Mad Swirl Open Mic : 05.01.19

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 05.01.19
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of May (aka 05.01.19) at 8:00 SHARP when as we swirl up the mic at our mad mic-ness home, The Regal Room (located inside of Independent Bar & Kitchen in the heart of Deep Ellum)! This month, Mad Swirl Press will be officially launching our annual anthology, "The Best of Mad[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : v2018

The Best of Mad Swirl : v2018
Get you your very own copy of “The Best of Mad Swirl : v2018” right HERE! Our 112 page anthology will feature 52 poets, 12 short fiction writers, and four artists whose works were presented on MadSwirl.com throughout 2018. We editors reviewed the entire year’s output to ensure this collection is truly “the best of Mad Swirl.” The works[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.13.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.13.19
“The gift of writing is to be self-forgetful, to get a surge of inner life or inner supply or unexpected sense of empowerment, to be afloat, to be out of yourself.” Seamus Heaney ••• The Mad Gallery ••• I Am He As You Are He As You Are Me and We Are All Together ~ Sharon O'Callaghan Shero Mad[read more]

Photoengrave, Attuned to Shadow

Light chased and you carried its weight.
When we spoke, you saw, illuminated our words.
Can’t photograph breaths but what’s breathing,
used to speaking to ghosts, rarely seeing ourselves
lucky with eyes but few measure colors between black and white.

How we’re attuned to shadows isn’t as beautiful as how
we’re exposed in light that speaks for our story.

We see you in dark rooms, measuring
what we see, as we are, how we are.

Vision is but eyes aren’t perpetual so hold to this—
as you saw us
as we hope we sound—profound, ignited bends in shades.

Permanent swirls in static.

Recently Published

I just can’t…

I had the weather channel on
for an hour and I feel
like every memory I hold is
anvil heavy, every tear
flowing across Interstate 10,
every bad day I[read more]

Intensive Care Unit

The night nurse
clad in surgical tape
dispenses antiseptic grace
and sleepwalks
through her coffee break
fighting to stay awake
in the code blue
fluorescent fog
of all those yawning beds
full of tired[read more]

No One Wears Pocket Watches Anymore

he always had his thumb
and index finger in his watch
pocket trying to hold time
still

it was his ‘prize’ possession
and he held it lovingly
stroked it constantly
chanting to[read more]

1969

1969

Jim looked out of his upstairs apartment window. He watched as a drunken man staggered up to the door of the Bus Cafe. It was late. No doubt after a night of drinking he was going for a burger and fries, or some greasy chili. Jim and his wife Brenda rented one of two apartments that were above the New Way Cleaners. The apartment came with a view of the Frasina Hotel, the Bus Cafe, and the taxi cab office, all located across the street. The apartment had a large[read more]
I Have a Mistress

I Have a Mistress

Back in 2017 I acquired a mistress, or should I say she attached herself to me. I informed my wife of the mistress and she begin to cry and said can you get rid of her. I said I will try. But now she is with me all the time. She demands to go shopping with me and then I must head home with her. At the grocery store she demands certain foods that she knows that I cannot have but she says that it would make her stronger. She makes me remember[read more]
A Quiet Thanksgiving

A Quiet Thanksgiving

She was an old woman now. The crime her son Aaron committed was on her mind every day. And why shouldn’t it be? He had killed his wife and was serving a forty-year sentence in Chino Men’s Prison just south of Los Angeles. Her husband, God bless him, had left her plenty of money. Sitting at her cluttered dining room table, under a colorful Tiffany lampshade, she reached over to her telephone and with shaky hands, dialed Aaron’s phone number. “Mom,” he said. “There’s hope for me.” “Hope? I don’t know the meaning of[read more]