Art is the desire of a man to express himself, to record the reactions of his personality to the world he lives in.

Amy Lowell

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Whatever Is Opening to Light” by Bill Wolak

To see all of Bill’s swirlingly symmetrical & sensual compositions, as well as our other resident artists, visit our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we legacy traced to a prophet erased; we reckoned the rise of words all wise; we pattern aligned to divine design; we weighed the strife to welcome life; we rained no halt to grains of salt; we wished our way to end of day; we come ensured to love endure; we were dog lovesick for eyeball lick. We write what we love. ~ MH Clay

Hildy by Guest Poet Dr. Matthew Ussia

You can take her home today
ya just gotta pay the adoption fee

and with a debit card swipe
we had two dogs
we didn’t have two leashes, two bowls, two beds
but the supervisor had a shelter full of spring puppies
she had to move

I think about this exchange when Hildy scrapes
her dew claw across where I think my jugular is
or when she leaps paws first into my scrotum
because she is happy to see me
because it makes it easier to lick my eyeball
when I’m doubled over gasping for breath

sure, the mean girls at the American Kennel Club
label her curly tail a defect of breeding
but the mean girls don’t understand Hildy’s mom got rescued
pregnant in a kill shelter in Big Spring, Texas
like “Pregnant in a Kill Shelter in Big Spring, Texas”
isn’t the title of the best rhinestone era country song
you never heard

after 2 years of puppydom, I still pause and think
Did she get bigger? How the hell could she have gotten bigger?
the ad said ‘Pointer Mix’
didn’t say shit about Great Dane or Clifford
was supposed to be the same size as Libby
but Libby can walk under Hildy like a table

she can now go from the stairs, over the back of the couch
and into the kitchen in 3 strides, but
is still terrified by the laundry hamper in the hallway
is still the best 300 bucks I ever spent

February 8, 2025

editors note: How happy we would be if we had a Hildy, too. – mh clay

WHEN You COME by L.E. Douglas

Wordless visits
only for me

Touch unparalleled
by senses

Whispering images
flow

Warming emotions
of love

Empowering me to
endure

February 7, 2025

editors note: Until you come again. – mh clay

At The End of the Day by Guest Poet Shontay Luna

I want a gorgeous man
when I get home from a
long day, wearing nothing
but his skin and a smile
as I tell him to pour me a
drink. Putting in so much
ice, it reminds me of igloos.
Containing so much alcohol,
it should come with a ball of
cotton. A concoction of spiked
nectar that I eagerly await to
partake in. To forget the heat
that simmers the city outside
where I passed people frying
eggs AND bacon on the
sidewalk. As the beverage
storms its way through the
desert of my mouth, it removes
from me the day’s events as
well as all reason. A proximate
escape from the myriad of
obligations that never cease.
He hands me another goblet
of soft, dark hued ambrosia.
As my eyes never leave his, the
entirety of its contents travelling
down and away.

February 6, 2025

editors note: A well-deserved dalliance at the end of the day. – mh clay

The Dark Blue Umbrella by Guest Poet Rich Boucher

The first time I saw the Morton Salt girl
I was only almost seven, and I told her my whole life story.
Due to her being just an image I loved,
she said nothing in response but continued
walking in the rain, promising without words
to stay with me for the rest of my life.

I’ve finally got to be a half-century old,
and there have been so many grains of salt
my tongue has known, from popcorn
to tears to sweat to ecstatic skin-to-skin bliss,
and there’ve also been a lot of thunderstorms
in the years between seven and when this thought
surfaces in me right now. Once, at a store I had no right to be in,
I bought a dark blue umbrella that would last for
longer than I’ll live, and I want you to have it
when I’m gone, salt dissolved at last in the rain.

February 5, 2025

editors note: Meantime, Keep your umbrella handy and your salt dry. – mh clay

The Weight of Life by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Welcome to life.
It is your host.
In its splendor
Gravity holds
The blood of stars
And milk of the

Moon. Babes gnaw at
The breasts of their
Mothers one by
One. Paintings in
The cave live on.
A single tear
Is the weight of

Life. No one knows
My mind. No one
Knows how it works.
I am losing
It. Worms wait for
My life to end.

February 4, 2025

editors note: See how we bear this weight alone, together. – mh clay

Clinched by Sanjeev Sethi

The embroidery of existence has skeins:
Itching to be placed in protected interstices.
Many a time, peace is met, sometimes, edges
require sharpening. Couple of crevices need
to be altered. Some coils seek correction.
A few are fibrils.

February 4, 2025

editors note: Apparently, a pattern demands we play per divine design. Frivolous fibrils. Get in line! – mh clay

So People Say by Archie Abaire

Why scatter words
on barren ground?
Offer them to gardeners.

Conviction and wisdom:
siblings
often confounded.

Reasoned arguments
from culled premises:
madness.

A straw man argues
without fear of flame:
only minds combust.

Speech and silence:
siblings
often confounded.

