The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.14.14
”It is not whether your words or actions are tough or gentle; it is the spirit behind your actions and words that announces your inner state.” Rene Char
••• The Mad Gallery •••
hey big boy, do you like what you see? (above) by featured artist Madelyn Olson. To see more Mad works from Madelyn and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we recounted a past with acts remiss to foster a future of ignorant bliss; we wandered through wilderness wireless; we stomped in the zone of island purists, happy to romp on the bones of tourists; we churned the urn of adolescent earnings - rounded, popped and shouted; we colluded in canvas-top collision, invariably vaunted our veritable vision; we failed to squeeze peg square into round reality over there; we transcended the angst of blustering buffoon, ascended the heights of a smiling-girl moon. It's a funny one, just off this honey one. Read and wonder! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
OUTING WHAT OUT AND ABOUT IS ABOUT
The bomb in my head makes it through the neighborhood
without exploding. The Christian blood is safe. The floral
carts survive. The weather-vanes pitch and spin. Wind
is light-headed and blowing. No ghosts will travel on its
silky rails this night. My oaths have soothed at the sight
of people’s faces. My anger took a wrong turn down an
alley, is lost among the dusty corridors of a secondhand
bookstore. If the people only knew, they’d be cheering me.
For the black-rot of my heart is into penance not revenge.
And all because I didn’t stay in my room but took a stroll
through the dancing hearts, the comic hats, sidewalks like
ironed handkerchiefs, all around me, the crackle of human
electricity and fever, drivers in their traffic cradle, pigeons
handfed by the girl with the face most round and bright
as moons. The pain in this bottle of me didn’t realize
that it could glow incandescent. My footsteps weren’t thinking
clouds and now they are. I can’t provoke what is no
longer in me. The future makes such a fool of today
that I may as well enjoy it. Sorrow will have other
dark and gloomy hours. For now, the shepherd of niceties
has never watched over a more willing hapless sheep.
Little does he know, he saves it from its own wolves.
- John Grey
(2 poems added 06.14.14)
editor's note: Cooling off is emptying out in the shadow of the predator. In the with the good air... (Another one from John on his page, another outing for all.) - mh
The Perfect Box
He always wanted you
To fit into the perfect box.
He tried to round off your edges and
Slice away the quirks and
Idiosyncrasies that made you too
Wild and weird to
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
You desperately wanted
To fit into the perfect box.
So you stuffed your feelings deep and
Told him what he wanted to hear and
Jumped through all his hoops in
The vain hope that someday you would
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
It proved to be impossible
To fit into the perfect box.
You died a little more each year when
You realized that no matter
How much you bent and twisted yourself
You could never make yourself the shape that could
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
In the end you just stopped trying
To fit into the perfect box.
You decided to quit the game and
Exit the struggle completely and
It’s a shame you are not around to
Appreciate the irony that now, at last, you
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
- David Rutter
(added 06.13.14)
editor's note: Imperfect contents in a perfect container; box on, box off. - mh
Something Different
Something of a different kind
something other than what we know is needed
a mosaic perhaps
or mural
a joining
you paint from the heart
and I'll paint from my head
we can meet somewhere along this collective mess
and find meaning in the blues and greens
across a line or two or a circle of yellow hue
you'll find my feelings in the jagged lines of red and silver
maybe I'll find your voice,
the things you need to whisper in the splattered paint drops
let's make a crazy mixed collage of inner colours
a little abstract but no interpretation needed
just a vibrant collision of wants and desires
dared expression in the canvas on the wall
- Elissa Landrigan
(1 poem added 06.12.14)
editor's note: Creative collaboration, convergent constructs; canvas reveals all. Can you see it? - mh
Round, Pop, Shout
Round, pop, shout over aspidistra jungles.
Pout when adolescents dare fail to coruscate.
Don’t let it show, though, if fire departments,
Principals, even janitors, interfere. Hug social media.
Hovering near chemistry lab closets fetch nothing;
Sowing file upon file of empty advertising, too, lacks.
Only ombre-toned hair, half matted in phony dreadlocks,
Or partially shaved from heads, can resuscitate dead networks.
Nonetheless, dreaming’s still free. Fantasy costs zilch.
Riding up and down department store escalators, likewise
Especially in condemned buildings, where fire trucks’ actions,
Resulted in weak and helpless moments, bring about taffy pulls.
Camphor, lithium amide, sulfur are susceptible to exploding.
There’s little chance nose pickers ever evolve into champions;
The underdogs’ guardians are required to possess clean hands, feet.
