Mad Swirl

“All of my words, if not well put nor well taken, are well meant.” Woody Guthrie ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Carry Gravity ~Tyler Malone To see ALL of Tyler's poignantly poetic photos, as well as our other featured artists (45 total!), visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week on Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we fought four fears, close[read more]

“I am my own muse, the subject I know best.” Frida Kahlo ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Please, Throw Shade ~Tyler Malone To see ALL of Tyler's poignantly poetic photos, as well as our other featured artists (45 total!), visit our Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This last week on Mad Swirl's Poetry Forum... we braved winter night to everything white;[read more]

This past 1st Wednesday of July (aka 07.03.19) Mad Swirl whirled up our open mic madness! All you Poet-riots and Creative Conspirators, came to celebrate a revolution, the birth of a nation of free expression! “Yes!” prevailed and “No” vanquished when ALL Y'ALL stood up to be heard; your poems, your songs, your selves in[read more]

One day Perry Beckett took a pulled pork sandwich to Bone’s basement and when he got there, he said he wished he had told them to put more sauce on it. “So take it back over there and tell them you want more sauce on it,” said Bone. “They got the sauce in squeeze bottles on the counter,” said Perry Beckett. He was looking sadly at his sandwich. “So?” said Bone. Perry had worked out all the things that were going to happen today, at least the things he had some say over,[read more]

This train is a church in both its movements and its congregation. No one dares interrupt the silence. Metal rolling over rusted metal. Outside the scenery passes by like life to a teenager: fleeting but feeling never-ending. Most passengers wish they could be anywhere else to feel anything else, to feel something other than strictly operational. At each stop people straggle off, mostly alone, onto their next journey. New passengers come aboard. She hovers over me. She breathes harder and heavier. No other free seats. Her pink hair raises my own[read more]

The alley you're walking down is dark. It is the back end of many dive bars, illuminated by the opening of back doors as some bartender takes out the garbage. The green of large, metal, rectangular, Industrial Waste Company trash containers lines the route. The smell is rancorous; a revulsion that immediately makes itself apparent. There are oily patches everywhere where the trucks have come to make deliveries and empty the containers. As you walk it is silent except for the sound of a sticky squish from your soles. The alley[read more]