The Best of Mad Swirl : 04.02.17

by April 2, 2017 0 comments

“A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a poet must write, if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself.” ~ Abraham Maslow

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“The Scream That Binds Us” (above) by featured artist Bill Wolak. To see more of Bill’s mad illustrations, as well as our other featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forumwe saw a life through snapperview; we reduced another to one from two; we picked through poets’ potpourri; we packed the void with more to see; we bore the shame of love’s rebuff; we spun the sun in celestial stuff; we dreamed day into night with naked delight. Snapped out by snapping in; naked, but not exposed. ~ MH Clay

Magnetized by Nakedness by Bill Wolak

I dreamed the daylight
back into your hair
during those frenzied hours
when our bodies
were magnetized
by nakedness.

Restless as the turning tide’s
balance of wonder and uncertainty,
just for a moment again
my life drifted aimlessly
like a slippery kiss gliding
between your sunburnt shoulders.

While I dreamed the daylight
back into your hair
stunned as lake water staring
into the moon’s luminous oarlock,
I remembered only
that lingering goodbye
like a kite of sand
dissolving into the wind.

April 1, 2017

editors note: If that’s goodbye, I’d love to see hello. – mh clay

Then when the Sun died by Milenko Županović

Saturn cried for days
was in love with the Moon
a servant of the Sun
he met a blind Jupiter
Mars was already ready
in a red mantle,
winner of many duels
Judges Neptune and Uranus
are standing next to weapons
Saturn is still crying
Earth watched sadly
behind the mask of the Sun
stood by his servant Moon
Mars was already dead
Sun was just around the corner
with a gun darkness covered
It was only dust and ashes
Then the Sun put a black veil
on itself
and absolute silence reigned.

March 31, 2017

editors note: Celestial subterfuge ensues. Shhhh… – mh clay

WRITTEN IN STARS by Lindsay McLeod

It was not until she walked
away so purposefully that
I noticed my ruin had
been lounging in her shadow
the whole damned all along,

it flicking through a celebrity
magazine, casual and causal,
taking all the time and all
the time and all the time
in the world.

March 30, 2017

editors note: Risk for reward makes blind to ruin. – mh clay

SPARKLER #20 by Darren C. Demaree

The infinite
isn’t a void,
it’s a filling

of that void
that never
ever finishes.

Oh, how
the young
assemblage tries.

March 29, 2017

editors note: With so much to fill, gotta start young. – mh clay

Rupture by Sanjeev Sethi

We tote excess of existence like dreams
taut with defeat. Truth that erupted was
buried in my briefcase, alcohol was an
enabler. Our style sheet was impaired.
Like statutes it was open to interpretations.
As poets we compounded the causatum.
Ambidextrous lovers are the most loved.
Or the least. Those who seem to please
everyone, please no-one. Their goal is
their goat.

March 28, 2017

editors note: And, here; our goat is got. (We welcome Sanjeev to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

My Child by Christopher Minton

My child was there before
Now there’s empty space
The air still forever more
Clock hands laying waste

Passersby violate without cause
The space once occupied
Not one of them has even paused
Not one of them has cried

My child was there before
Right in that very place
The world content to ignore
The flooded canyons of my face

March 27, 2017

editors note: Such loss, suffered in solitude, should never be. – mh clay

Snapper by Gayle Bell

I have one, a snapper, one man named it. I was at the apex of my powers; so I thought. I was an old man’s pass around; he gave me a place to lay my head that weekend, much better than sleeping in an abandoned car. I got paid $20.00 and a new nickname; catfish, make a man’s nature rise like that r&b song extols.

I was hooking; selling ass out of both drawer legs, my momma called it. The narc looked like a drunk trick. My pimp Cornbread and his main piece Caroline were, unbeknownst to me, clipping tricks in the alley. Married men wouldn’t report them. I was finally caught underage at a club; spent the night in a drunk tank, told I was pregs by my cell mate and deposited back to my mom’s. So I could give it away for free to all comers.

