The principle of art is to pause, not bypass.

Jerzy Kosinski

••• The Mad Gallery •••

IMG 3076 by featured artist Richard Hanus

Check-out Richard’s dreamy, abstract canvases, as well as our other resident artists, at our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we went thanks giving for city living; we mayhems twirled from squirrel to squirrel; we tried to keep pace in the future race; we had no answer for a fading dancer; we reveled in the rustle of a sultry hustle; we peeled to meet one bittersweet; we found liberation in a fourth consideration. We think, therefore we write! ~ MH Clay

SABBATH by Marie Higgins

Once I understood how
blue laws didn’t account
for worship on other days
I came to understand
truths for myself
One: grown but not gone
children leave their footprint
in every room of my palace
kind of like a dog marking
new territory and God being
everywhere all the time
no matter the day
Two: I feel good about
deciding when it is
time for these things to go
including child’s dirty clothes/dishes
in the kitchen/bed/bathroom evermore
Three: no dress up required
because I could experiment
how often and what days
I observed my god of whom
there is no hierarchy except
that doing better is on top

And maybe as I w(right) this
for myself I consider a Four
which is that I don’t really care
about going to hell
by someone else’s definitions

June 14, 2025

editors note: Easier to count on your own accountability. – mh clay

I Peel My Own Oranges by Guest Poet Ava Lane

sinking your teeth
into citrus skin
to expose the juicy tender center
bitterness sprays your tongue
but you know what is to come
the zest may draw you away
but the saccharine flesh
is what makes you stay
tear away
the outside to get inside
where it’s
soft, sweet, and decadent

now I peel my own oranges
but I could never bite into them like you do
I struggle to tear the outer part
to get to what I want
sour then sweet
like a citrus fruit
I am better sweet
bittersweet

June 13, 2025

editors note: If you want something done… – mh clay

BARRIO SIZZLE by Colleen Boueil

A tango sizzles

flashing…feel the heat

forbidden quicks and slows

red satin fringe frizzling

gliding…slow promenades

with erotic intimacy

razor sharp flicks aligning

eyes transfix on hot hips

toes embrace staccato floors

lovers ablaze with tango gazes

as twilight burns… it leaves its mark

sultry hustles always flirt with potency.

Slow… Slow… Quick… Quick… Slow

June 12, 2025

editors note: Here’s the best way to slide through your summer sizzle. – mh clay

No Point by Gary Beck

My feet hurt all the time,
worst after a long class.
I don’t tell the company
so I can keep teaching
and hope they don’t notice
I no longer use the barre.

Sometimes I may be too harsh
as I urge them to work harder,
but they don’t seem to have
the drive for perfection
that makes a great dancer.

They all may have technique,
but if they don’t have the fire
that dazzles the audience
when they buoyantly float
impossibly in the air
the performance is sterile.

When I watch their efforts
I think: ‘maybe it’s not them.’
The house is getting smaller,
the ticket buyers are greybeards.
I don’t see many young faces.
When the old timers are gone
we’ll have mostly empty seats
and they won’t pay us to dance.

The company is rigid.
Everything is structured.
I was a young dancer
and got my big break
when the prima fell
while dancing Giselle
and I continued the role
without asking anyone.

This outraged management,
the other girls hated me,
but I was electric.
The audience loved me
and this one chance started
my exceptional career.

The unimaginable
will happen someday soon
if no one comes to see us
and with ballet fading away
I will end my days at home,
watching ballet videos,
escaping to the past
when once I used to dance.

June 11, 2025

editors note: No art without an audience? Definitely none without an artist. – mh clay

CHASING THE FUTURE by Mel Waldman

Chasing
the future

like
mustangs of fury galloping into a terrible nothingness

but
returning to yesterday, the unholy, haunting home of

yearlings
in the wild, darting & bolting across dark pastures

barren & unadorned, vast & bleak, bereft of beauty,
without

a
fuchsia flower to adorn & fill the harrowing Void,

covered
with Cimmerian emptiness, unblessed in the whirling wild

Chasing
the future

but
returning to yesterday, an eerie realm of unfathomable mystery

forever
seducing me into a vastness of death ineffable & unforgiving

whispering
softly like a lost lover, smothering me with her succulent breasts

as we plummet & vanish into nowhere

June 10, 2025

editors note: In every moment, the future is now! – mh clay

A syllabic Monday verse by Guest Poet Michael Holme

You play hip piano fifths,
that should end with suicide.
Genocide’s on Angel’s mind,
but the squirrels are outside.

