The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.28.15

The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.28.15
“Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.” ~ William Blake ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Sheffield’s old and new” (above) by featured artist Eleanor Leonne Bennett. To view all of Eleanor's works, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery. You may recognize the works of Eleanor Leonne Bennett from her feature here at Mad[read more]

Featured Artist : Eleanor Leonne Bennett

Featured Artist : Eleanor Leonne Bennett
You may recognize the works of Eleanor Leonne Bennett from her feature here at Mad Swirl a couple years ago… or maybe the myriad of other places this gifted photog’s work has been featured. Bennett has created quite a name for herself and that ain’t a surprise. Eleanor's latest works of high contrast photographs create[read more]

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 12.02.15

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 12.02.15
Join Mad Swirl & Swirve the 1st Wednesday of December (aka 12.02.15) as we kick things off at our NEW Open Mic home, The Underpass Bar! (located at 650 Exposition Ave in Dallas)... Come on out, one & all. Get a brainful of Swirve, share in the Mad Swirl'n Festivities, if the spirit is movin'[read more]

Crusader (iv)

Conquest now, rather than crusade, the captains and nobles march out to subdue and colonise as much of Northern Syria as they can. Terrible slaughters at Albara and Marrat, the populations massacred, survivors sold in to slavery.
Towns garrisoned to control the region but then a fiercesome winter, food runs short, garrisons starve, cannibalism is recorded as the Soldiers of God reach a new low and still the golden city of Jerusalem, the wellspring of their faith, lies waiting, away down the southern road.

war dogs chained,
moved so far

then not at all,

at Albara and Marrat
we brought
red slaughter and slavery,

before the hunkerdown
of garrison.

In our hellscape
of that northern winter
truths told, never forgotten,
sights seen, better forgotten,

when the food ran out
Marrat began
to eat its dead.

The holy ones told us
we would know
life eternal in the gaze of God,

neglecting to mention
hell is also forever

and Jerusalem a dream,
slowly fading in the gloom.

Gods Will, Gods Will, Gods Will.

Recently Published


You are waiting for a letter to arrive,
but who still writes letters these days anyway?
The trees on the street are deader than dead,
their[read more]

Intergalactic Hitch

hollow skeleton hobo
poets hang on branches
in the sun, weightless
like bird’s wings
flapping old toothless
jaws, readin’ with
archaic sounds,
swinging torn shoes,
biting tin collars,

up on the wire
handkerchief to break
impending[read more]

The Cold War

I don’t know if we were spies
or just fugitives.
We were on a bus.
I was fleeing again
but confident this time
I would attain liberation,
insoluble levity,
Everyone on the[read more]

The Case of the Cross-Country Skier

The Case of the Cross-Country Skier

At last, at last, Wendell rests his skis at the other side of the lake in sunset, exhausted, satiated. He senses the water conscious and raucous down under the lake, glaring, straining upward, knocking against the depths of the ice again and again, enraged at his escape. He’s unwilling to look away, but does not want to cross the lake again. He’s done that, and doesn’t want to undo it. In twilight, he turns to see what lay behind him to see what lay ahead. The old horizon is here,[read more]


It is 7:35 in the afternoon and Kris is sitting in the middle of a row of kids at church. She is sweating and her leg is shaking and her heart is beating fast and the back of her eyes hurt. She is the most awake that she has ever been in her entire life. She has a lot of Ritalin and caffeine in her system. Kris got the Ritalin from her friend, Julie, who has attention deficit disorder and takes Ritalin once a day as prescribed by her doctor. Ritalin[read more]
A Mother’s Sorrow

A Mother’s Sorrow

I floated on golden cloud from place to place. All I had was my soft brown and white fur, my tiny pink tongue, my piercing blue eyes that melted the hearts of everyone who saw me. Meow! Meeee-ow! There were so many ways to express myself. But no meow could capture the way I felt when they cut me open. Yes, they numbed me, but Siamese cats are not dumb. I’m not one of those arrogant cats who think our breed is at the top of the hierarchy. All cats are[read more]