The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.22.14
"The eye is the notebook of the poet." James Russell Lowell
••• The Mad Gallery •••
be not afraid (above) by contributing artist Toni Martin.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we saw murder preside over lustful disaster, the smack of lips, the peal of laughter; we turned jealous rage into a close call; we shed our stiff propriety to skinny dip 'neath scarlet sea; we pushed a pulsing priapic pachinko ball bouncing boink to cascade into crashing coital conclusion; we heard a proud personal proclamation, a sometime uncertain self-summation; we divined from darkness Death's deal; we raged at faux-friend's faked blindness, froze the milk of human kindness. Let this winter's coldness thaw by words warmly wielded through to spring. Sing! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
thank you for your kindness
it was probably while i was watching
the plastic bottle of parmesan cheese
roll toward a slush and snow bank
that i realized i was still alive
my hat had flown off for sure
it ended up in your path and i’m sorry for that
but i lost a jar of pork gravy in this
and a can of black beans was dented
i landed right on my left arm and my ribs felt like hell
for a moment i thought maybe i’d cracked them
but i figured with the way
i was writhing around on the icy pavement
that maybe they were just very bruised
it was pretty amazing that i didn’t crack my head
i think that says a lot for my will and instinct
to just twist my body in midair like that
anyway you saw the whole thing
so there’s no point in me rehashing it here
also, i’m sorry for my display
had i known that i was going to hop up off the pavement
in a fit of blind rage
and start shouting invective into the gray morning
while my ribs burned and my left arm hung limp and useless
i would’ve made sure to warn you
it’s just that those bastards never salt their sidewalk
and i’ve been telling everyone
that something like this was bound to happen
well, it happened to me
so excuse me for calling the people next door
lousy cocksuckers
telling their closed front door that i wished they were all dead
threatening to kill the dog across the street
for barking while i stumbled around in pain
trying to pick up my hat and my groceries off the ground
without slipping and sliding and falling again
and i’ll forgive you for never stopping to ask
if i was all right
not while i was laying their prostrate
and not when i was standing there battered and weak
we’ll just pretend like you gave a shit
instead of looking back at me and shaking your head
before tip-toeing into your apartment
we’ll pretend that when i shouted
thank you for your kindness
that i was being genuine and sincere
and that after you were gone
i skipped home for coffee and the sunday paper
my faith in humanity bubbling over
instead of stumbling around on the street alone
trying to figure out if those thick spots all around me
were patches of pork gravy or my blood.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 02.22.14)
editor's note: When the milk of human kindness freezes in the slush, we respond in kind; makes us feel better. (And, to really feel better, read another one on John's page - it's a tone poem.) - mh
The Reaper Of Light
Coldly and rationally,
I look on.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
I pity their love and happiness,
although, my curiosity is peaked.
Love is foreign to me.
A theory.
A myth.
A lie.
I see their pain and suffering;
relishing it.
The enticing pull
of hollowing emptiness.
In the end they finally see.
Everyone sees.
They even know I'm coming.
Which is why I ask...
Why do they continue to try?
Even after life crushes everything,
they strive for the ultimate goal,
the ultimate lie.
One single ounce of happiness,
underneath all the darkness
that I call home.
- Cliodhna Condon
(added 02.21.14)
editor's note: So, that's the reason; our emptiness makes him full. Hmmmm. - mh
Unique?
I used to speak muffeletto,
Until some told me that
It was a sandwich. I thought
About pianissimo, but that
Seemed too loud and tinkly.
So, now, for the most part, I
Speak softly, sometimes ever-so
Softly, and carry, behind my back,
A very, very large stick. One
Of the Roosevelts said that
When speaking about our country.
Well, sez I, seems like good advice
To me. I am my own country,
The mighty Republic of Me, sometimes
A democracy (all of my selves have a vote),
Sometimes, just sometimes, a monarchy -
I am the Queen of Me! the Queen
Bee, a right, royal person, secure
On my throne, no one will overthrow me.
Sometimes, I am a Socialist (so sue me!).
Sometimes far too Liberal, sometimes
Far too Conservative, sometimes
So Middle-of-the-Road it's depressing,
A rebel at heart, not on the surface.
Wishy-washy, namby-pamby, upsy-daisy,
Oopsy-whoopsy, onkey-donkey, okey-dokey,
Icky-dicky, never too good at tricky-
Dicky, (gave it up early). You say Picasso.
I say stacatto. Either way up, I'm just
Good old mutable, changable, mostly
Predictable
(if you take the trouble)
Me.
