The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.08.14
"What's your road, man? - holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody anyhow." Neal Cassady as Dean Moriarty in On The Road
••• The Mad Gallery •••
The Original Mad One (above) by Johnny O.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we went undercover, battled daily bird hover; we read a rub-ix recipe served up on a fur history (wha'?); we wished for warm embrace, instead, the chill of winter's face; we belted out blues, emerald greening and satellites with the bringing of meaning; we meandered mesmerically through horizontal duplicity; we watched while scarabs deftly rolled a dearly departed's ghostly soul; we end-avoided consternation from birdie backwater conversation. 'Twas a Swirlish winter's wonder week; a Mad melee for mighty and meek. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Conversation
Two birds, on a wire, talked.
One winged away, not glancing back;
Its partner persisted romance.
Rebels cause much outlier disease.
Flaneauses’ lame narratives,
By nature, possess metabolic speed.
When waking from dreams, finding
Forked tongues smelling our toes,
We ought to consider conceding.
Remember, boulangeries confer samples;
Common plants’ therapeutic benefits normally
Can’t calm our backwater kingdom.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 02.08.14)
editor's note: Avian angsts hatch kingdom controversies. Best to talk it over! - mh
MOSAIC
An army of death stalkers invade the barren room behind me, crawling and creeping and brushing against the outer wall. I do not see the multicolored scorpions.
Hunched over in this tiny tomb of metamorphosis, inside the I.C.U., I gaze at you, my moribund friend. And I fall into an abyss. This is our farewell reunion.
Pale gold, brown black, dark yellow, green, and tan scorpions move surreptitiously around the soul-stealing room. I can’t see them.
I close my weary eyes. And now, the scarabs, huge black-shelled beetles emerge from a terrible nothingness and roll your spirit out of your mortal body.
I watch from the unbearable emptiness of the abyss. Is this some old punishment for man’s sin? What crime did we commit? None, I protest inside this cold room.
I sit still, my eyes shut tight, as a death mosaic of scorpions and scarabs and ghostly soul appears. This final tessellation overwhelms me.
And when I open my tearful, tired eyes, I say goodbye, old buddy, for death is the price we pay again and again for this miracle of life and the magical universe of love, lent to us for an earthly nanosecond.
- Mel Waldman
(2 poems added 02.07.14)
editor's note: Wonderful words, written by Dr. Mel for the passing of his best friend, Charles Freundlich. May he rest! (Another epitaph for Charles on Mel's page - check it out.) - mh
A Different Way Home
A different way home
The horizon has two sides
Each a deity to itself
Taking the other train against the failing light
Weakening states-of-mind decrease
Limbs fall and die – if only for a while
Moons hold us mesmerically
Take one step toward, one step away
Until, until, until…
- Jonathan Beale
(added 02.06.14)
editor's note: Daily caught in a tug-o-war; we all get home by dark. - mh
drink me in the morning
be gone by the afternoon
sing me guy clark's
dublin blues by the time
they light the moon (spoon)
they told me to put down
exactly what i meant. more
flowers should be midnight
blue in a sea of emerald green.
bring me a beautiful brunette
with motel keys and a heart
like conan the barbarian
standing on the snake king's
marble steps amidst a sea
of flame. bring me the head
of god he seems like the kind
willing to make a sacrifice.
close the gap. kiss me and
hold me near while i whisper
in your ear "everything you've
ever needed to be great is already
inside you." i am an ever circling
satellite. poetry is the signal
i receive. bring me exactly what
i mean.
- Paul Koniecki
(1 poem added 02.05.14)
editor's note: Meaning without meanness when "what you don't mean can't hurt ya!" - mh
Winter winds
Gusty winter wind sizzles,
pierces through –
flesh, veins,
and ruffles the bones,
making them shiver,
shout; to fizzle out.
Bloodstreams freeze,
heart longs,
beloved’s warm hug
and
wrecked body,
awaits snug of graves.
- Aniruddha Sastikar
(added 02.04.14)
editor's note: These days, lately, we have to wear warm clothing or resort to grave fashion. - mh
Y ( O ) LK R ( A ) M
Losing grasp over a few decades of genetic sky sense, fertilizers
finger ropes support ten place Von shaped lie big
melting pillowcase
using jelly fish salt green and German shoreline -- game
eatable, rub-ix cube Tetris in a
coconut trembling atmosphere -- hinges
to thickness and folding with
Island -- stain-able mirror
on sunset, drunk prepared on these
colors a fur history.
