The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.15.14
"We be light, we be life, we be fire! We sing electric flame, we rumble underground wind, we dance heaven! Come be we and be free!" Kate Griffin
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Angel of Madness (above) by artist Eric Caulfield.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we played a better part from a blank heart; we lingered a little in a lily's life; we sought a self-sufficient season in wise words from a numbered reason; we found freedom in a warrior's weary prayer; we had no peace of mind to get from the finer points of etiquette; we swayed to a sax man's seduction of sultry sirens, sat at the bar, viewed from afar (sigh); we saw a monstrous mopster seen no more, our directions diverted by a dazzling floor. Perceptions parried, supremacies varied by shift of wind, by squints of sight. Eyes wide open, Swirlers all; dance at daytime, dream in light. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Mop Woman
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born, Minsk,
perhaps. Her nose
a fist. Her hair
a whisk broom
only black. Her back
an Orthodox cupola.
Her arms braids of gym rope
lowered to the floor.
Orangutans could climb
those ropes, hand
over hand, no rose
no purple
doughnuts
on their hinds.
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born. Minsk,
perhaps.
Her hands, all gristle,
hang an inch, no more,
above her shining floor.
- Donal Mahoney
(1 poem added 02.15.14)
editor's note: Most notice the shine, poets notice the shiner. - mh
Three Haikus
(A Bar Room Blur)
ladies at the bar...
as the night deepens
so do the secrets
jazz moon
her slenderness bends
to the saxman
sipping cab
the dirty blonde kisses
the bebop beat
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 02.14.14)
editor's note: It's nights like these I wish to god I played sax... - mh
Politeness
Politeness is its own little black hole
one-way street, all in, nothing out.
Treat religious proselytizers
with respect and they will hound you
like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell,
escape impossible.
Be courteous to the unattractive and
she/he will stalk you online, their love forever.
Be kind, gentle, respectful, and others will
interpret that as weakness and attempt
to walk over you, to bulldoze you into
the self-righteous pit of their contempt.
Strength and resolve alone can resist,
only the bold, only the brave
should ever consider politeness as an option.
Meanwhile the meek are coming closer
to inheriting the earth after making it
unlivable for everyone else.
- Paul Hellweg
(1 poem added 02.13.14)
editor's note: Amen, Brother! Lately, this message has been playing out in real life. Next time those people knock, I'm not going to be home. (We welcome Paul into our communal chorus of Contributing Poets with this submission. See another new one, and some of his old ones, on his new page - check it out.) - mh
Free at Least
Something about the melancholy,
"fuck you" comes out as a strangled cry,
call for help and a declaration of no war.
Armistice heavy at my side.
Wheat waving at the end of
gladiator life, walking into fields,
a road that leads to heart's content.
Maybe not.
Old age and ears close to the harsh
sound of mouths' invective, I can pretend
to never hearing and it brings me peace.
Perhaps.
Close eyes and blood disappears into
the memory of red drip falling on my
sword, lips mumble saying I will fight no more
Forever.
Plowshares, I can farm out goodness
like a co-op, the million monkeys typing
out my last will and testament, beneficiaries
Amen.
God is in the silence, the Devil
is in the details, a clean sweep with
a dirty broom, excrement excommunicated
And I find religion here.
Knocking on a battered door,
I can do little less than answer.
- Rose Aiello Morales
(1 poem added 02.12.14)
editor's note: Pious pretense? Whatever our conscious constructs, validity is vetted by the most expedient illusion; so long as we're free... at least. - mh
Reason Number 17
You make plans.
That is what not being a victim is.
Plans.
We are so sorry, they are going to say.
So that when the letter arrives
or the phone rings,
you can just nod, say yes, thank you
and no thank you.
and then leave of your own volition.
We will be in touch as soon as possible, they are going to say.
You have to be ready for these sorts of things.
You have to have a bag packed,
and good shoes.
You have to have a change of underwear and an atlas.
Good luck, they are going to say.
You have to get rid of everything else.
