The Best of Mad Swirl : 05.03.14
”We have to dare to be ourselves, however frightening or strange that self may prove to be.” May Sarton
••• The Mad Gallery •••
circus freak(s) (above) by featured artist Madelyn Olson.
Mad Swirl is proud to introduce to you the colorfully disturbing and beautiful works of our Visual Editor, Madelyn Olson. Some might know Madelyn from her editorial comments right here in this very land of the Mad Gallery. Others might know her as the emerging and prolific artist that she is blossoming in to. I know her as my kiddo, my daughter, my friend, my inspiration. What can a Daddy say about his offspring that doesn’t come off as favoritism with a dash of nepotism? Not much… that is until you see her paintings! Somewhere in the depths of Madelyn’s psyche she has created a cast of characters that are simultaneously grotesque and divine. Look deeply into the twisted eyes (some may be blacked out, others may have more than two) of each of her subjects and there you’ll find a story to be told. What some of these quixotic subjects have to say may not be what you want to hear but you just can’t help yourself from listening. Find out exactly what I mean. Take a look... a deep and searching gander... and tell us what you see/hear/feel when you trip on into the land of Madelyn’s works. - Johnny O
(to see more Mad works from Madelyn, 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 from dogs, got an earful, bought safe passage for a mouthful; we escaped self-censure through emotional closure; we saw sax man meet Frenchman, both Beat the cold with the cool; we found fresh foreign relations with a lass from the Emerald Nation; we, enticed by serpent's seed, shunned peace of night for a song; we waged war on a world of bleeders, justified all by our lack of leaders; we relinquished hunger to be whole, acquiesced to chemical control. Stand up before we nod off; hold fast before we're bought off! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
I'm Considering Klonopin
because the cool white void
of oblivion
rests better behind my eyes
the mechanical flow of
morning to night
gets covered in English ivy
corners softened
spine released
green smells green
air has promise
my circumstance of daggers and wild eyes
misguided kismet
and spoiled dinner
can be saved
under the blanket of chemicals
it brings
the banal becomes beautiful
the erratic, iridescent
my desires are few
complacent calm in the ocean
of malice
kind eyes
laughter and open smiles
i can categorize your faces
now
French film frowns
Bogart lips and
cool cigarette exhale
sad baby teardrops on
the patio
tender kiss it away
and forget
i'm considering a drink
the bitter twist
it masks
my skin
blistered and pickled
to carve the edges of my skull
clean of all culpability
to shrug and wink seductively
dabble my fingertips in its wet
sexy mouth
and still wake the nagging complexities
that never get resolved
under its heavy slosh
and languid rolls
my vessel is always struggling
over the angry waves
of hops, grapes and fermented things
I'm considering an escape
a knapsack with music, notebooks and pills
walking shoes and no destination
asphalt or dirt roads
to caress with rambling
poems and songs
a blank memory to keep me walking
away from broken things
i can't replace
a hearth with no heat
a library with no lights
a bed with no love
a heart with no beat
revolving sheets that leave me cool
in the night
fevered in worry
i’m considering Klonopin
because the reasons
are grinning at me
from the tree branches
like Cheshire cats
perhaps
its the only way
i know how to
shame them
name them as my own
personify and destroy
with chemical formula symbols
my daggers
dulling the loneliness
of the compartments of my mind
in time it will all boil over the sunset
in pill capsule yellows
and i will dance freely again
but until then
i’m considering Klonopin
- Opalina Salas
(3 poems added 05.03.14)
editor's note: We're all chemical constructs anyway. So, what the hell? (Two more poems to show the light and dark sides of Opalina on her page - go check it out, now!) - mh
Where are the Mandelas, the Gandhis of this Century
The pandora's box of terrorism and a world spinning on its head
For our choice of dying, which is a better death
From terrorism or as collateral damage
Either way if you notice
The dead invariably stay dead
Watching, waiting Gods, please look away
Show some patience, hold Your say
Wait till Your judgement day
Unless
We the chosen ones
You are confusing with angels
Lest You forget
We are not done killing our own
Not just yet
Whatever happened to kindness
The good old goodness
Thoughtfulness
Why is bitter the new norm
Where are the Mandelas, the Gandhis of this century
Fourteen years in, we are waiting, and so is history
Can you step forward and make yourself known
Before we ruin it all, before it’s all gone
These crazy proxy modern wars
With people dying on all sides
Some not knowing why or for what cause
If killing would make the world safer somehow
Wouldn’t this be a very safe planet by now
If wars were the solution
Where is the “lived happily ever after” conclusion
- Arif Ahmad
(added 05.02.14)
editor's note: Such damning questions, so beautifully asked. We keep looking for those beautiful answers. - mh
SONG
Nature makes victims of us all,
The driving force that throws us to the wolves,
Gives hunger to our minds, so feeds our desire,
To harvest yet more creatures for its plan.
