“Master of the universe is every man’s potential insight, cosmic potential.” ~ Maharishi Mahesh Yogi
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we sought home reconciliation in love transformation; we remembered a scholar with an open-necked collar; we broke Spring’s sticky whiskey hold on a lingering love in Winter’s cold; we saw a sexual scenario, schemed by a selfish Lothario; we bore bird screams for what delusional love seems; we gave it all up for a peanut butter cup; we rendered risk down to the grip of a grapevine. Every strand of investment stands in pieces of poetry to prevail. – MH Clay
notes and products
pre occupation with risk and evasion
file and assurance
conduits and bribes
government and contracts
decryption and Le Monde
decline and written
laundered and dropped
thieves looking in the mirror
out in wild
– Carlos Salas : May 9, 2015
editors note: Gripped by the grid and gutted. Gotta keep an ear to the ground to survive. – mh
I REALLY REALLY REALLY LOVE REESE’S
I put a bic lighter in my mouth
I can taste the dirt from when I dropped it on the floor outside
but I am trying to sneak back into my house
and I cant do it with a lighter in my hand
I think the green mile is almost over
its only 11:34, I could watch it again
or I could read tao lin and go to sleep
if I read tao lin before bed will I dream of hamsters?
maybe I could dream about being a hamster
I am just a little hamster and I want a snack
I want a reese’s peanut butter cup
do hamsters eat those?
I really really really love reese’s
if hamsters don’t eat reese’s then I would rather not be a hamster
I feel like I am pretending this is profound
these are the most pathetic words I have ever bothered to write
– Gilbert Franco : May 8, 2015
editors note: Resplendent rodent reality or pathetic personal pretense. Which? (eat a Reese’s, think about it) – mh
I haven’t been drinking.
The birds are screaming this morning,
and the lawn mower is throwing rocks,
The headstones are like windshields after rain
blaring the glare of the sun.
My eyebrows press my skin to creases,
and my coffee tastes like mud.
The strangest part is I haven’t been drinking,
I’m just hung up on the delusion of love.
– GM Spear : May 7, 2015
editors note: With a hangover from too much love, is the cure some hair of the dog? – mh clay
Is it magic or is it madness
Is it magic or is it madness
Flickering in the dark behind dilated eyes,
A translucent gaze yielding to me little
save the imperfect form of your approach
A sloppy seduction of my intentions
mercilessly mutilating promises
forgotten amidst pulsing carnal rhythms
drawing me into a world of mistake
Your love is non exclusionary or specific
to my form, a fluid dance among bodies
entranced by a pharmaceutical peace you
found in your indestructible youth.
In another life I may have loved you in
between myself and a better man, but
you are only mine for the night, so
from you I will take everything.
– David Williams III : May 6, 2015
editors note: Honesty; not the best, but his only, policy. – mh
Absence of heat
Absence of life
Absent from class because I could care less
About particle physics
About my future
About anything other than this warm bed right now
I saw you last Tuesday
You walked right through me
Oblivious to my existence
I stopped when you passed
To feel your breeze
A Breeze that still smells like tulips
And sticky whiskey midnights
A breeze that still leaves me
Spring is on my porch
Patiently waiting to come inside
But I’m not sure that I’m ready for guests
Spring will bring summer
Summer will call autumn
Autumn will invite winter
Warmth can only lead to more
But there is toughness
– Mike Schwanke : May 5, 2015
editors note: Sleep in warm bed, love in cold breeze; applied physics. – mh
An old man with his books
In serried ranks behind him
No open necked collar
Or unshaven countenance
A retired scholar
Professor and Vice-Chancellor
No years wasted
An establishment figure
To the crumbling edges
Of his inheritance.
– David Subacchi : May 4, 2015
editors note: Digitized and distributed to secure perpetual recall. – mh
These Dark Days
For Leigh, on her birthday, with love in my heart,
I dedicate this poem to you, starlight.
Some days I think
in a deep dark gloom,
and I ask myself this question:
Does love truly transform?
Is love a bright light in this
dark and vicious world?
I wonder in silence.
Then you are here.
You show yourself to me,
and once again I fall deeply in love with you.
In wonder and amazement
I love you as a father should,
as a friend trusted and true,
sometimes as a lover, a woman.
When you shine,
such beauty in a dark day;
a bright sun,
transforms my heavy heart;
shining on in the darkness,
your beauty – a star –
moves my heart to love.
When I see you bright as the sun,
I wonder at your beauty
and your bravery.
We are all dust.
Our bones, our flesh
made from the dust of distant dead stars.
This place, cruel and hard, is not our home;
We are only visitors here,
each lost and alone.
We hunger for our home;
Is it as close as the heart,
as distant as the stars?
I look into your eyes
and my heart is lighter,
that place of light
just a little closer.
– John Najjar : May 3, 2015
editors note: The answer here is, “Yes!” Light + Love = Transformation – mh
••• Short Stories •••
(insert catcalling whistle here) Need-a-Read? Well need no more because we got just the read to fit that need! And that read is “A Whistle” by Darryl Lorenzon Wellington!
Here is what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone had to say about this pick-of-the-week tale : “You want a good, happy life that never teeters towards madness? Don’t be a writer. Do you want to hate yourself daily and question yourself and your mind nightly? Pick up a pen and kiss the good life goodbye.”
Here’s a lil bit to wet YOUR whistle:
So many evenings, while sitting at his desk, typing, the poor, hungry writer heard a whistle. And it was an exceptionally skilled whistle. The lips captured to a tee the sliding up the scale, then suavely sauntering back down the scale whistle associated with paying a compliment to a hot lady. Put your lips together and blow. Easy, for dreamers. No, only Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra mastered such a whistle intuitively. Everett always heard the whistle at night, pitch-black nights, above a quiet neighborhood. Furthermore he had a hard time believing that a beautiful woman had walked by, a lady worthy of an Italian serenade… Really, he hadn’t seen anybody; the neighborhood lacked neon Va-Voom. The whistle leapt like a fish flashing out of the water. Flashed. Then disappeared into the sea of light evening traffic.
Two years passed. Everett’s progress had been marginal. The novel was not moving forward. He was stalled and desperate. The familiar whistle sounded, that night, again, as colorful, as sexualized as always. He imagined the man behind it, a he-man calling Come hither, Come hither in the dark, calling confidently, like Sinatra baiting a near-certain catch. And at that moment despite feeling lost, despite lacking confidence in himself he began scribbling, and vaguely remembering that he had believed in a metaphor too…
Put your mouse and cursor together and blow… uh… we mean click, right here!
••• Open Mic •••
Oh what a night it was in the land of Swirl’n mic Mad-ness! From the get-go we knew this inaugural kick-off at the NEW Absinthe Lounge was gonna be one to remember!
As Swirve started their jazzy madness, the crowd found their way into and filled the VIP lounge with their heads boppin’ and their fingers snappin’. As the last notes were fading away, hosts Johnny O and MH Clay opened up the stage to our featured the mad-tastic dynamic duo Opalina Salas and Maggie Smith. There was no doubt that they would deliver a must-see kinda show and sure enough, it was something mighty divine to see and feel! If you were there, you know what we mean. If not, well… your loss, truly. Sorry.
After a brief intermission, the mic got opened up to the mad ones who filled the Lounge and what a night of the beat-utifullest poetry and music ensued! Here’s a shout out to all who graced us with their words, their songs, their divine madnesses…
(In case you missed this Mad action, here is the picture show, (thanks to Dan “the man” Rodriguez) of who was who…)
Sebastián Hasani Páramo
HUGE thanks to Swirve (Chris Curiel, Gerard Bendiks, and Tamitha Curiel) for keeping the beat til the wee hours of the night. We got taken to another dimension of time and space on the wings of their jazzy madness!
And as always, big THANKS to the patron saint of the loco local mad ones, Kevin Christensen, owner of Absinthe Lounge, who has given 124 reasons to give him all the mad props and love that we do!
We look forward to ALL the m-adventures to come! Stay tuned for…
June: Brendan McCormack (from Ireland)
July: John Kelly & Stefan Prigmore
August: PW Covington
The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin’ on… now… now… NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, every every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the mad conversations going on in Mad Swirl’s World? Then stop by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…
Short Story Editor