- Zachary Scott Hamilton
(1 poem added 02.03.14)
editor's note: This "Von" must be shaped like pie, cuz something about this poem makes me hungry (no lie). - mh
One Bird
The battle begins at
first daylight
as it sometimes does:
Blink
Blink
My eyes
blearily find focus
And I know so well
there will be only one -
One bird today
In this blue wash-out
The music on the stereo
doesn't warm the space
The heat is pulled taut
to the corners of the room
It's thin and impotent,
and time thickens quickly
In this cold.
The coal canary tires
easily - beak open
Gasping. It will say
"Away! You can't
bear this much reality!"
I don't stop to listen
this time around.
We cower under
the covers and fight -
Panic and desperation
make poor bed-mates
Are the curtains drawn?
Is it even day outside?
Even the sunlight
wears a mask
and sorrow a name in
that oak-dark doorway
On these:
the solitary bird days.
- Todd Macaulay
(1 poem added 02.02.14)
editor's note: If we don't call its name, sorrow can't answer. Keep up the fight and teach that bird to sing! (With this poem we welcome Todd into our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets. He has more poems on his new page - check it out!) - 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, "I Do Not Exist" by Mel Waldman: "The best days are when you look into the mirror and see something you hate. With that hate comes change and reflection, hopefully, because it's the worst day when you look in the mirror and nothing looks back at you." Here's a taste to tempt you...
(photo by Tyler Malone)
I do not exist. I died yesterday. I can’t recall the exact date. It doesn’t matter. A year ago, 10, 50 years ago, 1 day, yesterday, it happened. A mad metamorphosis occurred. 1 hour, 1 second, 1 nanosecond ago. Puff!
I died.
“Oh no,” you say. “You’re still here. I see, hear, and smell you.”
“So what?” I say.
“But you’re alive,” you protest.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“What is life?” I ask.
“One infinite breath.”
“Infinite?” I say, looking quizzically at the other.
“Almost infinite,” you reply. “You breathe until you stop breathing,” you clarify.
“But what if you live for only 1 breath?” I say.
“That 1 breath seems eternal,” you say defiantly.
“I don’t believe you,” I protest.
“Too bad. Life is mysterious. Truth is fantastic. And you are alive.”
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Mad Swirl was the place to be in this poetic community this past Wednesday! This month we James “Bear the Poet” Rodehaver! We knew this was surely gonna be a feature to remember. And was it ever! If you were there, you know what we mean. If not, well, you snooze you lose!
Then your hosts Johnny O and MH Clay got to callin' all the mad poets, musicians & a few other miscellaneous mad ones in the Lounge to come & strut their mad stuff! A couple never-before-seen faces mingled with the usual mix of mad suspects you expect to see on our 1st Wednesday mad romp. And romp it we did! Mad Swirlin' thanks to ALL the mad ones that came to participate, to appreciate...
(all photos courtesy of Dan Rodriguez)
AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. COMING in March: Phil Brewer & Friends
Fo' mo' info visit our open mic page here.
••• Breakin’ News •••
(photo courtesy of Rosie Lindsey)
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Mad Swirl expands their staff!” That’s what the headlines WOULD read if newspapers followed our li'l Swirl. But they don’t… at least not yet! But that's their set-back, not ours. They can’t stop us from telling you directly.
We here at Mad Swirl are proud to introduce to you the newest addition to our happy li'l staff, Mad Swirl Ambassador-at-Large, Paul Koniecki. Paul brings with him a whole heaping of mad motivation and energy that, if we could bottle it, would make us all bazillionaires. If you know Paul, you know what we mean. If not, think of the Energizer Bunny’s never-ending energy beating that drum, but in Paul’s case, with a focus on beating the poetry drum! There's so much poetry with so many poets, editors and venues out there in this mad, mad, mad world. When we got an earful of Paul’s ideas about how we could make Mad Swirl's merry maelstrom bigger to include more of those, we knew he’d be a splendid choice for this new role.
As our Mad Ambassador, Paul will be breaking new ground by reaching out to connect us with more like-minded souls. Paul will help to pilot us (and by “us”, we mean you too because after all, it’s OUR Swirl) to new frontiers which we have yet to explore; introducing Mad Swirl to other poets, events and venues. He is starting here in Dallas/Ft. Worth with very near future plans to cross state lines, national borders, and hopefully, someday, Kepler-62-e (Google it).