- Kay Kinghammer
(1 poem added 02.20.14)
editor's note: If you're asking me, I'd say, "Yes!" But, he-nique? She-nique? We-nique? No-nique, nobody knows me like my Mama knows me... - mh
Haiku Exotica
Silent empty branches! An angel’s aura.
A snowy white owl Sleeps naked pretending
swoops up the mouse. on Satin sheets.
She undresses me!
With golden brown eyes
spooning with mine.
Soft wet kisses. Softly nibbling!
Harmonic pulse beats Caressing nipples
hearts entwine. she sighs.
Tropical heat wave!
Pheromones surging
Slipstreaming.
Burning passion!
Feeling cock-a-do-a-do-do
in-her thighs.
Swollen clitoris! Pan’s Flute!
Naked truth enthroned Playful musical notes
in a bushel. rocking.
Cookie-Jar!
Tumbling and Heaving
Into Ecstasy.
Fantasy or Delight?
Wondering what thing
You have spied, this night?
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 02.19.14)
editor's note: What a hoot! A hot haiku hopscotch! (Did he say "Hoot" ? Heads down! Owl's on the prowl!) - mh
Scarlet red
Blood in the moon
turns the sky
a scarlet red as
the night unbuttons
my bones one by one.
Shadows move rapidly
across my peach-colored walls
as my mind spins
like dorsal fins
above the water's surface.
- Dawnell Harrison
(1 poem added 02.18.14)
editor's note: Bone stripped and buck naked, dive into the deep. Souls swimming in the sea of life. Yes! - mh
A BEAST IN MY HOUSE
I hear a violent pounding on my neighbour’s door but there’s no response
The poor guy must be at work
I remain seated in my flat not giving a shit about what awaits
And then the inevitable happens
A violent pounding starts on my door and as I stand I hear a vitriolic scream
I know you’re in there the voice roars as I pause nervous and worried for the first time
As I open the door I see a man who fills most of the corridor,
A huge beast of a man and I suddenly turn on my diplomatic act hoping he believes
Where is she he demands as he tries to barge past me but
I thrust my arm out to stop him
Telling him I’m all alone and am just about to leave for work
I manoeuvre him to the top of the stairs
Where I suggest rather bravely that he move on as she’s not around
But then there she is, on the landing below
Long black curly hair and a beautiful face made up like a low-grade working girl,
A tight clingy green dress that shows off all the right curves and shapes
She’s too good for this bum I think
But we move on down and she moves on up
And they hug as I continue off to work
- Bradford Middleton
(1 poem added 02.17.14)
editor's note: Whew! Close call, that. Gotta wonder though, did she drop out his back window to circle 'round to the landing? - mh
A Murder of Crows.
We jumped into the deep well
I was looking for love
He wanted water.
Then came a murder of crows
Ready for a slaughter
Squatted round and round
Uttering inane laughter
Found the love I was after
In the madness of his lips
He praised my curving hips
Madness found its level
In that deep deep well.
- Sheighle Birdthistle
(added 02.16.14)
editor's note: Is one quenched fair requite? Crows know; it's better if both or wells run dry. - 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, "Paper and Pearl" by Corina Roche: "It doesn't matter how well something has aged if it was rotten from the start. It doesn't matter how many college degrees a rapist has, he's still an asshole. It doesn't matter how well a person's rear end is waxed, it's still an asshole. And few extra years in a coffin doesn't beautify a corpse. Sometimes, things aren't worth saving or savoring." Here's a taste to tempt you...
photo courtesy of Tyler Malone
On paper, everything had been done more or less correctly. Married her college boyfriend, they both had good jobs, their son, albeit skinny and spotted, was doing well in school. Money in the bank. Equity.
It was their thirtieth wedding anniversary and it was the year they were supposed to open the wine they bought on their honeymoon and saved for this occasion. It was a Spanish wine they had bought in Andalucia. While the memories of their Spanish romp were foggy, she remembered walls were all colorfully tiled. The staircase was narrow. In the cafe, they sold wine wholesale and she got the idea to purchase a bottle for this day. They didn’t declare it at customs, a small act of defiance.
A little bit of Spanish magic trailed after them like a cloud of perfume and fading guitar chords, but it slowly dissipated into the smog that Palatine borrowed from Chicago and then came taxes, bank statements, loan officers, Escrow, mortgages, hospital bills, maternity leave, PTA meetings, insurance, car payments, thank-you cards, business trips, carpools and self help books until it came down to her purchasing asparagus and lamb at Whole Foods and carrying them home in her string bag, her blue scarf lackadaisically draped around her neck, climbing the stairs of their duplex with the light shining through the window indicating he was home.
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Expanding the Madness •••
In case you didn’t hear, Mad Swirl has launched a 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.
For more info on just exactly what we got in mind, as well as 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...
