The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.23.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.23.17
“Style is whatever you want to do, if you can do it with confidence.” ~ George Clinton ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Bodies Awakened (above) by featured artist David J. Thompson. To see more of David’s mad snaps, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.16.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.16.17
“Part of the fun of art is that it invites you to interpret it.” ~ Tony Kushner ••• The Mad Gallery ••• "People’s Republic of Cork” (above) by featured artist David J. Thompson. To see more of David’s mad snaps, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.09.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.09.17
••• The Mad Gallery ••• Cobbler” (above) by featured artist David J. Thompson. To see more of David’s mad snaps, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we were warned against our domi-nation; we got the measure of a child's treasure;[read more]

Every Day

I got my first medical appliance
a water pick
clinically, my teeth are
“moth eaten”
now it’s a daily ritual
along with the AA prayer,
“God, help me abstain…”
the calorie log,
“¼ cup rice, one entire chicken”
the guitar, the gym,
the words
that keep every day
from being my last.

– Jon Bennett

Recently Published

UNSTAMPED POSTCARD

One
Split tan shoe
One
Ripped blue shirt
One
Patched green jacket
And some super glue

All of them
More than enough

For this Monday
For a month on Friday
For[read more]

Silence

I sit here tracing these words across this screen
Looking for other possibilities
That can slide beyond the measures of reason
These days my day’s measure is spent
Searching[read more]

RESPECT, LOVE, PURPLE FLOWERS

I kneel in gravel, no tears, just
fascinated with six tiny purple petals
poking through light snow. I don’t know
their name. I have arrived
here limping through decades[read more]

Hands of Home

Hands of Home

Chevy stepside rust fades when Texas horizons distort from blue to grey, promising only the crawl of darkness. Stark against crepuscular atmosphere slants a white house filthy from foundation to deteriorated shingles. The frame sags into dry Texas soil. Ancient worms and creation’s bones partially devour what’s inside, memories of no one who returns here, hands in pockets hoping to receive nothing by arriving with nothing but curiosity and hate that home holds. A yard’s garden is nothing but fuscous weeds that replace the arched bricks that once mapped parameters. Gardens[read more]
Magic

Magic

I grew up thinking my mother was magic. She recited memorized poetry in the bath every night and when she was home (which was often), she was naked, if not in her long silk robe that always drooped lazily, untied, and exposing her all the same. She smelt of rum and frankincense and had hair so long and so thick that her braids looked like manilla ropes. She had never worked a day in her life, she never had to. She painted still life and they would hang in coffee[read more]
The Puppeteer

The Puppeteer

Bobo inherited the corporation from his father, becoming the principal shareholder and chairman of the board of directors. His first executive action was to have a meeting with the management team to brainstorm new ideas for the budget. “I think we should invest more in long term infrastructure,” said Manager #9. “A review of current tax liabilities and implications would be prudent,” said Manager #7. “I feel that we need more puppets!” blurted Bobo. Manager #9 interrupted patiently, “We’ve already utilized extensive puppetry in the education and training divisions, we’re overrun with felt and[read more]