WHAT’S NEW

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 02.01.23

Note of Gratitude to the Mad Ones : 02.01.23
If you tuned in to Mad Swirl Open Mic this past 1st Wednesday of Febuary (aka 02.01.23), then you know the frozen tundra that was DFW led us to do our mic madness virtually. The show must go on! Here’s a shout out to all who graced our VIRTUAL stage with their words, their songs, their[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 01.28.23

The Best of Mad Swirl : 01.28.23
There is only one real happiness in life, and that is the happiness of creating. Frederick Delius ••• The Mad Gallery ••• "That Smile Sharpened by Fire" ~ Bill Wolak To see all of Bill’s wonderfully trippy illustrations, as well as our other resident artists (50 and counting!) take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery! ••• The Poetry Forum[read more]

The Best of Mad Swirl : 01.21.23

The Best of Mad Swirl : 01.21.23
What is really beautiful must always be true. Stendhal ••• The Mad Gallery ••• "Restless as Driftwood" ~ Bill Wolak To see all of Bill’s wonderfully trippy illustrations, 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 made[read more]

POETRY FORUM

For Salvation For Redemption

by Guest Poet
There’s a burning candle at the end
of the tunnel dancing to the flute
of the Piper — swaying its flame
left to right and plumb at attention
collecting taxes from users of the
route — boiling bloods of innocence.

Making the spirit possess itself in
its own way by talking strange language
in a tongue that stirs up lightning
and thunder and fire and water —
and crumbling into the dust covering
the shoes of a lone traveler, juggling
round the cities of men on foot.

Madonna — mother of mercy, minder
of Christ prepare a manger for another
birth, of a star cometh close, crawling up
on us: the one the Jews look beyond!

Look, bend your gaze inward and watch
the watcher chewing rocks and rubble
at the table of lust adorned with greed
from his past tribulation of his share of
hunger for redemption, for salvation,
for his gifting he lost at the toss of
a pair of dice thrown at his face.

This is his sanctuary the place that
broke the bone of his refuge — where
he was chased around naked, beating the
drums of ignorance as he watches his
father’s wife lose herself to him…
in an atmosphere drenched in incense.

– Uchechukwu Onyedikam

Recently Published

Bankruptcy

by Bhargab Chatterjee
The feeling as an infiltrator
remains inside me.
All-time I travel
on the edge
of my limit.
Weeds grow everywhere;
though I am not
afraid of[read more]

I dare everything and still live

by Guest Poet
Home is disintegrating into flakes of Earth.
No matter what you say of the stomach,
it doesn’t still grind like the boys on the street.
Every time[read more]

A Faint Ticking Sound

by Guest Poet
A young girl is sweeping dead bees and
cigar butts in the town square while the
last bus tonight is limping out of town
like[read more]

SHORT STORIES

The Hockey Puck

The Hockey Puck

by Jim Bates
You’d think after being something cool like a Roman gladiator, or majestic like a golden eagle, shape-shifting into a hockey puck would have been a letdown. But we shapeshifters don’t get to call the shots. We have to take what we get and this time I was a hockey puck, an inanimate object with no heart or soul. It was one of the weirdest experiences I ever had. And one of the best. It all began when I awoke in a dark space where my first thought was, Man does it[read more]
Dribble

Dribble

by Susie Gharib
I paused to cast a subtle glance at my facade to check if something looked awry for the public eye. I quickly looked at my zip whose little ring sat snug beneath my belt, safeguarding the intimate part of my fabric. I searched for any prints that my doting dog might have left. The upper part of my cardigan was well buttoned, obstructing a full view of the cleavage of my bosom. I knew I was without a husband and a child, a threat to the custodians of the family[read more]
Exhibit A

Exhibit A

by Edward N. McConnell
I don't look like a murderer, do I? According to the State, I am. The newspapers think so. Those empty-headed anchors on the local evening news agree. As for social media, I can't even. I know the cards are stacked against me. The killing happened last summer on the outdoor patio at the town's favorite watering hole. I am not sure how this incident started but start it did. The victim was loud and obnoxious. She was also slappy, something of a biter, and known to hit people with a closed[read more]