WHAT’S NEW

The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.09.19

The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.09.19
“Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere.” Carl Sagan ••• The Mad Gallery ••• Untitled (from the series "Wiring Simplified") ~ R. Keith This month we welcome back one of our favorites (though admittedly it’s hard to pick ‘favorites’ when it comes to the gallery), the great R. Keith. Combining[read more]

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 11.06.19

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 11.06.19
This past 1st Wednesday of November (aka 11.06.19) Mad Swirl once again whirled up our open mic madness! Once again we did our thang at the historic Top Ten Records! HUGE GRATS to them for opening their arms to us Mad ones & shout out to all you mad poets, performers, artists and musicians who helped[read more]

New Featured Artist : R. Keith

New Featured Artist : R. Keith
This month we welcome back one of our favorites (though admittedly it’s hard to pick ‘favorites’ when it comes to the gallery), the great R. Keith. Combining a variety of vintage pictures with ripped up text (captions?), these collages have a stark mystery to them that always captures our attention. We don’t quite know why and we don’t[read more]

POETRY FORUM

garden

by Guest Poet
lost & alone in the garden
of “give a fuck” i watch first rays
of light drift into a morning sky as my
barren feet crunch across grass frozen
in a thin frost, a lingering reminder
of a rampaging night –

leaves glitter & toss as a sullen wind weeps
through tall branches, rabbits alight from
hiding, eager to sup on morning gifts of
sustenance & life, w/cock in hand i piss
on dirt & rock, dreams still rattle in my skull –

he is gone, he is gone, he is gone –

i stretch & yawn, regain my cup & drink deeply,
steaming coffee burns my lips & tongue yet i
take it all in a single gulp; my head aches & moans,
but daylight inches up my skin, retrieving my
sanity as the warmth of life embraces me again –

yellow & orange & blue flowers bloom, their stamens
erect & eager; petals unfold to receive the gift of
a now risen sun; bees hover & dart before setting down
gentle, rubbing & inhaling the flowers’ scent, its taste sweet
sticky, trickle down your throat; remembrance of your
sorrow as you take me in again –

he is gone, he is gone, he is gone –

– Jack Henry

Recently Published

Zuw Myon

by Guest Poet
You gifted me a sorrow and forgot your gift
I remain so obliged, it weighs me down
– Faiz Ahmed Faiz
(Tr. Keki N. Daruwalla)

For A.S.Y.

I bottled that[read more]

But Never Again

by Alexandria Biamonte
I loved you once.
I craved your laugh,
Your love,
Your touch, once.
I saved up for engagement rings.
I thought you were brilliant, once.
I thought you could light up[read more]

Red

by Dana Al Rashid
The color of life
The shade of all wounds
It blackens into sorrow
As the sad moon fades away

The ripeness of an apple
The grounding of the reefs
The thread[read more]

SHORT STORIES

My Amnesia Garden

My Amnesia Garden

by Dan Cardoza
When someone quits you, for whatever reason, even death, there are parts of you that languish, anger, and wither. You fallow empty of sun, thirst for rain. It can be an emotional cardiac arrest, or a diabetic depression, coma. Instinctively you know, just as the removal of slivers won’t fall trees, to survive, you need to keep growing. A broken heart has its own sound––anguish. It blooms between hammer and anvil. With sharks for wishes and prayers, it’s death by minnows. I must not be that religious. It’s been two years, three[read more]
The Sophia Energy

The Sophia Energy

by Mike Lafontaine
I believe God is a woman. Why do I think God is a woman? The creator of all living things? I think it happened after the accident (I’ll get to that later on). For the longest time I tried to understand my own purpose. I used to look up at the stars and feel somehow I was in the wrong place. Gnostics believe in the Sophia Code, or the Sophia Energy which is a fractal energy, an all-encompassing energy field which is God. An energy where the creator exists which in[read more]
Hands

Hands

by Vivek Nath Mishra
I remember my mother had built a small terrace garden on the roof. I was around fourteen years old then and I helped my mother in her endeavors. She had built a room size steel cage with whatever money she had saved for years. It was impossible for her to do gardening on the roof without any guard as mischievous red faced macaque monkeys would destroy her plants. My father used to give her some money for the household expenses and she saved a little amount for her terrace garden.[read more]