to many poems about poems about poems masterbation cold turkey
Category: Writing and Poetry

satiated artists
are starving art, it's
unsettling

the wrapping of words around and around
like barbwire in pink bows
in the airs of girls

someone buy that poem a steak sandwich
and a chocolatte shake
you can see the poor thing's ribs
it's all ribs
skin thin
poking
through

words are cold sake
words are warm sake
words are half full &
words are half empty

the drunk halflings are combatting colds
with wombats on strike from big oil
on grounds that legalese poetries
will make a game that's never paid
never pay more oft than before

wrap a ribbon around the may pole
kiss yours body bag today
to avoid a toe tag
cut off all your piggies

do-rag time dolls
two drag and quit calls
spit balls of blue
fall's fit for me
and I spring for you
summer singing soft shoe
through, flew a lingering winter boot

starve the feeding artist!
fatten up the art!

Currently listening : Nightcap: The Unreleased Masters 1973-1991 By Jethro Tull Release date: 2000-01-11

8:18 AM - 9 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

another fur ewe mai loaf
Category: Writing and Poetry

different wavelength
floating yellow ball of love
with painted red rose
west

west to my lover

magnetic device afloat
in sunlight over the subconscious
west
departing Limantur beach
and it's naked moon
strength is pulling thread 'round edges
and horizon lines
like a bird singing sweetener
for oriental teas

an open canvas left cheeky
a topless apparition transformed
into pillows and dimensions of 2
wallet-size sepia and pecked
held tightly with all 4's

bed-headed bird brain over clouds
under the wings spread
Pacifically for me
curling into
crashing over me

to sleep
and dream
into you again

Currently watching : V for Vendetta [Blu-ray] Release date: 2008-05-20

6:04 AM - 6 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

it’s small, sure... but fierce!
Category: Writing and Poetry

She took out his convoluted Colt 45 with a smirk that felt like an exclamation point
and shot her shadow like a dog out back, squeezing her eyes along with the trigger.
It left her feeling full of emptiness. It left her feeling her head spinning in the vacuum.
A faux latte and salt free pretzel later, she felt like a new person;
the kind that you hold archaic to, like a root indented behind baby teeth.
He knew he had lost her in the battle with answer.
He had no cure.
He had no wonder.



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GIve the people cake!
Give the people wine!
Propheseize poetrys
all in-out
war all the time!
making NO mistakes!
Fires don't
freeze...
Feed the drunken sweet!!



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Your magic tickles me
from across the sea
when I sit down to see whatcha mind's tellin' me
Click, boom.
Click, click, boom, click, boom.
Click, click...



- - - - - - - -



Cardigan sweat-shoppes
for sock-hop scotch tape to stick
down
messy
situations.

Vote repetitively
Vote demonstratively
Vote indefinitely
Vote neutrally officious
Vote the vote
Gonna milk yr vote
What a trendy vote bag
I'm a stay-at-home vote
I sleep at Votel 6
I ride my sail-vote
I vote you a love letter
Left it in my right vote pocket
watching 'Murder She Vote'



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Mas vino, red gushing
blushing cheeks and speak behind a feather fanning
sweating fat grapes

Currently listening : Ys By Joanna Newsom Release date: 2006-11-14

8:32 PM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

first word of each line provided via text message as the devil...
Category: Writing and Poetry

strategic winds were placed to fly
papillon earring butterflies in
tenuous poetry.
school is to smart as
surface is to tension
suffused with watermelon clarity.
lackadaisical time and pepper and
rosemary run the roots
elemental. they sing in
falsetto to death's false
curtain call. instead,
archaic ligatures of
landscape awe and awful
debacle tie up the veins that
undulate in
insurmountable
pain of a world gone
tantamount to spectatorship going down

Currently listening : Live at Cafe Montmartre 1966 By Don Cherry Quintet Release date: 2007-08-07

9:34 PM - 5 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Dedicated to poetry...
Category: Writing and Poetry

I try to put a lot of fiber into my art.
Hand over hand of future movements are afoot.
Little fiddles play jazz in the cracks of the floor;
worshipping crickets and brakes pads gone bad.

