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 Apart
Death 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 bullet
If 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 Away
If 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 TIME
You 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 Door
you 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-shows
it 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)
remember, this page is in flux, living and breathing, evolving and changing constantly...so please come and come often for the latest submissions.
click here to visit the mad swirl's poetry forum. if you would like to submit poetry for the forum please see our submissions page located here.
Showing posts with label writers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writers. Show all posts
11.20.2007
What's Going on in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum? (11.21.07)
More then you can shake a stick at, that's what..!
We have collected poetry from the maddest poets from the maddest corners of this mad mad world and have showcased the latest Mad Ones in the Poetry Forum just for you. Currently the forum's gots lots of words from: David Kowalczyk, Ra! Gabriel, Joseph Goosey, Michael Lee Johnson, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal & Ryan Dilbert...
My Dream Is Turquoise Marzipan
I am living at the San Diego Zoo
in a cage filled with crack vials,
banana peels, and expired bus passes.
I alternate covering my eyes,
my mouth, my ears,
while geriatric Republicans from
Tucson toss peanuts at me.
They are wise.
They feel the magic.
They know that I know
what I know, that I am
who I am because
I understand the serpent.
- david kowalczyk
Subway goes
he runs to catch the train
that doesn't stop
time is internal, spiraling now
a girl he's been practicing imagining
waits for him at some improbable stop
still unbuilt: a mere proposal on a drawing
board in some workroom
will blast through cheap restaurants and
Laundromats; will attract new
buildings and they will dine on Tofu
soup and cold, chewy noodles
- ra! gabriel
I TAKE A SEAT NEXT TO YOU
Are you hungry?
Do you want some lunch?
Will you be hungry on Saturday
around 7pm?
How was Corpus Cristi?
How is the aquarium?
Do you enjoy trumpets?
Trombones?
French horns?
French poetry?
French fiction?
Tennis? Bowling?
Do you savor dishes of fish
and rice?
Write the answer
to the aforementioned down
on a post-it, in H10 pencil,
and leave it for me
on the windshield of my
dirty dirty car.
- joseph goosey
Poem From My Grave
Don't bring the rosary beads
it's too damn late for doing repetitions.
Eucharist, I can handle the crackers and wine;
I love the Lord just like you.
Catholicism circles itself with rituals--
ground hogs and squirrels dancing with rosary beads,
naked in the sun and the night, eating the pearls
and feeling comfortable about it.
Rituals and rosary beads are indigestible
even the butterflies go coughing in the farmer's cornfields..
Cardinal George, Chicago, would choke on the damn things;
some of his priest would have thought it a gay orgasm or piece
remote found in scripture from Sodam & Gamora.
But my bones in ginger dust lie near a farm in DeKalb, Illinois
where sunset meshes corn with a yellow gold glow like rich teeth.
My tent is with friends there we said prayers privately like silent
moonlight. Farmers touch the face of God each morning after just
one cup of Folgers coffee Columbian blend,
or pancakes made with water and batter, sparse on the sugar.
Sometimes I would urinate on the yellow edge of flowers,
near the tent, late at night, before the hayride, speak
to the earth and birds like gods.
Never did I pull the rosary beads from my pocket.
It's too late, damn it, for rosary beads and repetitions.
- michael lee johnson
GIVE ME A CHANCE
It’s a mistake.
I’m not supposed
to be in here.
I didn’t do
anything wrong.
I forgot to
take my mind pills.
Without them I
get so confused.
I’m better now.
You can see that.
Why can’t I be
let go? I could
be more careful.
Give me a chance.
Whatever I
did to that poor
homeless woman
I won’t ever
do again? I
only took her
cart. She fell all
by herself. At
least she didn’t
break her hip. I
never laid a
hand on her. I’m
going back to
the place she lives
and apologize.
I will bring her
coffee, donuts,
and some spare change.
- luis cuauhtemoc berriozabal
Two-faced motherfucker
I first saw her in Starbucks black,
slim, maroon boxes around her squinty eyes.
