The Best of Mad Swirl : 03.08.14
"Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, and poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen." Leonardo da Vinci
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Facing/balancing my interface with the world through my intuition (third eye) (above) by featured artist David Arthur-Simons.
This month we welcome back to the mad swirl virtual stage one of our annual favorites, David Arthur-Simons! And we know you'll be as excited as we are for what he has delivered us this year in his series 365 Days Out of my Mind! In case you haven't heard, David works on one of 365 paintings and completes as much as possible in one day. He then returns to the same painting the following year on the same day adding and subtracting elements ’til the painting is "finished". As if these surreal and almost psychedelic works don't already take us through a spiritual and psychological journey as is, knowing the mad story behind the process on which these works were created makes them all the more wondrous. Get ready to get lost (and found) in the mad-imagination of this most profound and prolific minded swirler! On our mark... get set... GO! - Madelyn Olson
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we appreciated a perfect picture, a thousand words unspoken; we stood to step and improve our timing, seeking heaven through ladder climbing; we pulled heaven down to pogrom and prevarication; we defended our domiciles with loaded gun, no matter if beast or beatified, all must be put on the run; we set to safekeeping a traumatized beater; we spun anew the princess pea, devised a test for purity; we lauded a true lover's passion, truth in beauty beauty in truth. Take it laying down or on the chin, we all stand for something. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
BEAUTIFUL
Youth is not immortal,
though a heart can remain young.
One July morning
I called her beautiful and meant it.
She thought I was silly.
I thought I was brave.
I was longing for acceptance.
My heart was weighing a ton.
I was far from Don Juan.
She was the woman of my dreams,
the most beautiful creature.
I wanted to shout it out.
She made me face reality.
She brought me down to earth.
She beat sense into my heart.
I live with a curse ever since.
I continue my journey.
I still believe she is beautiful.
- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
(1 poem added 03.08.14)
editor's note: This beholder is the best Don Juan; a true believer. - mh
On Trial
Mom-in-law to-be
bought California King Bed
for my husband-to-be
implying that I
should try the mattress
enticing trampoline
the screwing sound
herm-herm-oh-ah
knowingly I am
the Immaculate Magdalene
this happened
before marriage
she slipped in between
a piece of snow cheese cloth
hoping to spot
blood from broken hymen
fertile and spy-ce
my soul then
to be judged
by the Book of Revelation
I am the first to vanish.
- Deborah Wong
(added 03.07.14)
editor's note: Who can blame a doting dame for testing the merch before purch? - mh
STILL BEATING
Here it is
Still beating
Still wet with tears
From uncounted years
Of monotony
Under a sorrow stained pillow
Hanging limp like the willow
outside the glass
In a scream filled room
I left it for dead
Tired of its incessant wants
Fed up with its dreaming
But its continuous thumping
Thump, thump, thump...
Its harassing bumping
Bump, bump, bump...
Led me back here
I will be clear
It's not you I fear
Or for whom I've shed tears
It's my heart
And what it can do to me
So, I've picked it up
And dusted it off
And locked it away
Because
The damn thing is still beating
- P.Frias
(added 03.06.14)
editor's note: This sign of life is reason enough to stay in the game; tears, fears and all. - mh
Second Amendment
We live in such a dangerous world, a place
where survival of the fittest wags the dog,
where wolves howl just outside the door,
circle, close in, where plotters plot, gunners
gun, bombers bomb, where addicts are
desperately seeking a fix, and fixers can’t fix
a thing. Read the papers, watch the news un-
fold across the various screens that filter it all,
advise us, warn us, threaten; drive down Main
Street at rush hour and feel the hostile nature
of us all, gestures, horns and screeching brakes,
the things we can almost hear them yelling as
as we pass, locked in, a pistol in the glove box,
always ready to protect what is ours from
anyone who crosses us, cuts us off, flips us
the bird; this is as it should be, treacherous,
hazardous, precarious, perilous, watch the sun
rising up and falling, beating down on us all day,
watch the crows attack the birdfeeder, push
and shove their way in, watch the neighbor’s
pit bull pee on your irises, watch your neighbor’s
leaves blow on your newly raked lawn, watch
them closing in, then go get the shotgun they
didn’t get, load up, stand by the front door and
wait for someone to knock and then let them know
just how dangerous this part of the world can be.
- J.K. Durick
(1 poem added 03.05.14)
editor's note: We want the freedom to defend ourselves; while someone else wants to tell us what to defend against. - mh
The Modern New Testament
In this modern era what have the children
of Abraham been up to? New acts
of his apostles, new Messiahs come
to save, new ways of being Martyred.
Should the first book be called "Pogram",
a tidy word hiding a lot of pain
in the sorting of the wheat from the chaff?