The tides, the spinning Earth, the burning Sun,
Could fill our days with the peace of night,
To pick the fruits that hang from Eden’s tree.
Instead, this serpent’s lust makes Hell for you and me.
The stag could live his life within a forest’s calm
But has to fight and maim, kill his own kind,
Claim a land that no one owns;
Die to spread his seed in Fortune’s womb.
So this world has been, since time began,
Incarcerating animals like Man.
- Derrick Gaskin
(1 poem added 05.01.14)
editor's note: Sweet prison; we long to be set free, yet leave your walls reluctantly. - mh
that one night
her name was aoife
and I met her jumping
between two
abandoned beers
and a gypsy homeless transient
semi-retired accordion player
who was selling
"ask me about my squeeze box"
t-shirts
at a gogol bordello concert
aoife said the gypsy
looked like boris the blade
or oliver reed
in a wig and a blender
i knew then
it was love at first wit
her fish - my shoes
sole mates from the start
beer goggles securely fastened
body slamming
gently into the night-
when the song
"start wearing purple"
ran past us as a chance or
a mugger in an apartment with
thin walls
i began hoping
she lived close
& the mosh pit felt like
a walnut
& my hoodie
smelled like a beer
shoving hard
the elbow turned
aoife
turned turned turned
in to me
all combat boots & combat ass
pressing
so nearsoscented
of
ramen noodles & pheromone
flashing
monumental
opportunity
wearing a sunflower hairpin & an angel's neck if angels borrowed the necks of swans on the planet she was from
with her nose ring
did i mention she had a nose ring?
with her nose ring -
aoife's nose ring
coming ever closer
daring me
to kiss her --
a wastrel in cubic zirconium
pushing and
pulling and
pushing and
pulling
to the pulse of a rabid accordion
then she bit me -
as
her
one
good
long
coal
colored
bang
whispered in my bloody ear
"start wearing pink"
and that one night
was ireland to me
- Paul Koniecki
(1 poem added 04.30.14)
editor's note: Everyone craves to be pretty in pink; waits for that whisper in the ear... - mh
AT THIRTY IN SOHO
At thirty in Soho
a winter wind grabs
the arm that I make
my moves on
when I play sax,
and the love
of three oranges I carry
are almost devoured
on my motorcycle
when it stalls
by a rain storm
on the jazz corner
for my midnight gig,
yet a poet is still
walking his Beat for life
in his runaway suit
searching for help
in an apex of light
near his city's
downtown club
unable to drive,
with no more gas,
yet he fixes on his riffs
as tiny snow flakes
hug the window blinds
at the pub's opening,
I hear a sped up recording
of a Coltrane tape,
a stranger out of nowhere
with a cool French accent
sees me stuck,
supplies my gas
knowing these temporary
wintry blues and blahs
will not outlast
my brief loss
of mental direction
as I invite this snappy guy
to my underground gig
knowing smooth jazz
will soon beat out notes
from my body heat
hotly simmering
inside my jacket
to play new improvisations.
- B.Z. Niditch
(1 poem added 04.29.14)
editor's note: In either hemisphere, a cool jazz annal for the season ahead, heating up or icing down. - mh
Emotional Closure
As the mind unwinds the dissolution of fear,
Unspoken becomes spoken with new found discourse,
Red eyes no more just receding tears.
Flowers smell of I adore trying to close the mind subsists,
Exit sign still exists over that door
now let your feet sway the floor on your way out that door.
- James Brown
(1 poem added 04.28.14)
editor's note: Turn retreat to triumph; exit one to enter the other. - mh
Ha !
Stray dogs
keep on barking at people
in rags, but
they just let them go
without a single further bark
if they offer them some
crumbs of bread...
Ha !