Early on in bed you feared
your selfish anxiety.
You said “she’s feeling further,
emotionally from me.”

Your paranoia draws her
closer to your existence.
Moods just “are” and context fleets.
You’ll no doubt go the distance.

Are moods like a lottery?
I wrote this verse for the crack.
We’ve no option but to live.
That bloody squirrel is back.

June 9, 2025

editors note: Explore all options, even if you have only one. – mh clay

Suzanne Vega Covers Lou Reed by Isaiah Vianese

I’m in love with New York
and have been for a long time.

Suzanne sings, “Walk on the Wild Side,”
keeping me company as I stroll.

The air is thick after another rain,
but I make my way through the park.

Could I have imagined this life 15 years ago?
I stop for a coffee,

read a few lines by a poet
who lives on the east side.

I think about my birthday plans—
a crawl through gay bars with friends.

I want the party to end at the water,
where all Manhattan life begins.

Suzanne sings, “Hey babe,”
so I look up from my book—

the neighborhood is a vibrant green,
buildings fresh after the storm

and sparkling in the heat.
A jogger waves as he passes.

I get a message that asks,
“Wanna get brunch tomorrow?”

I’m in love with New York
and have been for a long time.

June 8, 2025

editors note: The ultimate urban connection, a city serenade. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you’re looking for a gem of a read, seek and you shall find a “Hidden Jewel“ by Contributing Writer & Poet Harley White!

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our featured weekend read:

What gives magic, and what takes it? It’s all creation, but who made it…?

Here’s a hint of how this allegorical read begins:

“Proof of Life” by Tyler Malone

Imagine there is an indigent person who visits the house of an intimate friend, where drinking wine to excess makes him worsen until he falls down senseless drunk in the end.

The host sees his guest unconscious, but he has to leave on some business affairs, and since he is worried about his friend’s fate he decides to give the poor man unawares a pearl beyond price, which he carefully sews into the lining of his clothes while he lies fast asleep; then off the host silently goes, having bestowed this invaluable prize.

As he slept off his overindulgence spree, in his garment with the hidden jewel clad, so helplessly intoxicated was he that he never dreamed of the treasure he had…

Find the rest of this hidden gem right here!

•••

We here at Mad Swirl vow that “The Shortest Forever“ by Guest Writer Feyisayo Anjorin is one heck of a read!

Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our weekday featured read:

Love is love, but it needs to be fertile.

Here’s how the vows start:

Photo by Tyler Malone

Three weeks ago, I stood before over two hundred people – friends, family, even uninvited guests – and swore my love to Tomisin Rawlings. When the priest asked, I said I do without hesitation, my heart so sure it felt like fate. He smiled back, that familiar pout making me grateful for the man who’d loved me diligently.

Now, I walk toward the same priest’s office, my pulse a drum of dread, to tell him our marriage is over.

“Are you sure about this?” Pastor Oyelowo asked. I’d never bothered to learn his name – only his title – but there it was, etched on the desk plate, Femi Oyelowo.

“I’m sure.”

“Did he hurt you?”

I almost nodded. Tomisin hurt me. But I was sure the hurt in Pastor’s eye was the kind that left bruises, and mine wasn’t so simple. I shook my head…

On that note, we do part and ask that you get the rest of this read right here!

••• Fundraiser •••

Thanks to ALL who have already donated to our fundraiser! We’re 43% closer to our goal! For those who still might wanna lend a hand, it’s not too late. EVERY dollar donated will go towards growing our collective creative outlet… and you can say you helped!

•••••••

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 world? Then come by whenever the mood strikes! We’ll be here…

Hangin’ ’round,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor