My role in society, or any artist’s or poet’s role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.
••• The Mad Gallery •••
The Transfiguration ~ Fernando Carpaneda
Fernando Carpaneda of New York (via Brazil) brings us some wonderfully mad and queer work this month, and we truly couldn’t be more thrilled about it if we tried. While his subjects are often serious, melancholic, maybe even a little mysterious, there is something playful and undeniably erotic in each piece, and we can’t help but feel that Carpaneda himself is somewhere within his work – beckoning us to look closer, to challenge our own perception, and to fully immerse ourselves in the world he creates through his art. Naturally, we can’t help but oblige, and we don’t think you’ll be able to either! ~ Madelyn Olson
To see all Fernando’s wonderfully mad & mysterious works, 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 starred to fly through fabric sky; we dug dyno talking from one old man walking; we dropped a soul to rhyme with orange; we showers passed as blades of grass; we willowed in eternal wind; we ripped a rant on what to plant; we lit our way with lies today (tomorrow goes without a say). A word makes weak or immense strength, depends on trust and patience’s length. ~ MH Clay
Lies by Jharna Sanyal
Teasing little lights,
mimicking the stars–
hang from my balcony
on festival nights.
I light lies to cover up
the dreary looking fulcrum
of dreams and myths
that are already peeling off.
No molten wax residues,
no smell of the burnt wicks
to remind us of origins and foreparents and lost languages.
There are no leftovers now
to clean up but our carbon footprints and war debris and bomb-shelled homes and media montage…
October 14, 2023
editors note: We light our leftovers for someone (there’s no one) else. – mh clay
Sound Planning by Guest Poet Frank De Canio
Rash landscapers would extirpate
lush, fructifying, native plants.
They sponsor laws to cultivate
a pristine garden that enchants
the bourgeoisie, and those content
to bask in an insipid yield.
But when barbed brambles have been rent,
and storms run rampant on the field
where unprotected pansies grow,
what hedge work will ensure they stand
should gale force winds begin to blow?
So I endorse designs less bland,
preferring gnarly shrubs and trees
to weather such uncertainties.
October 13, 2023
editors note: A case for native flora. – mh clay
Willows by Patrick Sweeney
wind-pale willows opening the sealed play of eternity
October 12, 2023
editors note: Winter is coming… – mh clay
Fine Line by Guest Poet Dominik Slusarczyk
We talked for hours about
Flowers and showers.
You said you like red and warm.
I said I like blue and warm.
We agreed to paint ourselves purple and
Now we agree we are very beautiful indeed but
Now we cannot shower ever again.
We are friends when
The other wants us to be.
We are blades of grass peppering a slow river.
We are blades of grass drowning in the deep blue sea.
We are blades of grass on top of the highest hill and
We can see for miles and
We look for our house.
October 11, 2023
editors note: How does yours line up? – mh clay
Interpreter request – Neurology – Follow Up by Guest Poet Brian Duran-Fuentes
The doctor said
Tell me the color of the square
Bellow the nice interpreter man
It’s the color of pumpkins
Dry papaya spears
The rising sun
Film reels burning
As sleep returns to you
I dropped my soul
October 10, 2023
editors note: Pick it up quickly – 5 second rule applies. – mh clay
DYNASAURS by Sam Silva
the computations of my aching feet
in wandering the prehistoric asphalt vegetation
succumb in wonderment to where they lead
to a crumpled bed of sheets and distant jazz
October 9, 2023
editors note: A nice beat you can walk to. – mh clay
Starry Fabric by Harley White
All nature’s linked, the heavens with the earth,
in star formations, gas, galactic dust,
elusively in roles of death and birth
however random seems their wanderlust.
We peer in space with telescopic sight
that oft may miss the tracery that’s there
as when our past assumptions take to flight
in view of being further made aware.
Vast fabrics interwoven in the sky
that starry gazers spy amidst the mists
and what immensities they might imply
may only be a whit of what exists.
…The poets with their phrases hem and haw
…yet fail to other than profess their awe.
October 8, 2023
editors note: Awed we are and odd we are to be the ones who try. – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
If you’re hankering for a tasty read, “The Last Owner“ by Kapka Nilan just might be your feed!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this pick’o the week:
Dine, dine, dine, my darling, because we’re all starving.
Here’s a few nibbles to whet your reading appetite:
Slice of Pie Life ~ Tyler Malone
I am going to view a house. It is a wet afternoon in May, one of those without any color except green. I am on my own. My wife said she had an important meeting. More important than house viewing.
I am sitting in my car waiting for the estate agent and watching the rain drops stretch and distort on the windscreen. It is a quiet leafy neighborhood with houses that look empty as if nobody has ever lived there. The kind of neighborhood I and my wife couldn’t afford. I do not know why the real estate agent insisted I should come. I do not know which one of the houses I am going to view, there is no sale sign to be seen. It could be anyone of them. I try to imagine me and my wife living in this neighbourhood, on this road, starting a family. It is very quiet, definitely needs someone to bring life and joy to it. Life and joy. Could it be us?
“Hello. Sorry I’m late,” the estate agent announces her presence with a knock on the passenger’s window. She looks hyper energetic and, as if to compensate for her lateness, gets straight down to business. “So, you are looking for a family home, Mr. Nikolov, is that right? I think we have something for you, this way, please, it’s the third semi-detached house down the road.” She walks fast.
She unlocks the front door. “Sorry, the electricity is off.” My eyes take a few moments to adjust to the dim light inside. The first thing I see is a bright yellow omelette hanging on the wall next to the entrance. The omelette has company: a platter with a selection of hard and soft cheeses, olives, gherkins, cured meat, and condiments. Fresh fruits, bright oranges and red watermelons, half peeled bananas, perfectly ripe strawberries and cream. Close-up photographs of food on every wall, with clean symmetrical lines and without any artistic pretense. Just images of food as we know it but on a macro scale and with much brighter colors…
Get the whole tasty picture right here!
The whole Mad Swirl of everything to come keeps on keepin’ on… NOW! Every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, every year, every decade, every EVERY there is! Wanna join in the mad conversations going on in our Mad Swirl’s World? Then come by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…
Short Story Editor