The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.12.14
”The future is always beginning now.” Mark Strand
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Where yesterday and tomorrow meet - I am (above) by featured artist David Arthur-Simons. To see more of his works, as well as works from our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we diddled the dance, took love by chance; we kindled love again, renewed the flame from a sandwich and a rose; we closed a new chapter, we they them hereafter; we looked in on the learning at the celestial laboratory; we bounced with bed-bound vanity, romped a way through sanity; we fondled the finer points of appetite and procreation; we bantered and cantered on that bitchin' bean, hyper extended by the great machine. Check your preconceptions at the door! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
I SOLD MY SOUL TO A COFFEE BEAN
I sold it
I sold my soul
Like the rest of them
Sucked it down
And went back again
Like the guy
With the shakes
In front of me
Praying to God
For another cup
Pronto!
Another shock
To his system
So he can go on
With his crazy day
“I will take another,”
He said.
I nodded my head
What have I become?
I thought about it
When I got out of bed
Then I sipped my latte
Later on that day
I never listen to what
The health addicts say
I’m a coffee bean whore
All work and some play
I never did drugs!
It’s a brain holiday!
But there I go again
Church of coffee beans
Earth's corporate share
No one really has a care
They just drink it down
Like a brain washed town
Without a second to spare.
- Gina Nemo
(2 poems added 04.12.14)
editor's note: Can't stop now! Gotta buy, gotta spend, gotta suck it in - coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee... (Let's welcome Gina to our crazy confab o' Contributing Poets with this'n! There's another new one, along with this and her others, on her new page - a rocket o' love - check it out.) - mh
Eat, Fuck, out of Luck
More and more,
Until there is no more.
No more patience, only lust,
Just pure desire of restless want.
Want more, get more,
Always make sure to buy more.
Once is never enough,
Just like a duck,
Stuff, stuff, stuff,
Until there is but a single quack.
Then go, and fuck,
Like a rabid dog,
on speed,
Like a dying chimpanzee
hanging from a tree..
Then text it, post it,
Tube it, lube it.
Get your 30 second fix.
Want more to mix?
Then go, fast, fast, fast,
while your fame lasts.
Eat, fuck , text it, post it,
Tube it, lube it.
But you're out of luck!
Just like a stuffed duck.
Roasting in the oven,
Never getting it,
That there is no IT,
Just eat, fuck,
Out of luck.
- Sakazaf
(added 04.11.14)
editor's note: If a duck quacks in the forest... ? - mh
FAMILIAR WITH INSANITY
– am I a gifted person? Is it important, since I no longer exist?!
I was sailing through the endless space, still angry at the death that came in malevolent time. The success was feasible. The space is so cold, and my physicus, which I imagined, transformed into the powerful energy that has no use. I did not have a plan.
– Probably I do not need the plan here, – as if the thought was spotted.
From some star constellation, a man in white floated towards me. He was tampering with something about my bodiless being, and then suddenly disappeared.
People around me were freely walking in their pajamas, it was only me bound to bed.
- Tatjana Debeljacki
(added 04.10.14)
editor's note: Plan?! Ain't no plan! Get a grip on whatever seems solid and ride it out... - mh
Physics Lab
In Genesis god creates light and the light
commingles with the darkness
and needs separating:
photons and dark energy
get to know each other in intimate ways
and some particles cancel each other out
in blazes of matter anti-matter explosions.
And god thinks, Shit! this light and dark
stuff is fucking dangerous.
God begins to separate the light
from the dark, but there is a vast amount of both:
a volume equal to four-thirds Pi times
forty-six and a half billion lightyears cubed.
God creates a cosmic dust pan and broom
and begins sweeping light and dark into separate piles
long before god names day day or night night
because god does not wish to do a lot of explaining
to all the science fair judges
about his newly created heavens and earth,
especially if all these continuous explosions
mean god has to start creating all over again—
That would mean missing out on Rebecca’s birthday party
with all the other gods who got their science project right
on the first try.