Alternatively, they employ katanas to cut down bullies, spread peanut butter.
Elsewise, goodie two shoes sandwich themselves on donkeys’ markabs,
Inhale stuff like ketamine, chew betel leaves, belch, perhaps flatulate regularly;
No rescue comes from nonruminant animals chewing phytates, spitting at strangers.
Stumping, though, busies bodies, even impacts those trussed in morphsuits, gives thrills.
Accordingly, legerdemain among natives tired of kissing begets blithe
Relationships, casts off emotions, possibly removes unwanted progeny.
Considers as best actors, those in groups who repeat again, again, again.
Claim others’ words as theirs, hiccup when locked in latrines. It happens.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 06.11.14)
editor's note: Adolescent trickery absolves good intentions. Sparkle plenty! - mh
Secret: Hawaii
just for I
one million small places
in tiny bird or gliding fish
or, hearken back to a day
a father/daughter wish
small wind musses a bent, funny palm
a tourist, a trinket, a Japanese girl giggling bright
a silent hall, in a royal palace hotel
a waterfall at lunch, for just my tired butt and me
been through the heart and artery of Waikiki and the Oahu island girl
secret pace, light my face, sing to my soul
put my happiness in a genuine koa bowl
- Louis Marvin
(1 poem added 06.10.14)
editor's note: Every holiday destination has a happy hauli to buy the local merch and take those selfies by the sea. Mele kalikimaka! - mh
Cell Service
There is still a place connections of towers do not reach.
Down the mountains and into the canyon
the road cuts and the road crumbles, narrow, heart beating
on turns in trees where blindness
is blind yet sometimes sees. Ghosts of rock
rise through passing trunks like figures
walking in a flip book. So it must have seemed
one hundred years ago when the last of them appeared.
They were spirits with skin—their battles
fought and lost, their lives hidden in empty space—
stumbling on a world beginning the race
to catch itself.
- Christopher Raley
(1 poem added 06.09.14)
editor's note: That rotoscope reality is unrealized by we who never look behind. - mh
The Evolution of Self
it's true what they say
it's not the years,
it's the mileage
to grow
and gain such knowledge
of self
the struggle between
the soul and the mind
with the body being the battlefield
that gets weighted in time
they say you look old
but I still like to fuck in the rain
some things change
while others stay the same
Surviving
through capitalism
the zombie filled cannibalism
that sick one-eyed Willie green
pump caffeine into the machine
see your time flushed down the latrine
and school pride
scrapbook
of friends and family that have died
east side
where the rival towns collide
I don't need that damned divide
for as I am grown
that hatred need not apply
across time I have traveled
through books, through timelines
by the skin of my teeth
I have battled
through constants and variables
through love, through love lost
through space and energy
back to love's synergy
but never blinking off course
because there has always been a source
the eyes, the stars, the galaxies
upon galaxies
that do not end
but yet a planet
that rests on our tiny shoulders
how beautiful our short life grows
before the dirt begins to enclose
love
grab your friend and fucking love them
we have already seen it all
it's been hard-linked to the brain-stem
with our little time here
we can stop the train
that's quickly headed for the cliff
so that our children
won't have to see this abyss
but luckily
your rules do not apply to me
and you ask
"what do you see when you look in the mirror?"
I see mileage
and my future
- Chad Repko
(added 06.08.14)
editor's note: "Look into" that reflection to see your legacy leering back at you. Future, beware! - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Of course you do! Here we be, a day away from Father's Day. Although good ol' Pops doesn't get the same fanfare that Mama usually gets, he's just as important in the parental relationship as she is. And today we got the perfect Papa story from Mike Fiorito that will surely bring some warm fuzzied feelings for your own dear ol' Dad.
Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, “Staying Home” by Mike Fiorito… "These are the days of the living, but also the dead. Never forget about either one, so spend time with a phone call or a memory. Either way, spend time with love. Do it now while it’s still up to you." Here's a preview for you…
"I dream about you a lot these days," I say to my dad.
"And for some reason I show you up in your dreams,” he responds, laughing.
It doesn't feel like I'm dreaming. His voice is clear. The wisps of his grey hair are fine and crisp. I see the individual strands layered on top of each other. I always forget that I’m dreaming until he reminds me. He seems so real.
"I think it's because I'm getting older that I dream more of you. Not to mention that stress makes me crazy.”
"You have no idea the stress I had, no idea about being in debt and watching my family suffer." His face looks sad and heavy. “A gambler can’t help himself.”
"I know, I think about it sometimes. I can't believe you were able to take it."
