Mad Swirl Open Mic : 11.06.19

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 11.06.19
Join Mad Swirl Open Mic THIS 1st Wednesday of November (aka 11.06.19) at 8:00 SHARP as we swirl it up at once again at Top Ten Records! Shop opens at noon Event starts at 7:30p Performances start at 8p This month we will be Swirl-abrating our 15 year of open mic Mad-ness! We can't believe that all those years[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.12.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.12.19
“In reality art is always for everyone and for no one” Eugenio Montale ••• The Mad Gallery ••• untitled concrete sculpture ~ Mario Loprete To see ALL of Mario's mad-nificent works, as well as our other featured artists (45 total!), visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week on Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...  we looked at sky with a[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.05.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.05.19
“I give thanks everyday that I've been able to take my craziness and make it work for me.” Fritz Scholder ••• The Mad Gallery ••• fabri fibra ~ Mario Loprete To see ALL of Mario's mad-nificent works, as well as our other featured artists (45 total!), visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week on Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum...[read more]


Shadows at first, blurred voices saying my name,
calling 911, an ambulance, I have fallen,
fallen out of the day, out of the familiar

into the world of blur and shadows, voices expecting
answers, I have none or few, my name, birth date,
the ambulance wants to know the day, the year,

the E.R. asks the same and what I was doing when
I fell; things try to sort themselves out, hook me up,
fluids in, out, blood pressure over and over, an electronic

this or that, my heart, the odd sounds it makes, they make
discussing me and what I have become, one of the fallen
who needs to be explained – it went on for hours, vague hours,

days in the hospital, in rehab, I became strange, living a gap,
a bad dream, a story someone else has written, telling of
fallen angels to this fallen beast, the broken machine
I became.

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Bitter Cold Can Burn

Perhaps the fires of hell
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Factory Girl

When the fiery orb descends beyond the mountains,
The chug chug of the industrial machine ceases.
And figures, like ants scampering out of its colony,
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Thoughts on a New Spring

Over the soft edges
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Into the uncertain woods
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In an atmospheric shimmer
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Picking Up the Thread & Who Me?

Picking Up the Thread & Who Me?

Excerpts from Sleeping Beauty Picking Up the Thread Rumor went round and round the land and even abroad of a most beautiful sleeping princess Rosamond, as you know I was called, who was encircled by an impassable thorn thistle which prickly creeping hedge had plot-thickened year after year after year for nearly ten decades and that within that intriguing aculeate spinney lay a hidden palace entranced in an eldritch spell. Now all that was visible of this enchanted castle were the tiptops of its towers the tallest of which sported a pivoting[read more]
Calling Vito a Guido

Calling Vito a Guido

Having tied his Capezio shoes, Vito brushes his white slacks and gets up from the chair. He walks over to the mirror in the living room to brush his black hair -- again. He tilts his head to one side, looks at himself from the corner of his eye and runs the brush across his coal black mass of hair. He smirks at his reflection, pleased with what he sees. Vito leans in closer to admire the blue sparkle of his eyes. He often asks his girlfriend, Gina, to call[read more]


Chet sat on the edge of the courthouse lawn. He was a thin black man. He wore khaki slacks and a green t-shirt and had a fedora hat on his head. It had cooled off a little now that the sun was going down, but it was still hot. Chet took a drink from a half pint bottle of Jim Beam, then offered me a drink. I passed. I told him I had been working in the sun in the switchyard at the mill all day, then sat at the[read more]