So stay tuned to the goings-on here at Mad Swirl and help us in welcoming Mad Ambassador, Paul Koniecki, to our Swirl.
•••••••
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...
Thumbin' It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we went undercover, battled daily bird hover; we read a rub-ix recipe served up on a fur history (wha'?); we wished for warm embrace, instead, the chill of winter's face; we belted out blues, emerald greening and satellites with the bringing of meaning; we meandered mesmerically through horizontal duplicity; we watched while scarabs deftly rolled a dearly departed's ghostly soul; we end-avoided consternation from birdie backwater conversation. 'Twas a Swirlish winter's wonder week; a Mad melee for mighty and meek. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Conversation
Two birds, on a wire, talked.
One winged away, not glancing back;
Its partner persisted romance.
Rebels cause much outlier disease.
Flaneauses’ lame narratives,
By nature, possess metabolic speed.
When waking from dreams, finding
Forked tongues smelling our toes,
We ought to consider conceding.
Remember, boulangeries confer samples;
Common plants’ therapeutic benefits normally
Can’t calm our backwater kingdom.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 02.08.14)
editor's note: Avian angsts hatch kingdom controversies. Best to talk it over! - mh
MOSAIC
An army of death stalkers invade the barren room behind me, crawling and creeping and brushing against the outer wall. I do not see the multicolored scorpions.
Hunched over in this tiny tomb of metamorphosis, inside the I.C.U., I gaze at you, my moribund friend. And I fall into an abyss. This is our farewell reunion.
Pale gold, brown black, dark yellow, green, and tan scorpions move surreptitiously around the soul-stealing room. I can’t see them.
I close my weary eyes. And now, the scarabs, huge black-shelled beetles emerge from a terrible nothingness and roll your spirit out of your mortal body.
I watch from the unbearable emptiness of the abyss. Is this some old punishment for man’s sin? What crime did we commit? None, I protest inside this cold room.
I sit still, my eyes shut tight, as a death mosaic of scorpions and scarabs and ghostly soul appears. This final tessellation overwhelms me.
And when I open my tearful, tired eyes, I say goodbye, old buddy, for death is the price we pay again and again for this miracle of life and the magical universe of love, lent to us for an earthly nanosecond.
- Mel Waldman
(2 poems added 02.07.14)
editor's note: Wonderful words, written by Dr. Mel for the passing of his best friend, Charles Freundlich. May he rest! (Another epitaph for Charles on Mel's page - check it out.) - mh
A Different Way Home
A different way home
The horizon has two sides
Each a deity to itself
Taking the other train against the failing light
Weakening states-of-mind decrease
Limbs fall and die – if only for a while
Moons hold us mesmerically
Take one step toward, one step away
Until, until, until…
- Jonathan Beale
(added 02.06.14)
editor's note: Daily caught in a tug-o-war; we all get home by dark. - mh
drink me in the morning
be gone by the afternoon
sing me guy clark's
dublin blues by the time
they light the moon (spoon)
they told me to put down
exactly what i meant. more
flowers should be midnight
blue in a sea of emerald green.
bring me a beautiful brunette
with motel keys and a heart
like conan the barbarian
standing on the snake king's
marble steps amidst a sea
of flame. bring me the head
of god he seems like the kind
willing to make a sacrifice.
close the gap. kiss me and
hold me near while i whisper
in your ear "everything you've
ever needed to be great is already
inside you." i am an ever circling
satellite. poetry is the signal
i receive. bring me exactly what
i mean.
- Paul Koniecki
(1 poem added 02.05.14)
editor's note: Meaning without meanness when "what you don't mean can't hurt ya!" - mh
Winter winds
Gusty winter wind sizzles,
pierces through –
flesh, veins,
and ruffles the bones,
making them shiver,
shout; to fizzle out.
Bloodstreams freeze,
heart longs,
beloved’s warm hug
and
wrecked body,
awaits snug of graves.
- Aniruddha Sastikar
(added 02.04.14)
editor's note: These days, lately, we have to wear warm clothing or resort to grave fashion. - mh
Y ( O ) LK R ( A ) M
Losing grasp over a few decades of genetic sky sense, fertilizers
finger ropes support ten place Von shaped lie big
melting pillowcase
using jelly fish salt green and German shoreline -- game
eatable, rub-ix cube Tetris in a
coconut trembling atmosphere -- hinges
to thickness and folding with
Island -- stain-able mirror
on sunset, drunk prepared on these
colors a fur history.