Why demean experts?
Is their dawn dimmer
than my night?

Notions I grip
with fingers of thought
I let shackle my wrists.

I pass light through me,
yet I cast shadows.
Can I be transparent?

Who can grasp
a shadow
of the ineffable?

The wise obtain a hearing
before speaking.
God is All-Wise.

February 3, 2025

editors note: Wisdom before words. – mh clay

Malcolm X by Milenko Županović

In the dark
of hanging hopes
the light of the prophet
by immortal faith
treacherously killed
glory and message
never will
be erased
because
the cry of God
spoke through him

February 2, 2025

editors note: Glory and message; within us be written. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you’re all hopped up and in need of a read, “Who’s Afraid of Bob?“ by Gary Duehr just might get you jumpin’!

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

Nature is out everywhere; in every city, and every animal that calls the city home.

Here’s a bit of this bunny tale:

“Just Who Watches the Watchmen?” by Tyler Malone

“All units, APB,” crackled the dispatcher. “Be on the lookout for a 10.66 at Cherry and Park, suspicious person punching cars as they go by. The suspect is an older woman wearing a flower sundress and blue scarf.”

“10-4, we’re on it,” answered Officer Walters in Unit 13, scratching his stubble. “We’re a couple blocks away. Be there in two.”

Walters sat back and sighed at his rookie partner Ellis behind the wheel. “Oh, man. I knew this day was going too easy. No need to hurry.”

“Roger that,” said Ellis and eased off the gas.

When they got to Cherry and Park, the late afternoon sun glared off the stop sign and big white condos. There was no one in sight.

“Dispatch,” said Walters into the mic. “Any update on location?”

There was a hiss of static then a click. “Suspect is heading down Park toward Lincoln.”

“Still punching?”

“You know it,” she answered. “Good luck with that.”

Ellis pulled a hard ralph toward Lincoln and hit the siren’s whoop whoop. He couldn’t help but smile as he raised his sunglasses.

Up ahead they saw the woman standing in the middle of the street. When a Jeep swerved around her, she took a swing at it, wobbling on her feet. She looked drunk, screaming something at the vehicle as it sped off. She nursed the knuckles of her right hand in her mouth.

Ellis parked and they got out. “You handle it,” said Walters. “It’ll be good practice for you.”

They approached the woman but gave her plenty of leeway.

“You got a problem with cars, m’am?” asked Ellis.

“Leave me the fuck alone!” she slurred. “Mind your own fucking business.”

“I’d sure like to do that, but we got reports you’ve been hitting cars as they go by.”

She slumped to the curb, exhausted, and wiped her face with her scarf. “Yeah, so what? Those fuckers are speeding down residential streets and mowing down bunnies.”…

Hare the whole tail right here.

•••

“That’s great, it starts with an earthquake…” (but no birds and snakes, and aeroplanes) and by “it” we mean “A Shower of Meteors“ by Contributing Writer & Poet Susie Gharib!

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

Let it fall! And as it does, go watch it. Eyes open for it all.

Here’s a quiver to deliver this telltale tale:

“Skyline” by Tyler Malone

I devote a few minutes every day to checking on the internet the latest tremors and earthquakes that have ruffled the temper of our crumbling planet. I do monitor the movement of its bowels as I do mine when my stomach is in a state of upheaval. The problem is that I find it hard to explain to family members that this is not a mere obsession with seismic activities in the wake of the recent, devastating earthquake. While sitting in my bed, marking loads of exam papers, I become aware of the tremors not only in the motion of the crystal balls of my chandelier, which efficiently register earthly rumblings, but also in the throbbing of my red pen, on which I tighten my grip, evoking the needle of the Richter scale. I always manage to hold my hand steady despite the accelerated speed of my agitated heartbeats…

Shake a leg & get the rest of this quaking scene right here.

••• Open Mic •••

This past 1st Wednesday of February (aka 02.05.25) Mad Swirl Open Mic was found whirling up the Swirl at our OC home, Barbara’s Pavillion, getting the Mad mic opened for ALL you Mad ones out there!

This month we featured the poet, writer & mad man Harry McNabb! 

Grats to ALL the participators & appreciators who graced our stage:

Hosts:
Johnny O
MH Clay

Musical Overture:
Swirve (Chris & Tamitha Curiel, Gerard Bendiks)

Open Mic:
Johnny O
MH Clay
Tyler Malone
Alan Gann
Melanie Rich
Josh Weir
Carlos Salas
Leslie
Chaz
Kevin
Adam
Natasha

We know you have a choices of what to do with your Wednesday night & we’re thrilled you picked lil ol’ us to hang out with!

Stay tuned ’til next 1st Wednesday (aka 03.05.25) when we will be launching our 2024 “Best of Mad Swirl” Anthology, highlighting the local poets and writers who are featured in this collection!!

Peace,
Johnny O

P.S. Thanks to Tyler Malone for capturing the swirling scenes on our mad mic!…