Stare, pry, listen, eavesdrop. Die knowing something. You are not here long.

Walker Evans

••• The Mad Gallery •••

A Low Simmer by Kelly Moyer

Mad Swirl is excited to welcome Kelly Moyer to the Mad Gallery, with a collection of photos that seem to effortlessly showcase her humor and creativity. Whether it’s adding googily eyes to inanimate objects, or just capturing something through her own pair of eyes, Moyer makes everyday scenes come alive with personality. In that way, each photo feels like a mini-story, inviting viewers to see the world through a more playful lens – Kelly’s work is a joyful reminder to seek the whimsy in the ordinary. ~ Madelyn Olson

To see more of the extraordinary captures of the extra ordinary world we live in thru Kelly’s photog eyes, as well as our other resident artists, take a virtual stroll thru Mad Swirl’s Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we stood alone with a megaphone; we turned up our nose o’er a shriveled rose; we gulped some wine to cross the line; we told some tales of our good time, I heard yours then you heard mine; we sleep-screamed in a bad dream; we suffered taunting from ghostly haunting; we pried predilections from dual definitions; we self estranged by subject change. Estranged, maybe, but not strangers, baby! ~ MH Clay

The Natives Are Getting Restless Inside My Magnificently Deranged & Schizophrenic Cranium by Paul Tristram

Fuck Bauhaus and Brutalist
… more Gründerzeit…
in intricate thought patterns.
“She’s ‘Syphoning’ again
… and you need to be Full
to BURST ‘Magically’
from both Heart and Soul.”
For 3 days in a row…
I’ve seen the same 2 dirty,
scruffy kids playing around
in the gutter right outside
the corner Crack House…
and, it’s Hitting ‘Targets’
in me… that my very own
‘Troubles’ cannot get Near.
“I’m longing to ‘Ache’
for something that has not
been Assigned to The Past,”
she explained despairingly…
as he ‘Changed The Subject’.

November 2, 2024

editors note: Not so full as to play the fool. What was the subject? – mh clay

Answer as Quickly as Possible by Guest Poet Jim Murdoch

(after Jung)

People don’t define.
They associate.

people: pain
define: dissect
associate: competition

Definitions,
what we call definitions,
are unique to each of us.

call: help
unique: weird
us: them

Definitions,
it’s in the very name, are
definites, finals, end-ofs.

name: less
final: lap
end: life

A poem is actually
a free-association test.

poem: I…
free: love
test: fail

And don’t you just
hate tests where there
are no right answers?

don’t: won’t
you: me
right: might

November 1, 2024

editors note: might: could… – mh clay

THE HAUNTING by Royal Rhodes

At odd hours, day and night,
these figures crowd inside
my house. I can feel the
desires they keep hidden.

I tell myself to try to be calm —
that they loved me — that
they have some business
unfinished to do.

What I fear, what keeps me up,
are their sharp edges,
the cries of their pain,
their ever-present anger.

And then at last, they are
quiet, tamed as a large
sleeping dog, breathing
in rhythm it sounds.

They were never asked for,
crossing an open doorway
and opening other doors
that only startle me.

They need reminding at times
as piles of dishes are flung
to hush, just hush, as I see
faces as in a fogged glass.

Sometimes they lifted their
shirts and exposed what
seemed smooth skin
absorbing waves of light.

So I had to cover my eyes.
Saying good-bye is hard,
especially since I died,
and wish to be left alone.

October 31, 2024

editors note: Even the dead get spooked. – mh clay

Rude Awakening by Frank De Canio

I faced a hapless circumstance last night.
Dejected by the cohorts that I lost —
along with the societal delight
accorded me by pathways that we crossed
in the performance of our tasks at work —
I was determined to connect with them
again. The lobby personnel just smirked
at me, and gruffly opted to condemn
my mission as a venture I’d regret.
I stormed the elevator none the less
and pressed the 32nd floor to get
off where my peers resided to redress
my loss with life support. But, when the doors
spread wide, I only saw a concrete wall,
as bleak as any prisoner explores.
My heart began to race, and I to pall,
lest I become a captive in its keep.
And so, I jumped up, frightened, from my sleep.

October 30, 2024

editors note: Shouldn’t’ve ate that pizza late. Scary! (We welcome Frank to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

Anecdotage by Alan Gann

Jostled by all the clattering hipsters
only to discover the hot new band
sounds like all the others hot and new and bothered
hardly worth it anymore so have a seat
and I’ll tell you about jumping out of the airplane
freefall panic cord and chute
how it reminds me of bodysurfing in Thailand

Instead of hiking up the glacier
complete with distant grizzlies and curious caribou
I’ll describe the girlfriend that didn’t happen
fat fingers could not decode her brassier
and the heavy pitying sigh
as desire melted into obligation
Here, let me do that

Oh God not another spring-loaded
shots of jäger jack-in-the-box night—
all lights pale to an hour in Paris
Let’s watch this hi-def video
too high too def like the canyon rapids
desert sunrise roulette wheel spinning
mosh pits after midnight stolen moments
skin-to-skin

A filled bucket
demands to be emptied so meet me at the coffee bar
watch all the clever people come and go come and go
on their phone on their phone
taking their precious video
while we settle into over-cushioned chairs
and I’ll tell you about a time
Yes, let me tell you about my time

October 29, 2024

editors note: We all have a time to tell. I’ll listen to yours if you’ll listen to mine. – mh clay

gulping the Manischewitz kiddush cup ten times by Robert Fleming

drunk and drove on Mogen David
to the New Elizabeth, New Jersey detention center

bar mitzvah lessons did not teach
tsu sakh (too much) is shlekht (bad)

recovery makes every day Yom Kippur atonement

October 29, 2024

editors note: If 10 is too much, how mauch is too little? – mh clay

FRESH ROSE by Mandakini Bhattacherya

Fresh rose —
I could have imagined anything
with you. Moonlight,
bedsheets white, ruddy cheeks,
innocent perfumed twilight.

Instead, you are flash-frozen,
flame-torched, burnt, shriveled,
crumbled
on rose-flavoured ice-cream
and baklava, gourmet dish
for a candlelight.

October 28, 2024

editors note: By any other name, in this case, smells not so sweet. – mh clay

MEGAPHONE CHRISTIAN by Brian Wood

Heaven-like happiness should catch you quite
Off guard, and if you have found paradise,
This evening at Santa Monica Pier,
Then keep this memory green, fresh. Hold your
Wife’s hand and stare at the ocean, and watch
The surf crash into miles of white, fine sand.

On our way to the hotel, someone spoils
All that. You can’t help hearing him: there is
A man shouting into a megaphone
About The Lord. And behind him are two
Disciples, of sorts, with a far-off look,
Used to being glared at, used to death stares.

Megaphone Christian wants no response: he
Ignores the people who mock, and the folks
Who cheer. As for his disciples, it’s clear
This is all they do, all day: their flip-flops,
Bottles of sunscreen, and gaudy beach clothes
All say ‘Hey, this is my fake job. Have a brochure.’

“Uhm…In school, they say we come from, uh, apes.
Like. That don’t make no sense. Apes aren’t even
Human. Like Democrats. (Snort) America…
Is losing its way. Atheists say there
Is no God. (Cough, snort) Uhm. Not true. How can
He not exist, if he loves me so much?”

In lieu of nunc dimmittis servum tuum,
Domine, he finally heads south, a
Great mercy, and out of earshot, greater
Mercy still. The hymnist who wrote “He sets
The prisoner free” never had to endure
This strange man’s tortured evangelion.

At some point, for many Christians, the great
Commandment was replaced by a fervent
Fixation on me, me, me. As for love
Fulfilling the law…that was replaced, long
Ago, by acolytes with megaphones,
Sad eyes, dead stares, and a lost, far off look.

October 27, 2024

editors note: For those who dally in dogma. (Applicable to all ideologies.) – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

Once upon a time, there was a most excellent story named “On Being Valiant“ which came to us by James Joaquin Brewer.

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this read’o the week:

To build anything, first you have to see it. And then watch as it builds you.

Here is how this tale innocently begins:

Carry On, All Wayward Sons by Tyler Malone

I’ve always wanted to spend my days, rent my space, in a Prince Valiant place—a palace or castle but constantly movable: a house hung on hinges, a home with a dome, with chambers interchangeable, rooms rearrangeable—the foundations are flexible, you see.

I imagine a person could play in that place.

When I turned ten, I received a birthday shield from my father: a Prince Valiant shield. On the cover—the shield’s Sir Face—was a painting of the prince himself. The face on the surface was fierce under hair chopped-off straight—as straight and as black as the sword of attack he could ward then send back with his Valiant shield. That is to say that the surface of my shield, that gift from my father, with that painted picture of Prince Valiant himself, includes the image of a smaller painted shield that my hero is holding—which shows his face on its surface and which also shows him holding an even smaller shield.

And so forth…

Swing on over right here to bring forth the rest of this tale!