Perhaps the second should be called
"Forced Exile", native peoples driven
from ancient homelands; even today,
in the Amazon Forests, in Palestine.
Drones, like Archangels, provide
Pillars of Fire by night and
Pillars of Smoke by day. Driving
the distraught and desperate from their homes.
And what of Yahweh? He's suited
and tied, clean shaven, speaking in tongues
in broadcasts to the narrow mindset,
prepared to lie to save his world.
- Patrick J. Dorrian
(added 03.04.14)
editor's note: With this new Gospel come new true believers, fervent as Paul and Silas ever were. Acolytes, beware! - mh
A ladder, A spear and A beauty parlour
I am mad after a beauty parlour-
With a spear in hand
unabated has been my climbing
a standing ladder attached
to that hanging beauty parlour up above the sky-
far away, in the kingdom of clouds.
A universal hatred to my ugliness
made me untouchable to the wingless fairies,
boring to the hilarious hearts
and horrible to the dreamful eyes.
Being dumped I was mercilessly so far
in a dark and suffocating room,
surrounded by the useless company
that my inability could arrange,
but could increase the degree of
obedience and sincerity to my heavenly boss
with humble prayer and importunity
for stepping up to the hanging beauty- parlour.
Successful I was to be blessed
and bestowed with a ladder and a spear,
since then my climbing has been on and on
to reach up to the dreamful parlour
for getting myself up-to-date
and the remaining chapters
of my unread and neglected epic collocated.
As I am blissful now in quick climbing
so effective my spear is to
remove the impediments and rivals.
Quite tension-free I am now
as I am accompanied by a blessed soul
and a hopeful heart in my efforts of climbing up
to win a place in the heavenly beauty parlour.
- P.K. Deb
(added 03.03.14)
editor's note: A wonderful metaphor! Also double-endorses the popularity of extensions... - mh
the hushed exhibition
she doesn't speak in words
so I listen to her touches
pique my ears to her gentle strokes
I watch her eyes alight
in pastel hues
splats of character
on an otherwise empty slate
she doesn’t speak in words
but her presence overwhelms the room
she is deep sea green, light lavender,
maroon
she is licks of ember, sleuth-like sap
all the colors you could ever know
all the colors you could ever imagine
she doesn’t speak in words
she is beyond phonemes, grammar,
punctuation
she lives beyond the borders
of semantic comprehension
her home a thicket untamed
she doesn’t speak in words
there is no map to follow
just the droplets I listen for
just the feints that linger
- Melani Grace Tiongson
(added 03.02.14)
editor's note: A mute muse to tease a thirst for more. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? We got the perfect tale to make you squawk! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Female Lovebird Available to a Home, Any Sort of Home, Doesn’t Even Have to be a Good Home" by Diane Malk: "Watch out for lovebirds, lovers, and above all, love. Love has claws, always; it’s hungry, always. It’s destructive, always. But will we stop the love? Never, always." Here's a taste to whet your beak…
They were a cute couple, those lovebirds. Sporting deep blue feathers and black heads; they were almost identical looking, except that the male was a bit plumper. They were known collectively as the Nummers. We never even bothered to assign them individual names. Sitting together side-by-side on their perch with their little birdie torsos touching is how they spent their days.
One morning I looked into their cage and discovered Mr. Nummer’s corpse lying on the bottom, motionless. Odd, he had been the more robust of the two. In the days that followed, it surprised us to see that his feathered widow was chirping so happily. Maybe one reason was because she was able to jump down to eat whenever she felt the need, now unencumbered by her late partner. She seemed a little too happy—did she do him in, we wondered…
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Mad Happenings •••
Mad Swirl & the Fermoy International Poetry Festival present a great way to start your St. Patrick's Day Weekend revelry... A MADDY SAINT PATTY'S DAY SWIRL-UP!
Join Mad Swirl on 03.15.14 at 1:00 pm at the Abbey Pub for LIVE poetry & music from your loco local mad ones AND the same coming across the big pond direct from Lombard's Bar in Fermoy, Cork County, Ireland via the wonderful world of the www! You won't want to miss this trans-Atlantic madness!
Got questions? Visit Mad Swirl’s Events page for more details.
••• Expanding the Madness •••
About a month ago Mad Swirl launched a GoFundMe page. The purpose behind the fundraiser is to "Expand the Madness o' the Swirl World”. And since that day, we have raised enough dough to get some of our planned madness swirlin'!
Thanks to all who have shared their hard-earned monies with us on our GoFundMe page! If you gave at a level that will earn you a Mad Swirl Tee, here is what you'll be getting. If you have yet to donate... don'tcha wanna be the first on your block to sport this bada$$ shirt?
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.
•••••••
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...
