The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.24.13
"No man has the right to dictate what other men should perceive, create or produce, but all should be encouraged to reveal themselves, their perceptions and emotions, and to build confidence in the creative spirit." Ansel Adams
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Off the Rails (above) by Tyler Malone.
Some of you might recognize the name of this month's featured visual artist from his poetry prowess. Others from his short story wow-ness. And still others from his editing editorial-ness. Well this month's featured artist, Tyler Malone, also happens to be the dude we here at Mad Swirl know and love. When this talented mo'fo' started snapping pics all around his town of Georgetown, Texas, we knew it was just a matter of time (and gathering a HUGE number of eye-popping photos) before he would grace our Mad Gallery walls. After hiding behind his photog persona of The Second Shooter, we thought it due time to out him. Our beloved short story editor (and long-time contributing poet and writer) Tyler Malone has hit the Mad Swirl trifecta! This mad man's talent doesn't stop at his borderline logophilia. Tyler's photographs of otherwise mundane sights - a silent sentinel shack, for example - are taken in such a unique way that they sneak up on you. Clouds captured in such an intriguing light, you almost feel chilled to the bone just looking at them, and left wondering how on earth did he do that. Bottomless talent? A God-given gift? A sharp eye for the divine? You be the judge. Click here to be eye-witness behind the photog eye of Ty... ler Malone. - Madelyn Olson
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we hustled after rustled calves, didn't trust the twist o' the knife; we handled the heat of a halfway life by vaunting the vapid void; we further simmered in sweat, enjoying entendres in summer dog days; we lingered to leer at a marble maid, she leered back but stoned and staid; we entered into an enchanted dance, a wily witch wildly romanced (made the trees jealous); we deflated fairy tale fantasy, replaced it instead with raw reality; we wasted away in womb of night, dallied in day to taste the light, rooftop refuge robbed our right to wander where we would or might. Words in verse are freedom. Read and rebel! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
ROOFTOP
I die at dusk every day
on a rooftop in a city with no name
daughters unborn to me mourn
in bruised nights' wombs
voices I do not recognize
utter prayers to deaf trees
shaking my limbs of their leaves
a city breathing heavily with its sins
buries me in its alleys
smell of jasmine and urine on its walls
where once I cut a vein and emptied
time's venom under blinking neon lights
there’s no distance to my pain
I’m born at dawn every day
in a sac of daylight
with an appetite to eat moments in slow bites
roll them on a dry tongue
linger on the sweet and bitter
oozing from each tick tock shortening my life
I can’t remember where I loved you in between
It is dusk again
I look for the rooftop
I hung my fresh laundry on
- Silva Zanoyan Merjanian
(2 poems added 08.24.13)
editor's note: The night draws close, no vistas, so dark. Remember your love in the daylight as you take down the linens. (There is another good one from Silva on her new page where we welcome her as our newest Contributing Poet - check it out.) - mh
A Rapunzel Revision
You know that girl; remember the story where she leans out of the tower with her long hair flowing down?
Her scalp has been too many times abused by the hero who comes when the sun rises and works all day. What would he have done if he ever made it up there with her? Then his ass is stuck in the tower and what is the point in that? Hopefully that was never the point.
She may as well have jumped and saved them both the trouble.
On the way down she would find the lust and resentment that lives in her nature.
She would get real roughed up hitting the ground tumbling rolling laughing crying realizing pleasure contains so much pain.
Perverted joys. No need to be rescued.
She would be possessed by the binding freedom of her choice to jump.
Victory with shortcomings.
The hero himself has not been heard.
