The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.21.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.21.17
"The only people for me are the mad ones: the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who... burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles." Jack Kerouac ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Nakedness That Awakens the Wind” (above) by featured artist Bill[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.14.17

The Best of Mad Swirl : 10.14.17
"To destroy is always the first step in any creation." e. e. cummings ••• The Mad Gallery ••• “Flashback of a Recurrent Hallucination” (above) by featured artist Bill Wolak. To see more of Bill’s twisted illustrations, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week in Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we[read more]

When Looking Back Makes One Want To Look Forward

When Looking Back Makes One Want To Look Forward
This week in our Poetry Forum we experienced a rare confluence of creative vortices, all stirred up together in the Swirl. Six new Contributing Poets (CP) and one returning Contributing Poet, all within one week. For forecasters of freak art events, this phenomenon is impossible to predict. But, we can look back and admire the[read more]

Air Dancers

Where homes are houses
And shoes are anchors,
Bound to the earth that
Sings out of tune,
The flight of music is a wounded bird
And dancers all have weighted wings.
Poetry is the hub of assorted data
And stories are lists of vital instructions.
Sleep is a refuge for all the rebels
And dreams are for the disenchanted.
Sound is an obstacle to the flow of music
And the passion is for heated lovers only.

Air dancers leave the earth while they dance.
They roll with the sound of the silent clouds.
They twist their bodies to the mood of the rain.
They fly into stories of space and beyond.
They kiss the angels and jump into heaven.
They sing with their feet in the mystical air,
As they dance with the poetry
Of their playful minds,
And laugh with the wind
As they sail into forever,
While disconnected to that rocky sphere,
That planet of various
Weights and measures,
That earth that touches the dancers’ feet.

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Inquiring Minds

Where do photons go to get some sleep?
Away from all that light?
Where are the “W”-rays, the “Z”-rays?
How come the “Xs” get to have all[read more]

Down On Front Street

This is a foggy step
An amber goo between the prints
The more there is the better chance I have of it fossilizing
I hope you[read more]

NICE GUY IN A CRUMBY TOWN

Circumstances force me to be unpleasant
sometimes
it leads to a low ebb
…the tides of good thought recede
leaving their naked sand
full of crabs and crawly vermin

where the[read more]

M-Theory Musings

M-Theory Musings

What theory unifies forces, weak, strong, with gravity— also, to which belong all the string theories of why and because? To answer these queries, M-theory does. Proponents aver it offers clarity as to the issue of singularity. Where there’s a will there’s a way, so they say… In the beginning our universe sprang from membranes colliding to cause a Big Bang… Hence matter and energy stem from vibrations of strings seen by seers in a music of spheres. One mode of vibration, or note, makes the string an electron, another a photon… and what of Higgs-boson? There’s[read more]
Saints

Saints

In the Egyptian desert, prayer in the air, the legend about the origin in an ancient tomb in golden letters written memories. Hordes of demons in the year of the wilderness, the cry from the grave, the light in the sand, hordes are getting closer, changing shape, a saint in heaven hermit in prayer, the girl in the river. River which cuts the desert in two parts, a girl with two faces, a saint in heaven, swarms of insects in the direction of the desert, the girl was washing with fresh[read more]
A Gathering of Generations

A Gathering of Generations

An old man, a poet of the generation of Kerouac, Corso and Ginsburg, is at the lectern tonight in the auditorium of a small college nestled in the Ozarks of Arkansas. Although widely published for many years, both in the United States and abroad, he has never done a reading of his work. He attended a reading once, back in the Fifties. It was held in San Francisco and given by Gregory Corso. All the literati of the day were there, a number of them under the influence of one[read more]