Seein’ & Feelin’,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Facing/balancing my interface with the world through my intuition (third eye) (above) by featured artist David Arthur-Simons.
This month we welcome back to the mad swirl virtual stage one of our annual favorites, David Arthur-Simons! And we know you'll be as excited as we are for what he has delivered us this year in his series 365 Days Out of my Mind! In case you haven't heard, David works on one of 365 paintings and completes as much as possible in one day. He then returns to the same painting the following year on the same day adding and subtracting elements ’til the painting is "finished". As if these surreal and almost psychedelic works don't already take us through a spiritual and psychological journey as is, knowing the mad story behind the process on which these works were created makes them all the more wondrous. Get ready to get lost (and found) in the mad-imagination of this most profound and prolific minded swirler! On our mark... get set... GO! - Madelyn Olson
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...we appreciated a perfect picture, a thousand words unspoken; we stood to step and improve our timing, seeking heaven through ladder climbing; we pulled heaven down to pogrom and prevarication; we defended our domiciles with loaded gun, no matter if beast or beatified, all must be put on the run; we set to safekeeping a traumatized beater; we spun anew the princess pea, devised a test for purity; we lauded a true lover's passion, truth in beauty beauty in truth. Take it laying down or on the chin, we all stand for something. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
BEAUTIFUL
Youth is not immortal,
though a heart can remain young.
One July morning
I called her beautiful and meant it.
She thought I was silly.
I thought I was brave.
I was longing for acceptance.
My heart was weighing a ton.
I was far from Don Juan.
She was the woman of my dreams,
the most beautiful creature.
I wanted to shout it out.
She made me face reality.
She brought me down to earth.
She beat sense into my heart.
I live with a curse ever since.
I continue my journey.
I still believe she is beautiful.
- Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal
(1 poem added 03.08.14)
editor's note: This beholder is the best Don Juan; a true believer. - mh
On Trial
Mom-in-law to-be
bought California King Bed
for my husband-to-be
implying that I
should try the mattress
enticing trampoline
the screwing sound
herm-herm-oh-ah
knowingly I am
the Immaculate Magdalene
this happened
before marriage
she slipped in between
a piece of snow cheese cloth
hoping to spot
blood from broken hymen
fertile and spy-ce
my soul then
to be judged
by the Book of Revelation
I am the first to vanish.
- Deborah Wong
(added 03.07.14)
editor's note: Who can blame a doting dame for testing the merch before purch? - mh
STILL BEATING
Here it is
Still beating
Still wet with tears
From uncounted years
Of monotony
Under a sorrow stained pillow
Hanging limp like the willow
outside the glass
In a scream filled room
I left it for dead
Tired of its incessant wants
Fed up with its dreaming
But its continuous thumping
Thump, thump, thump...
Its harassing bumping
Bump, bump, bump...
Led me back here
I will be clear
It's not you I fear
Or for whom I've shed tears
It's my heart
And what it can do to me
So, I've picked it up
And dusted it off
And locked it away
Because
The damn thing is still beating
- P.Frias
(added 03.06.14)
editor's note: This sign of life is reason enough to stay in the game; tears, fears and all. - mh
Second Amendment
We live in such a dangerous world, a place
where survival of the fittest wags the dog,
where wolves howl just outside the door,
circle, close in, where plotters plot, gunners
gun, bombers bomb, where addicts are
desperately seeking a fix, and fixers can’t fix
a thing. Read the papers, watch the news un-
fold across the various screens that filter it all,
advise us, warn us, threaten; drive down Main
Street at rush hour and feel the hostile nature
of us all, gestures, horns and screeching brakes,
the things we can almost hear them yelling as
as we pass, locked in, a pistol in the glove box,
always ready to protect what is ours from
anyone who crosses us, cuts us off, flips us
the bird; this is as it should be, treacherous,
hazardous, precarious, perilous, watch the sun
rising up and falling, beating down on us all day,
watch the crows attack the birdfeeder, push
and shove their way in, watch the neighbor’s
pit bull pee on your irises, watch your neighbor’s
leaves blow on your newly raked lawn, watch
them closing in, then go get the shotgun they
didn’t get, load up, stand by the front door and
wait for someone to knock and then let them know
just how dangerous this part of the world can be.
- J.K. Durick
(1 poem added 03.05.14)
editor's note: We want the freedom to defend ourselves; while someone else wants to tell us what to defend against. - mh
The Modern New Testament
In this modern era what have the children
of Abraham been up to? New acts
of his apostles, new Messiahs come
to save, new ways of being Martyred.
Should the first book be called "Pogram",
a tidy word hiding a lot of pain
in the sorting of the wheat from the chaff?
