The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.20.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.20.19
“I know now that there is no one thing that is true - it is all true.” Ernest Hemingway ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Family Portrait ~Tyler Malone To see ALL of Tyler's poignantly poetic photos, 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 pond-ward[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.14.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.14.19
“All of my words, if not well put nor well taken, are well meant.” Woody Guthrie ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Carry Gravity ~Tyler Malone To see ALL of Tyler's poignantly poetic photos, 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 fought four fears, close[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.06.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 07.06.19
“I am my own muse, the subject I know best.” Frida Kahlo ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Please, Throw Shade ~Tyler Malone To see ALL of Tyler's poignantly poetic photos, 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 braved winter night to everything white;[read more]

EDGEWOOD AVENUE, SUNDAY MORNING

Eight cars in the crescent driveway.
College students, renting rooms:
Not likely.
An opulent Sunday brunch,
Hollandaise seeping through moist eggs:
Too early.
Out-of-town wedding guests,
Gathered for muffins and coffee
And, in subverse whispers,
To critique the reception:
Perhaps.
Early mourners, news just out,
Funeral arrangements
Incomplete.

Recently Published

THE GREATEST WAR ON EARTH

Here we are wet and moldy in a trench.
Here we are in World War One.
Here we are in France.
You can be a German if you[read more]

Soaked Lips

These lips utter a pause of lipids
time after after
like a powdery cough.
they bloom and shatter
with details,
wisdom of lush lights
a fluid, a shade,
a soft sunset resting[read more]

Ode to the Hollering Neighbor

She’s known for registering surprise.

Though she does it mainly with volume,
the occasional lilt,

it is why her children love her,
why the dog answers only to her.

The[read more]

He Belongs to Nobody

He Belongs to Nobody

Coyote sings us into presence and then laughs his ass off. Sings us into the soul of winter, into resistance, into euphoria. He knows he’s just a moon-illuminated rumor, dog with no name, knows he’s as much a mnemonic device as peyote is a serial killer. Tufts of stubborn snow feathered against the old walls may last, surviving in shadow, until spring. Domesticated after a fashion by ancestral Puebloans, coyote skulked up to their remote winter fires in Chaco, sat alert at the frost’s edge of the darkness and flickering light,[read more]
Pulled Pork Sandwich

Pulled Pork Sandwich

One day Perry Beckett took a pulled pork sandwich to Bone’s basement and when he got there, he said he wished he had told them to put more sauce on it. “So take it back over there and tell them you want more sauce on it,” said Bone. “They got the sauce in squeeze bottles on the counter,” said Perry Beckett. He was looking sadly at his sandwich. “So?” said Bone. Perry had worked out all the things that were going to happen today, at least the things he had some say over,[read more]
Showerless

Showerless

This train is a church in both its movements and its congregation. No one dares interrupt the silence. Metal rolling over rusted metal. Outside the scenery passes by like life to a teenager: fleeting but feeling never-ending. Most passengers wish they could be anywhere else to feel anything else, to feel something other than strictly operational. At each stop people straggle off, mostly alone, onto their next journey. New passengers come aboard. She hovers over me. She breathes harder and heavier. No other free seats. Her pink hair raises my own[read more]