Been laying down fresh colors to the world, I have.
I've enjoyed Porto and the solitude after 12 hours of sleep.
Poetry has been giving me the cold shoulder
like a pull in a neck muscle for the last week.
The poems
get jealous.

They know I am rolling deep with colored inks
and warm welcoming paper, scissors & collage.
A hit was put out on the glue stick.

Poetry, the most abstract of loves
(Words, the most abstract of truth),
is always out and about the towns and dells.
She is like commanding smoke
with the peripheral mind-
a sensitivity to the obvious.

Currently listening : A Love Supreme By John Coltrane Release date: 2003-08-19

7:47 PM - 8 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

The pre-recorded promagranate has been dispersed into thin mints...
Category: Art and Photography

sorry bout not being around, you great poets
was doing much collaging and collaborating
with fellow Sonoma County artiste Miles Frode
aka The Vagabond Wordsmith
for days and days

check out some of the new collages
posted fresh today!

and I have a storefront at rayswaney.etsy.com

CHEERS!!

--Ray

Currently listening : Simon & Garfunkel - Greatest Hits By Simon & Garfunkel Release date: 1990-10-25

2:58 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

COLLABORATION!!!!! (between Big Sway and Miles [the Vagabond Wordsmith]). Friend my amigo!
Category: Writing and Poetry

oh gosh... a big word to start something as small as a 25 cent pack of blue flavored bubblegum
debate-icular cancer-efficient Dante-licious, mi capasito, Circo LaQuacious!
now the lines have been crossed..mother circumlocutionist and father empty pen and nest syndromed
something or other.
beaten the homework and tasted the parade routes; fingers diving into abstract meat
and the break
the break
the break
the line breaks like wave on the sands of time
My toothpaste is the lesser of two evil cavities.

gee willikers the empty shirt collars bleed into my own official portents
the sullen mirage of an end like a psychic premonition allowed public commiseration
demagogues and machiavellianist undulate in our "inside" rainment
so mother may i call you father free-time

jet ski me to the moon and play me jazz through
trumpets of Saturnian, Plutonian strings, keys by Mr. Mitchell
stitchin' it all back together again. Sin?

oh how we fluctuate
tapped spoons and phones pellucid appeal to providence
turned outcome into outside like euphonious jazz trumpet's and waitresses
maitre d.'s, open tables and jam and marmalade

conundrum, not opaque
grilled pointed fingers to cheap wine
damn, too much, the stuff of drunken rambling
early in the late nite
singing mute songs to deaf haters
word.
word?
WORDS!
smith,...john
or clearest vision opened hearts
like windows on hot nights to allow the spirits to listen
this questioning protean of nascence called uncertainty
rides our backs like the monkey skeleton that was inside my three piece suite
smoking clover

laugh, you ass-monkies
stand down as I stand up
nobody can ruin my mood
no bomb
no unemployment
no heartbreak
no stan saint can sling my day to hatred again, ever
and ever for several thousand reasons, one not far from treason
seasoning my face with Hippocratic syphilis
I can't digress
I digest deviation...

So, you type with a foot
a stinky stanza smelling of rot olives and love juice days old, sOn
The secret ingredient's love

