The Best of Mad Swirl : 06.13.20

by on June 14, 2020 :: 0 comments

“Our work is a scream of freedom.”


••• The Mad Gallery •••

“The Bargainer”Darrell Black

It’s been an honor featuring Darrell’s mixed-media “Definism” canvases, but as with all good things go, so must his feature set…

To see all of Darrell’s mixed-media “Definism” canvases, as well as our other featured artists (50 in all!), at Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we screamed for breath to speak against all senseless death; we stood on wall, prepared to take a sunset fall; we flower withered, determined time to go no further; we heard a suggestion, how now it’s time to raise some questions; we colored by ounce colonius’ chance to buy by bounce; we made a plea to find rebirth in death’s idea; we dredged life’s mire to resurrect or toss in the fire. We burn our words for heat and light; burn brief, but burn bright. ~ MH Clay

Confession of an unlived life by Mike Zone

Screaming mind into overdrive on this lust sweat-drenched night
heartbeat away from mine
see the hands of strangers all around
all over her figure over the years as I sat desolate
alone in the room
mattress on the floor
haunted by desolation and loneliness, afraid to touch and feel
know the artificiality we’re all plagued by…
jacking off with my Russian literature and doom-laden existential tomes pretending to be a quantum Buddhist in a sick layer of Zen hatred
I didn’t die all this way not to live
dying over and over
to live in a hungry yearning
sitting with the bottle alone
waiting between car repairs
wondering “what’s the use?”
until it stopped
you settle
that’s it, you’re going to do it, breathe, fuck it, ruin it, decimate feeble brains, make your mark
or that’s what I thought
guilt-stricken on the cold kitchen floor
fridge buzzing, blurred,
where was I?
vodka bottle empty
another fifth of something broken
dried brown drink on the floor
glass shards in my face
the first time it hit
my mother was dead
how maybe she never loved
she loved to torture her son
cleaning her shit and piss, as she said, “something’s wrong here, you don’t have anyone.”
Remembering how you toyed with her insulin to see how close you could get her to death, to the point of begging?
How she wept.
How they kept you from going to school.
Kicked you out after you took ecstasy.
Gave you a meal
set you out on your ass with nothing but the clothes on your back and the car you bought?
Why do these revelations come at the worst of times?
during the best moments of now?
On the point of building something great
or shall we burn it all down now?

June 13, 2020

editors note: After reflection comes bare resolve or a grand conflagration. – mh clay

Rebirth by Goirick Brahmachari

I won’t die alone.
I have learnt that in a hard way.
It required years of drunken rants,
Months of nausea, anger, jealousy, and hate,
And crazy meandering and random,
Unsafe, interactions with strangers.
I have lost my money and I have lost my fame
I lost my self-worth and I have lost my ugly self
In an attempt to restore my mind.

But the day must finally
Spread its wings
After cold hard years of night
And like boats, we sailed together
And the hills were calling
And the sea forgot her name
And we lost ourselves in the idea of death
Only to start living again.

June 12, 2020

editors note: Start with your own big idea; start again. – mh clay

what do you think about playing 12 minutes into the future, man? by J. D. Nelson

oh I dreamt of something using the other letters in the word book
fantasy picnic with the ants and the clouds above smiling with the smiling sun

a bear was eating the earth
and the people were like ahhhh
this is terrible I said

the colors of the stars twinkling pink green and blue now it’s yellow
making fun of the earth

at the big bounce store we have values and bargains for you and you and even you
if you’re in town why don’t you come on down

there is no person on earth with the same name as colonius dew the rampant reacher

June 11, 2020

editors note: Call for Mr. Dew! Your bounce is ready… – mh clay

Sedulousness by Sanjeev Sethi

Raising a question
is sometimes the solution.
When answers provoke
an examination,
it’s onset of perspicuity.
It is the makeup of the mighty:
government and its gyre,
personages and the pecunious
to circumvent scrutiny.
It’s in our interest
to doorstep with intenseness.
Talismans of truism
must wax under our watch.

