
Too late motherfucker
Disconnected!
Death is picking me apart
My soul can’t contain this
This shit is re-arranging me like dominoes
Playing hard like some old black man
Stuck on a ghetto corner
Only in this game
No one ever wins
The truth of the matter is
No one ever loses either
Figure that shit out
If you can!
It’s just that pain
That creeps in every few seconds
Damn! I wish I would have answered your call
I thought I was just too busy
What a fool I was
Ya! Death is that phenomena
That makes you question everything
Well, you know what man?
I want to let you know now that you’re gone
You were that brother from another mother
We saw eye to eye
I knew you better
Then you knew yourself
I just wish I could’ve been there
When you hit the floor
Been a Jesus!
Resurrected you!
Brought you back!
But I know that this is just me wishing
Death picks us all apart
When it’s our time
The clock stops ticking
Stop
Dead Stop!
Dedicated to Steven Everhart Jr.
My friend, my Brother…RIP Man!
- glenn still
(added 02.16.08)
love is faster than a speeding bulletIf you were to shred my spirit’s tee
You’ll find a Superman S
where a bulls-eye used to be
my soul once bullet-ridden
with lost love
and bleeding sorrow
is coming back
even stronger tomorrow
nothing can defeat experience
but wisdom-
this is why I try to find new ways
to overcome my sworn enemies
the loneliness
the vice
the pity
If you were to hear my chest
echoes of a troubled city-
rockford fosgate beats upon flesh
blood flows from Technochtitlan
democratic bones carved out of Parthenon
my heart is Mt. Everest
and from this highest hope
I’m not afraid to fall
In my camera eye,
exists an imperfect world
ghosts walking where happy souls should be
on these hollow streets,
there are crimes against the heart
I put my superman t-shit back on.
- rafael andrade garza
© January 05, 2007
(added 02.14.08)
What I Gave AwayIf I wanted to be nothing
I would have stayed in Alabama
probably married some no good johnny
baked myself a tasteless pie dream
I would have chosen selfishness
and raised my daughter alone
God, I would die
just to see her face
that would have been easier
than giving her away
and continuing the cycle
I was determined to break
teen mother with emotionally
unavailable father
Sometimes the hardest thing to give away
is control
If you are happy
you know
nothing can touch you
but wind
Libra’s daughter and her deviant lover
worshipers of melody
seeking a paradise
Singing two-fisted whiskey love songs
about fire eating eyes
to eighteen-wheeler emotions
Consuming each other
one gives to feel whole
the other takes to fill a hole
Each thinking
they lack something
necessary to live
They define their happiness
by the validity of touch
Void, devoid, and, afraid
selfish
both guilty in someway
not ever really knowing
what feels good
All they have known
is their conditioning
the constant paranoia
of lack
of never amounting to
more than an addiction
They construct a universe
of guilt, of right and wrong
and this is no place to live
Tangible intangibles
paradoxes of reality
pretending its paradise
Instead of making love
and making light
they mutilate their own hearts
and exist in a continuous state
of darkness and emotional disfigurement
When I was 18
my boyfriend and I
bought a trailer
and moved in together
This was after my daughter was adopted
during that time
I obsessed with an everyday life
couldn’t save myself from thinking
that my sacrifice was for nothing
I couldn’t let go
my thoughts of grandeur
that my purpose was something greater
than working in a day care
living in a trailer and
never having an education
Over and over
it burrowed into my consciousness
conquered my reasoning
After weeks of self loathing
I made a promise to myself
Then I burned that trailer
to the ground
and headed west
- desmene m. statum
(added 02.11.08)
A BIT OF NARCISSISM FOR YOU IN THE EVENING TIMEYou mean to tell me you can't be fooled with poetry?
Well, shit on the sheets and call for a haircut appointment
because that was the only plan I had drawn up thus far.
Don't you understand? I'm writing about your pigtails
your sprinkles your frosting your dress your river cigarette
stuffed bear record player plastic flower neuroses
What? You don't want to read about any of those really personal subjects?
You just want to lay there eating your sushi and gatorade?
If you had a diary I could just read the fucking thing but now a
scheme must be devised.
If you would just write me up some instructions for how to
act smoke fuck laugh care cry shout poop eat ginger
then maybe this key would fit a more out of date but stylish car.
What yanks at me constantly,
is why you are not in awe
of all that I do.
- joseph goosey
(added 02.11.08)
Whore Next Dooryou are the whore next door
I see you every day
stripping down into your panties
bending over to the oven
you're some hockey player's wife
they say. they don't know you. not
like I know you, your long blonde
hair, your thick curves—you're like
a porn star. my personal porn star.
I lower the lights so you can't see me
in the brownstone across the way
jerking off saying your name: Anya.
at least that's what I imagine your
name to be. you give me a flesh of
breast meat. I'm addicted. I'll watch
you everyday now. everyday after
I come home from middle school.
- moctezuma johnson
(added 02.09.08)
all these freak-showsit seems
the more outlandish
they dress
the duller they are.
for instance
two pancake-faced
wafers
next table over:
striped leggings
wooden plugs
in their ears,
airing out
freshly minted tattoos
of japanese calligraphy
on their shoulders.
i'm going on a
green-bean only diet,
buzz-clucks
the one.
i'm so with you,
clutter-spurts
the other
as
a gopher
in nigeria
locks up
from a
heart-attack.
i don't have any tattoos
or piercings,
don't even
wear a watch.
i should have glasses
but that's a
different poem.
if you pegged me at all
it would be for a
sloppily dressed
footnote,
which i'd gladly be
if it wasn't
for all the
voodoo-rickshaws
jackknifing
right here
behind these
eyes.
- justin hyde
(added 02.07.08)
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