Her face was bared to me in installments
all the grains of sugar and dust
placed into the lines of my palm
I am a two-faced motherfucker
and there is no way she could have known that
The first face I showed her
was the sweet and loyal boyfriend
the babysitter
who stockpiled friends
The next face I gave her
in the bedroom
the door closed
the girlfriend forgotten
for a few sultry moments
I left without saying goodbye
When I returned I was older, more mature, more jaded
The first face I showed her was passionate,
one she could hold in her clammy hands
that she could use to wipe up spilled soda
that called her
that tried to prove that the past wasn't a fluke
The other face was turned away
turned inward
uncaring like I thought she was
she saw that one fading off into the distance
becoming a dot
I left without leaving
and no good-bye
We met again and kept our friendship a clothesless one
The face I showed her in the dark
was erect and dripped into her cupped hands
it was a face of fire
kept warm inside a blanket
The second face I didn't show
it was indifferent,
unsure of if it was smiling or cringing
it was a icy face, rotting from the inside
full of insensitive maggots
it is one that I hate
that I try to cut off at night
with sharpened tears
I don't want to leave
I don't want to say goodbye
But she's seen the second face
and recoiled
She doesn't love the first face
But wouldn't mind being warmed by its flickering light
The other one bites into her back
and is only sorry
when it is too late
- ryan dilbert
Remember, this page is in flux, living and breathing, evolving and changing constantly...so please come and come often for the latest submissions.
Click here to visit the Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum. If you would like to submit poetry for the forum please see our submissions page located here.
We have collected poetry from the maddest poets from the maddest corners of this mad mad world and have showcased the latest Mad Ones in the Poetry Forum just for you. Currently the forum's gots lots of words from: David Kowalczyk, Ra! Gabriel, Joseph Goosey, Michael Lee Johnson, Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal & Ryan Dilbert...
My Dream Is Turquoise Marzipan
I am living at the San Diego Zoo
in a cage filled with crack vials,
banana peels, and expired bus passes.
I alternate covering my eyes,
my mouth, my ears,
while geriatric Republicans from
Tucson toss peanuts at me.
They are wise.
They feel the magic.
They know that I know
what I know, that I am
who I am because
I understand the serpent.
- david kowalczyk
Subway goes
he runs to catch the train
that doesn't stop
time is internal, spiraling now
a girl he's been practicing imagining
waits for him at some improbable stop
still unbuilt: a mere proposal on a drawing
board in some workroom
will blast through cheap restaurants and
Laundromats; will attract new
buildings and they will dine on Tofu
soup and cold, chewy noodles
- ra! gabriel
I TAKE A SEAT NEXT TO YOU
Are you hungry?
Do you want some lunch?
Will you be hungry on Saturday
around 7pm?
How was Corpus Cristi?
How is the aquarium?
Do you enjoy trumpets?
Trombones?
French horns?
French poetry?
French fiction?
Tennis? Bowling?
Do you savor dishes of fish
and rice?
Write the answer
to the aforementioned down
on a post-it, in H10 pencil,
and leave it for me
on the windshield of my
dirty dirty car.
- joseph goosey
Poem From My Grave
Don't bring the rosary beads
it's too damn late for doing repetitions.
Eucharist, I can handle the crackers and wine;
I love the Lord just like you.
Catholicism circles itself with rituals--
ground hogs and squirrels dancing with rosary beads,
naked in the sun and the night, eating the pearls
and feeling comfortable about it.
Rituals and rosary beads are indigestible
even the butterflies go coughing in the farmer's cornfields..
Cardinal George, Chicago, would choke on the damn things;
some of his priest would have thought it a gay orgasm or piece
remote found in scripture from Sodam & Gamora.
But my bones in ginger dust lie near a farm in DeKalb, Illinois
where sunset meshes corn with a yellow gold glow like rich teeth.
My tent is with friends there we said prayers privately like silent
moonlight. Farmers touch the face of God each morning after just
one cup of Folgers coffee Columbian blend,
or pancakes made with water and batter, sparse on the sugar.
Sometimes I would urinate on the yellow edge of flowers,
near the tent, late at night, before the hayride, speak
to the earth and birds like gods.
Never did I pull the rosary beads from my pocket.
It's too late, damn it, for rosary beads and repetitions.
- michael lee johnson
GIVE ME A CHANCE
It’s a mistake.
I’m not supposed
to be in here.
I didn’t do
anything wrong.
I forgot to
take my mind pills.
Without them I
get so confused.
I’m better now.
You can see that.
Why can’t I be
let go? I could
be more careful.
Give me a chance.
Whatever I
did to that poor
homeless woman
I won’t ever
do again? I
only took her
cart. She fell all
by herself. At
least she didn’t
break her hip. I
never laid a
hand on her. I’m
going back to
the place she lives
and apologize.
