“Start with what is right rather than what is acceptable.”

Franz Kafka

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Crippled” – Sufia Khatoon

See all of Sufia’s ponderous paintings, as well as our other former featured artists (50 in total) at Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we begrudged the finality of dashing dream to reality; we descended, dull to a grinning skull; we recalled time afar when our own tree guitar wailed “Who-o-o…;” we suffered this schism through psychic baptism; we tendered the tutelage of a drinker of privilege; we took air to task, as breathed through a mask; we heard talk to make talk about the way we talk and about who is listening. Bang ringing, head reeling, “what did he say?” asking the hard questions. As we dare to answer… ~ MH Clay

Fear / Police / More Fear / More Police by Ron Riekki

i

and I am afraid of the police and thankful for the police and afraid
of the police and I rode with the police and one cop was a racist
but another cop was a real cop and we can only focus on the racist cop
as if only he exists when that good cop exists that I rode along with
and maybe he was only good for those 8 hours I was with him
and maybe the racist was only racist for the ∞ hours I was with him
or maybe we use statistics in any way that we want and maybe I’m so lonely
that I ride along with police or maybe it’s a way for me to get over my fear,
capiophobia, how I was in class and a kid said, You know nothing about fear,
because he thought he owned fear and I remember the smoking of pain,
the world running down, how when I was an ambulance driver, a guy
having a heart attack in back, and this cop gave us a police escort
all the way to the hospital and I cried because I hated cops at the time,
fear of the cops at the time, watching this fear try to help save lives
and I remember driving with that good cop and driving down the street
and five people flipped him off, not five people together, but spread apart,
so that the fingers came, the night came, the strange moment, me asking him
if that happens all the time and the cop saying that they’re not flipping him off
but flipping off the uniform, the vehicle, the gun hanging, hidden, above his head,
and I asked if that affects him, the fingers, and he didn’t say anything, the city ugly,
like a disillusion, a fallout, a macro-aggression, a microphone on his chest,
the graffiti on fire, like fire, is fire, destroying a window, destroying a wall, destroying
a mailbox, destroying a mural, a train, a house, a sidewalk, a fire hydrant, a sewer,
destroying a sewer, except you can’t, and they can’t, and I can’t, because the police
are there, and maybe that’s a good thing and maybe that’s hell, but the way we talk
about things in this country’s with the gloves on, one-sided, false, or, worse,
two-sided, as if that’s all that exists, as if no one exists, as if we replace discrimination
with discrimination, as if the end is the beginning, as if we should hate hate, as if
I told my wife, The summer’s coming. We have to get ready for the fires.

ii

a neighbor upstairs says through the thin walls, America’s flag should just be bullet holes . . .

iii

We need you to
paint the bottom of the stairs again
take out the garbage
clean up this shit
clean up this vomit
help with the blood
pick all these dead rabbits out of the barbed wire
commit suicide
take off your pants
put your hands behind your back
shut your fucking mouth
do what I tell you
tell us if this hurts
go back to where you came from
take off your thong
help us with the body
find his finger
get on your knees
tell us what happened
report to human resources
bag up all your clothing
get tested
stand where those footprints are
pretend like you didn’t see this
sit there
kill these birds
find the exit wound
disconnect
search for any UXOs
fill out these forms
paint the bottom of the stairs again

iv

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

July 4, 2020

editors note: All the feelings, find your UXOs (unexploded ordinance). Read this again… – mh clay

The lungs of the city by Luke Ritta

O how I miss clean fresh air!
refreshing, purifying, life-giving… oxygen!

Living and working in London you breathe in a spectrum of harmful hazardous foreign bodies.

Carbon monoxide from the millions of gas-guzzling cars, motorbikes, vans, and buses.

Cigarette smoke, vape smoke, factories smoke, and human smoke from hospital chimneys.

At work there is cement dust, plywood shavings and particles, hazardous glue and chemical fumes, and general dust everywhere.

Dust in your nose! Dust in your eyes! Dust in your throat! Dust in your heart!

Now there is the deadly Coronavirus to contend with too! I put on my mask and breathe in oxygen, mustache hairs, and my dark, dark soul.

July 3, 2020

editors note: There’s death in the dust. Screen your soul, mask up! – mh clay

Hot And Cold by Paul Sexton

At home
I rarely drink
the bottom of
a can of beer
or cup of coffee.

I only like
my beer cold
and my coffee hot.

I reckon this is
mostly because
I am a die-hard
first-world asshole
who grew up in
privilege, where
I can waste
a little coffee
or a little beer.

There are probably
hardcore motherfuckers
in places not as nice
as Texas,
who’d kill a man
for a gulp of coffee
or that last
sip of beer.

Probably in a
knife fight.

Still though,
I don’t think that
will change me.

At least I drink
the whiskey
to the bottom
of the bottle.

So there’s that.

