The Best of Mad Swirl : 05.31.14
”The idea is to write it so that people hear it and it slides through the brain and goes straight to the heart.” Maya Angelo
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Maya a digital illustration (above) by Johnny O. To see more Mad works from our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery.)
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we phrased in fear of unfazed inferior phenoms; we sowed seeds unsighted, ungripped guilt all righted; we rebuffed our reaper's rejoinder in an opened void by our cry of the moment; we ran the race for emotional grace by putting on a good face; we found a fraction of god damned action, jumped jubilantly in the jiz; we primed the pump for interplanetary publicans; we emoted short of our destruction, obeisant to an omnipresent octagonal obstruction. Corral these constructs, subject them to divine deconstruction. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Knowing When to Stop
In traffic it’s simple enough; the signs are there – an abrupt
one word command that doesn’t suggest alternatives, no
please or thank you. Even the color sets off alarms in us,
fire truck red, blood red, a blazing primal shade highlighting
the command to stop, cease progress and notice the others
around us, the other drivers’ need to stop and go in polite order,
or the pedestrians who persist in walking about, who think
nothing of crossing, stepping bravely out into the crosswalk
believing in the power of that one word and our instinctive
reaction to it. We stop, it’s that simple, something outside
of us commands it and we stop; it’s parental, it’s big brother,
and in traffic it mostly works, keeps us inline, waiting our turn,
makes us think of others and consequences, of how one thing
leads on to another, how an important part of going is stopping.
And then, if we stop even briefly, a heartbeat, an aside perhaps,
we have the moment, a necessary and calm moment withheld
from all this, and when our turn comes we continue on, like always.
- J.K. Durick
(1 poem added 05.31.14)
editor's note: That's it! We need those little moments to find center, achieve balance. No! Stop! - mh
Space Travel
Red eruption like a curse
on the galaxy,
I tattoo his name
on my body and laugh.
This world is pathetic.
We can do so much better
if we begin with love.
The distance between dead
planets is huge- the
distance between
living planets greater.
We are worlds
in ourselves,
in our fire.
We can explore forever,
write about it,
find new places,
name them,
leave them behind
and burn,
crash our ships,
flail about weird cities,
erect monuments in
unknown deserts to
the music of alien
hypersex subspecies
transcendent
as curtains of blue
dust peel away
silent spirals
deep as infinity
blue as bluest orchid
germinate at the center
of a hope, a wish, a dare
on a random day,
upon a random planet,
on a random spray of
connections of electric interplay-
then we finally see
what chaos means to creation.
We finally weep, let go with relief.
We are not alone.
We can travel faster than light-
beyond our tiny flesh cocoons-
become infants full of
awe and new sensations.
We can leave Earth behind
like an exhaled breath.
Goodbye mother.
Goodbye children.
Feel the rocket blast
undoing the promises of
the past- the lies,
the pollution, the rot.
I’m going to the stars,
with or without luck.
- Trier Ward
(added 05.30.14)
editor's note: Yes, we're ready for wide open space(s). Lift off in 10... 9... 8... - mh
The Action of God
Buckminster Fuller knew the Action of God
Slight stirring in the ether
chain reaction to organism
The movement to Life
Time warped to
cradle us, all oblivious Cosmic Material
The noun of god is irrelevant
God Only Became
He knew the Action of Men
Deep shudder in the body
chain reaction to orgasm
The movement to Life
Pussies are portals and
we all ride in on the same Cosmic Jiz
The noun of man is irrelevant
Man Only Came
- Sunya Chavi
(added 05.29.14)
editor's note: This is the thrust of it, yes! - mh
As Tears Go Nowhere
Can I cry if I want to?
Here within the confines
of nowhere, crepe covered
mirror a shrine to coveted strength,
I am party to appearance, look
to not a semblance of a tear.
Red eye flying through the night,
in dreams I fashion reasons, postulates
of failure, standing in the rain's emotions
waking to primeval glisten into ducts.
These ducts line up in rows, feathers
act as substitutes, the downy softness
of a face in dark repose, absorbing blow
to blow redundant, dry the by and by.
I sit and watch as others slough the moisture
from the air, my air, dead air lost without
a sound, I will not wail, I will not weep,
only sweat of brow, a reference to the weather.