- Zachary Scott Hamilton
(1 poem added 02.03.14)
editor's note: This "Von" must be shaped like pie, cuz something about this poem makes me hungry (no lie). - mh
One Bird
The battle begins at
first daylight
as it sometimes does:
Blink
Blink
My eyes
blearily find focus
And I know so well
there will be only one -
One bird today
In this blue wash-out
The music on the stereo
doesn't warm the space
The heat is pulled taut
to the corners of the room
It's thin and impotent,
and time thickens quickly
In this cold.
The coal canary tires
easily - beak open
Gasping. It will say
"Away! You can't
bear this much reality!"
I don't stop to listen
this time around.
We cower under
the covers and fight -
Panic and desperation
make poor bed-mates
Are the curtains drawn?
Is it even day outside?
Even the sunlight
wears a mask
and sorrow a name in
that oak-dark doorway
On these:
the solitary bird days.
- Todd Macaulay
(1 poem added 02.02.14)
editor's note: If we don't call its name, sorrow can't answer. Keep up the fight and teach that bird to sing! (With this poem we welcome Todd into our crazy conclave of Contributing Poets. He has more poems on his new page - check it out!) - 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, "I Do Not Exist" by Mel Waldman: "The best days are when you look into the mirror and see something you hate. With that hate comes change and reflection, hopefully, because it's the worst day when you look in the mirror and nothing looks back at you." Here's a taste to tempt you...
I do not exist. I died yesterday. I can’t recall the exact date. It doesn’t matter. A year ago, 10, 50 years ago, 1 day, yesterday, it happened. A mad metamorphosis occurred. 1 hour, 1 second, 1 nanosecond ago. Puff!
I died.
“Oh no,” you say. “You’re still here. I see, hear, and smell you.”
“So what?” I say.
“But you’re alive,” you protest.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“What is life?” I ask.
“One infinite breath.”
“Infinite?” I say, looking quizzically at the other.
“Almost infinite,” you reply. “You breathe until you stop breathing,” you clarify.
“But what if you live for only 1 breath?” I say.
“That 1 breath seems eternal,” you say defiantly.
“I don’t believe you,” I protest.
“Too bad. Life is mysterious. Truth is fantastic. And you are alive.”
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Mad Swirl was the place to be in this poetic community this past Wednesday! This month we James “Bear the Poet” Rodehaver! We knew this was surely gonna be a feature to remember. And was it ever! If you were there, you know what we mean. If not, well, you snooze you lose!
Then your hosts Johnny O and MH Clay got to callin' all the mad poets, musicians & a few other miscellaneous mad ones in the Lounge to come & strut their mad stuff! A couple never-before-seen faces mingled with the usual mix of mad suspects you expect to see on our 1st Wednesday mad romp. And romp it we did! Mad Swirlin' thanks to ALL the mad ones that came to participate, to appreciate...
(all photos courtesy of Dan Rodriguez)
AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. COMING in March: Phil Brewer & Friends
Fo' mo' info visit our open mic page here.
••• Breakin’ News •••
“Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Mad Swirl expands their staff!” That’s what the headlines WOULD read if newspapers followed our li'l Swirl. But they don’t… at least not yet! But that's their set-back, not ours. They can’t stop us from telling you directly.
We here at Mad Swirl are proud to introduce to you the newest addition to our happy li'l staff, Mad Swirl Ambassador-at-Large, Paul Koniecki. Paul brings with him a whole heaping of mad motivation and energy that, if we could bottle it, would make us all bazillionaires. If you know Paul, you know what we mean. If not, think of the Energizer Bunny’s never-ending energy beating that drum, but in Paul’s case, with a focus on beating the poetry drum! There's so much poetry with so many poets, editors and venues out there in this mad, mad, mad world. When we got an earful of Paul’s ideas about how we could make Mad Swirl's merry maelstrom bigger to include more of those, we knew he’d be a splendid choice for this new role.
As our Mad Ambassador, Paul will be breaking new ground by reaching out to connect us with more like-minded souls. Paul will help to pilot us (and by “us”, we mean you too because after all, it’s OUR Swirl) to new frontiers which we have yet to explore; introducing Mad Swirl to other poets, events and venues. He is starting here in Dallas/Ft. Worth with very near future plans to cross state lines, national borders, and hopefully, someday, Kepler-62-e (Google it).
So stay tuned to the goings-on here at Mad Swirl and help us in welcoming Mad Ambassador, Paul Koniecki, to our Swirl.
•••••••
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...
Thumbin' It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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