Sell it. Throw it away. Give it away.
Burn it. Drop it in the ocean.
Let it float away.
It doesn’t matter.
That is essential. You must look them in the eye.
And you certainly must not gloat, either.
You don’t want to seem ungracious.
The sky is unfolding.
This is being ready.
Now there is nothing to do but wait.
You are young. You’ll be fine, they are going to say.
You are ready. You have always been ready.
Just open the door.
- Ally Malinenko
(1 poem added 02.11.14)
editor's note: Plan, yes! Like a good scout - always be prepared…to scoot. - mh
The Change
Deep inside the thatched building, filled with red, yellow, green
of all sizes, lengths and shapes, tangled separately and amongst each other,
she screamed.
All the others breezed passed
as if moving through Hitler's funeral.
She whimpered, cried, thrashed around
like a turtle on its back, struggling to see the world...
from an upright position.
The bicyclist laughed
a little boy cautiously crept by without so much as touching
the thing in front of him.
As the tears streamed longer
and the voice crackled with coughs,
the pleas for help simply could not be ignored.
After a photo of the unhappiest of attendees
the father pointed to the mother -
"I think she needs a diaper change!"
In the corner of the arboretum,
the lilies whispered, "Hush little baby…”
- Joseph D. DiLella
(1 poem added 02.10.14)
editor's note: Noise and waste; pollution affects all. "Hush!" indeed. - mh
GONE
Ice cold stone faced
Emotions misplaced
My heart beats strong
All day long…
As I let go the need to know
My fantasy begins to grow
Now gone blank hearted
My sanity has departed…
Gigantic daydreams play out
Into my soul without a doubt
Taking me away to that better place
I disappear without a trace…
Never to be found again;
Today the Angels finally win.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 02.09.14)
editor's note: Human travail as angels' game. We're all goners! - 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, "A Surprise to Many with Isolated Egos" by Liam Bishop: "The mad ones are the sane ones! We see that, don’t you? We know you do, don’t worry. Because if you didn’t see it all coming, you’re not mad, and that’s your own fault." Here's a taste to tempt you...
But no one can know where he is if we do not ask. We came into it, blankly, without question and there is no way we would get answers. So, we didn’t ask.
The ship came and we boarded on while some showed hesitation and some did not. “What is your plan?” he asked.
“To get stinking drunk” I replied. He gave no reply and I did not search for one. The ship was crowded and the people were loud, very loud, I could hear guts rumbling, an extreme bowel movements, sighing, yawning. We were all too close.
Then, during the night on the ocean, we saw a bright light ahead of the ship, no shape, no sound, just waves and intense light that blinded us for the duration. Now, the yawning, sighing and bowel movements turned into gasps, jaws dropping and wide eyes. I stood still, for a minute, until I began flailing my arms and shouting, “We have awoken the presence and now we are in plain sight of too many lords!”
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Mad Expansion •••
In case you didn’t hear, this week Mad Swirl launched our GoFundMe page. The purpose behind the fundraiser is to "Expand the Madness o' the Swirl World”. Just what does that exactly mean? It means that the Mad Swirl staff got together to list some projects we have been wanting to do to extend the Mad radius of the Swirl. We feel its current pulling and compelling us to do more! But sometimes doing more means we need funding to do all we plan on doing.
Here are just a few of the projects we’d like to accomplish:
• Publish print anthologies of Mad Swirl poetry, short stories, and art
• Release a Web 2.0 of the MadSwirl.com
• Swirl-A-Bout: Seeking the Heart of Poetry
• Webcast Mad Swirl Open Mics
For more info and to help the mad cause (aka DONATE), please visit our GoFundMe page here.
(For those that have already donated, thank you! It really is wonderful to see that we have other folks out there that believe in us and what we do at Mad Swirl. Each and every one of you have been a huge part in our successes in your own ways... whether it's contributing to our Poetry Forum, performing at our open mic, "liking" our posts, and now by sharing your hard-earned monies with us. For all the staff here on this side of the madness, our sincerest thanks to you all for helping grow OUR Mad 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...