- Rose Aiello Morales
(1 poem added 05.28.14)
editor's note: Eye drops to get the red out, but not the rend. No tears for the tear. - mh
Silence wanders
We pass through a time of loud indifference
Ego and death ’re fused in the scream of the trice
Silence wanders in the universe – between us
- Pere Risteski
(added 05.27.14)
editor's note: The flash fiction of friendship foundered. - mh
Dying In Between It
As I strip through the shit
the tears and the years
I find my strength once more.
With guilt in one hand
and innocence in my clenched right
I face the new day, ready.
This is more than survival,
This has a purpose out-seeding my eyesight.
I wobble back onto my defiance,
and step forward, armed,
gentle flowers will have to wait.
- Paul Tristram
(1 poem added 05.26.14)
editor's note: It's a balancing act, indeed; to find the way between fury and flower... - mh
Fearful
I quoted the Raven once
before a crowd of numb zealots
masquerading as intellectual phenoms
with glasses low and smokes held high
in that, you don't get it, kind of way
fear had controlled my flow, stuttering
in cadence with a three bladed ceiling fan
the struggle to show and not tell
was painful
each phrase deniable
there was something in my eye
visible in this astute arena
in this morass of perfect personalities,
they found me a bore
not enough elan for their taste
and the tear in my jeans was off a bit
although,
the Pimm's Cup in black tee did smile
at the lack of a pocket on mine
if you find yourself here one day
try and hide the fear, the smell
your essence of total angst
and whatever you do
DO NOT envision the audience naked
as this crowd made transparently clear,
you will never be as good
as those you try to please
- Rob Dyer
(1 poem added 05.25.14)
editor's note: Flaunt your idea of angst! Fluster those phenoms; naked beneath their clothes. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? This one hits close to home to many of us writers! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "THE NEW NO NOVEL OF CHAPTER 4" by Carl Kavadlo… "This is therapy: killing yourself on a keyboard. Even in private silence, it should be loud. It should be war. All music should be drowned out, like a child who swam too far out in the deep." Here's just a taste to tempt you…
Jeff was seeing her. There was a series of events long before her that led to the male doctor. But first there had been the two musicians. Then they built the group up to three, then it was knocked back down to two and those two went out and conquered the world for a while. Music, that band, was the whole world to him, but then he ran out of ideas, ran out of clubs to play. Desperation and threats of unemployment drove him to the first shrink, but the doctor unfortunately had died, much too young. Then Jeff found her.
“I wanted somebody who studied the unconscious and who studied dreams,” he’d told her when they met at her office-apartment.
“The doctor studied that with you. Is that correct?” she asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why I looked on a Jungian web site.”
The doctor had corrected his problem and got him out of the music business where the work was unstable and into writing, where there was better luck.
He had been surviving with the poem and short story for a long time. Now he had been with her three years…
Tempted to keep on reading, aren’t you? Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of June (aka 06.04.14) at 8:00 sharp, when we will swirl it up madly in the LIVE way that we do every month. Get to the Lounge early, dig upon the musical musings of Swirve and this month's feature AND fundraiser event, McMad O'Swirl! Just what is this craziness all about? Lemme tell ya’…
This month we are raising funds to help offset the out-of-pocket costs of traveling to Ireland in August for the Fermoy International Poetry Festival. How do we plan to do that (besides passing the hat), you might ask? Well, we plan on having Mad merch on hand. Got a Mad Swirl Tee yet? Here’s your chance to get one before our stock runs out! Howsabout a Mad Swirl Poster commemorating our trans-Atlantic search for the beat of poetry? We’ll have those there too! And last, but not least, Mad Swirl Stickers! Imagine sticking a “mad” label on your bumper… your wall… your favorite pet…! Come by this 1st Wednesday and get you some of this fine Mad merch for a very reasonable donation. Enough on that. On to our feature set…
We are featuring the Mad pack of poets going to the Fermoy International Poetry Festival: Johnny O, MH Clay, Paul Koniecki, Gayle Reaves, Victory… with special guests Opalina Salas & Chris Zimmerly, who will be hosting the LIVE August event from the Dallas side of the Atlantic. It’s sure to be a show you do not want to miss!
After our feature set we urge you 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 be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
P.S. This month we will be swirling’ our madness in Absinthe’s VIP Lounge. If you don’t know where that is located, we’ll have folks up front guiding you to exactly where we’ll be.
P.P.S. AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. Here's the line-up for the rest of 2014!…
July: The Curiel's
August: Justin Booth
September: R.A. Hernandez
October: Kerseymere
November: Karen X
December: Paul Koniecki
••• 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...