- Kenneth P. Gurney
(1 poem added 04.09.14)
editor's note: Edison failed 1,000 times before he made light. - mh
Introducing a New Everafter
He’s all charm
And she’s all giggles
And I’m all over it
Inserted and added via a twist
Now with He I and her are She
And we are all over Everafter
- Steven Minchin
(2 poems added 04.08.14)
editor's note: More in the mix to make the call; happily or what, everafter. (Steven has more to say - to himself - on his page; check it out.) - mh
Music To My Ears
a nervous laughter arose from the crowd
“So true, so true.”
What was once the sweet music of your voice, so gentle and loving
Like string quartets and cooing doves and the trickle of a stream
Has turned into a siren scream, or nails on a chalkboard or an LP needle dragged scratching across the surface of the vinyl
Oh lovely grape in such a vintage, to vinegar you have gone
From the freshest baked bread, to a stone cold, rock hard loaf
The milk sour, and a loving glance to a killer’s glower
The crowd now shifts restlessly in their seats, the couples only look at each other from the periphery of their eye sight, not daring to see the cold, dark stare they fear is there
But, wait a minute!
Not knowing from where or when, sometimes a spark, so small as a sandwich or a rose brings us back to the good graces----and we remember, falling in love all over again
The crowd shifts, looking at their partners, “So true, so true.”
- Louis Marvin
(1 poem added 04.07.14)
editor's note: Kind cold cuts with modulated mayo on sliced, forbearing bread. A reconciliation sandwich; always better than that bitter pill. - mh
Contemporary Coupling (a Ballad)
Two gals decked in ribbons,
Some gents sporting tails.
Went swirling ‘round the dance floor,
‘til the women swapped their males.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
My partner spoke in riddles.
That link, he ragged my brain.
He answered but a little,
So I’d see him again.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
We talked until the new sun,
Floated up the sky.
My resistance became undone;
He was a clever guy.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
Next, we supped together,
Strolling, shopping, all the same.
My code was growing thinner,
While I hardly knew his name.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
My best girl, she thought love was
Coloring my cheeks.
She pointed toward a single cause,
Though we’d coupled just a week.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
A fortnight, still together,
The russet one and I.
I might last near forever,
With this the red-haired guy.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 04.06.14)
editor's note: A swap meet, color-matched mystery - hi de hi ho, indeed! - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Well we got just what you’re needing! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Bondage Games" by Vincent Vassilev… "No matter what happens past our atmosphere, ignoring both the doom and beauty of collapsing stars or expanding galaxies; no matter who runs the banks and holds all our icy coins hostage; no matter what governments run or ruin the world, what we the living really want is warmth and to feel that warmth here and now, before we slide into the only cold truth of life--the cool silence of never asking what it all means, the echo of a place where the warm breath of conversation doesn't exist." Here's a taste to tempt you…
Oh yeah. They wanna make ravens out of all of us. Like, how many ravens can a guy see in Miami, Fla.? Don’t not ask me how, but I did see a raven. Kind of a square head, looked downtrodden, dusty, sickened, perhaps because of the heat. I thought about Edgar Allen Poe’s “Nevermore,” and even said it to the raven as I was leaving a book store. I had bought some books about history of the Kennedy assassination. Sitting there, juggling around in that plastic retail bag, the books were just waiting to be read. You know, like books do; they wait to to be read, not said. Oh yeah, I say that a lot. Oh yeah, like I’m the Kool-Aid Man. Oh yeah!
It was fricking hot out here in Daytona Beach, and yes, it was surprising to see a raven that had flown so far south. What had happened to the bird? Did his birdie radar get interrupted by all those microwaves in the air courtesy of iPads, cell phones, radio waves, satellite dishes, know what I mean? Poor bird. He looked like he was gonna croak.
“Poor raven,” I said (I am a little odd in that I speak to animals above ground), really feeling sympathy for the poor black bird. I love animals. Sometimes I think animals are smarter than we think they are. Oh yeah. A raven greeting me in a parking lot, and then I’m off, headed for home, on foot, like a human, leaving the bookstore holding books on the big Kennedy assassination conspiracy. Jim Marr, Alex Jones, Whitley Strieber, books that inspire those guys. Even Don DeLillo has gotten into the conspiracy game with Libra, his fictional “literary account” of the life and capture and eventual death of Lee Harvey...
How can you stop there? You can’t, can you? Get the rest of your read 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...