Takin’ It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
be not afraid (above) by contributing artist Toni Martin.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we saw murder preside over lustful disaster, the smack of lips, the peal of laughter; we turned jealous rage into a close call; we shed our stiff propriety to skinny dip 'neath scarlet sea; we pushed a pulsing priapic pachinko ball bouncing boink to cascade into crashing coital conclusion; we heard a proud personal proclamation, a sometime uncertain self-summation; we divined from darkness Death's deal; we raged at faux-friend's faked blindness, froze the milk of human kindness. Let this winter's coldness thaw by words warmly wielded through to spring. Sing! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
thank you for your kindness
it was probably while i was watching
the plastic bottle of parmesan cheese
roll toward a slush and snow bank
that i realized i was still alive
my hat had flown off for sure
it ended up in your path and i’m sorry for that
but i lost a jar of pork gravy in this
and a can of black beans was dented
i landed right on my left arm and my ribs felt like hell
for a moment i thought maybe i’d cracked them
but i figured with the way
i was writhing around on the icy pavement
that maybe they were just very bruised
it was pretty amazing that i didn’t crack my head
i think that says a lot for my will and instinct
to just twist my body in midair like that
anyway you saw the whole thing
so there’s no point in me rehashing it here
also, i’m sorry for my display
had i known that i was going to hop up off the pavement
in a fit of blind rage
and start shouting invective into the gray morning
while my ribs burned and my left arm hung limp and useless
i would’ve made sure to warn you
it’s just that those bastards never salt their sidewalk
and i’ve been telling everyone
that something like this was bound to happen
well, it happened to me
so excuse me for calling the people next door
lousy cocksuckers
telling their closed front door that i wished they were all dead
threatening to kill the dog across the street
for barking while i stumbled around in pain
trying to pick up my hat and my groceries off the ground
without slipping and sliding and falling again
and i’ll forgive you for never stopping to ask
if i was all right
not while i was laying their prostrate
and not when i was standing there battered and weak
we’ll just pretend like you gave a shit
instead of looking back at me and shaking your head
before tip-toeing into your apartment
we’ll pretend that when i shouted
thank you for your kindness
that i was being genuine and sincere
and that after you were gone
i skipped home for coffee and the sunday paper
my faith in humanity bubbling over
instead of stumbling around on the street alone
trying to figure out if those thick spots all around me
were patches of pork gravy or my blood.
- John Grochalski
(2 poems added 02.22.14)
editor's note: When the milk of human kindness freezes in the slush, we respond in kind; makes us feel better. (And, to really feel better, read another one on John's page - it's a tone poem.) - mh
The Reaper Of Light
Coldly and rationally,
I look on.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
I pity their love and happiness,
although, my curiosity is peaked.
Love is foreign to me.
A theory.
A myth.
A lie.
I see their pain and suffering;
relishing it.
The enticing pull
of hollowing emptiness.
In the end they finally see.
Everyone sees.
They even know I'm coming.
Which is why I ask...
Why do they continue to try?
Even after life crushes everything,
they strive for the ultimate goal,
the ultimate lie.
One single ounce of happiness,
underneath all the darkness
that I call home.
- Cliodhna Condon
(added 02.21.14)
editor's note: So, that's the reason; our emptiness makes him full. Hmmmm. - mh
Unique?
I used to speak muffeletto,
Until some told me that
It was a sandwich. I thought
About pianissimo, but that
Seemed too loud and tinkly.
So, now, for the most part, I
Speak softly, sometimes ever-so
Softly, and carry, behind my back,
A very, very large stick. One
Of the Roosevelts said that
When speaking about our country.
Well, sez I, seems like good advice
To me. I am my own country,
The mighty Republic of Me, sometimes
A democracy (all of my selves have a vote),
Sometimes, just sometimes, a monarchy -
I am the Queen of Me! the Queen
Bee, a right, royal person, secure
On my throne, no one will overthrow me.
Sometimes, I am a Socialist (so sue me!).
Sometimes far too Liberal, sometimes
Far too Conservative, sometimes
So Middle-of-the-Road it's depressing,
A rebel at heart, not on the surface.
Wishy-washy, namby-pamby, upsy-daisy,
Oopsy-whoopsy, onkey-donkey, okey-dokey,
Icky-dicky, never too good at tricky-
Dicky, (gave it up early). You say Picasso.
I say stacatto. Either way up, I'm just
Good old mutable, changable, mostly
Predictable
(if you take the trouble)
Me.
- Kay Kinghammer
(1 poem added 02.20.14)
editor's note: If you're asking me, I'd say, "Yes!" But, he-nique? She-nique? We-nique? No-nique, nobody knows me like my Mama knows me... - mh
Haiku Exotica
Silent empty branches! An angel’s aura.
