“If you want to win anything – a race, yourself, your life – you have to go a little berserk.” ~ George A. Sheehan
••• The Mad Gallery •••
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we turned rejection on its ear; we beautified now with those not here; we constructed faith from crucifixion; we took from givers, without conviction; we bowed with a bower; we cowed with a coward; we dismembered a member; we contained a crazy. We covered it all, from clear to hazy. ~ MH Clay
This is the Title by Tom Hall
A lot of people I call “friends” don’t know that I’m insane.
“Insane” arouses passions when I really am quite tame.
“Tame” is a subjective word I feel that I attain,
Cause even though I have no skull, it’s hard to read a brain.
Using iams, I will try to make this next line work.
I’m bi-polar with little hints of schizophrenia.
Think: Fluctuating feelings with a little squirt of quirk.
At least that’s what my state says, and that’s California.
Thus, my doctors without bounds, they give me lots of pills.
A trillion dollar industry I’ve done my share to float.
You’ll see my graceful qualities, my motions, wit and skill,
Those stories that you might have heard, all petty anecdotes
But now when Tom-Tom eats his poo, I’ll open up the door.
We’re all in this conspiracy, It’s not for me to bore.
editors note: Cause or effect; his title or their trade? Aid for the doctors, or doctors for the aid? – mh clay
dick in a wheelbarrow by Melanie Brand
I’m a girl who was born with a giant dick.
My dick is so big that I had to special order a jumbo sized wheelbarrow from Lowes just to have some way of carting it around.
Walking down the street, hauling along my massive cock in a jumbo sized metal bucket on wheels is an exhausting chore. This gargantuan piece of sore meat is so hard to see around that I often trip over every possible thing that most people don’t even think twice about stepping over or around.
I run into everything with my hefty hunk of junk. Yesterday I rammed it squarely into the door of the women’s restroom so hard that I felt like I was going to pass out from the shooting pain and embarrassment.
It’s so hard to hide the girth of my penis. No matter what I threw over it to hide it people would still see it and snicker under their breath stuff like, “Check out that chick hauling around that massive wanker” or “who’s she trying to fool by trying to hide that ugly man meat under that tarp.”
Some people though chase after me to get a better look at my King Kong sized flesh dong, they want to touch it, rub it and do all sorts of things to it that make my stomach turn at the mere mention. Their sexual advances get tiring after a while, almost as tiring as it is to have to lift this wheelbarrow up all the time to get anywhere.
Then there’s the problem of my disgusting dick getting in the way of keeping a job. No matter how hard I try to hide that bruised up and sore lump of embarrassment, my jobs always end with the same excuses of my perverted freakish dick being too distracting and obscene for their work place.
Christian fanatics are worse, they chase me down the street when they see me shouting “You’re a sin against god. You and your dick should be stoned to death. You’re a massive pervert.” My personal favorites are when they call me a pedophile even though their brats are the ones throwing rocks at my giant dick.
When I run out of breath, trying to escape the torment and pain, strangers poke at my colossal cock with sticks, inflicting more pain on the most vulnerable part of my body, just to satisfy their sick sense of curiosity.
Good days end well if I haven’t tripped over my enormous dick more than a dozen times or had some smaller prick try and feel up that lump of flesh in a wheelbarrow. A good night for me is if I can just move that ugly slab of flesh out of the way where I don’t have to see it or feel it and enjoy the bliss of being able to ignore my giant dick in a wheelbarrow.
Just for one night.
editors note: Kafka was a prophet. Who knew? – mh clay
eagerly waiting by Volodymyr Bilyk
eagerly waiting for a moment
to be blatantly missed
and torn apart preemptively
deemed utterly superfluous…
CREAKING door sound
under the curtain.
“for your imagination.”
guess i should stand up and pray for rain
so i can think then.
waste muscles its way through me
spurting clouds through any aperture it finds.
turns out – there are a lot of them.
it’s quite annoying.
goose flesh ensues,
editors note: Apertures everywhere, not a towel in sight. – mh clay
King of Misfit Toys by Chris Zimmerly
I bow before you the king of misfit toys
Always wearing a hole
Always leaving a stain
I didn’t mean to frighten you
I was just thinking like I do
All these years of darkness fondling the dream
Angel versus devil they seem the same thing
All the colors of hurt wing
When love is the hardest thing
Try to fly on a broken wing
When love is the hardest thing
editors note: To remove a malignancy, yet leave the heart intact; so hard, indeed. (Read another of Chris’s creations; something to crow about, on his page – check it out). – mh clay
Chain of denial by James Brown
My mind, full of envy over my open heart passion of giving so freely and sight never seeing clearly, mind and heart juggling instruments for the receivers with knowledge of my heart and them deceiving.