"Your mother was angry and she had a right to be. We were the only white people left in the projects. I ain’t never had nothing against black people, but even they didn’t want to be there. If living in the projects wasn’t bad enough, we were kicked out when they found out your mother worked. It could have been so much better." Then he looks at me. “I wasn’t there for you.”
"You were there for me. We got out of the projects and I went to college. So much of what I’ve done is because of you.” What have I done? I wonder as I’m saying this.
"I could have given you more."
Wanna keep dreamin'? Then weave your way here!
••• Mad Merch •••
A few months back we started out on a quest to "Expand the Madness" via our GoFundMe page. This was a big step for us. Before then, we never really put our hands out for some monetary help. But we did and we were rewarded by lots of hard-earned dollars donated to our cause. And even more support thru words, thru shares, thru mad ones out there who showed they really cared. Thank you. Thank YOU. THANK YOU!
All those donated dollars has been put to good use. We were able to legitimize the creative outlet by making Mad Swirl an official biz with an LLC at the end of it. We were also able to start creating Mad merch too! And now we got us a healthy stock just waiting for you to use and abuse how you see fit! But how do we get that merch into your hands when most of your hands aren't in the Dallas area? Well, we did some thinkin' and decided to set us up an online store!
Are just chomping at the bit to get you some "mad" stickers? We got 'em! 5 different colors too! Stick 'em on your favorite bumper!... Window!... Journal!... Your call on where. But get 'em while they last!
$2.50 each
Howsabout a commemorative poster marking our 1st Annual trek "Seeking the Beat of the Heart of Poetry" These Mad Swirl posters were created to support our 2014 trans-Atlantic Swirl-Up at the Fermoy International Poetry Festival in Ireland this August. Once these babies are gone, there will be no more made. Get one now before they're gone!
$5 each
And finally... Got a "mad" t-shirt yet? Well what are you waiting for? These green tee's won't be around forever. We created this tee just for our Ireland fundraiser. So that means we don't plan on printing this color ever again! Get yours... when?... NOW!
$20 each
How can you resist the Mad-ness?! If you can't, click here to visit our online store... where we are always open!
Our GoFundMe page is still up and running and your generous donation are always welcome there too! Check that out 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...
Announcin,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
hey big boy, do you like what you see? (above) by featured artist Madelyn Olson. To see more Mad works from Madelyn and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery.
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we recounted a past with acts remiss to foster a future of ignorant bliss; we wandered through wilderness wireless; we stomped in the zone of island purists, happy to romp on the bones of tourists; we churned the urn of adolescent earnings - rounded, popped and shouted; we colluded in canvas-top collision, invariably vaunted our veritable vision; we failed to squeeze peg square into round reality over there; we transcended the angst of blustering buffoon, ascended the heights of a smiling-girl moon. It's a funny one, just off this honey one. Read and wonder! ~ MH Clay
Just in case you missed it, here's a taste...
OUTING WHAT OUT AND ABOUT IS ABOUT
The bomb in my head makes it through the neighborhood
without exploding. The Christian blood is safe. The floral
carts survive. The weather-vanes pitch and spin. Wind
is light-headed and blowing. No ghosts will travel on its
silky rails this night. My oaths have soothed at the sight
of people’s faces. My anger took a wrong turn down an
alley, is lost among the dusty corridors of a secondhand
bookstore. If the people only knew, they’d be cheering me.
For the black-rot of my heart is into penance not revenge.
And all because I didn’t stay in my room but took a stroll
through the dancing hearts, the comic hats, sidewalks like
ironed handkerchiefs, all around me, the crackle of human
electricity and fever, drivers in their traffic cradle, pigeons
handfed by the girl with the face most round and bright
as moons. The pain in this bottle of me didn’t realize
that it could glow incandescent. My footsteps weren’t thinking
clouds and now they are. I can’t provoke what is no
longer in me. The future makes such a fool of today
that I may as well enjoy it. Sorrow will have other
dark and gloomy hours. For now, the shepherd of niceties
has never watched over a more willing hapless sheep.
Little does he know, he saves it from its own wolves.
- John Grey
(2 poems added 06.14.14)
editor's note: Cooling off is emptying out in the shadow of the predator. In the with the good air... (Another one from John on his page, another outing for all.) - mh
The Perfect Box
He always wanted you
To fit into the perfect box.
He tried to round off your edges and
Slice away the quirks and
Idiosyncrasies that made you too
Wild and weird to
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
You desperately wanted
To fit into the perfect box.