Now’n It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Where yesterday and tomorrow meet - I am (above) by featured artist David Arthur-Simons. To see more of his works, as well as works from our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we diddled the dance, took love by chance; we kindled love again, renewed the flame from a sandwich and a rose; we closed a new chapter, we they them hereafter; we looked in on the learning at the celestial laboratory; we bounced with bed-bound vanity, romped a way through sanity; we fondled the finer points of appetite and procreation; we bantered and cantered on that bitchin' bean, hyper extended by the great machine. Check your preconceptions at the door! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
I SOLD MY SOUL TO A COFFEE BEAN
I sold it
I sold my soul
Like the rest of them
Sucked it down
And went back again
Like the guy
With the shakes
In front of me
Praying to God
For another cup
Pronto!
Another shock
To his system
So he can go on
With his crazy day
“I will take another,”
He said.
I nodded my head
What have I become?
I thought about it
When I got out of bed
Then I sipped my latte
Later on that day
I never listen to what
The health addicts say
I’m a coffee bean whore
All work and some play
I never did drugs!
It’s a brain holiday!
But there I go again
Church of coffee beans
Earth's corporate share
No one really has a care
They just drink it down
Like a brain washed town
Without a second to spare.
- Gina Nemo
(2 poems added 04.12.14)
editor's note: Can't stop now! Gotta buy, gotta spend, gotta suck it in - coffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffeecoffee... (Let's welcome Gina to our crazy confab o' Contributing Poets with this'n! There's another new one, along with this and her others, on her new page - a rocket o' love - check it out.) - mh
Eat, Fuck, out of Luck
More and more,
Until there is no more.
No more patience, only lust,
Just pure desire of restless want.
Want more, get more,
Always make sure to buy more.
Once is never enough,
Just like a duck,
Stuff, stuff, stuff,
Until there is but a single quack.
Then go, and fuck,
Like a rabid dog,
on speed,
Like a dying chimpanzee
hanging from a tree..
Then text it, post it,
Tube it, lube it.
Get your 30 second fix.
Want more to mix?
Then go, fast, fast, fast,
while your fame lasts.
Eat, fuck , text it, post it,
Tube it, lube it.
But you're out of luck!
Just like a stuffed duck.
Roasting in the oven,
Never getting it,
That there is no IT,
Just eat, fuck,
Out of luck.
- Sakazaf
(added 04.11.14)
editor's note: If a duck quacks in the forest... ? - mh
FAMILIAR WITH INSANITY
– am I a gifted person? Is it important, since I no longer exist?!
I was sailing through the endless space, still angry at the death that came in malevolent time. The success was feasible. The space is so cold, and my physicus, which I imagined, transformed into the powerful energy that has no use. I did not have a plan.
– Probably I do not need the plan here, – as if the thought was spotted.
From some star constellation, a man in white floated towards me. He was tampering with something about my bodiless being, and then suddenly disappeared.
People around me were freely walking in their pajamas, it was only me bound to bed.
- Tatjana Debeljacki
(added 04.10.14)
editor's note: Plan?! Ain't no plan! Get a grip on whatever seems solid and ride it out... - mh
Physics Lab
In Genesis god creates light and the light
commingles with the darkness
and needs separating:
photons and dark energy
get to know each other in intimate ways
and some particles cancel each other out
in blazes of matter anti-matter explosions.
And god thinks, Shit! this light and dark
stuff is fucking dangerous.
God begins to separate the light
from the dark, but there is a vast amount of both:
a volume equal to four-thirds Pi times
forty-six and a half billion lightyears cubed.
God creates a cosmic dust pan and broom
and begins sweeping light and dark into separate piles
long before god names day day or night night
because god does not wish to do a lot of explaining
to all the science fair judges
about his newly created heavens and earth,
especially if all these continuous explosions
mean god has to start creating all over again—
That would mean missing out on Rebecca’s birthday party
with all the other gods who got their science project right
on the first try.
- Kenneth P. Gurney
(1 poem added 04.09.14)
editor's note: Edison failed 1,000 times before he made light. - mh
Introducing a New Everafter
He’s all charm
And she’s all giggles
And I’m all over it
Inserted and added via a twist
Now with He I and her are She
And we are all over Everafter
- Steven Minchin
(2 poems added 04.08.14)
editor's note: More in the mix to make the call; happily or what, everafter. (Steven has more to say - to himself - on his page; check it out.) - mh
Music To My Ears
a nervous laughter arose from the crowd
“So true, so true.”