Bein’ We,
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 played a better part from a blank heart; we lingered a little in a lily's life; we sought a self-sufficient season in wise words from a numbered reason; we found freedom in a warrior's weary prayer; we had no peace of mind to get from the finer points of etiquette; we swayed to a sax man's seduction of sultry sirens, sat at the bar, viewed from afar (sigh); we saw a monstrous mopster seen no more, our directions diverted by a dazzling floor. Perceptions parried, supremacies varied by shift of wind, by squints of sight. Eyes wide open, Swirlers all; dance at daytime, dream in light. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Mop Woman
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born, Minsk,
perhaps. Her nose
a fist. Her hair
a whisk broom
only black. Her back
an Orthodox cupola.
Her arms braids of gym rope
lowered to the floor.
Orangutans could climb
those ropes, hand
over hand, no rose
no purple
doughnuts
on their hinds.
Near dwarf this woman.
Foreign born. Minsk,
perhaps.
Her hands, all gristle,
hang an inch, no more,
above her shining floor.
- Donal Mahoney
(1 poem added 02.15.14)
editor's note: Most notice the shine, poets notice the shiner. - mh
Three Haikus
(A Bar Room Blur)
ladies at the bar...
as the night deepens
so do the secrets
jazz moon
her slenderness bends
to the saxman
sipping cab
the dirty blonde kisses
the bebop beat
- Jeffrey Winke
(added 02.14.14)
editor's note: It's nights like these I wish to god I played sax... - mh
Politeness
Politeness is its own little black hole
one-way street, all in, nothing out.
Treat religious proselytizers
with respect and they will hound you
like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell,
escape impossible.
Be courteous to the unattractive and
she/he will stalk you online, their love forever.
Be kind, gentle, respectful, and others will
interpret that as weakness and attempt
to walk over you, to bulldoze you into
the self-righteous pit of their contempt.
Strength and resolve alone can resist,
only the bold, only the brave
should ever consider politeness as an option.
Meanwhile the meek are coming closer
to inheriting the earth after making it
unlivable for everyone else.
- Paul Hellweg
(1 poem added 02.13.14)
editor's note: Amen, Brother! Lately, this message has been playing out in real life. Next time those people knock, I'm not going to be home. (We welcome Paul into our communal chorus of Contributing Poets with this submission. See another new one, and some of his old ones, on his new page - check it out.) - mh
Free at Least
Something about the melancholy,
"fuck you" comes out as a strangled cry,
call for help and a declaration of no war.
Armistice heavy at my side.
Wheat waving at the end of
gladiator life, walking into fields,
a road that leads to heart's content.
Maybe not.
Old age and ears close to the harsh
sound of mouths' invective, I can pretend
to never hearing and it brings me peace.
Perhaps.
Close eyes and blood disappears into
the memory of red drip falling on my
sword, lips mumble saying I will fight no more
Forever.
Plowshares, I can farm out goodness
like a co-op, the million monkeys typing
out my last will and testament, beneficiaries
Amen.
God is in the silence, the Devil
is in the details, a clean sweep with
a dirty broom, excrement excommunicated
And I find religion here.
Knocking on a battered door,
I can do little less than answer.
- Rose Aiello Morales
(1 poem added 02.12.14)
editor's note: Pious pretense? Whatever our conscious constructs, validity is vetted by the most expedient illusion; so long as we're free... at least. - mh
Reason Number 17
You make plans.
That is what not being a victim is.
Plans.
We are so sorry, they are going to say.
So that when the letter arrives
or the phone rings,
you can just nod, say yes, thank you
and no thank you.
and then leave of your own volition.
We will be in touch as soon as possible, they are going to say.
You have to be ready for these sorts of things.
You have to have a bag packed,
and good shoes.
You have to have a change of underwear and an atlas.
Good luck, they are going to say.
You have to get rid of everything else.
Sell it. Throw it away. Give it away.
Burn it. Drop it in the ocean.
Let it float away.
It doesn’t matter.