JP Morgan bought Washington Mutual
Government seizures abound in a planned failure
The Federal Reserve deserves death for what they've done to us
Money-grabbers!!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!!!!
FUCK OFF!!!!! DIE A PAINFUL DEATH, I hate you Rockafellers!!
Fuck the Rothschilds!!!! GIVE
ME
BACK
MY
GOLD
My militia is mouthward bound
with expletives laced with cyanide
my phalanxes faces are flaxen with this less witnessed b.s or at least
the nuances of the reoccurring phenomenologists delving into the whole in our hearts wholeheartedly
the coffins in our eyes only show when the propped up bhodisatvas
get locked up in the county jail posted like the top bunk hip hop punks
but what is this visionless precisions twist where my cousins
drift in and out of my perceptionitis because of the
biographies that want to type themselves...
beyond chi's medicated ennui resides the provided okay
coral of more or less moraless moral today
but I'm not so sure about tomorrow.
so...
buy low..
and be high...
buy now...
try to realize later.
our "one" is the new david bowie
the old david blain,...
the the next david copperfeild...
but by then you wont even remember goliath and what's his name
'caus my capacious thaumaturgy...
my proclivity for rewiring the giving tree's nativity's
rebuilding these magic acts that give new illusions

to

all the old television programs of Jazz
O Genio of Ray Charles
Oh, my stars and garters the charter schools preside over odd
nose flutes in chimney chutes
blow

jazz horns tell tall tales all tales
city and radar blink
code and radio static stored in ms. frank's attic
the nazi's, the potty-mouthed
clots of blood foresee death
and blow chunks
towards
outward
inward beats by DJ's dancing mad on streetless feet
sweet with strawberry tweeters and please the pleasures of icarus kid
the fickle acid eater of prickless Armageddon days and lightless nites defined by
dark blue diamondead kites flight forever and all ways know
to open space and negative space giving meaning to meaning

I, seam, outward speaking look into deep Loki eyes
spy tonight on miles travelled with rays of burning sundry laundromatic weaponry
of unheavened bread

he speaks from inside of the inspiringly closed door even before his verse is read
or he is heard..
in other words he said something with words other than
those...
they could have been these but... i really don't quite know cause i haven't read' em yet..
maybe i should.

oh.. now i see like extra eyes given with and from the end and beginning...
THE end and the beginning gave both sets of their two eyes.
those amorphous bastards and bitches.
they gave us there eyes and only eye can see while he waits
for the rest of the wine to pour itself...
i see how he sees and now i C how A, B, and even D await the
re-admittance of there fellow viewer
the admitting again that they see

this is a bunch of bunches of smoothly unbunched pieces...
we form the space that you separate.
we become the you and i,
we become the beginning and the end

PARTY RULES
is God drawing penises on our faces when we sleep in our shoes?




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White stags, signing proletariat artwork
give little space for the "actual" artwork
make the space in the proletariat framework of shamework
leaving space for the space needed for spaceships
and bunchless bananas
damn proletariats!
plutocracies rule!..
literally
But bandanas make for cool revolutionary
or summertime accessory statements
like militant fashion state mints
Support the arts
Cup the balls
Be tender with blended hearts in backwards faces

bastardized backwards bananaramas and troubadour
contestants of the truman show...
dude wheres the door
my car....
my life...
my umm...next word

uhhhhhh.....
turd (question mark/awkward swatch)
Peet's coffee moss toss salads to the phalanxes
and I get lost in deep psychosis
hoping this
will rid some devils
Hoping they are
rational creatures
My britches are stitched to my apple cart

where the fuck is that johnny what's his seed?
he was supposed to have what it takes...
took and well maybe what we need to fend off these
prada and fendi sneakers that i'll apparently
need in this tight rope ish'

where's the prison
wheres the prizm
wheres the dead and wheres the livin'?
are any of these actually permitted in "our"
uncensored by the senator with scented fur's
committee unopened for busyness

open what you want, you know you
want
two

you want
wanton eyelashes

you, Gunter, harangue a prague fella
you sell marrow to the bone
you send hate mail to the phone
you control your corner of this ordeal revealed
as
the letter he sent to her..
that centaur senator with scented fur...
who himself had cello cheekbones, and
plucked strings and
and a facewash that smelled like lemon meringue
and...
and a plane with no hanger and...
and L.S with no D
no D indeed
no house and no deed decreed.

the defense is dead set on the dead zone atop a fence, freed
what about bob?...
Shit what about me!