A snowy white owl Sleeps naked pretending
swoops up the mouse. on Satin sheets.
She undresses me!
With golden brown eyes
spooning with mine.
Soft wet kisses. Softly nibbling!
Harmonic pulse beats Caressing nipples
hearts entwine. she sighs.
Tropical heat wave!
Pheromones surging
Slipstreaming.
Burning passion!
Feeling cock-a-do-a-do-do
in-her thighs.
Swollen clitoris! Pan’s Flute!
Naked truth enthroned Playful musical notes
in a bushel. rocking.
Cookie-Jar!
Tumbling and Heaving
Into Ecstasy.
Fantasy or Delight?
Wondering what thing
You have spied, this night?
- Claude Barrett
(1 poem added 02.19.14)
editor's note: What a hoot! A hot haiku hopscotch! (Did he say "Hoot" ? Heads down! Owl's on the prowl!) - mh
Scarlet red
Blood in the moon
turns the sky
a scarlet red as
the night unbuttons
my bones one by one.
Shadows move rapidly
across my peach-colored walls
as my mind spins
like dorsal fins
above the water's surface.
- Dawnell Harrison
(1 poem added 02.18.14)
editor's note: Bone stripped and buck naked, dive into the deep. Souls swimming in the sea of life. Yes! - mh
A BEAST IN MY HOUSE
I hear a violent pounding on my neighbour’s door but there’s no response
The poor guy must be at work
I remain seated in my flat not giving a shit about what awaits
And then the inevitable happens
A violent pounding starts on my door and as I stand I hear a vitriolic scream
I know you’re in there the voice roars as I pause nervous and worried for the first time
As I open the door I see a man who fills most of the corridor,
A huge beast of a man and I suddenly turn on my diplomatic act hoping he believes
Where is she he demands as he tries to barge past me but
I thrust my arm out to stop him
Telling him I’m all alone and am just about to leave for work
I manoeuvre him to the top of the stairs
Where I suggest rather bravely that he move on as she’s not around
But then there she is, on the landing below
Long black curly hair and a beautiful face made up like a low-grade working girl,
A tight clingy green dress that shows off all the right curves and shapes
She’s too good for this bum I think
But we move on down and she moves on up
And they hug as I continue off to work
- Bradford Middleton
(1 poem added 02.17.14)
editor's note: Whew! Close call, that. Gotta wonder though, did she drop out his back window to circle 'round to the landing? - mh
A Murder of Crows.
We jumped into the deep well
I was looking for love
He wanted water.
Then came a murder of crows
Ready for a slaughter
Squatted round and round
Uttering inane laughter
Found the love I was after
In the madness of his lips
He praised my curving hips
Madness found its level
In that deep deep well.
- Sheighle Birdthistle
(added 02.16.14)
editor's note: Is one quenched fair requite? Crows know; it's better if both or wells run dry. - 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, "Paper and Pearl" by Corina Roche: "It doesn't matter how well something has aged if it was rotten from the start. It doesn't matter how many college degrees a rapist has, he's still an asshole. It doesn't matter how well a person's rear end is waxed, it's still an asshole. And few extra years in a coffin doesn't beautify a corpse. Sometimes, things aren't worth saving or savoring." Here's a taste to tempt you...
On paper, everything had been done more or less correctly. Married her college boyfriend, they both had good jobs, their son, albeit skinny and spotted, was doing well in school. Money in the bank. Equity.
It was their thirtieth wedding anniversary and it was the year they were supposed to open the wine they bought on their honeymoon and saved for this occasion. It was a Spanish wine they had bought in Andalucia. While the memories of their Spanish romp were foggy, she remembered walls were all colorfully tiled. The staircase was narrow. In the cafe, they sold wine wholesale and she got the idea to purchase a bottle for this day. They didn’t declare it at customs, a small act of defiance.
A little bit of Spanish magic trailed after them like a cloud of perfume and fading guitar chords, but it slowly dissipated into the smog that Palatine borrowed from Chicago and then came taxes, bank statements, loan officers, Escrow, mortgages, hospital bills, maternity leave, PTA meetings, insurance, car payments, thank-you cards, business trips, carpools and self help books until it came down to her purchasing asparagus and lamb at Whole Foods and carrying them home in her string bag, her blue scarf lackadaisically draped around her neck, climbing the stairs of their duplex with the light shining through the window indicating he was home.
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your wanna on here!
••• Expanding the Madness •••
In case you didn’t hear, Mad Swirl has launched a 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.
For more info on just exactly what we got in mind, as well as 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...
Takin’ It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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