- Adriane Blakemore
(added 08.23.13)
editor's note: Here comes a revisionist with a clear objective; to strip the fairy out of tale, expose raw human uncertainty and question the motives of heroes. Mr. Anderson, Brothers Grimm - Beware! - mh
Forest
Chandelier hung low
Centered on a beam
It seemed too large
For the height, the room,
lights scattered and
Strewn
In the forest
The cool wind blew
A cottage retreat
A woman waiting
Tranquilly
Her hair flowing
Steps soft silent
upon the creaky floor
It spoke for her
As the fire raged
Before him
Odor of incense
Or maybe sage
Filled the senses
Hypnotized
Hazed
Glinting crystal sparkling
Lighting her face
Disguised in seductive
Amusement
But wise
Come sit here
She cooed elated
Delicate hands
Fluttering
The music started
Slowly moving room
The dance
It began
The wine soothed
Then frantic
Forest grew restless
Trees became
Jealous
storm began
Then settled
Collapsing sedated
Smiling exhausted
The rain
It silenced
They slept
- Peggy Flora
(added 08.22.13)
editor's note: I'd like to polish her chandelier; sparkling enchantment for the next wandering soul to enter her (delightful) lair. - mh
The adventurous curves
The adventurous curves
Stasis
The voluptuous lips
Silenced
The Marmoreal Chest
Staid and blinded
The endangered hips
Saved
The enrapturing eyes
Emptied into me, pavlovic
- Joseph Elenbaas
(added 08.21.13)
editor's note: If the best is set in stone, shouldn't all good dogs salivate perpetually? Heel, boy, sit! - mh
Minoan moment
Crete, summer, sun, beach,
blondes near concession tent
ignore heat, debate bikinied
breast to breast. Hot sand
burning feet, they fidget,
shift weight, wipe away sweat
as each lays out her version
of a man-free world.
Points made shushed, not loud,
first one, then the other, turns,
pulls damp bottom loose
from cheeks burned bright,
sways slowly to her towel,
sexy stroll the important thing.
Vendor guy grins, spits,
tongs up another dog,
so red, so juicy,
so big it splits.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(1 poem added 08.20.13)
editor's note: Stay in line, or don't. Either way, summer's gonna bring us some fresh red hots. - mh
The regrets
The regrets
Hang
Like torn shades
Over the windows
Of the mind.
Fishing for dreams
In the spittoon
Of the world.
Mid June, and I will answer
The tomb
Meekly
When it calls.
The lionesses of summer
Have become too much for me.
The ghosts of old lovers
Laugh in the street,
In the mind,
They slide in and out
Like dreams
Across the great void of
Expectations.
- Robert D. Lyons
(1 poem added 08.19.13)
editor's note: Too hot, the regrets of summer. Lose them in the expected cool of fall. You can't feel a void. - mh
The Cattle Rustler
With your sharp silver facón you shaved
the calf’s hindquarter, looking for the brand
that you knew was not there,
and it was only the notary’s whisper
about the calf’s fat healthy appearance
that jerked your hand
into blae confession, slicing off
your black denial, drawing
sanguine tears.
“Three,” you said, “three calves”
you lost, with fingers upheld,
even though we found eleven
that had to be returned to the neighbor
whose ranch horsed the bearded cohort
who probed me with questions of origin
to discover what substance made
this stoic face and wide-set stance.
Your penned renouncement only papered
when Teresa waved her hand and said
“enough, enough bloodshed; we gave
you our trust which you stabbed then twisted it
deep into my pelvis which will never again birth
confidence in your bull-brown eyes.”
- Stephen Page
(added 08.18.13)
editor's note: A short scene; cattle wars and the politics of trust. Someone goes hungry... - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Of course you do! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "babygirl" by James Rodehaver: "How we survive tragedies and disasters tells us just who we really are. For those who can’t handle the suffering, though, they’ll make the world suffer them. And if you’re ever curious who these sociopaths are, just connect eyes with the gas attendant, and see if they’re peeking into your bad brain, too." Here's a taste to tempt you...
(photo by Tyler Malone)
you got any cash? / no. / you got a ride? / no, not really. / how'd you get here sugar? / my dad owns this station. i live across the road, with him and my sister, sal. / aah. hey, you wanna screw around? / um, are you a prostitute? / WHAT DID YOU SAY?! (reaches into her pocket.) / i'm sorry miss, it's just... / DO I LOOK LIKE A WHORE TO YOU?! (pulls out a 9mm. points it at him.) / NO, miss i'm real sorry, please don't shoot! / now, i'll ask again, (puts gun away.) / do you wanna screw around?...
