I surrendered to a world of my imagination…

Andrew Wyeth

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“US. RESIST” by featured artist Kasey Jones

Dive on into ALL of Kasey’s strikingly defiant anarchistic illustrations, as well as our other past featured artists, at our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we encountered a stranger, considered the danger; we looked ascant at a drowning ant; we learned, to love a dog, know there must be dialogue; we came to cope with sips of hope; we hinged more with an old door; we gave rise to the prize; we had nameless fun ‘neath a lemon squeeze sun. We feel no shame in our attempts at namin’. ~ MH Clay

What We Feel Most Has No Name by Taya Sanderson Kesslau

In early morning amber tuft light,

supine under the arch swoop sky,

I wondered over cinnamon snip

dotted here and there.

 

Callings of horse warble

rang out over bird sprinkle song

settling among clover and fluff.

 

The nettle-sting world filled

with lemon squeeze sun

and round sticky butterscotch gladness.

July 12, 2025

editors note: Feels so great to sound like this! (We welcome Taya to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay

The Prize by Ken Edward Rutkowski

Tomorrow was just another day sunlight lost on the canal early evening late afternoon it seems like a tree of thought is moving hopefully delivery of something remembering the light in the trees it winds around wraps itself bound by walls and bikes the kinds with Motors free release the light it speaks in the moon we say we have the same one clear diaphanous Sunset Love Song filth on low tide in a city that abides by the sun I’ve had a bit of weather in my life gone is the past forward inside ever was speaking in tongues in language perplexed even to the locals we speak (em) (anh) (chị) (cô) (ông) (bà) I’ve written my masterpieces in the wind they’re just words but I hear them! wind rain sun weather lives in the relapses of the soul I want adjectives to describe the wind ’cause one day it will all run out at the center of all things is madness understanding retribution consolation the prize.

July 11, 2025

editors note: The prize, at the center, begins with madness. – mh clay

Old Door, New Latch by Guest Poet Sharon E. Svendsen

On an old door
bearing hard down
through the coiled years
pulls a hard weight
on its black strings.

Now the thoughts cross
from the old hinge
to a new latch
and the mad brain
makes a slight shift

and the lost mom
with her low lies
and her tales told
and her back stab
and her fake front

with her news spread
of my shamed states
and her black moods
break to eased hope
as her flaws fade

and her soft touch
and her gray smiles
and her pink laugh
and her blue eyes
and her red dress

and her baked cakes
and her proud roasts
and her books read
and her tears shed
for my own woes

fill my aged hurt.
And a vain wish
settled gem hard
finds a break ache
where the late love

builds its new house
on the inside
of a long loss
hanging hard down
on an old door.

July 10, 2025

editors note: Everyone wants at least one “break to eased hope.” – mh clay

SIPS by L.E. Douglas

Aching
bitter temps
Gray days of
diluted light
invite me to
take sips of
sadness

A taste too
familiar
not delicious

With small
fragments of
light piercing
through I
force myself to
imagine the pleasant
Past and present
Such sips of
hope set the
stage for
a delightful future

July 9, 2025

editors note: Serving some hope? Make it a double guzzler. – mh clay

Lament for Simon by Harley White

Once my neighbor asked of me
would I, for a modest fee,
tend his dog? “It won’t be hard;
he will stay in our backyard.
We’ll be gone a week or so
and be back before you know.
Here’s his leash and dog food, too.
This is all you need to do:
feed and walk him once a day;
he won’t try to run away.
Just around the block’s enough.
If he tries to play too rough,
grabs your shoe and will not drop it,
just say ’no’, and he’ll stop it.
I am awfully grateful to you.
If a favor I can do you,
be it big or be it small,
all you have to do is call.
Have you got it? Okay, then,
see you soon, and thanks again.”

