“Singing is a way of escaping. It’s another world. I’m no longer on earth.”
••• The Mad Gallery •••
luv ur self – Madelyn Olson
To see more of Maddi’s mad new cast of diverse characters & canvases, as well as our other former featured artists (51 in total) at Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery!
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week in Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we sainted the odds of praying for gods; we ate through the sting of this ephemeral thing; we failed to belie a tantric pie; we loped (not lagged) a dog’s walk wags; we pushed our ploy for moments of joy; we penned a poker for a smoking joker; we let muse slip by our blind third eye. We trip, we try, we try. ~ MH Clay
Dissolved into the dust and vanished by Hem Raj Bastola
Listening in the silence
Of that azure and echoing:
Performing the dance of
Waiting for that
To the ignorant, please!
Knowledge, I want to practice.
A key to wisdom,
To unlock the horizon of:
The mental world.
Silent, I was sitting
Crisscrossed at ease.
Closing my ocular lense,
Invoking to open the third eye.
To explore the unseen,
And to feed my
Middle of my
As soon as I was oscillating
Traveling with aura.
Dancing oread appeared
The room is dark,
I lost the wind out of my sail.
My subconscious poet awoke,
To record her comeliest: beauty!
Forgetting my meditation,
As I start musing on her
Into the dust
December 19, 2020
editors note: Damn! I had it, but by the time I found my pen… – mh clay
Smoke Out by Phil Huffy
Dear Neighbor, or should I begin without such hesitation?
For “Moron” might do well if truth be told.
Your fire pit, oh my, is such a thoughtless installation.
One wonders how you came to be so bold.
A little backyard fun is an acceptable tradition.
To gather is the nature of our kind,
but lately, you’ve begun committing errors of emission,
and never care to ask if I would mind.
We’ve had to clear the deck and leave our porch, with all its screening,
since smoke annoys no matter where we are.
So keep yourself in check or fate may soon be intervening
to deposit glowing embers on your car.
December 18, 2020
editors note: “Smoke’em if you got’em” does not apply to neighbors. Let’s be considerate, folks. (Phil has a new collection out, Rhymal Therapy. You can get your copy on Amazon. Check it out!) – mh clay
THIS LIFE NEEDS OCCASIONAL MOMENTS OF JOY by Bradford Middleton
This morning i’ll go into town, have a walk
Around. I’ll visit my sanctuary, the library so
Full of computers, and then if the sun continues
To shine maybe i’ll go smoke one down on the
Beach for today feels like one of those days.
A day to lose myself in these here words and this
Here glorious day off. I may even visit the bar
Down the road at some point this afternoon but
I won’t let it get to me and hopefully i’ll stay cool
Drink a few and then maybe come home.
If that is the case tonight might well be lost in
The depths of film; a lot to catch-up on and some
Bound to bring a little bit of joy. This life needs
A fair bit of that right now as the daily slog is
Growing harder every single day.
December 17, 2020
editors note: Amen, Brother! – mh clay
Meditations Of Commuters Saunter – Last autumnal school walk. by Polly Richardson (Munnelly)
Blackberry blossoms dusting silence
gently grace street-song
awaken wind whispers,
Its harmonious decent heard by strays.
Senses a tuned beyond maddening
lend an ear to delicate decorating
Here under polluted murky orange glow and hopes,
lone fresh Conker sits, gleams dreams
of sapling roots, earthen embrace.
Raven caw acknowledgment in shadows
to loping leaps of retriever bounding up
autumnal fodder, morning rituals meditate.
His golden dance in dark snapping leaf -glides
once again, whirls in between his wags,
almost the second coming if there was a first.
Padding a run-walk-pull, his own excitement exchanged,
sloth like human performs façade of ‘I’m- in- control’
look firmly knitted to greying brow.
This 6ft frame dragged as if bandit in western
again, tripping his inner nakedness over
doe-eyed pawing Conker to gutter smiles
wagging licks to air, I inhale nature’s sinew
hold gaze, my own bark back
in memory sandwiches, intact with crusts.
The coral amongst hissing bin trucks wafting casts out
the rotted canvas freedoms and
Kawasaki Z400 Zigzags its distinctive rumbling,
percussions hearts longing throttle to get there
the 4mth old giggle gurgles eyeing floating
pink tumbling her window, her world, stars twinkle
it’s 6:30am. His hand in mine. Curls, just like
first moments of newborn grasp. We wave to moon.
December 16, 2020
editors note: Crystal confusion in a morning constitutional. – mh clay
Pie Poem by Sigrid Bergie Feliciano
The hot sweet smell
that holds your love.
The ooze of lard
that sexes up your taste buds.
Your kitchen, my friend,
Dances with mothering.
your mother’s mother,
even your lover who was mothered.
He loves your pies.
He swells up
obstinate with maleness
as your oven puckers the pies
and exhales his bulge.
Your hands topple into chocolate cream
or green tart apple,
pear or blueberry,
pecan or sesame walnut,
maple sugar or strawberry.
Pumpkin sweet potato.
Your fair hands.
There are such dreams in them.
Your fingers flutter,
lard crumbs linger.
Does his deep pink tongue
devour your lavish love?
Is the bittersweet salt
of your tears,
just a condiment?
December 15, 2020
editors note: The perfect panacea. Who doesn’t like pie? (We welcome Sigrid to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay
Visiting Hours! by Vandana Kumar
We grabbed a cup of coffee
On the way to a hospital visit
Like smooth stream
Life, its ebbs
Was it ever an endless river?
Humming Pink Floyd
We spoke of age filled
Life- That dirty
We cheered up patient
Talking of pretty nurses
Quality of food being served
Anything that worked!
We said our farewells
Decided on ‘Subway sandwich’
On the way out
Really has not enough
And so it went
Thoughts of places
Four corners of grieving walls
The air of malaise
December 14, 2020
editors note: A hunger a day keeps the malaise away. – mh clay
Land of saints by Milenko Županović
In the bay
December 13, 2020
editors note: To whom do we pray when praying for gods? – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
Mad Swirl’s featured weekend Need-a-Read comes to us from Leroy Vaughn.
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our featured read:
“As long as you have your own table, that’s where you belong. Doubly better if you have your own bottle, then you are the coolest person at that table.”
If you wanna tease, grab a seat for a taste of Leroy’s “The Round Table”…
(photo “The Longest Lonesome” by Tyler Malone)
When I watch television, I hardly ever listen to commercials. About 99% of the time, I mute them out, with the exception of the guy that does the Mexican beer commercials about the world’s most interesting man, but that’s not the commercial that I want to write about.
Back in 2012, I muted a commercial as soon as the station went to a commercial break. I watched a man in face paint walk towards the door of what appeared to be an old castle.
The man’s eyes were painted to make him look sad and his nose was painted red. It was obvious by the western clothes he wore that this man was not a circus clown, or one of those goofballs that plays a clown at kid’s birthday parties.
I assumed he dressed in blue jeans and a work shirt tucked neatly into his jeans that he might be a rodeo clown, or as they are now known as a bullfighter.
As he walks into this room, past trophies and photos of men in action, the camera shows a group of men sitting around a large round table…
Get the whole shot right here!
Mad Swirl’s midweek featured read comes to us from Al-Bayan Ghirra!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our featured read:
“Writers are gods! No one said we were good gods, either, because we really don’t create, we see. And that’s the worst prison of the mind.”
Here’s a tease of his dreamy tale “When He Slept for Eternity“ to get you goin’:
(photo “Sweet Sip” by Tyler Malone)
Once upon a time, Barry woke up in his dark room, where the smell of the unknown floats like a river of riddles and the soul of the world goes round and round within four walls of an unborn light. He was oblivious to the dream. How did he wake up? What was the unfathomable mystery that unhinged such a being? Barry never knew! He was entrapped in this very condition of an insoluble forgetfulness.
So many years have passed since Barry finished his story. He had a long-cherished dream to write a complete story, a faultless piece of art. He wrote thousands of pages in six years. He couldn’t believe it himself. It was the perfect creation, a masterpiece. Barry held the draft between the two hands which wrote it and took it with him to bed.
Once again, Barry fell into deep sleep. In his dream, something almost magical happened. The characters stepped outside the pages of the draft and came alive. The lucidity of the dream made it more real than reality itself. Barry was an observer, a dreaming shadow, while the characters took their time and lived their lives…
Jump back into the rest of this dream scream scene right here!
••• Mad Merch •••
Dig this mad face coverin’? Read on!…
Extra! Extra! Read ALL about it!
Mad Swirl Merch available
just in time for the holidaze!
The whole mad swirl of merch begins right here, at our online store! If you haven’t already got yourself some mad threads to sport, then you’ve come to the right post.
What’s new? Mad Facemasks!, Neck Gaiters!, Zipped Hoodies!, Fun Socks! We still have Mens & Ladies tees in all sizes & even MORE colors. We also brought back mad mugs to fill with your favorite coffee, tea and/or whiskey!
Come browse & if something catches your eye, get a little something-something for yourself & while you’re at it, get a little something for your nearest & dearest mad one in your swirlin’ world!
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…
Short Story Editor