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 04.27.14)
editor's note: Distracting detractors can't dissent with their mouths full. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Ready for our “Need a read?” pitch? Well this pitch is extra special because we're pitching a story about pitching a story! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Pitch for a Picture Book" by Joseph Robert… "Defleshing, it happens to us all, especially when we answer that question: 'So, what are you writing now?' That’s an answer that should come in the form of a printed page, not words out of an imperfect mouth." Here's a taste to tempt you…
(photo courtesy of Tyler Malone)
“Hello, Trisha Donnelly, Mindful Child Publications, correct? Sorry I read your name tag there, well, in advance, thanks for a moment of your time, Trish. Can I call you Trish? Oh, sorry, no that’s better isn’t it, Mrs. Donnelly? Oh, of course! More business-like. Thank you. You see I have this fantastic idea for a children’s picture book that I honestly believe is an exciting property, one which I’m taking to you, Mrs. Donnelly, and to Mindful Child first, due to your fantastic reputation. Right! Here we go. The cover is of an adorable fairy wearing glasses who’s fluttering on her dragonfly wings in front of a giant carnation in full-bloom. First page: A sad girl in a nice room, a mountain of toys in the background—she’s doing homework in a notebook and frowning.”…
Gotta an itch to know how the pitch ends? Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Join Mad Swirl the 1st Wednesday of May (aka 05.07.14), at 8:00 sharp, when we will swirl it up madly in the live way that we do every month. Swirve will get this madness swirlin’ leading into this month's feature, Vic Victory! She will also have a special musical guest, Jake Kinnard! You don’t want to miss this! And stick around to get yourself a spot on our list... first come, first on the list! Which means... get there early!
Come one, come all! Mad poets, musicians, actors, singers, circus freaks and Elvis impersonators... come-n-strut-yo-stuff. Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to celebrate. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
Got questions? Visit Mad Swirl’s Open Mic page for more details.
AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. COMING in June, Mad Swirlers swirlin’ it up for the Irish!
••• Expanding the Madness •••
Although we haven’t been getting all PBS on y’all by relentlessly hounding our fine supporters, we wanted to let you know that our GoFundMe page is still alive & kickin’! It’s not too late to donate. To help the mad cause, 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...
Bein’ Daring,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
circus freak(s) (above) by featured artist Madelyn Olson.
Mad Swirl is proud to introduce to you the colorfully disturbing and beautiful works of our Visual Editor, Madelyn Olson. Some might know Madelyn from her editorial comments right here in this very land of the Mad Gallery. Others might know her as the emerging and prolific artist that she is blossoming in to. I know her as my kiddo, my daughter, my friend, my inspiration. What can a Daddy say about his offspring that doesn’t come off as favoritism with a dash of nepotism? Not much… that is until you see her paintings! Somewhere in the depths of Madelyn’s psyche she has created a cast of characters that are simultaneously grotesque and divine. Look deeply into the twisted eyes (some may be blacked out, others may have more than two) of each of her subjects and there you’ll find a story to be told. What some of these quixotic subjects have to say may not be what you want to hear but you just can’t help yourself from listening. Find out exactly what I mean. Take a look... a deep and searching gander... and tell us what you see/hear/feel when you trip on into the land of Madelyn’s works. - Johnny O
(to see more Mad works from Madelyn, 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 from dogs, got an earful, bought safe passage for a mouthful; we escaped self-censure through emotional closure; we saw sax man meet Frenchman, both Beat the cold with the cool; we found fresh foreign relations with a lass from the Emerald Nation; we, enticed by serpent's seed, shunned peace of night for a song; we waged war on a world of bleeders, justified all by our lack of leaders; we relinquished hunger to be whole, acquiesced to chemical control. Stand up before we nod off; hold fast before we're bought off! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
I'm Considering Klonopin
because the cool white void
of oblivion
rests better behind my eyes
the mechanical flow of
morning to night
gets covered in English ivy
corners softened
spine released
green smells green