You wanna? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
•••••••
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 mad conversations going on in Mad Swirl's World? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We'll be here...
Encouragin'
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Some of you might recognize the name of this month's featured visual artist from his poetry prowess. Others from his short story wow-ness. And still others from his editing editorial-ness. Well this month's featured artist, Tyler Malone, also happens to be the dude we here at Mad Swirl know and love. When this talented mo'fo' started snapping pics all around his town of Georgetown, Texas, we knew it was just a matter of time (and gathering a HUGE number of eye-popping photos) before he would grace our Mad Gallery walls. After hiding behind his photog persona of The Second Shooter, we thought it due time to out him. Our beloved short story editor (and long-time contributing poet and writer) Tyler Malone has hit the Mad Swirl trifecta! This mad man's talent doesn't stop at his borderline logophilia. Tyler's photographs of otherwise mundane sights - a silent sentinel shack, for example - are taken in such a unique way that they sneak up on you. Clouds captured in such an intriguing light, you almost feel chilled to the bone just looking at them, and left wondering how on earth did he do that. Bottomless talent? A God-given gift? A sharp eye for the divine? You be the judge. Click here to be eye-witness behind the photog eye of Ty... ler Malone. - Madelyn Olson
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we hustled after rustled calves, didn't trust the twist o' the knife; we handled the heat of a halfway life by vaunting the vapid void; we further simmered in sweat, enjoying entendres in summer dog days; we lingered to leer at a marble maid, she leered back but stoned and staid; we entered into an enchanted dance, a wily witch wildly romanced (made the trees jealous); we deflated fairy tale fantasy, replaced it instead with raw reality; we wasted away in womb of night, dallied in day to taste the light, rooftop refuge robbed our right to wander where we would or might. Words in verse are freedom. Read and rebel! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
ROOFTOP
I die at dusk every day
on a rooftop in a city with no name
daughters unborn to me mourn
in bruised nights' wombs
voices I do not recognize
utter prayers to deaf trees
shaking my limbs of their leaves
a city breathing heavily with its sins
buries me in its alleys
smell of jasmine and urine on its walls
where once I cut a vein and emptied
time's venom under blinking neon lights
there’s no distance to my pain
I’m born at dawn every day
in a sac of daylight
with an appetite to eat moments in slow bites
roll them on a dry tongue
linger on the sweet and bitter
oozing from each tick tock shortening my life
I can’t remember where I loved you in between
It is dusk again
I look for the rooftop
I hung my fresh laundry on
- Silva Zanoyan Merjanian
(2 poems added 08.24.13)
editor's note: The night draws close, no vistas, so dark. Remember your love in the daylight as you take down the linens. (There is another good one from Silva on her new page where we welcome her as our newest Contributing Poet - check it out.) - mh
A Rapunzel Revision
You know that girl; remember the story where she leans out of the tower with her long hair flowing down?
Her scalp has been too many times abused by the hero who comes when the sun rises and works all day. What would he have done if he ever made it up there with her? Then his ass is stuck in the tower and what is the point in that? Hopefully that was never the point.
She may as well have jumped and saved them both the trouble.
On the way down she would find the lust and resentment that lives in her nature.
She would get real roughed up hitting the ground tumbling rolling laughing crying realizing pleasure contains so much pain.
Perverted joys. No need to be rescued.
She would be possessed by the binding freedom of her choice to jump.
Victory with shortcomings.
The hero himself has not been heard.