Slip-Slidin’ Away,
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 phrased in fear of unfazed inferior phenoms; we sowed seeds unsighted, ungripped guilt all righted; we rebuffed our reaper's rejoinder in an opened void by our cry of the moment; we ran the race for emotional grace by putting on a good face; we found a fraction of god damned action, jumped jubilantly in the jiz; we primed the pump for interplanetary publicans; we emoted short of our destruction, obeisant to an omnipresent octagonal obstruction. Corral these constructs, subject them to divine deconstruction. ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
Knowing When to Stop
In traffic it’s simple enough; the signs are there – an abrupt
one word command that doesn’t suggest alternatives, no
please or thank you. Even the color sets off alarms in us,
fire truck red, blood red, a blazing primal shade highlighting
the command to stop, cease progress and notice the others
around us, the other drivers’ need to stop and go in polite order,
or the pedestrians who persist in walking about, who think
nothing of crossing, stepping bravely out into the crosswalk
believing in the power of that one word and our instinctive
reaction to it. We stop, it’s that simple, something outside
of us commands it and we stop; it’s parental, it’s big brother,
and in traffic it mostly works, keeps us inline, waiting our turn,
makes us think of others and consequences, of how one thing
leads on to another, how an important part of going is stopping.
And then, if we stop even briefly, a heartbeat, an aside perhaps,
we have the moment, a necessary and calm moment withheld
from all this, and when our turn comes we continue on, like always.
- J.K. Durick
(1 poem added 05.31.14)
editor's note: That's it! We need those little moments to find center, achieve balance. No! Stop! - mh
Space Travel
Red eruption like a curse
on the galaxy,
I tattoo his name
on my body and laugh.
This world is pathetic.
We can do so much better
if we begin with love.
The distance between dead
planets is huge- the
distance between
living planets greater.
We are worlds
in ourselves,
in our fire.
We can explore forever,
write about it,
find new places,
name them,
leave them behind
and burn,
crash our ships,
flail about weird cities,
erect monuments in
unknown deserts to
the music of alien
hypersex subspecies
transcendent
as curtains of blue
dust peel away
silent spirals
deep as infinity
blue as bluest orchid
germinate at the center
of a hope, a wish, a dare
on a random day,
upon a random planet,
on a random spray of
connections of electric interplay-
then we finally see
what chaos means to creation.
We finally weep, let go with relief.
We are not alone.
We can travel faster than light-
beyond our tiny flesh cocoons-
become infants full of
awe and new sensations.
We can leave Earth behind
like an exhaled breath.
Goodbye mother.
Goodbye children.
Feel the rocket blast
undoing the promises of
the past- the lies,
the pollution, the rot.
I’m going to the stars,
with or without luck.
- Trier Ward
(added 05.30.14)
editor's note: Yes, we're ready for wide open space(s). Lift off in 10... 9... 8... - mh
The Action of God
Buckminster Fuller knew the Action of God
Slight stirring in the ether
chain reaction to organism
The movement to Life
Time warped to
cradle us, all oblivious Cosmic Material
The noun of god is irrelevant
God Only Became
He knew the Action of Men
Deep shudder in the body
chain reaction to orgasm
The movement to Life
Pussies are portals and
we all ride in on the same Cosmic Jiz
The noun of man is irrelevant
Man Only Came
- Sunya Chavi
(added 05.29.14)
editor's note: This is the thrust of it, yes! - mh
As Tears Go Nowhere
Can I cry if I want to?
Here within the confines
of nowhere, crepe covered
mirror a shrine to coveted strength,
I am party to appearance, look
to not a semblance of a tear.
Red eye flying through the night,
in dreams I fashion reasons, postulates
of failure, standing in the rain's emotions
waking to primeval glisten into ducts.
These ducts line up in rows, feathers
act as substitutes, the downy softness
of a face in dark repose, absorbing blow
to blow redundant, dry the by and by.
I sit and watch as others slough the moisture
from the air, my air, dead air lost without
a sound, I will not wail, I will not weep,
only sweat of brow, a reference to the weather.
- Rose Aiello Morales
(1 poem added 05.28.14)
editor's note: Eye drops to get the red out, but not the rend. No tears for the tear. - mh
Silence wanders
We pass through a time of loud indifference
Ego and death ’re fused in the scream of the trice
Silence wanders in the universe – between us
- Pere Risteski
(added 05.27.14)
editor's note: The flash fiction of friendship foundered. - mh
Dying In Between It
As I strip through the shit
the tears and the years
I find my strength once more.
