The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.29.15

The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.29.15
“Speak clearly, if you speak at all; carve every word before you let it fall.” ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Dancing on Burning Kites” (above) by featured artist Bill Wolak. To see more Mad works from Bill, and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery. ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week[read more]

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 09.02.15

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 09.02.15
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of September (aka 09.02.15) at 8:00 sharp, when we will swirl it up madly in the LIVE way that we do every month now for OVER 10 years! This month we are featuring poet Sebastián Hasani Páramo! Here's a bit about Sebastián: Sebastian H. Paramo is poet living in Denton[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.22.15

The Best of Mad Swirl : 08.22.15
“Art is the most beautiful of all lies.” ~ Claude Debussy ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Carefree As the Journey of Perfume” (above) by featured artist Bill Wolak. To see more Mad works from Bill, and our other contributing artists, please visit our Mad Gallery. ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... wwe quelled[read more]

Crusader (i)

On the last Tuesday of November, anno domini 1095, Pope Urban ii, speaking outside the French city of Clermont, called for “a holy war to rid the holy land of the vengeful forces of Islam”. He offered “a cleansing of all sin for those purified in the fire of battle” and so began the first Crusade.
The first of many.

On the march to Antioch
heat killed the horses
quicker than any lance,

chevaliers rapidly reduced
to fearsome, armoured infantry.

Our progress marked
by a steady circling
of carrion birds,
massive wings
bleak,
dark,
angelic.

Beneath their darkling promise we marched, always onward, to Jerusalem.

Eighteen months before;

on the dockside at Brindisi,
we stood for hours
in an unfriendly sun,
as captains, nobles,
horses, dogs,
bags, baggage
and provisions
boarded first,

their comfort
a priority.

Finally us,
the great unwashed,
God’s grim parade
in homespun and motley,
a many mouthed mob
all bad breath
and broken teeth,
checked for weight
then passed aboard.

“A light ship for a heavy sea”
the stewards shouted
heaving our possessions
overboard,
“no point in complaining”
they smilingly declared,

“it’s policy”.

At Antioch;
Thatcher John,
killed his first Saracen,
with a handaxe to her head,
four more he killed within the hour
daughters all of the cloven headed woman,
skilled, he was, in the red work of slaughter.

“God’s will, God’s will” his raw throated roar.

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