air has promise
my circumstance of daggers and wild eyes
misguided kismet
and spoiled dinner
can be saved
under the blanket of chemicals
it brings
the banal becomes beautiful
the erratic, iridescent
my desires are few
complacent calm in the ocean
of malice
kind eyes
laughter and open smiles
i can categorize your faces
now
French film frowns
Bogart lips and
cool cigarette exhale
sad baby teardrops on
the patio
tender kiss it away
and forget
i'm considering a drink
the bitter twist
it masks
my skin
blistered and pickled
to carve the edges of my skull
clean of all culpability
to shrug and wink seductively
dabble my fingertips in its wet
sexy mouth
and still wake the nagging complexities
that never get resolved
under its heavy slosh
and languid rolls
my vessel is always struggling
over the angry waves
of hops, grapes and fermented things
I'm considering an escape
a knapsack with music, notebooks and pills
walking shoes and no destination
asphalt or dirt roads
to caress with rambling
poems and songs
a blank memory to keep me walking
away from broken things
i can't replace
a hearth with no heat
a library with no lights
a bed with no love
a heart with no beat
revolving sheets that leave me cool
in the night
fevered in worry
i’m considering Klonopin
because the reasons
are grinning at me
from the tree branches
like Cheshire cats
perhaps
its the only way
i know how to
shame them
name them as my own
personify and destroy
with chemical formula symbols
my daggers
dulling the loneliness
of the compartments of my mind
in time it will all boil over the sunset
in pill capsule yellows
and i will dance freely again
but until then
i’m considering Klonopin
- Opalina Salas
(3 poems added 05.03.14)
editor's note: We're all chemical constructs anyway. So, what the hell? (Two more poems to show the light and dark sides of Opalina on her page - go check it out, now!) - mh
Where are the Mandelas, the Gandhis of this Century
The pandora's box of terrorism and a world spinning on its head
For our choice of dying, which is a better death
From terrorism or as collateral damage
Either way if you notice
The dead invariably stay dead
Watching, waiting Gods, please look away
Show some patience, hold Your say
Wait till Your judgement day
Unless
We the chosen ones
You are confusing with angels
Lest You forget
We are not done killing our own
Not just yet
Whatever happened to kindness
The good old goodness
Thoughtfulness
Why is bitter the new norm
Where are the Mandelas, the Gandhis of this century
Fourteen years in, we are waiting, and so is history
Can you step forward and make yourself known
Before we ruin it all, before it’s all gone
These crazy proxy modern wars
With people dying on all sides
Some not knowing why or for what cause
If killing would make the world safer somehow
Wouldn’t this be a very safe planet by now
If wars were the solution
Where is the “lived happily ever after” conclusion
- Arif Ahmad
(added 05.02.14)
editor's note: Such damning questions, so beautifully asked. We keep looking for those beautiful answers. - mh
SONG
Nature makes victims of us all,
The driving force that throws us to the wolves,
Gives hunger to our minds, so feeds our desire,
To harvest yet more creatures for its plan.
The tides, the spinning Earth, the burning Sun,
Could fill our days with the peace of night,
To pick the fruits that hang from Eden’s tree.
Instead, this serpent’s lust makes Hell for you and me.
The stag could live his life within a forest’s calm
But has to fight and maim, kill his own kind,
Claim a land that no one owns;
Die to spread his seed in Fortune’s womb.
So this world has been, since time began,
Incarcerating animals like Man.
- Derrick Gaskin
(1 poem added 05.01.14)
editor's note: Sweet prison; we long to be set free, yet leave your walls reluctantly. - mh
that one night
her name was aoife
and I met her jumping
between two
abandoned beers
and a gypsy homeless transient
semi-retired accordion player
who was selling
"ask me about my squeeze box"
t-shirts
at a gogol bordello concert
aoife said the gypsy
looked like boris the blade
or oliver reed
in a wig and a blender
i knew then
it was love at first wit
her fish - my shoes
sole mates from the start
beer goggles securely fastened
body slamming
gently into the night-
when the song
"start wearing purple"
ran past us as a chance or
a mugger in an apartment with
thin walls
i began hoping
she lived close
& the mosh pit felt like
a walnut
& my hoodie
smelled like a beer
shoving hard
the elbow turned
aoife
turned turned turned
in to me
all combat boots & combat ass
pressing
so nearsoscented
of
ramen noodles & pheromone
flashing
monumental
opportunity
wearing a sunflower hairpin & an angel's neck if angels borrowed the necks of swans on the planet she was from
with her nose ring
did i mention she had a nose ring?