July 2, 2020

editors note: Thinking while drinking, mindful mouthfuls. – mh clay

The dream pandemic by Iulia Gherghei

Faces in the water,
My dreams
Fire caressing my heart with long flames
Love in pandemic times
Illusionary infatuation to pass the time
Voluntary contamination with daydreaming
A form of depression?
An immersion in fairy tales to survive the bleak reality?
Could be this the antidote?
Faces in the water, my dreams
Crowded with people
Empty streets in the morning
Not a single soul, just chirping birds
No line to be crossed between dream and daylight
Not sure that I need that distinction anymore
I sunk my face into the waters by now

July 1, 2020

editors note: Sometimes, gotta take a dive, just to stay afloat. – mh clay

AN EAGLE OWL IS EXPLAINED by Clyde Kessler

Long ago I was an owl in Usambara.
I chased echoes through the cliff stone.
I winged the silence that caught me.

I would have been a child on an island.
I would have told you thirteen tall tales.
There would have been one boat sinking.
There would have been farmers drowning.

You would have called me a braggart,
a trash-picker. My guitar was a dead tree.
My family forgot how long ago I was an owl.

June 30, 2020

editors note: Remember what we were before we became what we are? – mh clay

One Crooked Moment by Harris Coverley

a loose brain
floating
in a lukewarm bath

circling ever further
towards
total madness

the juices of my flesh
run clearer
but not
without
apprehension

I’ve got a cold
that will not end
that suffocates me
while I eat
and think
and drink

the weight of everything
leans on my shoulders
like a perverse relative
whom I wish to forget

and grins at me
like a skull
my own skull
time’s skull

grains
of sand
falling
no one will ever
feel

June 29, 2020

editors note: Get a grin? Feel the grin. That’s somethin’! – mh clay

dealing with disappointment by Brendan McBreen

the edge of the world islands
where the ocean waterfalls
into a river below
our kingdom is there

I am looking through all the cupboards
just to see what is there

high
I worry
they are all judging me
or I am actually
talking out loud
doing something embarrassing
but not realizing it

the stuffed animals
walk around and talk
but that’s normal

wait!

I’m not high

I’m dreaming

does this mean
the rose thorn unicorns
the blue Great Dane
the horse-sized tabby cat
and the creepy giant wasp
aren’t real…

damn

June 28, 2020

editors note: I would be nice if these lately everydays were dreams. Damn! (We welcome Brendan to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

This week’s featured Need-a-Read, “the orange book was an abomination“ comes to us from Contributing Writer Edward Wells.

Here’s how Short Story Editor Tyler Malone sums it up:

We find ourselves among what’s been lost. And in that, we find out how little we know.

Here’s a few clues to the abominable tome:

(photo “Life In Orange” by Tyler Malone)

“The orange book was an abomination. The people working in the shop left it to work its own way ‘round. Shaliqua saw it on one of the tables Thursday morning. When all surfaces were wiped but that table, she abandoned the task in favor of shining spoons. From behind the counter, with her right eye closed, she held each spoon up between her left eye and the orange, landscape soft-cover.

Friday, Adam, a frequent patron with thinning dreadlocks, turned the orange cover, which gave more at the white streak crack from top through mid. The top corner fell more quickly and sputtered out from under the weight of the bottom half. Adam walked from the window bar to the counter where the aroma of a WestGress coffee was more satisfying.

Sean, a busboy, was leaning against his arm, stretched over Francine’s shoulder. This was Francine’s first time in the shop. She had been browsing the poetry shelves when Sean expressed his attraction.

“You have only seen me from behind.”

“Do you see that orange one?” The musk of tobacco billowed after Sean’s hand, as he pointed to the book on the shop’s book cart.

Francine’s eyes followed the musk. “Yes, the orange cover with a white-streak crack and black splotches. Are those crappy quality photo-copy markings?”…

What’s up with this orange book?! You’ll never know unless you get your read about reading on right here!

••• Open Mic  •••

If you tuned in to Mad Swirl Open Mic​ this past 1st Wednesday (aka 07.01.20), Mad Swirl Open Mic once again virtually whirled up the Swirl and got the Mad mic opened for all you Mad ones out there!

We beamed our cyber line-up straight out into the wide world of webs & straight to your screens. HUGE grats to these Mad ones who made our virginal virtual a success:

Mad Overture:
Swirve (Chris & Tamitha Curiel)

Hosts:
Johnny O
MH Clay

Round One:
Opalina Salas
Harry Mcnabb
Vic Victory
Carlos Salas
Suza Kanon
Chris Zimmerly
Lillie Davidson
James Barrett Rodehaver
Devorah Titunik
Mike Zone

Round Two:
Priscilla Rice
Alan Gann
James Dennis Casey IV
Paul Koniecki
Laurie Lynn Lindemeier
Cabe Lindsay
Tara Mystique Titunik

Thanks to ALL the appreciators who rode the Mad wave from our FB Live feeds! We know you had a choice of what to do with your Wednesday night & you picked to virtually hang out with us!

Now more than ever, we need community, we need outlets, we need to create.

Be safe & ’til next 1st Wednesday… may the madness swirl your way!

Johnny O

P.S. In case you missed the LIVE feed, your eye can spy on these virtual Swirl’n scenes 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 MadSwirl.com 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…

Livin’,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Ty Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor

Mike Fiorito
Associate Editor