The Best of Mad Swirl : 09.19.15

by September 19, 2015 0 comments

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Broken Yet Standing” (above) by featured artist Aniruddha Sastikar. To view more of Aniruddha’s works, along with our other featured artists, visit our chockfull Mad Gallery at!

“Words are but pictures of our thoughts.” ~ John Dryden

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forumwe tallied two times seventeen; we frittered away our hopes for the day; we splashed in the swell of a long dry well; we found liberation in lowered expectation; we stirred up a beautiful life; we kept scrolled through for friendship true (too keen on the screen); we rocked a rad row with a tweaked twenty thou. Brightly burns the flame; we fly to the fire. ~ MH Clay

Eaux Claires pt. II by Taylor Gall

Twenty thousand people here and I am
Twenty thousand people here and I am
proud to be
crafted out of sturdy Midwestern bones,
proud to be
a beer drinker in a tornado infested farm field.
Twenty thousand people here and I am
one of a kind,
part of the crowd,
seeing old lovers and new friends,
passing strangers and making
acquaintances with the bugs that
flew into my car to
make love with the overhead lights.

September 19, 2015

editors note: Yes! The fleeting frenzy of individuals in the collective; moths to the flames of the moths to the flame, ad infinitum… – mh clay

Internet Scam by Kleio B

Slowly the poison spread,
Surreptitiously it smiled,
You tried to resist-
Alas you were entwined!

While they talked about love,
They only sold false hope,
Caught in that trap,
Your mystery unfolds.

When you are still alone,
Your timeline’s full of notifications;
You scroll till the end,
But you still have no friend.

You call it social media,
I call it a failed hope,
Wrapped around your finger,
It’s rapping on your toes.

When will you get up?
Shun this make belief clan?
Meet real people, wave an arm?
Shove away this internet scam?

September 18, 2015

editors note: Soon… Yes! Right away… we will… First… one… more…. twitch o’ the thumb… (Kleio has moved us with his madness in Short Stories. Nice to see his poetry here.) – mh clay

The Stirring by Robert L. Martin

Breathless masses
Airless forests
Choking leaves
Ghosts of seasons
Brittle skeletons
Quiet tombs
Love’s requiem
Amputated limbs
Narrow prisons
Dusty chains
Blocked hallways
Crumbling stairs
Sluggish streams
Dead waters
Abandoned hopes
Grounded spirits
Antiquated laughter
Stagnation of time

Merciful sunrise
Vibrant colors
Exquisite shapes
Sweet jasmine
Deep breaths
Beautiful air
Running streams
Smiling meadows
Pink clouds
Musical wind
Whistling maples
Dancing barley
Swaying skirts
Beauty embodied
Sensual melodies
Rousing spirits
Nature primed
Cupid’s arrows
Love’s playground
Life living again
Oh beautiful life

September 17, 2015

editors note: Dark to light, the one you like comes ’round again. Just keep stirring. – mh clay

Not To Do List by Ivan Jenson

search yourself for
a talent
that you can squander
hunt for potential
that can never be reached
then reach for stars
that snicker at you
from light years away
now plan to stand up
at the altar
where you promise
to commit
and put a ring around
rosy promises
throw away
a perfectly
good morning
by sleeping
into the afternoon
and put up a
“do not disturb” sign
on your door
just in case
opportunity knocks
in the night
and finally
those that believe
in you most
by panhandling
your affairs
with homeless
just for the
Zen of it

September 16, 2015

editors note: Inspiring words from a demotivational speaker… – mh clay

QUENCHED by Helen Harrison

It bugged me at the beginning;
Relying on other people’s wells
To quench my thirst. My own
Myriad ran dry.

I crouched, over
Other people’s supplies;
Drawing up slowly, as
Droplets fell back down
Causing plopping sounds…

I watched as the ripples,
Awakened something inside
That cool shimmering rim.
Can’t begin to tell you
How it felt, after being
Empty for so long.

September 15, 2015

editors note: Upfilling before outpouring. Drink deeply, sisters and brothers! – mh clay

Morning by Maurice Devitt

I feel like I am standing on the shoulder
of the day, looking for something to break free,
a smile on the face of a woman waiting
for a bus, a pinch of sparkle from last night
or even the name of an actor, childhood favourite,
who has followed me around for days,
unafraid to show his face but traveling
incognito, aware that pleasure is pointless
without pain and that, in the act of consummation,
the colour drains, just as a stone shaken
from a shoe may say nothing, lose itself
easily in the crowd and the woman,
boarding the bus, will likely catch her reflection,
turn her head to find a seat.

September 14, 2015

editors note: Each morning a day in the life; turn your head now. – mh clay

TWO HAIKUS by Carl Kavadlo

haiku 1

there are few noises
sweeter than a car alarm
shutting itself off.

haiku 2

a single poem:
you are as rare as a day
in dark alaska.

September 13, 2015

editors note: Sweet relief, the first. Erstwhile love comes, the second. We say “Thanks!” to Carl. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

Happy Need-a-Read Friday! Need a bit of beat to start this end’o’week? Then we got just the tale to share with you!
Here’s a few notes of “King of the Nighttime” by Contributing Writer & Poet, Carl Kavadlo:

Need-a-Read? This week’s featured story is a treat with a bit of beat

Here is what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone had to say about this pick-of-the-week tale “King of the Nighttime“ from Carl Kavadlo: “Music, it’s all around us. You just need to seek it out by sniffing out its blood and where it flows.”

Here’s a few beats to get you goin’:

Nick was in the bedroom, occupied with a musical question. He held a red, Guild Sunburst acoustic guitar. Nick was a musician, and contributed to the support of the small family, along with Donna, the wife. She worked mornings as a kindergarten teacher in a private school. The school was one block east, on Utica Avenue. They were on East 49th, the block over, on the first floor of the two-family house.

“The chord changes follow the same pattern all the time,” he thought, “except for the song’s bridge, with a little variation there. The singer, though, he’s got to memorize a different set of lyrics each time, and then another for the bridge.”

Nick was considering singing, along with the guitar. He strummed through Fogerty’s “Lookin’ Out My Back Door.” He even sang along:

Just got home from Illinois,
Locked the front door, oh, boy.
Got to sit down, take a rest on the porch.

Imagination sets in …

“Oh, listen, Mama, Daddy’s singing,” said the older child, 4. “He sounds funny.”

“Shh!” said Mama.

“Fogerty did have a good sense of lyric,” Nick thought. And he went through the rest of the tune. Something about ‘giants doing cartwheels’ in the lyric.

“That’s it,” he thought. “I’m going to try it.”…

We know you don’t wanna stop this groove! Get the rest of your tune on right here!


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…

Seein’ It,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor

Leave a Reply