That is essential. You must look them in the eye.
And you certainly must not gloat, either.
You don’t want to seem ungracious.
The sky is unfolding.
This is being ready.
Now there is nothing to do but wait.
You are young. You’ll be fine, they are going to say.
You are ready. You have always been ready.
Just open the door.
- Ally Malinenko
(1 poem added 02.11.14)
editor's note: Plan, yes! Like a good scout - always be prepared…to scoot. - mh
The Change
Deep inside the thatched building, filled with red, yellow, green
of all sizes, lengths and shapes, tangled separately and amongst each other,
she screamed.
All the others breezed passed
as if moving through Hitler's funeral.
She whimpered, cried, thrashed around
like a turtle on its back, struggling to see the world...
from an upright position.
The bicyclist laughed
a little boy cautiously crept by without so much as touching
the thing in front of him.
As the tears streamed longer
and the voice crackled with coughs,
the pleas for help simply could not be ignored.
After a photo of the unhappiest of attendees
the father pointed to the mother -
"I think she needs a diaper change!"
In the corner of the arboretum,
the lilies whispered, "Hush little baby…”
- Joseph D. DiLella
(1 poem added 02.10.14)
editor's note: Noise and waste; pollution affects all. "Hush!" indeed. - mh
GONE
Ice cold stone faced
Emotions misplaced
My heart beats strong
All day long…
As I let go the need to know
My fantasy begins to grow
Now gone blank hearted
My sanity has departed…
Gigantic daydreams play out
Into my soul without a doubt
Taking me away to that better place
I disappear without a trace…
Never to be found again;
Today the Angels finally win.
- Michael R. King
(1 poem added 02.09.14)
editor's note: Human travail as angels' game. We're all goners! - 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, "A Surprise to Many with Isolated Egos" by Liam Bishop: "The mad ones are the sane ones! We see that, don’t you? We know you do, don’t worry. Because if you didn’t see it all coming, you’re not mad, and that’s your own fault." Here's a taste to tempt you...
But no one can know where he is if we do not ask. We came into it, blankly, without question and there is no way we would get answers. So, we didn’t ask.
The ship came and we boarded on while some showed hesitation and some did not. “What is your plan?” he asked.
“To get stinking drunk” I replied. He gave no reply and I did not search for one. The ship was crowded and the people were loud, very loud, I could hear guts rumbling, an extreme bowel movements, sighing, yawning. We were all too close.
Then, during the night on the ocean, we saw a bright light ahead of the ship, no shape, no sound, just waves and intense light that blinded us for the duration. Now, the yawning, sighing and bowel movements turned into gasps, jaws dropping and wide eyes. I stood still, for a minute, until I began flailing my arms and shouting, “We have awoken the presence and now we are in plain sight of too many lords!”
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Mad Expansion •••
In case you didn’t hear, this week Mad Swirl launched our GoFundMe page. The purpose behind the fundraiser is to "Expand the Madness o' the Swirl World”. Just what does that exactly mean? It means that the Mad Swirl staff got together to list some projects we have been wanting to do to extend the Mad radius of the Swirl. We feel its current pulling and compelling us to do more! But sometimes doing more means we need funding to do all we plan on doing.
Here are just a few of the projects we’d like to accomplish:
• Publish print anthologies of Mad Swirl poetry, short stories, and art
• Release a Web 2.0 of the MadSwirl.com
• Swirl-A-Bout: Seeking the Heart of Poetry
• Webcast Mad Swirl Open Mics
For more info and to help the mad cause (aka DONATE), please visit our GoFundMe page here.
(For those that have already donated, thank you! It really is wonderful to see that we have other folks out there that believe in us and what we do at Mad Swirl. Each and every one of you have been a huge part in our successes in your own ways... whether it's contributing to our Poetry Forum, performing at our open mic, "liking" our posts, and now by sharing your hard-earned monies with us. For all the staff here on this side of the madness, our sincerest thanks to you all for helping grow OUR Mad 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...
Bein’ We,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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