With guilt in one hand
and innocence in my clenched right
I face the new day, ready.
This is more than survival,
This has a purpose out-seeding my eyesight.
I wobble back onto my defiance,
and step forward, armed,
gentle flowers will have to wait.
- Paul Tristram
(1 poem added 05.26.14)
editor's note: It's a balancing act, indeed; to find the way between fury and flower... - mh
Fearful
I quoted the Raven once
before a crowd of numb zealots
masquerading as intellectual phenoms
with glasses low and smokes held high
in that, you don't get it, kind of way
fear had controlled my flow, stuttering
in cadence with a three bladed ceiling fan
the struggle to show and not tell
was painful
each phrase deniable
there was something in my eye
visible in this astute arena
in this morass of perfect personalities,
they found me a bore
not enough elan for their taste
and the tear in my jeans was off a bit
although,
the Pimm's Cup in black tee did smile
at the lack of a pocket on mine
if you find yourself here one day
try and hide the fear, the smell
your essence of total angst
and whatever you do
DO NOT envision the audience naked
as this crowd made transparently clear,
you will never be as good
as those you try to please
- Rob Dyer
(1 poem added 05.25.14)
editor's note: Flaunt your idea of angst! Fluster those phenoms; naked beneath their clothes. - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? This one hits close to home to many of us writers! Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, "THE NEW NO NOVEL OF CHAPTER 4" by Carl Kavadlo… "This is therapy: killing yourself on a keyboard. Even in private silence, it should be loud. It should be war. All music should be drowned out, like a child who swam too far out in the deep." Here's just a taste to tempt you…
Jeff was seeing her. There was a series of events long before her that led to the male doctor. But first there had been the two musicians. Then they built the group up to three, then it was knocked back down to two and those two went out and conquered the world for a while. Music, that band, was the whole world to him, but then he ran out of ideas, ran out of clubs to play. Desperation and threats of unemployment drove him to the first shrink, but the doctor unfortunately had died, much too young. Then Jeff found her.
“I wanted somebody who studied the unconscious and who studied dreams,” he’d told her when they met at her office-apartment.
“The doctor studied that with you. Is that correct?” she asked.
“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why I looked on a Jungian web site.”
The doctor had corrected his problem and got him out of the music business where the work was unstable and into writing, where there was better luck.
He had been surviving with the poem and short story for a long time. Now he had been with her three years…
Tempted to keep on reading, aren’t you? Get the rest of your read on here!
••• Open Mic •••
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of June (aka 06.04.14) at 8:00 sharp, when we will swirl it up madly in the LIVE way that we do every month. Get to the Lounge early, dig upon the musical musings of Swirve and this month's feature AND fundraiser event, McMad O'Swirl! Just what is this craziness all about? Lemme tell ya’…
This month we are raising funds to help offset the out-of-pocket costs of traveling to Ireland in August for the Fermoy International Poetry Festival. How do we plan to do that (besides passing the hat), you might ask? Well, we plan on having Mad merch on hand. Got a Mad Swirl Tee yet? Here’s your chance to get one before our stock runs out! Howsabout a Mad Swirl Poster commemorating our trans-Atlantic search for the beat of poetry? We’ll have those there too! And last, but not least, Mad Swirl Stickers! Imagine sticking a “mad” label on your bumper… your wall… your favorite pet…! Come by this 1st Wednesday and get you some of this fine Mad merch for a very reasonable donation. Enough on that. On to our feature set…
We are featuring the Mad pack of poets going to the Fermoy International Poetry Festival: Johnny O, MH Clay, Paul Koniecki, Gayle Reaves, Victory… with special guests Opalina Salas & Chris Zimmerly, who will be hosting the LIVE August event from the Dallas side of the Atlantic. It’s sure to be a show you do not want to miss!
After our feature set we urge you 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 be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl.
P.S. This month we will be swirling’ our madness in Absinthe’s VIP Lounge. If you don’t know where that is located, we’ll have folks up front guiding you to exactly where we’ll be.
P.P.S. AND, as you may or may not know, every 1st Wednesday we get all giddy with the swirlin' madness. Here's the line-up for the rest of 2014!…
July: The Curiel's
August: Justin Booth
September: R.A. Hernandez
October: Kerseymere
November: Karen X
December: Paul Koniecki
••• 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...
Slip-Slidin’ Away,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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