I preferred married men; 20s, one child; one thug as a part time lover/jailer; one milquetoast freak as my semi regular man. Momma ran the juke joint next door, had 3 men rooming in the front room of our one bedroom apt duplex.

Married men gave formula and diaper money. One man had a chain of convenience stores; momma pushed me toward him; he was a regular in the joint and he liked them young. I had a snapper, he called it. I kept it lemony, I even used honey. It was sweet and sour; like life. I finally got an awareness of the pain I was causing the women. The saints who were raising their bad ass kids, washing their stank ass drawers. The drawers I was pulling down, my shame and anger was unrighteous. The nerve of me.

My 30s and 40s found me in a so-called sanctified marriage. He knew the score; I was hiding my bi-ness, hiding my same gender love. I ate gay related books and magazines. We had a threesome with my neighbor. She wasn’t into me. If the Lord is just, may he forgive this Jezebel; before I paid dearly with my girl child’s innocence for my moral sin, he was into my and her daughter. He went to jail. My snapper did not save those girls.

My 50s find me heighted. I have been called hot natured. My ob-gyn told me my cunt cramps are because my vaginal walls are so thick they constrict of their own accord. My last partner was jealous of my vibrator. She could not put her whole hand in me; damn baby your snatch is tight, wish I had my dildo with me, I’d wear you out. Or get sore trying. I grabbed the lube. We have honey on our lips, honey stains on the bed. I still do my kegel exercises. I touch my dark pearl and laugh. I got a snapper.

March 26, 2017

editors note: A genital history, openly disclosed… Honesty? Honestly!- mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

WAKE UP! WE HAVE A READ YOU NEED! Oh, you were already awake?

This week’s featured short at Mad Swirl, “Insomniac” by Tim Frank​, packs a mighty punch that we promise will not make you sleepy.

Here’s what short story editor Tyler Malone had to say about this pick-of-the-week tale:

“Hands in the dark get most of our prayers for death. Take me! Take me, we beg. They wait for the daylight to do the job.”

Need a few winks to see what we mean…

photo “Sleep, Death’s Best Friend” (above) by Tyler Malone aka The Second Shooter

I’m crawling up the walls. I’m howling at the moon. I’m drilling holes in the floorboards. I’m eating butter straight from the dish with my fingers. I’m smoking rollies the wrong way ‘round, sucking on a mouthful of tobacco. I’m discombobulated. I’m texting my fiancé in Nigeria. She’s asleep but I’m texting her anyway. When she wakes there’ll be over a 100 messages waiting for her.

I’m sneaking into the attic and flicking elastic bands at dead rats. I find an old painting of my grandmother. She is elegant and her eyes speak to me. They’re my eyes. I’m going to hang them on my wall.

I’m shutting myself in my room, in the dark. I’m listening to Radiohead, Pink Floyd, The Smiths. I’m listening to the radio. There is war, famine, tsunamis. There is football. I hear the whole world spin. I am writing. I eat more butter, this time with toast. I’m hungry. I want Chinese and Indian food, pizza and crisps. I drink water, Coke, squash. My cravings never end. The more I eat the more I want.

I wrap the duvet around me, burrow my head in the pillows. I take a couple of pills and wait, and wait…

Told ya’ this one will keep you up! Now get the rest of this read on right here!

••• Open Mic •••

Join Mad Swirl & Swirve this 1st Wednesday of March (aka 03.01.17) at 8:00 SHARP as we continue to swirl up our mic madness at our mad mic-ness home, Dallas’ City Tavern!

Come on out, one & all. Get a heapin’ helpin’ of musical mad grooves from Swirve and if the spirit is movin’ ya get yourself a spot on our open mic list. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call Mad Swirl. Come to participate. Come to appreciate. Come to swirl-a-brate!

Catch us swirlin’ up our madness at The City Tavern located at 1402 Main Street • Dallas, TX

P.S. If you’re a Facebook’r and want to get on our pre-list, visit our event page and let us know you’re gonna be there.


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…

Bein’ Peaceful,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor

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