The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.09.16
“A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.” ~ Charles Baudelaire
••• The Mad Gallery •••
“Gothic Tree Sky” (above) by featured artist Chuck Taylor. This one will close out Chuck's feature showing but we bet he'll be back with more snaps sooner than later! Til then, to view more of Chuck's mad snaps, along with our other featured artists, visit our Gallery at MadSwirl.com!
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we greeted poets fond, speaking by a lily pond; we planted in a pot of timeless sleep; we cut to the core of a faceless bore; we caught a cat, eyes open, lips chapped; we bullied by the spider to the fly; we ran in the race of the closed (still open) case; we ourselves did see by St. Martin's tree. Birds, blue sky - all with words to tickle our eye. Read and blink, read some more... ~ MH Clay
The Tree at St Martin’s by Trier Ward
I’m in the trenches,
on the streets.
I’m smelling shit
and smelling feet-
but the eyes that look
out at me are the
most beautiful
I’ve ever seen.
They are crazed and bright –
looking past the sores
on her face –
looking past the hood
of her dirty coat.
God, I think there
is shit caked on her back!
I think I am going to gag.
But she is a human being.
Maybe born on a
bright spring day
into clean sheets.
No, I’m not going to gag.
I’m not going to leave.
I’m going to stay here
and say how are you today
I will help feed her like
I came here to do.
Not look at her funny.
Not pass a single judgement.
Because who the fuck am I?
I’m a derelict poet.
Am I better because
I’m educated?
So recently sober?
Because I smell good today?
No I’m not better in anyway.
God brought me to this
exact same place.
A humble grateful place
where like
a tree I will grow from
this shit, dirt, and rot-
where I will use my
energy and strength to
send down roots and reach
out branches and so will
my compassion
for every human being grow-
The dirtiest
The smallest
The loneliest
The most desperate
until I reach the sun.
April 9, 2016
editors note: Every person is a mirror; every mirror tells the truth. Take a long, hard look; she dares us. – mh clay
Closed Case by James Brown
Get down, Got-Dam it’s a homicide forty-eight hours, murder case still subsists, fatal blow incited from the inside, proof easily unlawfully baptized and we the people darker in color are capsized by an unsociable justice system with a breed of unlawful bobbies turning homicide into a hobby.
Cold day.......
Cold hearted.......
Cold chase.......
Closes the case on an unlawful murder rate, new wave modern way of hate, fuck the debate, we the people are ghosts in plain site they assassinate, that’s the mandate, remember these names and dates
Medgar Evers, 1964.......
Fred Hampton, 1968.......
Harry and Harriette Moore, 1951.......
Malcom X, 1965.......
Martin L. King, 1968.......
Now can you relate?
Closed case.
April 8, 2016
editors note: The blind lady’s scale tips to the twitchy trigger finger. – mh clay
Bullies and the Wimp by Donal Mahoney
They laugh at him
because he’s weak
by their standards
but they don’t realize
they’ve signed a
contract with him,
a lifetime guarantee
for recompense.
It will be fulfilled
perhaps tomorrow or
maybe on a wedding day
or years from now at
the funeral of a loved one
when they’re as vulnerable
as he appears to be
and for the moment is
but they don’t realize
the spider in its web
looks slow to any fly
circling overhead.
April 7, 2016
editors note: Minimize your deficit with a healthy respect for all. – mh clay
ichor by Andrew Chmielowiec
from my mother, i learned
to be the cat
at the top of the stairs
watching;
to lick my lips chapped,
and how to heal them;
to speak less, say more.
i learned a lifetime
of bracing yourself for impact
leaves permanent indentations
in the steering wheel,
handle bars,
your wrists,
and every mark
is a badge of honor,
on your face,
in your palms,
deep in the pit of your stomach,
if you wear it so.
i learned that oranges
are meant to be peeled slowly;
that a watched pot will boil,
but everybody’s afraid
to take the time to see it,
and,
that somewhere,
right now,
always,
the sun is rising
without ever needing to move.
April 6, 2016
editors note: Patience and positivity. Yes! – mh clay
Apple-Face Speaks by Neil Fulwood
(after Magritte)
This is not an apple.
I am not wearing a suit.
You are mistaken
about the bowler hat.
Whether this is a canvas
and I am paint
is open to discussion
but only when
you’re ready to admit
this is not a poem,
you are not a reader
and – empirically –
I do not have a face.
April 5, 2016
editors note: This is not a spastic, ekphrastic poem. Nice! (Inspired by the picture, Son of Man, by Rene Magritte – check it out.) – mh clay
You, the Potted Plant and Me by Curtis Emery
What tree
what pebble
what peak
what lake what silvered
skyscraper,
what fleck of ash, what potted plant.
These things move with me
through time
and remind me of my death.
What morning
what noon
what coming of age what dusk
what seasons of fields of fleece.
All these things time keeps—
what fragile light, what timeless sleep.
April 4, 2016
editors note: What? What! – mh clay
A BROOKLYN RENDEZVOUS WITH MYSELF AT LILY POND WHILE SITTING WITH THE BEAT POETS by Mel Waldman
(on reading Gregory Corso’s poem – Hello)
And
I return to Lily Pond again
to
meet myself
inside
the oval mirror of my mind
&
say hello
once more
in
a sweet rendezvous
in
the sacred garden
of
&
say hello
&
say hello
by
the soothing waters
&
say hello
to
the familiar stranger
swirling
in
phantasmagoria
&
rushing slowly
in
the mirror of glittering reflections
at
the center of my chimerical omphalos
&
here
inside
the oval mirror
I
return to Lily Pond
&
sit with the Beat Poets
Corso, Kerouac, & Ginsberg,
phantom companions
of
my inner landscape,
a necessary illusion
within
the flowing opalescence
of
my brainwaves
&
suddenly,
the rebel-ghost Corso
rises
&
leaps toward Lily Pond
&
shrieks hello
&
his raw visionary voice
drills
a hole
in
my dream-mind
&
opens
it
to
metaphysical malaise
&
I say hello
inside
the echo chamber of my dreamscape
I
say hello hello hello
&
meet myself again
&
whisper in sweet susurrations –
Who am I?
&
shriek soundlessly –
Who am I?
inside
a dust devil
&
an unholy silence screams –
Who am I?
within
my swirling nowhere –
my everlasting existential question –
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I?
unending shadow of a shadow
of
my phantom
soul
that
follows me to Lily Pond
where
the rebel-ghost Corso
peers
at his fathomless fragile self,
a wounded deer,
&
reveals
his trauma his truth a bestial shattering
here
at Lily Pond
on
the Brooklyn College campus
circa
summer 1965
&
I gaze into the mirror of my mind
&
touch the broken glass of
the merciless shattering
of
the self
&
hear shards of my apocalyptic past
exploding
into my mutilated eyes
&
I mourn all I have lost all that is gone
all who have died
I mourn all the death I carry inside
&
I say hello hello hello
at
a Brooklyn rendezvous with myself
at
Lily Pond
while sitting with the Beat Poets
&
I say hello
April 3, 2016
editors note: “I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello” – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
Need-a-Read? And do we got quite the read to feed your need today. Be aware, this one might make you think & just might cause some internal debate. But that's what we've come to expect from Contributing Writer and Poet, Donal Mahoney.
Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone had to say about "Dr. Chapman's Insight": "Life is life. It goes on and on, by the will of living, by the hands of death."
Here's a dose of this medicine to get ya goin':
photo by Tyler Malone
Dr. Chapman had been valedictorian of his class in high school and college but had finished second in his class in medical school, something that still bothered him after 30 years of successful practice in a small city. Many patients traveled from all over the state to see him.
Over the years, he had hired a number of practical nurses to assist him in his practice and went out of his way to hire those that might have had trouble being hired elsewhere due to discrimination. He was proud of his record and didn’t have much turnover in staff.
Between patients he and his nurses would often discuss weighty topics of the day, delving into difficult subjects such as religion and politics. Most of his nurses had tried at one time or another to get him to vote their way and they always tried to convince him to go to church, even if it wouldn’t be the church any of them attended. Dr. Chapman was always polite but always resisted their efforts...
Don't stop there! You'll see why. Here's where to get the whole story!
••• Mad Swirl Open Mic •••
(Photo courtesy of Rosie Lindsey. To see more of her mad mic pics, check out here FB page here)
Oh what a night it was in the land of Swirl’n mic Mad-ness this past 1st Wednesday! Mad Swirl Open Mic was honored to feature Dallas singer/songwriter Kelly Nygren! Her groove sure moved us in the most mad-licious of ways. Her smooth smokey blues are still echoin’ in our mad minds…
Thanks to all who came out to The Underpass & shared in this collective delicious madness. What a night of the beat-utifullest poetry and music it was! Here’s a shout out to all who graced us with their words, their songs, their divine madnesses…
Hosts:
Johnny O
MH Clay
Feature:
Kelly Nygren
Swirve:
Gerard Bendiks
Chris Curiel
Tamitha Curiel
Mad Cast:
Chris Zimmerly
Desmene M. Statum
Carlos Salas
Maggie Smith
Sean Gregory Buttram aka “TA2”
David Crandall
Opalina Salas
Rob Dyer aka “David Parham”
Cj Critt
James Barrett Rodehaver aka “Bear the Poet”
Jen Bochenko
Jay Gomez aka “Holiday”
Paul Sexton
Nadia Wolnisty
Harry McNabb
Anthony X Haynes
Reverie
Tom Bannon
Gabe Mamola
Anthony Harris
HUGE thanks to Swirve for keeping the beat til the wee hours of the night. We got taken to another dimension of time and space on the wings of their jazzy madness!
Thanks to Mike & Leo at The Underpass for opening up this fine establishment to us mad ones and making us feel right at home.
And finally we would like to thank ALL of you who freely shared their hand claps, finger-snaps, hoots and howls with all the mad ones who got up on this sacred mad swirlin’ mic.
P.S. Comin’ Up May 4th: Next month we feature Mad Swirl Poetry Editor, Poet, Playwright, Actor, Musician, mad co-conspirator, and all-around an all-around top-notch soul… (catch breath)… MH Clay! Join us as we launch his new book, Angst! He’ll be joined by the musical madmen of Earthlinger and Angst Artist, Jeff Skele Sheely! Come join all of us as we experience a Mad Angstful Rant! And buy you a book of this mad-licious collab-creation
•••••••
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...
Devourin',
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
••• The Mad Gallery •••
“Gothic Tree Sky” (above) by featured artist Chuck Taylor. This one will close out Chuck's feature showing but we bet he'll be back with more snaps sooner than later! Til then, to view more of Chuck's mad snaps, along with our other featured artists, visit our Gallery at MadSwirl.com!
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we greeted poets fond, speaking by a lily pond; we planted in a pot of timeless sleep; we cut to the core of a faceless bore; we caught a cat, eyes open, lips chapped; we bullied by the spider to the fly; we ran in the race of the closed (still open) case; we ourselves did see by St. Martin's tree. Birds, blue sky - all with words to tickle our eye. Read and blink, read some more... ~ MH Clay
The Tree at St Martin’s by Trier Ward
I’m in the trenches,
on the streets.
I’m smelling shit
and smelling feet-
but the eyes that look
out at me are the
most beautiful
I’ve ever seen.
They are crazed and bright –
looking past the sores
on her face –
looking past the hood
of her dirty coat.
God, I think there
is shit caked on her back!
I think I am going to gag.
But she is a human being.
Maybe born on a
bright spring day
into clean sheets.
No, I’m not going to gag.
I’m not going to leave.
I’m going to stay here
and say how are you today
I will help feed her like
I came here to do.
Not look at her funny.
Not pass a single judgement.
Because who the fuck am I?
I’m a derelict poet.
Am I better because
I’m educated?
So recently sober?
Because I smell good today?
No I’m not better in anyway.
God brought me to this
exact same place.
A humble grateful place
where like
a tree I will grow from
this shit, dirt, and rot-
where I will use my
energy and strength to
send down roots and reach
out branches and so will
my compassion
for every human being grow-
The dirtiest
The smallest
The loneliest
The most desperate
until I reach the sun.
April 9, 2016
editors note: Every person is a mirror; every mirror tells the truth. Take a long, hard look; she dares us. – mh clay
Closed Case by James Brown
Get down, Got-Dam it’s a homicide forty-eight hours, murder case still subsists, fatal blow incited from the inside, proof easily unlawfully baptized and we the people darker in color are capsized by an unsociable justice system with a breed of unlawful bobbies turning homicide into a hobby.
Cold day.......
Cold hearted.......
Cold chase.......
Closes the case on an unlawful murder rate, new wave modern way of hate, fuck the debate, we the people are ghosts in plain site they assassinate, that’s the mandate, remember these names and dates
Medgar Evers, 1964.......
Fred Hampton, 1968.......
Harry and Harriette Moore, 1951.......
Malcom X, 1965.......
Martin L. King, 1968.......
Now can you relate?
Closed case.
April 8, 2016
editors note: The blind lady’s scale tips to the twitchy trigger finger. – mh clay
Bullies and the Wimp by Donal Mahoney
They laugh at him
because he’s weak
by their standards
but they don’t realize
they’ve signed a
contract with him,
a lifetime guarantee
for recompense.
It will be fulfilled
perhaps tomorrow or
maybe on a wedding day
or years from now at
the funeral of a loved one
when they’re as vulnerable
as he appears to be
and for the moment is
but they don’t realize
the spider in its web
looks slow to any fly
circling overhead.
April 7, 2016
editors note: Minimize your deficit with a healthy respect for all. – mh clay
ichor by Andrew Chmielowiec
from my mother, i learned
to be the cat
at the top of the stairs
watching;
to lick my lips chapped,
and how to heal them;
to speak less, say more.
i learned a lifetime
of bracing yourself for impact
leaves permanent indentations
in the steering wheel,
handle bars,
your wrists,
and every mark
is a badge of honor,
on your face,
in your palms,
deep in the pit of your stomach,
if you wear it so.
i learned that oranges
are meant to be peeled slowly;
that a watched pot will boil,
but everybody’s afraid
to take the time to see it,
and,
that somewhere,
right now,
always,
the sun is rising
without ever needing to move.
April 6, 2016
editors note: Patience and positivity. Yes! – mh clay
Apple-Face Speaks by Neil Fulwood
(after Magritte)
This is not an apple.
I am not wearing a suit.
You are mistaken
about the bowler hat.
Whether this is a canvas
and I am paint
is open to discussion
but only when
you’re ready to admit
this is not a poem,
you are not a reader
and – empirically –
I do not have a face.
April 5, 2016
editors note: This is not a spastic, ekphrastic poem. Nice! (Inspired by the picture, Son of Man, by Rene Magritte – check it out.) – mh clay
You, the Potted Plant and Me by Curtis Emery
What tree
what pebble
what peak
what lake what silvered
skyscraper,
what fleck of ash, what potted plant.
These things move with me
through time
and remind me of my death.
What morning
what noon
what coming of age what dusk
what seasons of fields of fleece.
All these things time keeps—
what fragile light, what timeless sleep.
April 4, 2016
editors note: What? What! – mh clay
A BROOKLYN RENDEZVOUS WITH MYSELF AT LILY POND WHILE SITTING WITH THE BEAT POETS by Mel Waldman
(on reading Gregory Corso’s poem – Hello)
And
I return to Lily Pond again
to
meet myself
inside
the oval mirror of my mind
&
say hello
once more
in
a sweet rendezvous
in
the sacred garden
of
&
say hello
&
say hello
by
the soothing waters
&
say hello
to
the familiar stranger
swirling
in
phantasmagoria
&
rushing slowly
in
the mirror of glittering reflections
at
the center of my chimerical omphalos
&
here
inside
the oval mirror
I
return to Lily Pond
&
sit with the Beat Poets
Corso, Kerouac, & Ginsberg,
phantom companions
of
my inner landscape,
a necessary illusion
within
the flowing opalescence
of
my brainwaves
&
suddenly,
the rebel-ghost Corso
rises
&
leaps toward Lily Pond
&
shrieks hello
&
his raw visionary voice
drills
a hole
in
my dream-mind
&
opens
it
to
metaphysical malaise
&
I say hello
inside
the echo chamber of my dreamscape
I
say hello hello hello
&
meet myself again
&
whisper in sweet susurrations –
Who am I?
&
shriek soundlessly –
Who am I?
inside
a dust devil
&
an unholy silence screams –
Who am I?
within
my swirling nowhere –
my everlasting existential question –
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I?
unending shadow of a shadow
of
my phantom
soul
that
follows me to Lily Pond
where
the rebel-ghost Corso
peers
at his fathomless fragile self,
a wounded deer,
&
reveals
his trauma his truth a bestial shattering
here
at Lily Pond
on
the Brooklyn College campus
circa
summer 1965
&
I gaze into the mirror of my mind
&
touch the broken glass of
the merciless shattering
of
the self
&
hear shards of my apocalyptic past
exploding
into my mutilated eyes
&
I mourn all I have lost all that is gone
all who have died
I mourn all the death I carry inside
&
I say hello hello hello
at
a Brooklyn rendezvous with myself
at
Lily Pond
while sitting with the Beat Poets
&
I say hello
April 3, 2016
editors note: “I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello” – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
Need-a-Read? And do we got quite the read to feed your need today. Be aware, this one might make you think & just might cause some internal debate. But that's what we've come to expect from Contributing Writer and Poet, Donal Mahoney.
Here's what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone had to say about "Dr. Chapman's Insight": "Life is life. It goes on and on, by the will of living, by the hands of death."
Here's a dose of this medicine to get ya goin':
Dr. Chapman had been valedictorian of his class in high school and college but had finished second in his class in medical school, something that still bothered him after 30 years of successful practice in a small city. Many patients traveled from all over the state to see him.
Over the years, he had hired a number of practical nurses to assist him in his practice and went out of his way to hire those that might have had trouble being hired elsewhere due to discrimination. He was proud of his record and didn’t have much turnover in staff.
Between patients he and his nurses would often discuss weighty topics of the day, delving into difficult subjects such as religion and politics. Most of his nurses had tried at one time or another to get him to vote their way and they always tried to convince him to go to church, even if it wouldn’t be the church any of them attended. Dr. Chapman was always polite but always resisted their efforts...
Don't stop there! You'll see why. Here's where to get the whole story!
••• Mad Swirl Open Mic •••
Oh what a night it was in the land of Swirl’n mic Mad-ness this past 1st Wednesday! Mad Swirl Open Mic was honored to feature Dallas singer/songwriter Kelly Nygren! Her groove sure moved us in the most mad-licious of ways. Her smooth smokey blues are still echoin’ in our mad minds…
Thanks to all who came out to The Underpass & shared in this collective delicious madness. What a night of the beat-utifullest poetry and music it was! Here’s a shout out to all who graced us with their words, their songs, their divine madnesses…
Hosts:
Johnny O
MH Clay
Feature:
Kelly Nygren
Swirve:
Gerard Bendiks
Chris Curiel
Tamitha Curiel
Mad Cast:
Chris Zimmerly
Desmene M. Statum
Carlos Salas
Maggie Smith
Sean Gregory Buttram aka “TA2”
David Crandall
Opalina Salas
Rob Dyer aka “David Parham”
Cj Critt
James Barrett Rodehaver aka “Bear the Poet”
Jen Bochenko
Jay Gomez aka “Holiday”
Paul Sexton
Nadia Wolnisty
Harry McNabb
Anthony X Haynes
Reverie
Tom Bannon
Gabe Mamola
Anthony Harris
HUGE thanks to Swirve for keeping the beat til the wee hours of the night. We got taken to another dimension of time and space on the wings of their jazzy madness!
Thanks to Mike & Leo at The Underpass for opening up this fine establishment to us mad ones and making us feel right at home.
And finally we would like to thank ALL of you who freely shared their hand claps, finger-snaps, hoots and howls with all the mad ones who got up on this sacred mad swirlin’ mic.
P.S. Comin’ Up May 4th: Next month we feature Mad Swirl Poetry Editor, Poet, Playwright, Actor, Musician, mad co-conspirator, and all-around an all-around top-notch soul… (catch breath)… MH Clay! Join us as we launch his new book, Angst! He’ll be joined by the musical madmen of Earthlinger and Angst Artist, Jeff Skele Sheely! Come join all of us as we experience a Mad Angstful Rant! And buy you a book of this mad-licious collab-creation
•••••••
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...
Devourin',
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor
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