What was once the sweet music of your voice, so gentle and loving
Like string quartets and cooing doves and the trickle of a stream
Has turned into a siren scream, or nails on a chalkboard or an LP needle dragged scratching across the surface of the vinyl
Oh lovely grape in such a vintage, to vinegar you have gone
From the freshest baked bread, to a stone cold, rock hard loaf
The milk sour, and a loving glance to a killer’s glower
The crowd now shifts restlessly in their seats, the couples only look at each other from the periphery of their eye sight, not daring to see the cold, dark stare they fear is there
But, wait a minute!
Not knowing from where or when, sometimes a spark, so small as a sandwich or a rose brings us back to the good graces----and we remember, falling in love all over again
The crowd shifts, looking at their partners, “So true, so true.”
- Louis Marvin
(1 poem added 04.07.14)
editor's note: Kind cold cuts with modulated mayo on sliced, forbearing bread. A reconciliation sandwich; always better than that bitter pill. - mh
Contemporary Coupling (a Ballad)
Two gals decked in ribbons,
Some gents sporting tails.
Went swirling ‘round the dance floor,
‘til the women swapped their males.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
My partner spoke in riddles.
That link, he ragged my brain.
He answered but a little,
So I’d see him again.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
We talked until the new sun,
Floated up the sky.
My resistance became undone;
He was a clever guy.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
Next, we supped together,
Strolling, shopping, all the same.
My code was growing thinner,
While I hardly knew his name.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
My best girl, she thought love was
Coloring my cheeks.
She pointed toward a single cause,
Though we’d coupled just a week.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
A fortnight, still together,
The russet one and I.
I might last near forever,
With this the red-haired guy.
Hi de hi ho,
Hi de hi hee,
The russet one’s
The man for me.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 04.06.14)
editor's note: A swap meet, color-matched mystery - hi de hi ho, indeed! - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Well we got just what you’re needing! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Bondage Games" by Vincent Vassilev… "No matter what happens past our atmosphere, ignoring both the doom and beauty of collapsing stars or expanding galaxies; no matter who runs the banks and holds all our icy coins hostage; no matter what governments run or ruin the world, what we the living really want is warmth and to feel that warmth here and now, before we slide into the only cold truth of life--the cool silence of never asking what it all means, the echo of a place where the warm breath of conversation doesn't exist." Here's a taste to tempt you…
Oh yeah. They wanna make ravens out of all of us. Like, how many ravens can a guy see in Miami, Fla.? Don’t not ask me how, but I did see a raven. Kind of a square head, looked downtrodden, dusty, sickened, perhaps because of the heat. I thought about Edgar Allen Poe’s “Nevermore,” and even said it to the raven as I was leaving a book store. I had bought some books about history of the Kennedy assassination. Sitting there, juggling around in that plastic retail bag, the books were just waiting to be read. You know, like books do; they wait to to be read, not said. Oh yeah, I say that a lot. Oh yeah, like I’m the Kool-Aid Man. Oh yeah!
It was fricking hot out here in Daytona Beach, and yes, it was surprising to see a raven that had flown so far south. What had happened to the bird? Did his birdie radar get interrupted by all those microwaves in the air courtesy of iPads, cell phones, radio waves, satellite dishes, know what I mean? Poor bird. He looked like he was gonna croak.
“Poor raven,” I said (I am a little odd in that I speak to animals above ground), really feeling sympathy for the poor black bird. I love animals. Sometimes I think animals are smarter than we think they are. Oh yeah. A raven greeting me in a parking lot, and then I’m off, headed for home, on foot, like a human, leaving the bookstore holding books on the big Kennedy assassination conspiracy. Jim Marr, Alex Jones, Whitley Strieber, books that inspire those guys. Even Don DeLillo has gotten into the conspiracy game with Libra, his fictional “literary account” of the life and capture and eventual death of Lee Harvey...
How can you stop there? You can’t, can you? Get the rest of your read 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...
Now’n It,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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