- Adriane Blakemore
(added 08.23.13)
editor's note: Here comes a revisionist with a clear objective; to strip the fairy out of tale, expose raw human uncertainty and question the motives of heroes. Mr. Anderson, Brothers Grimm - Beware! - mh
Forest
Chandelier hung low
Centered on a beam
It seemed too large
For the height, the room,
lights scattered and
Strewn
In the forest
The cool wind blew
A cottage retreat
A woman waiting
Tranquilly
Her hair flowing
Steps soft silent
upon the creaky floor
It spoke for her
As the fire raged
Before him
Odor of incense
Or maybe sage
Filled the senses
Hypnotized
Hazed
Glinting crystal sparkling
Lighting her face
Disguised in seductive
Amusement
But wise
Come sit here
She cooed elated
Delicate hands
Fluttering
The music started
Slowly moving room
The dance
It began
The wine soothed
Then frantic
Forest grew restless
Trees became
Jealous
storm began
Then settled
Collapsing sedated
Smiling exhausted
The rain
It silenced
They slept
- Peggy Flora
(added 08.22.13)
editor's note: I'd like to polish her chandelier; sparkling enchantment for the next wandering soul to enter her (delightful) lair. - mh
The adventurous curves
The adventurous curves
Stasis
The voluptuous lips
Silenced
The Marmoreal Chest
Staid and blinded
The endangered hips
Saved
The enrapturing eyes
Emptied into me, pavlovic
- Joseph Elenbaas
(added 08.21.13)
editor's note: If the best is set in stone, shouldn't all good dogs salivate perpetually? Heel, boy, sit! - mh
Minoan moment
Crete, summer, sun, beach,
blondes near concession tent
ignore heat, debate bikinied
breast to breast. Hot sand
burning feet, they fidget,
shift weight, wipe away sweat
as each lays out her version
of a man-free world.
Points made shushed, not loud,
first one, then the other, turns,
pulls damp bottom loose
from cheeks burned bright,
sways slowly to her towel,
sexy stroll the important thing.
Vendor guy grins, spits,
tongs up another dog,
so red, so juicy,
so big it splits.
- Timothy Pilgrim
(1 poem added 08.20.13)
editor's note: Stay in line, or don't. Either way, summer's gonna bring us some fresh red hots. - mh
The regrets
The regrets
Hang
Like torn shades
Over the windows
Of the mind.
Fishing for dreams
In the spittoon
Of the world.
Mid June, and I will answer
The tomb
Meekly
When it calls.
The lionesses of summer
Have become too much for me.
The ghosts of old lovers
Laugh in the street,
In the mind,
They slide in and out
Like dreams
Across the great void of
Expectations.
- Robert D. Lyons
(1 poem added 08.19.13)
editor's note: Too hot, the regrets of summer. Lose them in the expected cool of fall. You can't feel a void. - mh
The Cattle Rustler
With your sharp silver facón you shaved
the calf’s hindquarter, looking for the brand
that you knew was not there,
and it was only the notary’s whisper
about the calf’s fat healthy appearance
that jerked your hand
into blae confession, slicing off
your black denial, drawing
sanguine tears.
“Three,” you said, “three calves”
you lost, with fingers upheld,
even though we found eleven
that had to be returned to the neighbor
whose ranch horsed the bearded cohort
who probed me with questions of origin
to discover what substance made
this stoic face and wide-set stance.
Your penned renouncement only papered
when Teresa waved her hand and said
“enough, enough bloodshed; we gave
you our trust which you stabbed then twisted it
deep into my pelvis which will never again birth
confidence in your bull-brown eyes.”
- Stephen Page
(added 08.18.13)
editor's note: A short scene; cattle wars and the politics of trust. Someone goes hungry... - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Of course you do! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "babygirl" by James Rodehaver: "How we survive tragedies and disasters tells us just who we really are. For those who can’t handle the suffering, though, they’ll make the world suffer them. And if you’re ever curious who these sociopaths are, just connect eyes with the gas attendant, and see if they’re peeking into your bad brain, too." Here's a taste to tempt you...
you got any cash? / no. / you got a ride? / no, not really. / how'd you get here sugar? / my dad owns this station. i live across the road, with him and my sister, sal. / aah. hey, you wanna screw around? / um, are you a prostitute? / WHAT DID YOU SAY?! (reaches into her pocket.) / i'm sorry miss, it's just... / DO I LOOK LIKE A WHORE TO YOU?! (pulls out a 9mm. points it at him.) / NO, miss i'm real sorry, please don't shoot! / now, i'll ask again, (puts gun away.) / do you wanna screw around?...
You wanna? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
•••••••
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 mad conversations going on in Mad Swirl's World? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We'll be here...
Encouragin'
Johnny O
Editor-in-chief
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
Comments