Currently listening : Night Dreamer By Wayne Shorter Release date: 2005-03-01

1:29 AM - 4 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

2 new love poems to Angie Brown (away in Japan)...
Category: Writing and Poetry

There's a fuzzy baby chick
in my chest
That jumpin'-jacks
whene'er yr near
My ear caresses
worded investments
in lasting love
"I love you. I'm here.
Everything is gonna be OK."
I'm forgetting the fear &
rememb'ring yr face



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I trust in a love
that's light & carries
over all plains & valleys
like satellite transmissions
from heart to heart
Bodies being called to arms
to have and hold light
above egos' rubble
(Lovers wear crowns of white)

Currently listening : rhino Release date: 2007-06-01

11:08 AM - 8 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

and then 5 came tromping along through the finger patch to delivery fresh goods...
Category: Writing and Poetry

Engines are revving up & down the strip mall
Pedal boats keg-stand on a barrel of oil
Dipsticks are runnin' hot these days
While assholes are spittin' pollution

Wednesday waits
For his enemy to make the first move
Hump-day electric prophylactics & hi-fi electronics
Are no lasting solution
To our dependence on the rich, richer & richest



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The here is now-
Cows & a water tower
Trees
No helicopter
Strangers are mirrors
Trying to cold cream the make-up atop
Trying to pluck false eyelashes by the root
Trying to pluck false eyes like socket fruit
You can't stop
The here is now

Where're you?



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It's recently come to my attention
that Marxist poetry is trying to get it's foot
out of it's mouth & in the door.
That production is up & demand is low.

So what.
Healers & poets should donate themselves
to the infinite substratum (above & below).
Channels of fame & wealth are anti-natural growth.
Quiet your mind & focus on soul.



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L ove is too
A gile & quick for our
U gly mind, escaping
G uantanamo with the
H elp of laughter; the
T umbling acrobats through
E ternal consciousness
R etaining resplendent mysticism



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{ RAP FOR OPEN MIC }

Em-inem
is spittin' out yr eulogies
while...
Mighty Mos spittin'
opportunities
No diss, though
Slow yr roll & cutlery
No hate in the game
No time for yr mass villainy

Anxiety killin' me fillin' me
to the brim-
Sendin' me angels
when it shoulda been Him
with a capital "H"
I locked him out with a sin
A concept that's narrow
& blind to within

So I grin & laugh cubist
Pull it off for the poor
Those without education
know so much more
Talk trash / ass laugh
Sing a song from the core
There's no disease from deceased metaphors

Currently listening : Viva! La Woman By Cibo Matto Release date: 1996-01-16

1:16 PM - 7 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

{ PROSTRATE PARAKEET } by Ray Andrew Swaney
Category: Writing and Poetry

Empty myself
No breakfast
No coffee
No thinking
No seat at the Center For Bus Stoppage
Singing my song, Northbound
The prodigal sun ray gun off the lip
whipper snap dragon firecracker gone home
like a sheet over rocks cotton fresh tambourine
All
That
Jazzercise
can't fill thee hole

Empty myself
No soul
No nerves ending
Inertia cracking her whip
No comprehension bumpy country bumpkin road
I see visions of home
Mirages dancing under glass slick powdered sugar
I see a smile in Rome
A mouth drawn - a slow unfilled promise of youth
in tacky Oriental plaid women's' dinner jacket (ew!)
South later and spreading eagles on bread
Sleep on the underside of the bed
& scuba-dive in my dreams

Empty myself
No slowing down (only relativity changing gear)
No more haystacks for hamburgers
No more Walt Whitman
Dark are sleepers
Frumpy, stuffed animals
Arms & face, cross
Mind, prostrate parakeet

Currently listening : Mwng By Super Furry Animals Release date: 2005-04-12

12:54 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment