“Open your mind and let the pictures out”
William S. Burroughs
••• The Mad Gallery •••
Fixierung (5) ~ Thomas Riesner
To see all Thomas’ wicked squiggles, as well as our other resident artists (50 and counting!) take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery!
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This past week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we looped in the lashes of eyeball flashes; we made mirth of no’s birth; we cheered for the win of a tenacious twin; we set love adrift in a growing rift; we freed a fellar from the scary cellar; we sheltered stark in an artist’s park; we turned the tricks in a quantum fix. We mend what’s broken in the words we’ve spoken (smitten by what’s written). ~ MH Clay
Three Haiku: Detention, Time, & Quantum Fix by Beate Sigriddaughter
If I don’t finish
my work, will I be allowed
to live forever?
no one is waiting for you.
You can take your time.
Quantum fix: what you
don’t examine will remain
the same forever.
February 5, 2022
editors note: Work the time to fix what stays the same? That could take forever! – mh clay
june 30, 2020 by Carl Kavadlo
in the neighborhood
now around 34th street
and park avenue
a bronze statue of an artist
with an easel right before a little park.
inside granite walls, long
i relax and write.
in the middle
now empty stores
with nervous, floor-pacing
owners in white shirts.
in early morning
the park was always lonely
and quiet before this—
when that was a good thing.
February 4, 2022
editors note: Calm, by context, turned to discontent. – mh clay
THE CHILLING BASEMENT by John L. Yelavich
Our childhood home was barren and bleak,
not a safe haven or a refuge for the weak;
a sullen mist pervaded the air and space,
there were no fancy curtains or dainty lace.
The upstairs hallway was dark and dreary,
there was no sunlight to wake the weary;
each daybreak brought challenges anew,
clouded memories we’d woefully accrue.
Fractured family confabs, emotions askew,
nervous perspiration wet as morning dew;
the same old tired song played in our heads,
shocking our spirits, turning us onto meds.
The basement was cold, dark and chilling,
a viable scenario for a frightful killing;
my brother was young when we moved
never knew the pain of being abused.
Parents are gone, it was time to go home,
and show Jimmy the dungeon I’d roam;
he’d never noticed a door there before,
nor the room that we’d come to abhor.
February 3, 2022
editors note: A door we would keep shut, swings open sometimes. – mh clay
A Chasm by Susie Gharib
When you failed to impart your feelings to me,
I was bound to falter with hesitancy
for a beauty like yours had fettered my eloquent ease.
Nothing had repulsed me in your athletic physique,
a pair of arms, disarming my wit
whenever your sleeves unveiled their muscular feats.
A pair of eyes that probed without being intrusive.
A pair of lips that regaled with English translucence.
A pair of hands that intimated a world of assurance.
We drifted apart,
a chasm widening within our hearts,
submerging our hearths with early snowfalls.
February 2, 2022
editors note: Looks good, feels good, fails better; a cold chasm, indeed. – mh clay
Cameron by Alexandria Biamonte
How can it be
That your first five months
Have been this
You live so zealously?
It’s been tubes
And burst lungs.
It’s been Pain,
These are all you have ever known.
Yet you have beaten every odd,
Fought so hard,
Clung to this life
With all your might.
You’re teaching me so much
About how to live.
February 1, 2022
editors note: Alexandria says, “The last poem was about my younger twin, JJ, coming home. Three months later, his brother has been transferred to another hospital and is being scheduled for multiple surgeries. This poem is about his amazing will to live.” – mh clay
THE BIRTH OF NO by Guilio Magrini
Created by a schemer to enhance attraction
A being bopping through grace
Peeling a banana
From the inside
There was no scent of wildflowers
And the breeze catches the tall grass
Her continuing movement a flow of desire
In syncopation with our own
The precipitation of questions
Growing from universal need
To explore alternative techniques
Through the mayhem of options
And the unadulterated discovery of sin
The technique of tragedy
Has stuck its frozen fingers
Into my pubic netherworld
I didn’t consider downloading
A brochure for this
There will be no blasphemers
No offenses against the lord
No probes in the boudoir
We have retired
Into the abyss of normalcy
You are reminded
Of a diagram for the foxtrot
A rose by any other name
Is a sexual pervert
It is not the birth of no
But the conception of no
My moment of freedom of choice
Within the penitentiary
January 31, 2022
editors note: The cheapest indulgence is the one we give ourselves. – mh clay
Trip by Richard Evans
a giant eyeball flashes ‘cross the sky
I fly to its retina
I am trapped
my bed is soaking wet
my libido dies
I fall to my knees
dragging what is left of me
gazing at my oppressor as
a giant eyeball flashes ‘cross the sky
January 30, 2022
editors note: Stuck in the loop of seeing the loop of stuck in the loop…(endif) – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
If you’re needin’ a read, we here at Mad Swirl think “A Rainy Day“ by Fernanda Poblete will fill that bill!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick’o the weekend:
Love is what carries us when we can’t carry it.
Here’s a snapshot of Fernanda’s reminiscence tale:
(photo “What’s New is What’s Old” by Tyler Malone)
Valeria sat down in her wooden chair and laid a woolen blanket across her lap to warm her legs. She enjoyed watching from the window of her room how the rain fell passively on the garden that she had planted, with hard work, in her yard for years. Her house and garden were among the most precious things she had for all the family memories they possessed.
“You always liked rainy days,” Hugo said, about to settle into the leather chair that was on the right side of her.
“You know me very well. I love them. They are the best thing ever. Also, our first kiss was on a rainy day.”
“Don’t even remind me. The next day, I had the worst cold I’ve ever had in my life, but… it was worth it” He winked at her.
The two elders exuded love and sweetness through their gazes. Each one was replaying memories in their heads that they had lived together through their long years of marriage…
Keep walkin’ down this haunting memory lane tale right here!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick’o the weekday:
“In our own heads is where the world is made right, and we don’t need any professional’s opinion to see how absurd our happiness is, daily.”
Here’s a bit of Flora’s sanity check to get you goin’:
(photo “Books and Bars” by Tyler Malone)
When Joe told his friend Jocelyn that he was seeing Dr. Dold, she laughed. Joe was affronted.
“Is it that funny to consult a shrink, I mean… therapist?”
“No. Sorry.” Then an extended after-giggle. “Sorry.”
Joe went anyway. His life was so empty of stress he felt abnormal, and could bear it no longer.
“My life is empty,” he told Dr. Dold, “or at least, lacking in certain things which others have.”
“How was your relationship with your parents, growing up?” asked the therapist, a middle-aged specialist in childhood trauma. The more suppressed the trauma, the better he liked it.
“Did they split up?”
“What work did they do?”
“They were scientists. Still are. Quietly devoted to their research.”
Dr. Dold tapped a note into his iPad. “So you were neglected.”
“No, they shared their enthusiasm with me.”
“No, I was an only child, they were older parents. Being caught up in their careers they had married late.”
“Ah.” He tapped another note. What did ah mean, Joe wondered?
“You felt inferior?”
“Them. Scientists. You’re literary, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. They used to read stories to me. That’s what got me into storytelling, I guess.”
“So would you say you live in a fantasy world?”
“Yes and no. What writer doesn’t?” He paused. “What person doesn’t?”…
Get the whole psychoanalysis right here!
••• Open Mic •••
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’…
Short Story Editor