Be faithful to that which exists within yourself.

Andre Gide

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Hanging On” by Resident Artist Louella Lester

To see all of Louella’s naturally charming leafy scenes, as well as our other past featured artists, visit our Mad Gallery!

••• The Poetry Forum •••

This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum…  we offered resistance to work assistance; we raised our voice with daddy’s choice; we listened in Fall for Summer’s sweet call; we would let love prevail over life’s bloody trail; we acted with words, though maybe unheard; we felt primal fear, a vicious pack near; we shunned a monstrosity, resolved to not perfect be. Of our flaws we’re in awe when they’re plain to see. ~ MH Clay

Perfection is Perdition by Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

A bridge collapses
On one bank of the river stands a Father
On the other a Daughter
the Parade of Discipline
was not allowed to break step
hence the collapse
The secret is Resonance

Worry about
too perfect a world
for it can create
the perfect autocracy
and the perfect genocide
and that ultimate monstrosity
The Perfect Human
hybridized with automatons
and animals and AI
— an immortal nightmare
from which creation will never ever
find relief.
Strive not therefore
for perfection
but fight like a wildcat
to preserve human flaws.

O little speck in garnered fruit !
O Felix Culpa !

Perfection is Perdition.

November 22, 2025

editors note: Perfect to a (happy) fault. – mh clay

Peril by Guest Poet David Sapp

Just before dawn
The ecstatic
Yipping and howling
Of coyotes
Too near
In the night
Woods fields
And now rudely
My backyard
Belongs to them
Their teeth shred
Trapped rabbits
Or as a pack
Corner a doe
I’m absolutely safe
Within my walls
But I can’t help
A palpable fear
Their bloodlust
So near elicits
A primal peril

November 21, 2025

editors note: Prey, they can’t pick the lock. – mh clay

SHOULD I by L.E. Douglas

Initiated conversation
Thoughts slide across
forming a
tug of war in my mind

Images of action
bring about euphoria
Doing nothing
brings uncomfortable
stillness

Been done before
Was it worth it
Words flung into
an abyss
Did they hit
the mark

November 20, 2025

editors note: Well? Did they? – mh clay

A Poem For My Wife by Richard LeDue

It’s hard to write love poems
when death is redder
than the loveliest rose,
and a person’s last words,
spoken to an empty room,
are more courageous
than any hello.

Yet there are still bouquets,
charged on my credit card
three days before pay day,
and how we say “I love you”
every day in defiance
of the bloody trail
in front of all of us.

November 19, 2025

editors note: That’s the ticket: Defy, defy, defy! – mh clay

Summer’s Ghost by Rosie Lindsey

Ghosts are real
Though I’ve never been haunted
I hear stories.
Child ghosts bang the screen door.
Curmudgeons troop down the hall all night
Forever flushing the toilet.
Frustrated housewives open all the kitchen cabinet doors.
The man who died in anger
Scratches the wall, your back.
Llorona walks the riverbank moaning, weeping for the loss of her children
Elizabeth resets the table in the restaurant that was her home.

I’ve never been haunted for real
Will I now?
Summer was silent in life, answering yes or no
No elaboration, no opinion ever uttered
When she cried, she cried alone
There won’t be tears in the night by a spectral girl.
How does a person silent in life
Haunt the night of the living?
I hope I hear from her…
That she sends word somehow.
I’ll listen for her in the quiet.

November 18, 2025

editors note: This time in Fall, Summer’s sweet recall. – mh clay

The Name My Father Chose by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Luis,
I say to myself.
My ear falls deaf.
I say my name.
My name is Luis.
It is night.

Luis,
how strange I am.
My name feels like it is
no longer my name.
It sounds strange
coming out of my mouth.
I call my name.
Come here I say.
Come join me.
I only want to sleep.
My head pounds.
I find myself sleepwalking.
My name is Luis.
I say to myself.
It is a good name.
That is the name my father chose.

November 17, 2025

editors note: Go ahead, out loud, say your name. – mh clay

Lazy Bones Activation by Robert L. Martin

My lazy bones activation process
really sucks.
I just want to sit here on the
couch and do nothing.
Why can’t my work finish itself?

Who ever invented the
work assisted processes?
Why do I have to be the assistee?
Why does work have to have
somebody involved in it?
Can’t something or somebody else
be responsible for the work being done?

My lazy bones felt great just doing nothing.
I don’t have to think or be constructive.
I can be a nothing or a perennial sitter.
My couch was made for sitting; therefore,
there should be somebody sitting on it.

Who invented work in the first place?
Some eager dude who thinks work
is supposed to be done?
Did he ever enjoy sitting on his couch?
Did he ever have one?
Maybe he was a space alien with no butt.
Did he have a bed?
Did he sleep standing up?

Whatever the dude was,
I don’t agree with him.
Work takes all the fun out of doing nothing.
Nothing is fun being nothing.

Maybe some new dude will think
of a way for work to be non-assisted.
Then I can sit here on the couch
and never have to get up anymore.
My lazy bones will never have to be
reactivated anymore.
Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Thank you inventor dude.

November 16, 2025

editors note: Have couch – why travel? – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you need a read, check out this twisted trysted tale, “The Names Life Gives You“ by Contributing Writer Feyisayo Anjorin!

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

What and who we believe is a matter of who and what we are? Believing in power, means the powerless have no power. And maybe that’s where we need to invest belief.

Here’s how this whispered secret begins:

Choice in Moments by Tyler Malone

The world around me would rather not believe a woman like me.

Words from my lips would stain the pretty pictures of the revered idols in many hearts. Their idols are marked as untouchable for the gates they keep and the things they’ve made scarce to sustain their power. These idols have special spaces on many tables across the land, presiding over pleasurable feasts, and dispensing palatable decadence or indulgent comforts.

My true stories would trigger the ones wrapped in the comfort of lies; they would snort and ask, ‘What the hell is this bitch saying?’ The unity of voices speaking from sincere hearts would spread my new description, a description that would sometimes function as a name. These believers would effortlessly form a mob and all hands would be on deck to stop every voice of reason.

I was that witch who would attend geomorphology class, dressed in silk skin-tight knee-length mini-dresses, high heels, and a carefree smile. I would sit like the rest of the class to listen and learn; unaware of the mark of the eyes stuck on me, the eyes that had taken to my body like flies would take to fresh shit.

I was the one who twisted Dr. Lawson’s thoughts into lewd stories, painted vivid pictures in his mind, and gave a secret longing to the thing between his legs. I was the one who charmed his lips and forced my lecturer to speak words he would have reserved for his lovers…

Sneak on over here to get the rest of this read on!

••• Open Mic •••

Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of December (aka 12.03.25) when we’ll be doin’ the open mic voodoo that we do at Barbara’s Pavillion!

We will get things started with some musical grooves brought to you by our long standing house band Swirve! (Chris & Tamitha Curiel, Gerard Bendiks). Then, starting at 8pm, hosts Johnny O & MH Clay will set the stage for some open mic madness!

This month we will be hosting us a Holidaze Hijinx! Got something seasonal you’d like to share? Present it to us!

Come to participate…

(preRSVP at our Facebook event page or send a message to openmic@madswirl.com)

Come to swirlabrate…

(join us LIVE at Barbara’s Pavillion- located at 323 Centre St, Dallas OR watch us on Facebook LIVE))

Come one. Come all. Come to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call… Mad Swirl!

•••••••

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…

Existin’ faithfully,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor