Mad Swirl Open Mic : 03.01.17

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 03.01.17
Join forces with Mad Swirl & Swirve this 1st Wednesday of March (aka 03.01.17) at 8:00 SHARP as we continue to swirl up our mic madness at our mad mic-ness home, Dallas’ City Tavern! This month Mad Swirl is proud to be hosting the book release of poet Paul Sexton's fourth book "Machine Of Almosting: Poems[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.18.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.18.17
"A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free." ~ Nikos Kazantzakis ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “the forgotten (3)” (above) by featured artist Allen Forrest. To see more of Allen's mad illustrations, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.11.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 02.11.17
"The real being of language is that into which we are taken up when we hear it - what is said." ~ Hans-Georg Gadamer ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “the forgotten (1)” (above) by featured artist Allen Forrest. Mad Swirl is proud to introduce you to our newest visual artist, Allen Forrest. Allen brings us an expressive art collection[read more]

Shoshi’s Ugly Poem

I think of you stilled
Under the earth,
Clods of clay, and your melting flesh.
Cracking bones,
Shreds of cloth
Clinging to your twisted limbs.
But that is not you, and never was.
This thing, this stilled thing
The most alien and wrong of it all,
This stillness is not you.
You, who were always
So ticking over with motion,
Rhythm, and the juice of the dance.
You, who even as you sat,
Sat alert and bright-eyed and aware.
You, who even when not moving
Had the beat of life running through you,
Waiting for your time
To jump into the circle again.
And it is so wrong, this stillness.
You, gone from yourself,
Yourself gone away and the body left behind,
A lump of putrescence,
Nothing more.
How fine that you are gone, really.
How right.
You would never have stood for this outrage,
This breakdown of holy life,
Of the joy of your life.
You would have been horrified
At what you have become.
Better it’s done,
Done and gone,
Gone away.
But the awful stillness stays.
And this is an awful poem, I know.
But I am haunted by your stillness.
Awful absence of motion
The craziest proof of all
That you are really gone.

Recently Published


Beyond reasonable doubt
There’s an entrapment
The lesion
Of the spirit
Contorts to ~

The abandoned echo,
Hewn into
A judicial
Stone kiss.

Perversity preys upon itself.
Humankind is not
Kind… fevering
The white-washed hands
Of[read more]


Like dogs
We sit
And we wait

Like stations for buses
Like boards for announcements
Like pigeons for crumbs

As if the end’s going to change
As if it’s going to get[read more]

Credible Urge

He skippers down nightly
under an old piece of tarpaulin,
connected to two trees,
off to the right hand side
of the beach
in the warmer months.
When Winter comes,
there’s the[read more]

Be Still My Mind

Be Still My Mind

I was meditating on being grateful for my reliable truck when I transformed into an angry white man directing a fear struck Mexican to pull over. I could see him wondering if his brown ass was gonna be kicked by a Trump supporter. While approaching the construction vehicle, I noticed the load was held by one strap and glanced at my side mirror to change lanes and pass then looked up to see a large tarp slip under my truck at 70 mph. The Nissan sucked it in like a dog[read more]


(excerpt from the short story "Immortal") Excuse Me Miss, can I ask you a question? ••• Oh, no ma'am, I'm not trying to sell you anything ••• No, no it's not like that. I just want to ask you something if you would be so kind as to indulge an old man for a little while ••• Well, what could I do to you in such a public place with this many people milling around and in full sunlight? ••• You honor me beautiful lady, thank you. ••• Oh, where are my manners? Please, have a seat. ••• Forgive me if I am[read more]
Harvest Road

Harvest Road

Harvest Road took women and no one was bothered. From God’s eye and Internet maps it was easy to discover the street but miss sidewalk cracks where dark things with wet skin made night sounds, piles of departed and disfigured pets found under lost animal posters, and ghostly annual October Klansmen hanging in mesquite trees. Karen absorbed all this on Harvest Road, but for her a jog was still just another word for a walk. She breezed past what hid in obvious sight, as she had for months since moving[read more]