with her nose ring -
aoife's nose ring
coming ever closer
daring me
to kiss her --
a wastrel in cubic zirconium
pushing and
pulling and
pushing and
pulling
to the pulse of a rabid accordion
then she bit me -
as
her
one
good
long
coal
colored
bang
whispered in my bloody ear
"start wearing pink"
and that one night
was ireland to me
- Paul Koniecki
(1 poem added 04.30.14)
editor's note: Everyone craves to be pretty in pink; waits for that whisper in the ear... - mh
AT THIRTY IN SOHO
At thirty in Soho
a winter wind grabs
the arm that I make
my moves on
when I play sax,
and the love
of three oranges I carry
are almost devoured
on my motorcycle
when it stalls
by a rain storm
on the jazz corner
for my midnight gig,
yet a poet is still
walking his Beat for life
in his runaway suit
searching for help
in an apex of light
near his city's
downtown club
unable to drive,
with no more gas,
yet he fixes on his riffs
as tiny snow flakes
hug the window blinds
at the pub's opening,
I hear a sped up recording
of a Coltrane tape,
a stranger out of nowhere
with a cool French accent
sees me stuck,
supplies my gas
knowing these temporary
wintry blues and blahs
will not outlast
my brief loss
of mental direction
as I invite this snappy guy
to my underground gig
knowing smooth jazz
will soon beat out notes
from my body heat
hotly simmering
inside my jacket
to play new improvisations.
- B.Z. Niditch
(1 poem added 04.29.14)
editor's note: In either hemisphere, a cool jazz annal for the season ahead, heating up or icing down. - mh
Emotional Closure
As the mind unwinds the dissolution of fear,
Unspoken becomes spoken with new found discourse,
Red eyes no more just receding tears.
Flowers smell of I adore trying to close the mind subsists,
Exit sign still exists over that door
now let your feet sway the floor on your way out that door.
- James Brown
(1 poem added 04.28.14)
editor's note: Turn retreat to triumph; exit one to enter the other. - mh
Ha !
Stray dogs
keep on barking at people
in rags, but
they just let them go
without a single further bark
if they offer them some
crumbs of bread...
Ha !
- Haris Adhikari
(1 poem added 04.27.14)
editor's note: Distracting detractors can't dissent with their mouths full. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Ready for our “Need a read?” pitch? Well this pitch is extra special because we're pitching a story about pitching a story! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "Pitch for a Picture Book" by Joseph Robert… "Defleshing, it happens to us all, especially when we answer that question: 'So, what are you writing now?' That’s an answer that should come in the form of a printed page, not words out of an imperfect mouth." Here's a taste to tempt you…
“Hello, Trisha Donnelly, Mindful Child Publications, correct? Sorry I read your name tag there, well, in advance, thanks for a moment of your time, Trish. Can I call you Trish? Oh, sorry, no that’s better isn’t it, Mrs. Donnelly? Oh, of course! More business-like. Thank you. You see I have this fantastic idea for a children’s picture book that I honestly believe is an exciting property, one which I’m taking to you, Mrs. Donnelly, and to Mindful Child first, due to your fantastic reputation. Right! Here we go. The cover is of an adorable fairy wearing glasses who’s fluttering on her dragonfly wings in front of a giant carnation in full-bloom. First page: A sad girl in a nice room, a mountain of toys in the background—she’s doing homework in a notebook and frowning.”…
Gotta an itch to know how the pitch ends? Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Join Mad Swirl the 1st Wednesday of May (aka 05.07.14), at 8:00 sharp, when we will swirl it up madly in the live way that we do every month. Swirve will get this madness swirlin’ leading into this month's feature, Vic Victory! She will also have a special musical guest, Jake Kinnard! You don’t want to miss this! And stick around to get yourself a spot on our list... first come, first on the list! Which means... get there early!
Come one, come all! Mad poets, musicians, actors, singers, circus freaks and Elvis impersonators... come-n-strut-yo-stuff. Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to celebrate. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
Got questions? Visit Mad Swirl’s Open Mic page for more details.
AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. COMING in June, Mad Swirlers swirlin’ it up for the Irish!
••• Expanding the Madness •••
Although we haven’t been getting all PBS on y’all by relentlessly hounding our fine supporters, we wanted to let you know that our GoFundMe page is still alive & kickin’! It’s not too late to donate. To help the mad cause, 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...
Bein’ Daring,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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