Perhaps the second should be called
"Forced Exile", native peoples driven
from ancient homelands; even today,
in the Amazon Forests, in Palestine.
Drones, like Archangels, provide
Pillars of Fire by night and
Pillars of Smoke by day. Driving
the distraught and desperate from their homes.
And what of Yahweh? He's suited
and tied, clean shaven, speaking in tongues
in broadcasts to the narrow mindset,
prepared to lie to save his world.
- Patrick J. Dorrian
(added 03.04.14)
editor's note: With this new Gospel come new true believers, fervent as Paul and Silas ever were. Acolytes, beware! - mh
A ladder, A spear and A beauty parlour
I am mad after a beauty parlour-
With a spear in hand
unabated has been my climbing
a standing ladder attached
to that hanging beauty parlour up above the sky-
far away, in the kingdom of clouds.
A universal hatred to my ugliness
made me untouchable to the wingless fairies,
boring to the hilarious hearts
and horrible to the dreamful eyes.
Being dumped I was mercilessly so far
in a dark and suffocating room,
surrounded by the useless company
that my inability could arrange,
but could increase the degree of
obedience and sincerity to my heavenly boss
with humble prayer and importunity
for stepping up to the hanging beauty- parlour.
Successful I was to be blessed
and bestowed with a ladder and a spear,
since then my climbing has been on and on
to reach up to the dreamful parlour
for getting myself up-to-date
and the remaining chapters
of my unread and neglected epic collocated.
As I am blissful now in quick climbing
so effective my spear is to
remove the impediments and rivals.
Quite tension-free I am now
as I am accompanied by a blessed soul
and a hopeful heart in my efforts of climbing up
to win a place in the heavenly beauty parlour.
- P.K. Deb
(added 03.03.14)
editor's note: A wonderful metaphor! Also double-endorses the popularity of extensions... - mh
the hushed exhibition
she doesn't speak in words
so I listen to her touches
pique my ears to her gentle strokes
I watch her eyes alight
in pastel hues
splats of character
on an otherwise empty slate
she doesn’t speak in words
but her presence overwhelms the room
she is deep sea green, light lavender,
maroon
she is licks of ember, sleuth-like sap
all the colors you could ever know
all the colors you could ever imagine
she doesn’t speak in words
she is beyond phonemes, grammar,
punctuation
she lives beyond the borders
of semantic comprehension
her home a thicket untamed
she doesn’t speak in words
there is no map to follow
just the droplets I listen for
just the feints that linger
- Melani Grace Tiongson
(added 03.02.14)
editor's note: A mute muse to tease a thirst for more. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? We got the perfect tale to make you squawk! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Female Lovebird Available to a Home, Any Sort of Home, Doesn’t Even Have to be a Good Home" by Diane Malk: "Watch out for lovebirds, lovers, and above all, love. Love has claws, always; it’s hungry, always. It’s destructive, always. But will we stop the love? Never, always." Here's a taste to whet your beak…
They were a cute couple, those lovebirds. Sporting deep blue feathers and black heads; they were almost identical looking, except that the male was a bit plumper. They were known collectively as the Nummers. We never even bothered to assign them individual names. Sitting together side-by-side on their perch with their little birdie torsos touching is how they spent their days.
One morning I looked into their cage and discovered Mr. Nummer’s corpse lying on the bottom, motionless. Odd, he had been the more robust of the two. In the days that followed, it surprised us to see that his feathered widow was chirping so happily. Maybe one reason was because she was able to jump down to eat whenever she felt the need, now unencumbered by her late partner. She seemed a little too happy—did she do him in, we wondered…
You wanna keep readin'? Of course you wanna! Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Mad Happenings •••
Mad Swirl & the Fermoy International Poetry Festival present a great way to start your St. Patrick's Day Weekend revelry... A MADDY SAINT PATTY'S DAY SWIRL-UP!
Join Mad Swirl on 03.15.14 at 1:00 pm at the Abbey Pub for LIVE poetry & music from your loco local mad ones AND the same coming across the big pond direct from Lombard's Bar in Fermoy, Cork County, Ireland via the wonderful world of the www! You won't want to miss this trans-Atlantic madness!
Got questions? Visit Mad Swirl’s Events page for more details.
••• Expanding the Madness •••
About a month ago Mad Swirl launched a GoFundMe page. The purpose behind the fundraiser is to "Expand the Madness o' the Swirl World”. And since that day, we have raised enough dough to get some of our planned madness swirlin'!
Thanks to all who have shared their hard-earned monies with us on our GoFundMe page! If you gave at a level that will earn you a Mad Swirl Tee, here is what you'll be getting. If you have yet to donate... don'tcha wanna be the first on your block to sport this bada$$ shirt?
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.
•••••••
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...
Seein’ & Feelin’,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
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