The Best of Mad Swirl : 12.03.22

The Best of Mad Swirl : 12.03.22
••• The Mad Gallery ••• "Breathe I" ~ Jada Yee To see all of Jada’s beautifully chaotic collages, as well as our other resident artists (50 and counting!) take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This past week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum... we had nothing amiss with a dog in bliss; we[read more]

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 12.07.22

Mad Swirl Open Mic : 12.07.22
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of December (aka 12.07.22) when we'll once again be doin' the open mic voodoo that we do do at our OC home, BARBARA'S PAVILLION and from our Mad Zoom Room (broadcasted via FB Live)! Starting at 7:30pm, join host MH Clay & guest host Desmene Statum as we will kick[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.26.22

The Best of Mad Swirl : 11.26.22
"You have to go on and be crazy. Craziness is like heaven." Jimi Hendrix ••• The Mad Gallery ••• "In Repair" ~ Jada Yee To see all of Jada’s beautifully chaotic collages, as well as our other resident artists (50 and counting!) take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum ••• This past week on Mad Swirl’s[read more]

Gods of New Seasons

November sun sparks
rain, igniting scraps of leaves
draped over naked, shining branches.

The wind: ice. The sun:
a thin hand on my back, its touch
a reminder of July’s oppressive blanket.

How I’d tried to escape it
in sweaty sleep, not any sheet
to cover me, not any wind, only July smothering

my skin. You in the cooler
basement, me too stubborn to move.
Dreams that night carried me on waves between

barely sleeping and barely
waking. Summers will always be
like that: hot and inescapable — Winters like this:

rain, wind, autumn air
ice-hot, ice-cold. Years spiraling
around and around until we dizzily brown

and fall off branches,
spinning to murky, mucky ground
where rain dissolves us into tissue, fragments

of bone. It’s enough
to make me restless, send me
out into the trees where the wind thickens

the fall, frees rain
in drops onto my face and hair:
cool, wet peace. I remember a night beside you

another place another
time, when, through the open
window above our bed, a wind brushed bright snow

from the roof next door
onto me, startling me into
cold grace. So grateful. So glad to be alive.

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