Simon, Simon, canine breed,
is that really all you need—
just a walk, a bowl of food?
All day long in solitude
there you wait. What do you do
till I come to care for you?
Do you dream of females fair,
long to take the mountain air?
Do you wonder why you’re living—
what you’re getting, what you’re giving?
How you frolic when I’m there!
When I leave, do you despair—
feel unloved, neglected, blue?
I imagine that you do.
One half hour company—
that is not enough for me.
I’m a person— you’re a dog.
Still, we have a dialogue—
animals of different name—
are we not a bit the same?

July 8, 2025

editors note: Let’s give our “best” treatment to our “Best Friend.” – mh clay

Lost by Guest Poet Linda Sacco

There is a lone ant
crawling in my bathroom.
(I imagine) it watches me
colouring my hair,
whitening my teeth,
trying on suits, jeans and T-shirts.

I stare at the mirror.
As the water runs
over my soapy hands
I look in time to find
there is a lone ant,
drowning.

July 7, 2025

editors note: Heisenberg Effect at play? – mh clay

An Encounter by Susie Gharib

Another theft!
This time it is public property:
the electric cables of our district.

I stand discussing with a neighbor the recent event.
He thanks me for purchasing the lock
since the repairmen have left the door open
after rectifying the damage!

I feel a watchful presence in the vicinity
on the opposite pavement.
A tall, masked man observes me with apparent interest.
His only visible feature is a pair of eyes
that can shoot to kill.
Having maintained the longest eye contact
I ever had
with a stranger,
I ask my neighbor if we should report the incident to him.
I take him to be some security personnel in the neighborhood.
My neighbor negatively shakes his head.

As I slowly mount the arduous steps to my apartment,
I see through the windows the masked man hiding in nearby bushes.
His movements are furtive
and he seems very anxious to camouflage his presence.
I ponder over his essence
when I suddenly see him cock a pistol
with the expertise of murderers in films.

This has been my first encounter with a kidnapper
or should I say an assassin!
I wonder who is intended to be his victim.

July 6, 2025

editors note: Scary! Remember when such encounters only happened “somewhere else,” never here? – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you need a pithy point to ponder, “An Afterlife“ by Contributing Writer Barry Green just might be the point you need!

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

The place after this one is seen in a mirror, but tilted at an impossible angle, but we see something, and it’s ourselves. Always.

Here’s how these hefty hereafter thoughts begin:

(Un)Mirrored by Tyler Malone

It’s 2:30 in the morning and I’m drinking a cup of instant coffee, eating baby carrots and spicy humus and just finished reading a story in a book about a place where people who have committed suicide now live–a place with apartments, stores, bars, parks and all that.

I had to take a break and write this down so I could see if it makes sense, that there would be a parallel world where dead people live even though they’re dead, where they drink coffee and visit friends (who also had killed themselves) and even the parents of the people who killed themselves. In the story, it’s not clear whether the parents also killed themselves or whether they just wanted to be close to their children, in a place where no one ages beyond the time that death surprised them by their own hands…

Keep going down this rabbit hole right here!

•••

If you’re lookin’ for a read to make you think, “After the Rain“ by Contributing Writer Ethan Goffman might be just what you need.

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

If you choose kindness for any small thing, how much kindness could *you* be given? And how much more could you offer to yourself?

Here’s a point to ponder:

Strength by Tyler Malone

After the rain we gathered to play tennis—doubles—and were removing wet spots, passing a squeegee back and forth. I noticed that Andi, an animal biologist, had retreated to the tall grass just outside the court. When she returned, she crouched with a stick and a leaf. A worm had gotten on the court, and she was coaxing it onto the leaf. Then, she took the trembling leaf and its passenger to the grassy area just outside the fence. While the rest of us squeegeed, she rescued at least three worms.

Marci, with compassion or mischief in her eyes, beckoned Andi and pointed to a worm the next court over.

“I’ve done enough,” said Andi. “I’m only going to rescue the worms on our court.” I noticed that the distant worm was diligently making its way toward the long grass just outside the court. However, it was quite a journey and I wondered if the sun would dry the worm and bake it before it could reach safety in the succulent grass…

Check out how this game ends right here!

••• Podcast •••

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••• Fundraiser •••

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•••••••

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…

Givin’ In,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor