All art really does is keep you focused on questions of humanity, and it really is about how do we get on with our maker.

David Bowie

••• The Mad Gallery •••

“Occhiolism” by Featured Artist Shriya Rawat

To feel all of Shriya’s humming & colorful photographs, 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 mourned our dearth of love for Earth; we waxed sublime of love and wine; we heartstrings severed, not anymore ever; we read verse sad, of a land gone mad; we sought our kind, those of like mind; we factoids vented, all seven percented; we mocked the fuss o’er space for us; we stumbled back into the same old crack. Mostly, we strive to fail forward. ~ MH Clay

madness sometimes makes perfect sense by George Gad Economou

empty needles dance on the dusty floor,
stranded dragons hope for a rescue vessel.
isolated islands burn down, no one notices,
everybody avoids the clouds of black smoke.
stumbling about the empty streets,
searching for a place to call home,
there’s none. only four impersonal deaf walls,
a couch whereupon so many have sat, slept, wept.
empty bottles and spilled cocaine,
a sea that will not be crossed;
trapped, the bars are sturdy, grey, monotonous.
once more, seeking for a way out,
only to realize,
there’s none.
one more drink poured,
in vain hoping something will change.
endless nights, cold mornings,
back to where it all began,
former walls to keep me imprisoned,
it’s alright.
embraces belonging to the past become the future,
lips never tasted turn into the reality that’s to come.
drinking to forget;
every sip brings forth more recollections
from a past that was burned inside metal spoons and plastic bottle caps.
sauntering through the streets of wasted adulthood,
burning down buildings, raising new foundations,
it all remains the same,
and the dance continues, as a cloud of wasted blow
rises,
and within it I see all the ghosts that will never leave the premises
of the damned apartment.
false promises ringing in my head,
no amount of alcohol can silence the whispering ghosts;
I try, I pass out. come morning,
it’s the same old. no change.
bourbon for breakfast, lunch, dinner.
the old routine, nothing will ever change.
one more empty bottle, broken glass all over the dirty floor,
farewell, time to bring the glass-pipe out of early retirement.

January 10, 2026

editors note: When all is madness, no sense makes any. (We welcome George to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay

IN SPACE OR SPACED OUT by Chrissie Morris Brady

Bones grow feeble without gravity
This is a serious matter, not to be taken lightly
Blood fails to reach the brain
We must bear this in mind
Space cannot be navigated by the light headed
The semi conscious, on a journey with such a faint map
Think on this seriously, it is not a joke
Spaceships lost in the heavens is a hellish consequence
Sentient beings drifting half conscious is senseless
Concentrate your thoughts so that we do not scatter
Debris in the galaxies, cleverly made
And stupidly lost.

January 9, 2026

editors note: Space has no space for us. – mh clay

A Matter of Perspective by Jim Murdoch

7% of British women over 18 play team sports.
7% of couples seek advice from a financial adviser during a divorce.
It is normal for newborns to lose up to 7% of their birth weight.
Just 7% of workers say they don “business attire” at work.
7% of Europe’s population live in cities.

7% of men are likely to be stalked in their lifetime.
7% of people will experience “complicated grief.”
About 7% of children have attempted suicide by the age of 17.
Only 7% of Australia’s homeless sleep on the street.
7% of the world’s population will still be living in extreme poverty by 2030.

Just 7% of rental properties are classed as pet-friendly.
Only 7% of big corporations have female CEOs.
7% of Americans don’t use the Internet.
Men made up 7% of all cosmetic surgery procedures.
7% of pupils across the UK go to private schools.

Only 7% of communication is derived from words themselves.
7% of currently married people have been married for 50 years or more.
Experts estimate dyscalculia affects up to 7% of people worldwide.
Works by women make up just 7% of art in top galleries.
7% of all deaths in Quebec are from lethal injection.

Curb appeal in residential housing can account for up to 7% of a home’s value.
A mere 7% of males prioritise their mental health.
7% of the world is either atheist or agnostic.
7% of marriages result in happy and fulfilled couples.
Air conditioning accounts for 7% of global electricity.

7% of Americans think that chocolate milk comes from brown cows.
The moon has a smiley face and only 7% of people see it.
7% of the total number of people who have ever lived on Earth are alive now
and only 7% of that number know which is larger: 20% of 7 or 7% of 20.
(I made up that last one.)

January 8, 2026

editors note: We bet only 7% of readers will fact check 7% of these statistics. – mh clay

Variety by Sanjeev Sethi

Without the context,
the contagion loses its clutch.
One good thing about the internet
is that pratfalls of
all nations are for everyone to notice.
Nothing is shrouded in the haze of
disinformation and distance.
Individuation is a process
like muscles on a bodybuilder.
Pumping iron for only a week is
like going solo with a spancel.
Converge with those compatible
with your wing wash.
Democracy is for others:
Not for those in power.