So you stuffed your feelings deep and
Told him what he wanted to hear and
Jumped through all his hoops in
The vain hope that someday you would
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
It proved to be impossible
To fit into the perfect box.
You died a little more each year when
You realized that no matter
How much you bent and twisted yourself
You could never make yourself the shape that could
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
In the end you just stopped trying
To fit into the perfect box.
You decided to quit the game and
Exit the struggle completely and
It’s a shame you are not around to
Appreciate the irony that now, at last, you
Perfectly fit that
Perfect box.
- David Rutter
(added 06.13.14)
editor's note: Imperfect contents in a perfect container; box on, box off. - mh
Something Different
Something of a different kind
something other than what we know is needed
a mosaic perhaps
or mural
a joining
you paint from the heart
and I'll paint from my head
we can meet somewhere along this collective mess
and find meaning in the blues and greens
across a line or two or a circle of yellow hue
you'll find my feelings in the jagged lines of red and silver
maybe I'll find your voice,
the things you need to whisper in the splattered paint drops
let's make a crazy mixed collage of inner colours
a little abstract but no interpretation needed
just a vibrant collision of wants and desires
dared expression in the canvas on the wall
- Elissa Landrigan
(1 poem added 06.12.14)
editor's note: Creative collaboration, convergent constructs; canvas reveals all. Can you see it? - mh
Round, Pop, Shout
Round, pop, shout over aspidistra jungles.
Pout when adolescents dare fail to coruscate.
Don’t let it show, though, if fire departments,
Principals, even janitors, interfere. Hug social media.
Hovering near chemistry lab closets fetch nothing;
Sowing file upon file of empty advertising, too, lacks.
Only ombre-toned hair, half matted in phony dreadlocks,
Or partially shaved from heads, can resuscitate dead networks.
Nonetheless, dreaming’s still free. Fantasy costs zilch.
Riding up and down department store escalators, likewise
Especially in condemned buildings, where fire trucks’ actions,
Resulted in weak and helpless moments, bring about taffy pulls.
Camphor, lithium amide, sulfur are susceptible to exploding.
There’s little chance nose pickers ever evolve into champions;
The underdogs’ guardians are required to possess clean hands, feet.
Alternatively, they employ katanas to cut down bullies, spread peanut butter.
Elsewise, goodie two shoes sandwich themselves on donkeys’ markabs,
Inhale stuff like ketamine, chew betel leaves, belch, perhaps flatulate regularly;
No rescue comes from nonruminant animals chewing phytates, spitting at strangers.
Stumping, though, busies bodies, even impacts those trussed in morphsuits, gives thrills.
Accordingly, legerdemain among natives tired of kissing begets blithe
Relationships, casts off emotions, possibly removes unwanted progeny.
Considers as best actors, those in groups who repeat again, again, again.
Claim others’ words as theirs, hiccup when locked in latrines. It happens.
- KJ Hannah Greenberg
(1 poem added 06.11.14)
editor's note: Adolescent trickery absolves good intentions. Sparkle plenty! - mh
Secret: Hawaii
just for I
one million small places
in tiny bird or gliding fish
or, hearken back to a day
a father/daughter wish
small wind musses a bent, funny palm
a tourist, a trinket, a Japanese girl giggling bright
a silent hall, in a royal palace hotel
a waterfall at lunch, for just my tired butt and me
been through the heart and artery of Waikiki and the Oahu island girl
secret pace, light my face, sing to my soul
put my happiness in a genuine koa bowl
- Louis Marvin
(1 poem added 06.10.14)
editor's note: Every holiday destination has a happy hauli to buy the local merch and take those selfies by the sea. Mele kalikimaka! - mh
Cell Service
There is still a place connections of towers do not reach.
Down the mountains and into the canyon
the road cuts and the road crumbles, narrow, heart beating
on turns in trees where blindness
is blind yet sometimes sees. Ghosts of rock
rise through passing trunks like figures
walking in a flip book. So it must have seemed
one hundred years ago when the last of them appeared.
They were spirits with skin—their battles
fought and lost, their lives hidden in empty space—
stumbling on a world beginning the race
to catch itself.
- Christopher Raley
(1 poem added 06.09.14)
editor's note: That rotoscope reality is unrealized by we who never look behind. - mh
The Evolution of Self
it's true what they say
it's not the years,
it's the mileage
to grow
and gain such knowledge
of self
the struggle between
the soul and the mind
with the body being the battlefield
that gets weighted in time
they say you look old
but I still like to fuck in the rain
some things change
while others stay the same
Surviving
through capitalism
the zombie filled cannibalism
that sick one-eyed Willie green
pump caffeine into the machine
see your time flushed down the latrine
and school pride
scrapbook
of friends and family that have died
east side
where the rival towns collide
I don't need that damned divide
for as I am grown
that hatred need not apply
across time I have traveled
through books, through timelines
by the skin of my teeth
I have battled
through constants and variables
through love, through love lost
through space and energy
back to love's synergy
but never blinking off course
because there has always been a source
the eyes, the stars, the galaxies
upon galaxies
that do not end
but yet a planet
that rests on our tiny shoulders
how beautiful our short life grows
before the dirt begins to enclose
love
grab your friend and fucking love them
we have already seen it all
it's been hard-linked to the brain-stem
with our little time here
we can stop the train
that's quickly headed for the cliff
so that our children
won't have to see this abyss
but luckily
your rules do not apply to me
and you ask
"what do you see when you look in the mirror?"
I see mileage
and my future
- Chad Repko
(added 06.08.14)
editor's note: "Look into" that reflection to see your legacy leering back at you. Future, beware! - mh
••• Short Stories •••
Need a read? Of course you do! Here we be, a day away from Father's Day. Although good ol' Pops doesn't get the same fanfare that Mama usually gets, he's just as important in the parental relationship as she is. And today we got the perfect Papa story from Mike Fiorito that will surely bring some warm fuzzied feelings for your own dear ol' Dad.
Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick-of-the-week short story, “Staying Home” by Mike Fiorito… "These are the days of the living, but also the dead. Never forget about either one, so spend time with a phone call or a memory. Either way, spend time with love. Do it now while it’s still up to you." Here's a preview for you…
"I dream about you a lot these days," I say to my dad.
"And for some reason I show you up in your dreams,” he responds, laughing.
It doesn't feel like I'm dreaming. His voice is clear. The wisps of his grey hair are fine and crisp. I see the individual strands layered on top of each other. I always forget that I’m dreaming until he reminds me. He seems so real.
"I think it's because I'm getting older that I dream more of you. Not to mention that stress makes me crazy.”
"You have no idea the stress I had, no idea about being in debt and watching my family suffer." His face looks sad and heavy. “A gambler can’t help himself.”
"I know, I think about it sometimes. I can't believe you were able to take it."
"Your mother was angry and she had a right to be. We were the only white people left in the projects. I ain’t never had nothing against black people, but even they didn’t want to be there. If living in the projects wasn’t bad enough, we were kicked out when they found out your mother worked. It could have been so much better." Then he looks at me. “I wasn’t there for you.”
"You were there for me. We got out of the projects and I went to college. So much of what I’ve done is because of you.” What have I done? I wonder as I’m saying this.
"I could have given you more."
Wanna keep dreamin'? Then weave your way here!
••• Mad Merch •••
A few months back we started out on a quest to "Expand the Madness" via our GoFundMe page. This was a big step for us. Before then, we never really put our hands out for some monetary help. But we did and we were rewarded by lots of hard-earned dollars donated to our cause. And even more support thru words, thru shares, thru mad ones out there who showed they really cared. Thank you. Thank YOU. THANK YOU!
All those donated dollars has been put to good use. We were able to legitimize the creative outlet by making Mad Swirl an official biz with an LLC at the end of it. We were also able to start creating Mad merch too! And now we got us a healthy stock just waiting for you to use and abuse how you see fit! But how do we get that merch into your hands when most of your hands aren't in the Dallas area? Well, we did some thinkin' and decided to set us up an online store!
Are just chomping at the bit to get you some "mad" stickers? We got 'em! 5 different colors too! Stick 'em on your favorite bumper!... Window!... Journal!... Your call on where. But get 'em while they last!
Howsabout a commemorative poster marking our 1st Annual trek "Seeking the Beat of the Heart of Poetry" These Mad Swirl posters were created to support our 2014 trans-Atlantic Swirl-Up at the Fermoy International Poetry Festival in Ireland this August. Once these babies are gone, there will be no more made. Get one now before they're gone!
And finally... Got a "mad" t-shirt yet? Well what are you waiting for? These green tee's won't be around forever. We created this tee just for our Ireland fundraiser. So that means we don't plan on printing this color ever again! Get yours... when?... NOW!
How can you resist the Mad-ness?! If you can't, click here to visit our online store... where we are always open!
Our GoFundMe page is still up and running and your generous donation are always welcome there too! Check that out 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...
Announcin,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
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