One size does not fit all.

Frank Zappa

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Conspires” by Resident Artist Mitchell Pluto

To see all of Mitchell’s cosmically trippy & chaotically gorgeous canvases, 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 got classroom fame for taking a name; we knew no harmer in a phantom farmer; we saw dumb lug glower at woman empowered; we made naked clarity from found solidarity; we ground leaves to dust with diamonds and rust; we could speak no words about singing birds; we love thought fond as we circled the pond. We stir our circles into a swirl. ~ MH Clay

SUMMER AT WALDEN by Royal Rhodes

I live, only to change,
and then change completely

seeking rapture in lightning
like a love-ache.

Thought brought torture.
Nothing saves. Hold it yourself.

Water annihilates even stone,
as soft rain touches fine hair.

When the memory is lost,
these places inside are waste.

Circumambulating the pond
is like a lover encircling

and the lover becomes plural
and cannot or ever be possessed

as every love makes us end
like the seeing by which we see

so full with beauty that when
it responds it is only to wound

and at Walden we enter
again Eden among the flames.

December 20, 2025

editors note: We all come round the pond, with love, or without. – mh clay

Stopping for Bird Songs by Guest Poet Ma Yongbo

After six, dusk coming on.
Does anyone want to join me
and listen to this hurricane of birdsong?
We could try to identify species by their call.
If so, please arrange an appointment.
Today, on the way to class, I wanted to stop,
like Frost, but didn’t.

In this poem a man,
an aging, troubled literature professor
walks through a gale of birdsong
so lonely he is ashamed to speak.

And those birds, they are almost invisible

December 19, 2025

editors note: An outward view to distract from inward troubles. – mh clay

Like Rusty Metal by Sushant Thapa

I could rise up,
Lift my spirits,
Take a fresh walk.
You just pass by
And nod
With disagreement.
We argue,
And the love grows
Like old wine.
We have been
Good friends,
To be
Pretending enemies.
We are close,
So we collide
Like diamonds
And rusty metal.
Leaves of happiness
Fall
And become
Leaves of sadness
When we step
On them.

December 18, 2025

editors note: Frenemies? – mh clay

Naked Embarrassment by Guest Poet Hannah Elliot-Lindh

You may undress me.
With words or with hands, I relish in the
Freedom
Empowered by the solidarity that
Is my body
Each freckled constellation
And the whispered curve of my back
Leading away from prudish dampenings of my present
Long gone are the days of youthful angst
And growing pains,
Bony chests,
And awkward joints
Clutching stomachs in fear and shame—
Strip me then, and you would’ve
found
A skeleton in a trench coat
Or maybe three, balancing atop each other
Pretending to be grown when
I’d yet to flesh out my life
I slide a hand along my
Overhanging belly in the mirror
And revel in the crassness of its bulging lines
The crudeness of time’s markings on my soul is ecstasy,
Release.
Strip me now of this mortal pretense
And let me holler and rave
At the Adonis of existence.

December 17, 2025

editors note: So clothed go we all. – mh clay

I am an empowered woman by Susie Gharib

“I am an empowered woman,” she remonstrated.
His eyes swooped down from an unpolished mouth
to a very slender waist,
as if expecting to see a pistol
or a grenade.
She grimaced.

The tiny hairs of his moustache involuntarily curled,
then he acquiesced with a simple statement:
“You probably swim,
because some muscles are visible on your limbs.”

December 16, 2025

editors note: Some lugs can’t see power that doesn’t threaten. – mh clay

Cornfield Cryptid by Guest Poet Anjelica Wren

I do remember being human
like a past life present
I was born here
Monsanto rows with patented genes
burning barrel, chicken yard scraps,
squirrel winter; bluegill summer
my Model T buried deep in the woods
with trees growing through the bed
a full trunk surrounds the driver seat
the truck is the woods now
let it decompose, the trees rot
laid down like a bench
sections crumbling to mulch
shelf shrooms and tiny stools
brittle, musk loamy smell
the way I wish I could

every night, farmer neighbor
goes out to check
the anhydrous ammonia tank
still secure, never tampered with
you’re welcome

December 15, 2025

editors note: A freakish foster of farm life. – mh clay

Frank James by Jim Bates

“You be Frank,” his younger brother said
“Okay.”
“I’ll be Jessie.”
“Fine by me.”
The two brothers played at being outlaws that summer
Fake guns blazing leather holsters hot on their skinny hips

That fall Teacher slapped his assignment down on the desk
“Hey, what’s with this?”
“What?”
“You signed your paper Frank James.”
“That’s who I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am,” he argued
“NO. YOU’RE. NOT!!” A steely threatening look
He hung his head dejectedly
Her manner as well as her point crystal clear
Dang. So much for fun
“Okay,” he mumbled
“Don’t be an idiot next time.”
She stalked back to the front of the class everyone giggling
Silently he pretended to write Frank James on his leg
With his finger
He’d show her
He wasn’t ready to give up
Not yet anyway.

December 14, 2025

editors note: Me neither. Stick ’em up! – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

Rise, shine and get those eyes moving by checking out our featured read, “Ed’s Exercise“ by Contributing Writer David Sydney!

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

A journey of a million steps begins with 7,000 a day and plenty of water.

Here’s how this regimen begins:

Making Moves by Tyler Malone

THE START

“What’re you doing, Ed?”

“Getting ready.”

“So you’ve taken Dr. Fromberg’s advice?”

It was Thursday morning. Edna put down her coffee cup as she studied him and the new running shoes. Was he about to walk at least 2,000 steps that day?

“How about blisters, Ed? You know how you blister.”

She knew him and what to expect of him, even down to the feet.

For Ed, blisters never stopped at one or two toes.

“Socks, Ed?”

Of course he had socks, but not new ones…

Get to steppin’ on over here & get the rest of this read on!

•••

If you’re needing a ghostly kinda read, “Raised“ by Guest Writer Rebecca Klassen just might be the spectral story you seek!

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

What are we when so much of us is lost? More, or far less?

Here’s how this one rises:

Another Tiny Cathedral by Tyler Malone

I swat away my smile when I see my daughter sitting in the armchair. It would be rude to show joy in front of the facility staff who were so kind and patient with her before she died last night. They untangled the line of socks she used and folded them on top of her jeans, makeup bag, and journal on the bed. Sophie is looking rested and still, which gives me hope that she really has been raised in glory like Reverend Tim said she would. The staff don’t notice Sophie now: the living give them enough to contend with.

They slide Sophie’s belongings into a carrier bag and tell me she seemed calmer the day she died, not so troubled as she joined in with a baking session making scones to share. I think of her rubbing cold butter and flour between her fingertips and covering my upturned mouth, trusting my eyes shine to grief. Then the staff say they’re sorry for my loss, like they never knew Sophie at all: an unfixable commodity finally in their reject bin…

Get the rest of this phantasmal read over here!

•••••••

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…

Tailor’n,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor