The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.13.16
••• The Mad Gallery •••
here to to hear the accompanying track to this piece)
“Cars” (above) by featured artist Suza Kanon. To see more of Suza's mad canvases, as well as our other featured artists, visit our mad Gallery at MadSwirl.com!
Our newest featured visual artist, Dallas-based Suza Kanon, is quite the multi-talented one! But if you already know Suza you already know this. But if you don’t, surely you will know now! Suza brings us collaged mixes of dark images with sharp and scribbled words to match. These scribbles and hand-written edits serve her form quite finely too. A view at her works almost feels like we are perusing something straight out of a secret and guarded notebook that we shouldn’t be peeking through. But try as we must, we can’t look away. Something tells us this self-proclaimed ‘unrepentant scribbler’ might not mind us having a peek at what’s going on in her not-so-secret notebook. So if Suza’s opening it up to us, we’re gonna take a gander! And we think you should sneak a peek for yourself too! – Madelyn Olson
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we reposed in the regrets of war; we walked a new way to discern the same day; we looked through the sun to the bliss of two as one; we plumbed the depths of death to hear a poet's dying breath; we tried to hide from the carnival ride... of love; we dirtied not beliefs hard bought with clean soap and free thought; we tempted fate to make death wait; we wrecked the whole thing on the seeds of a dream. ~ MH Clay
SEEDS by Helen Harrison
On a Sunday in mid-summer
Right at the edge of the park
You come to me;
Talking future plans,
And a heart that dared.
We saw ourselves
Buying a car to travel
Down to the coast
Whenever we took the urge
All planned out under the elm
Of eager spreading roots.
Many seeds scattered
Ideas with wings on the breeze
Hope floating all the way
Towards the sea along winding
Smashed in spring – the last
Season you inhaled;
Lying singing on the back seat.
The front driver’s side was saved,
Letting me drive
To dreams that died.
Dreams have a way
Of coming at you by the front
And leaving by the back door.
I pass it now, the car
In the scrap yard
At the edge of the town
It’s only half now.
August 13, 2016
editors note: These unplanned stops; who can bear them? Keep driving toward your dreams. (This poem comes from Helen’s collection The Last Fire. You can find it on Amazon here.)- mh clay
Let us die of a slow life by Fabrice Poussin
Counting the seconds on the hour glass is no hobby,
while the fluffy cumuli keep on their carefree flight,
slowing time, while listening to a relentless rhythm,
the conductor imagines his dancers in slow motion.
Dos and Res and Tis float as if from the autumn tree,
lines in the air, scars in the sand alike are no trap
to the eternal invincible freedom of the symphony;
let us this die of a slow life as we make our arts.
There will always be time for your handsome flesh
to slide off those charming bones I know so well;
no need for you to look down to the speedometer,
you may slow a little and see a scene not so blurry.
Death can wait, immortal, we need not worry;
her scythe may rust just a little more for our sakes;
we will die of a slow life, for you and I can rest;
the sunsets and moonrises do take their time you know.
Smile my love, with all your pearls, let your heart sing
the melody written on the dimensions of the galaxies;
there is room for you, for you too are the size of a dream;
no need to rush, run, take your time to my grave.
There is laughter to be heard, smiles to be painted;
the canvas stretched seems limitless in your soul;
mind not the colors for they have lost their taste;
breathe in my love, and slowly walk to be with me.
August 12, 2016
editors note: Suspend each grain in the palm of your hand. Hold it for as long as now will stand… – mh clay
The Void by Michael Marrotti
Living a life
void of belief
is like using
bar of soap
to scrub away
filth of the earth
in a lukewarm shower
when the elevator
is out of service
is not caring
And living a life
free of indoctrination
is a life
of free thinking
August 11, 2016
editors note: When we don’t know what we don’t know… Well, which way IS up? – mh clay
Slight of Hand by Rafael Andrade Garza
Nothing I write
satisfies my heart
I long to reach the end
of my novel shore
where the sun barely touches ocean
like when I circle the curls of your hair
lost in your loop
taking me back to the carnival of love, again
with its endless magic and tricks
your illusions and all
caught in your spell
mesmerized as if I’m seeing you pass me again
for the very first time
© May 4, 2014
August 10, 2016
editors note: Ahhh! True Love… so mysterious; before we learn the truth of it. (Read another Mad missive about love on Rafael’s page – check it out.) – mh clay
The verses by Milenko Županović
in a fog
August 9, 2016
editors note: The ensuing void we would fill with words. – mh clay
The Movement by James Brown
Looking up through the sun roof; the illusion delighting to the mindset, gravity has the hold, movement of the clouds divulge the delusion.
When you wake paint me in your reflection as the mirror emulates and the mind subsists as we exist in a love abyss.
August 9, 2016
editors note: A brief, sweet forever… – mh clay
Walking 5th Avenue by Ally Malinenko
I needed a change of pace,
of footfalls and a different shade of face
on the people I weave between
on my long journey from home to here
so I moved up one avenue,
just to see what else there is to see
and when I crested the hill at the old cemetery
and Manhattan spread open like a hand
begging for me to take it,
I realized that I was so small
on this hilltop
on this island
on this planet
in all that black space
and that being small has so many advantages.
I stood still for a moment thinking I could feel the planet turn
but it was just a seagull passing
hanging for a moment above me,
before screeching and moving on
August 8, 2016
editors note: Small enough to go unnoticed by passing calamity. – mh clay
Summer Unveils my Woe by David O’Brien
Arising the troops
steadying the streams
cleaning the battleaxes
rinsing the shields
saddling the needy steeds
testing the waters
preparing for the barricades
calming the nervous
calling the duties
tying the ropes
rehearsing the wartime speeches
thinking the tactics
listening to the commands
ignoring the conscience
repairing the instincts
mapping the routes
expecting the sieges
spotting the brand new battlefield
disbelieving the sight
targeting the enemy
relaying the others
trapping the ill witted
ensnaring the timid
burning the bridges
building the walls
anticipating the backlash
praying for the non faithful
mourning the friendships lost
regretting, as you walk the other way
August 7, 2016
editors note: Aggression breeds revulsion. Why not walk away first? – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
If you Need-a-Read then need no more! Mad Swirl's featured short, "Henry Showed Wendy His Paintings" comes from Contributing Writer & Poet, Donal Mahoney & it just might leave a chill up your spine!
Henry and Wendy Throckmorton had been married a week when Henry took Wendy to his garret 100 miles south of their estate in posh Kenilworth, a suburb of Chicago. Wendy thought she was going on a delayed honeymoon. Henry had never told her that he was a painter by avocation. She knew only that he was a successful patent attorney and had a large, profitable practice.
There was a heavy snowfall that evening and it made the trip for Wendy, looking out the window of the car, all the more beautiful. They arrived at the garret around midnight and walked up three flights of stairs in the dark. It was good that Henry had brought his flashlight. He used three keys on a long silver chain to open three locks on the steel door. Once inside the garret, Henry turned on the light with triumph.
“Voila!” he said as he turned slowly in a circle with arms outstretched.
Wendy was certainly surprised. There were paintings all over the walls. Other paintings, half completed, sat on their easels waiting for Henry. He explained to Wendy that she was the first person to see his work–his work of a lifetime. He had never shown his work to anyone before but now that they were married, he felt she had a right to see it.
“Wendy, you are the one person I know who is qualified to see my work and I am very happy about that.”...
Get your show-and-tell read on right here!
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Short Story Editor