January 7, 2026

editors note: Before we lose trust, converge we must. – mh clay

Mad Country by Arun Budhathoki

Decades after decades
I’ve scribbled words that disappear amidst the nation’s din
Who am I that they’d listen to?
Did they listen to the dead poets who wrote of revolution and demanded equality and liberty?

I have seen them die one by one
Fallen to the foothills of our great Himalayas
And nowhere can I hear their songs
of anguish and
Rage

Hush now. This is a mad country.
And we’re the mad ones
Dreaming of a utopia
The dead poets knew in the end
Their writing was a mere experiment
To let the world know that the nation
Thrived on great minds
But beneath the polished roads of Kathmandu
Lie tunnels and sewers of corruption
Making poets go mad
And they became mad from the corruption of the nation.

January 6, 2026

editors note: This madness is everywhere, infecting every country, inciting poets to this. – mh clay

Last Friday by PW Covington

Finality swung in the air
Like a suicide hanging
From a small-city motel closet-rod
The essence of never not none anymore ever

Finding her ring, wrapped in lace lingerie
Inside that teak box, hand-carved in India
With my glass pipe and torch
Knowing that she must have sequestered it there

Three days ago
Before she left with the car and her new high heel shoes
And the passport that had only just come in the mail
Last Friday

January 6, 2026

editors note: When it’s done, it’s done; no matter what day. Oof! – mh clay

3 Haiku: Blankets, Kisses, Wine by Guest Poet James Babbs

awakened early
all of the blankets pulled
toward her side of the bed

•

saying her name
in a goofy voice
her kisses so sweet

•

morning sunlight
when the grapes ripen
I want to make wine

January 5, 2026

editors note: Things to make the heart glad. – mh clay

Unrivaled Earth by Harley White

Unrivaled Earth, how came you so
amongst the globes that come and go?
As planetary world just right
for human being day and night,
in every sense you’re apropos.

The Sun which grants us starry glow
shines down upon our mortal show
as yet in word and deed we slight
unrivaled Earth.

Oh may this rondeau help bestow
noteworthy words from pen to flow
as I, mere rhymester, yet despite
my lack of merit, seek insight
to pen some praises that we owe
unrivaled Earth.

January 4, 2026

editors note: And don’t we know, we owe her so. – mh clay

••• Short Stories •••

If you’re seekin’ a haunted read from the great beyond, “The Glare of it All“ by Contributing Writer Phyllis Souza may be the spectral you seek!

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

Was it revenge, or the love of the game?

Here’s a ghostly glimpse:

All’s Illusion by Tyler Malone

She used to dismiss my flaws—my anxious pulling at my eyebrows, the nervous biting of my nails, even trimming my toenails right there on the coffee table—as if these habits mattered little to her. What once felt like a warm acceptance now weighs on me like a quiet betrayal.

I must admit, for reasons I can’t explain, I felt the urge to taste a toenail. Maybe it ties into my old compulsion for biting my fingernails.

There’s no turning back, no way forward. Trapped in this casket, I look peaceful, but inside, a storm rages. Her tears are empty. Forgiveness can’t happen. If she comes close, I’ll slam the lid.

But before any of this…

Read how this haunting tale ends right here!

•••

Hurry up! And… wait. Hurry up! And… wait, is just the kind of read that Contributing Writer James Joaquin Brewer delivers with “Colorado Blues.“

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

Being at war is a battle against time.

Here’s how this one pushes off:

Riding on Wind by Tyler Malone

New Home
(Bremerton, Washington:13 October 1941)

It’s my new home: the United States Ship Colorado (BB-45), also known by its crew as the “Buckin’ Bronco.” All 624 feet and 32,000 tons of her. Almost done with a fresh overhaul and renovation right here at Puget Sound Navy Yard. I looked up a little of her history and found out she was “born” (launched) one year before I was. We’re just about the same age. One of the senior medical guys told me that a few years ago this ship was searching for Amelia Earhart. Now it’s likely we’ll be searching for somebody else. After I came aboard, they gave me this nice little “Sailor’s Souvenir Handybook” that I can use as a diary on those days when something especially worth noting occurs.

Infamy
(Bremerton, Washington: 7 December 1941)

The Japanese attacked us today at Pearl Harbor. Details sketchy. More we hear the worse it sounds. There’s no doubt it’s time for us to rise and shine. Last bit of re-fit completed. Time to get us out of our safe docks and into the ocean where we can live up to the oaths we swore so easily at time of induction…

Float on over here to get the rest of this maritime read on!

 

•••••••

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…

Questionin’,

Johnny O
Chief Editor

MH Clay
Poetry Editor

Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor

Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor