The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.04.15

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.04.15
“When I work, and in my art, I hold hands with God.” ~ Robert Mapplethorpe ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Self” (above) by featured artist Paula “Pd” Lietz. To see more Mad works from Pd, and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery. ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we bounced[read more]

Notes of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 07.01.15

Notes of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 07.01.15
What a night it was in the land of Swirl’n mic Mad-ness this past 1st Wednesday (aka 07.01.15)! As Swirve started their jazzy madness, the crowd found their way into and filled the VIP lounge with their heads boppin’ and their fingers snappin’. As the last notes were fading away, hosts Johnny O & MH[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.27.15

The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.27.15
••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Stay Syrbarite Stay” (above) by featured artist Paula “Pd” Lietz. To see more Mad works from Pd, and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery. “Poetry is a matter of life, not just a matter of language.” ~ Lucille Clifton ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...[read more]

APOLOGY

young boy with pellet gun
aiming at anything moving

a tree swallow fluttering near its
nest hole far up the birch tree

an innocent pulling of trigger
a dead-on kill
and then the swallow’s mate
out the nest hole and
shrieking her mourning
across the thinned air

flustered and uncertain
the boy carefully aims and
shoots again putting down
the mate

trudging home feeling life moving
backwards like lost footsteps
hoarding the shame of his
accumulated future all
at once.

– Mark Senkus

Recently Published

Sleep Madrigal

Sleep’s the Great Healer—
Sleep’s the Revealer
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unbidden gleanings.

When sorrow aches us,
Sleep overtakes us—

stealing away grief,
like a welcome thief.

Night is the coverlet
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I Love Words

I love to tumble, climb, and soar—
to rollick and frolic in words.

I love to mumble, rhyme, and roar—
compose a bucolic,
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write lines epistolic,
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I[read more]

Reflections

Notice the non mirror image,
stripped backing, a window
and you are a tree, a bird singing,
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Waiting Room Madness

Waiting Room Madness

You know the waiting as well as I do. You hate it too. The terrible waiting. The time you dread more than a five-foot needle stuck in your backside. You feel the rage. You work harder than hell for some decent medical insurance only to wait like a flea-bitten dog for a miserable bone. Waiting in line to fill out a form. Waiting for a bubblegum-smacking bimbette to point out a pale plastic seat. The terrible waiting in a terrible waiting room. A color-coded monstrosity overflowing with wheezing zombies staring at[read more]
Ten Minutes and One Second

Ten Minutes and One Second

King’s Dominion, July 28, 2009, 5:50 PM. Sharp beaver claws and teeth gnawing, grasping; broad flat tails slapping. They walked along on the crowded hot blacktop. What a day we have had here don’t you think? Yes—I’m pooped. Gnaw—gnaw the wood. Must have wood. Must have lots of wood. Find wood. Look—a Fudge and Fun stand. Want to have some? The sun beamed down from low over the buildings across the way. Oh yes—we need some dessert—here—here let’s walk in the shade it’s hot. Logs vertical across the stream spaced apart; logs and branches horizontal between the logs tight[read more]
THE WEDDING SINGER

THE WEDDING SINGER

Frankie Mann operated a small, Brooklyn music office. He often hired a junkie sax player named Freddie. Frankie’s father, Mambo, was a gangster down in Florida. He financed Frankie as a front. He also used a fat singer named Peter Vallone, who told jokes, usually with an Italian accent. Now Doctor Frankel stared kindly at Brown. Frankel sat erect in his chair. The speaker went on. “It’s their wedding night. They”re in the mother”s house in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. The guy has four toes missing on his left foot. The bride, who[read more]