June 10, 2020

editors note: Some are calling this sedition. Others are saying, “It’s about damn time!” – mh clay


It’s raining today
And yesterday was fine

The Masters
Know the way of heaven

The green jade melody

Strung between moments
Flushed with the dawn

The sun comes and the stars go
That is the way of things

To look out of my window
To burn paper with the doubt

That is the dew of clouds I lead

Back through midnight
Back through worlds

The rain falls harder on the morning pass

I will not proceed

June 9, 2020

editors note: When moving is not being, and being is not moving. (J H says, This poem is “very much in line with a digital pamphlet of poetry I have made available for free through my own page here.” Check it out!) – mh clay

The Sunset View by Grace Giska

Now I told her not to rush it
The fall would be as natural as death
Her head was too heavy
Like a clogged drain
Thoughts weighing her down
Her mind cracked before the rest of her

I told her, she was out of shape
Crawling through days of classes
And panicking for each person
Remembering the dates
Forgetting the days
It should be no surprise she fell
Falling a 10 story sprint
She fell like it was a marathon
Swinging limbs striving to reach
The sidewalk in the sky

She was wearing a pink sweater
I told her it didn’t go good with crimson
And falling is a pretty girl’s sport
We all look the same dressed in red
It’s a shame she forgot her glasses,
I told her not to

No one ever comments
On a brilliant sunset
When they fall from the sky

June 8, 2020

editors note: A pragmatist broaches the subject. – mh clay

Desolation Screams by Johnny Olson

Desolation screams
Deprivation breeds.
Division leads these
Narrated nightly newsfeeds
Crawling across our TV screens.
Oppressed needs cryin’…

(I can’t breathe)

Treasonous thieves think
Formations of needs please
Corporations’ greeds.
Politicians seek
Division. Feeds these
Agitated seeds moanin’…

(I can’t breathe)

Nation bleeds. Another
Generation squeezed by
Deflated daydreams. Leaves no
Reasons to believe.
Destruction speaks louder than
Asphyxiated pleadings…

(I can’t breathe)

Condemned seeds feeds
Inflated streets.
Suppression leads to
Foundations’ weaknesses.
Revolutions brink with
One voice screamin’…

I! Can’t! Breathe!

One voice speaks…

I can’t breathe.

One voice pleads…

(I can’t breathe)

June 7, 2020

editors note: If you CAN (breathe), speak! – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you feel you Need-a-Read, we got one coming your way, speedy-delivery!

This week’s featured story Mailman Rachel was delivered to us from longtime Contributing Writer & Poet, Ruth Z. Deming.

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about letter carrier thriller:

“Sometimes the only special delivery that’s needed is a good ass-whoopin’.”

Here’s a whole lotta letters to get your need-fed:

(photo “Guarded by Angels” by Tyler Malone)

I can’t think of a better job. I’m the third-generation mailman in my family. We call ourselves “mailmen” and won’t change that term no way, no how. Grandpop worked in Germantown, Daddy worked in Bucks County, and me, the only girl, I work in Huntingdon Valley, PA. Lordy, Lordy. What a gorgeous area that is.

Would you believe I’ve been stalked? Yes. A man in a battered blue Toyota stalked your favorite, ahem, mail carrier, Mailman Rachel.

Why didn’t I report him?

Clearly, you don’t know the life of a mailman. We have to “clock in” every twenty minutes to show the boss, Henry Wu, that we’re on time. He works out of a fancy office with pictures of his children on his desk, a huge mural of The Great Wall of China, which has many stone steps that remind me of the many steps we mailmen must take to get the mail delivered. There is also a photo of his wife with a huge mound of black hair piled up on her head.

Mailmen have our own cell phones for emergencies. It took me weeks to learn how to use it. First, I went on the Internet, but couldn’t figure it out. Then I went to my local library. Shhh! The Willow Grove Library. I sat on one of them round tables in the back with a friend Danielle who showed me how to use it.

Then, because I’m a great reader, I checked out Never Caught: The Washington’s Relentless Pursuit of their Runaway Slave: Ona Judge.

I keep it right here in my truck and might read it at long traffic lights, or while I’m waiting for a customer to bring out her mail…

Get the rest of this first-class mail read right here!

••• Mad Swirl Anthology  •••

Get you your very own copy of “The Best of Mad Swirl : v2019” right HERE!

Mad Swirl’s 108-page anthology features 52 poets, 12 short fiction writers, and four artists whose works were presented on throughout 2019. We editors reviewed the entire year’s output to ensure this collection is truly “the best of Mad Swirl.” The works represent diverse voices and vantages which speak to all aspects of this crazy swirl we call “life on earth.”

This anthology is a great introduction to the world of Mad Swirl!

If we’ve enticed you enough to wanna get you your very own copy of “The Best of Mad Swirl : v2019” then get yours 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…


Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Ty Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor

Mike Fiorito
Associate Editor

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