Mind holds back, fighting facts, heart reacts, gifting out, no thank you or profitable give back, only a single red eye blink back.
Hands are out to receive never for reprieve for a condemned heart covered in gold.
Mind encased by the power of slave love with every whipping beat from the heart; chain of denial.
editors note: Altruism; what takers love to see most in others. – mh clay
Golgotha by Milenko Županović
in the dark
on the hill
editors note: Truth to cleanse, found in the dark of self. – mh clay
Overflow by Nikki Anne Schmutz
I couldn’t let go,
so I buried you deep inside
where the reminders of loss
remained unseen, resting
as seeds scattered in places
tended by memories.
A garden sprouted
in the depths of my soul
and grew until it could not
I couldn’t let go,
and you became the beauty
editors note: Yes! Sweet recall to make the emptiness full. – mh clay
Dear Editor: by Joan McNerney
Unfortunately I’m unable to
accept your rejection.
So many come in, it is
possible to accept only a few.
Due to staff limitations
no specific comment
can be made on yours.
Be assured it received
a careful reading.
I do hope you find a home
for this rejection.
Remember rejections are my
foundation and lifeblood.
Always feel free to send more.
editors note: Walkin’ in another’s shoes… – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
Need-a-Read? Mad Swirl has just the one to feed your need with.
This week’s featured short-short “The Idiots Heritage,” by Guram Svanidze just might feed your read need
Here’s what short story editor Tyler Malone has to say about it:
“Words to live and die by, but mostly to die, because if most artists have it their way, their words will be all that’s left after death.”
And here’s a bit to get you goin’:
(photo (above) “What Outlasts Us” by Tyler Malone aka The Second Shooter)
Each street has its own imbecile, and such was the case with ours. His name was Vaja, with a stutter that caused him many troubles. Anybody could “pretend to be” Vaja and allow himself to babble everything. Nonetheless, sometimes it is useful to have such poor idiots. Vaja invented the word “Ке-ке”, which means: “someone has died.”
One day some men were playing backgammon directly in the street under a tree’s shadow. Meanwhile, a little boy brought a message that 100-year-old Uncle Vano had died. There was a break, with Vaja punctuating this pause: “Vano ke-ke!” The neologism soon became habitual. What was there in this word: disrespect or fear of death? In the event, no one bothered to reflect on it.
The exception was Bejan, my neighbor: “Disrespect to death will be avenged!” He arrived at this conclusion when he became really ill. For a long time, Bejan had been reproaching himself that he was abusing the use of alcohol. However, once an idea struck him that he had been punished since the time when Robert, a young lad, had died. He suffered from a ruthless illness and expired in the hospital. As usual, men were playing dominoes in the street when a woman, a neighbor, opened the window and with a tearful voice delivered the awful news. Bejan was in a good mood. He had just won several games, one after another.
He let drop as follows: “Robert ке-ke!” Nobody noticed. Other men became agitated and approached the woman. Only Bejan with his domino pieces remained sitting.
After a while, Bejan’s liver began to ache somewhat, he lost his appetite, and weakness overcame him such that he had to cease working. He was a taxi driver, and his stomach suddenly started to expand. Soon thereafter, doctors made a diagnosis: cirrhosis…
Keep this read goin’ right here!
••• Open Mic •••
All we here at Mad Swirl have gots’ta say about this past 1st Wednesday is Awww! OK, we have a LOT more words to share, what with ALL the poets & musicians and pics & links & tags & whatnot’s we gots…
This month we celebrated our 12th year of mic madness by hosting us a MAD HOOTENANNY! And nothing said HOOTENANNY like musical the MAD-jazzyfunkyfolkyyes-NESS from Swirve-Tree!
Here’s a shout out to all who graced us with their words, their songs, their divine madnesses…
(photos courtesy of Dan “the man” Rodriguez. To see all of ’em visit our Mad Swirl Flickr page)
Johnny O & MH Clay
James Barrett Rodehaver
HUGE thanks to Swirve-Tree (Chris Curiel, Gerard Bendiks – MH Clay, Chris Zimmerly, Greg Robinson) for taking us to another dimension of time and space on the wings of their jazzy madness!
Thanks to all who came out to the City Tavern & shared this beat-utifullest night of poetry and music with us!
and last but NOT least…
HUGEST thanks to The City Tavern’s proprietor Joshua Florence for blessing us with our new digs and welcoming us mad ones with open arms and giving us a swirl’n space we can call home.
May the madness swirl your way! ’til next 1st Wednesday…
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