I will bring her
coffee, donuts,
and some spare change.
- luis cuauhtemoc berriozabal
Two-faced motherfucker
I first saw her in Starbucks black,
slim, maroon boxes around her squinty eyes.
Her face was bared to me in installments
all the grains of sugar and dust
placed into the lines of my palm
I am a two-faced motherfucker
and there is no way she could have known that
The first face I showed her
was the sweet and loyal boyfriend
the babysitter
who stockpiled friends
The next face I gave her
in the bedroom
the door closed
the girlfriend forgotten
for a few sultry moments
I left without saying goodbye
When I returned I was older, more mature, more jaded
The first face I showed her was passionate,
one she could hold in her clammy hands
that she could use to wipe up spilled soda
that called her
that tried to prove that the past wasn't a fluke
The other face was turned away
turned inward
uncaring like I thought she was
she saw that one fading off into the distance
becoming a dot
I left without leaving
and no good-bye
We met again and kept our friendship a clothesless one
The face I showed her in the dark
was erect and dripped into her cupped hands
it was a face of fire
kept warm inside a blanket
The second face I didn't show
it was indifferent,
unsure of if it was smiling or cringing
it was a icy face, rotting from the inside
full of insensitive maggots
it is one that I hate
that I try to cut off at night
with sharpened tears
I don't want to leave
I don't want to say goodbye
But she's seen the second face
and recoiled
She doesn't love the first face
But wouldn't mind being warmed by its flickering light
The other one bites into her back
and is only sorry
when it is too late
- ryan dilbert
Remember, this page is in flux, living and breathing, evolving and changing constantly...so please come and come often for the latest submissions.
Click here to visit the Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum. If you would like to submit poetry for the forum please see our submissions page located here.
8.02.2007
Swirlin' Thanks to the Neighborhood Mad Ones of 08.01.07
You know, we had a lot of fun last night. We should get together and do this again...(and a one and a two and a three)
Tomorrow (09.05.07), tomorrow (09.05.07), we'll open the mic tomorrow (09.05.07) with a poem or two.
One!
Two!
Tomorrow (09.05.07), tomorrow (09.05.07), we'll start the night tomorrow (09.05.07) with a swirl for you!
Til then we hope you're feeling mad-happy
Til then we hope your day is swirl-appy
Tomorrow (09.05.07), tomorrow (09.05.07) it soon will be tomorrow (09.05.07) and will be our night.
We like to say thank you to all you mad ones in the neighborhood who came on 08.01.07 and witnessed the madness in this Land-of-Better-Believe...
Johnny O (host)
Lisa Ohhh (co-host)
Cheyenne Gallion
Paul Sexton
Opalina Salas
Carlos Salas
Desmene Statum
Roderick Richardson
Jolee Cloudy
Joey Cloudy
Max Blair
Michael Clay
Mister Natural
Whiskey Jack (Stefan & Jimmy)
John Kelly
Apollo
Poet Echo
Tarnished Penny
Tia
Lyrical I
Crystal
Natasha Sweet
Ben
Christopher
Mac Man
Joshua Gabriel
Efrain
A very special neighborhood thanks to Gerard for setting the longest drum solo ever in Mad Swirl history.
An even more special neighborhood thanks to Absinthe Lounge...owner Kevin, manager Brian and bartenders Carolyn and Kathryn.
We can’t wait until next month... (and a one and a two and a three)
Till then we will say a very happy tomorrow to you and...
We'll be back, when the month is new, and we'll have more Swirl Madness for you, and you'll have words you'll want to share about. We will too.
See you all tomorrow (09.05.07).
Bye now!
7.19.2007
who, what and where is mad swirl?
mad swirl is a platform, a showcase, a stage to place as many artists in this mad, mad world of ours. mad swirl is the collection of as many artists, writers, illustrators, photographers, psychos, and poets that we could gather. mad swirl is taking the many sides of art and showcasing it between a front and back cover, a www and a dot com and on stage at poetry/spoken word venues around Dallas. mad swirl is recognizing the madness of creation, the madness of life, the madness of art and trying to get the swirl of it all into as many heads as possible. basically, mad swirl is an outlet. an electronic, print and live-wired creative outlet. got'ya interested? wanna see your ideas, words, art, photos, rants, cartoons, scribblings, etc...come to life? then visit MadSwirl.com already!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)