“Be true to your work, your word, and your friend.”
John Boyle O’Reilly
••• The Mad Gallery •••
4I3A6027 by Featured Artist Richard Hanus
To see ALL of Richard’s surreally dreamy works of art, as well as the rest of our Resident Artist’s works, visit our Mad Gallery!
••• The Poetry Forum •••
This last week on Mad Swirl’s Poetry Forum… we fished the range for hope in change; we had a good chuckle over how we suckle; we drenched a punk in precious chunks; we heard “kin” and tucked in; we had all to find in our daily grind; we couldn’t be tenser with a Chinese censor; we grew up tough, called “playground rough;” we memories made of duck on blade. You know… you were here. ~ MH Clay
My girlfriend’s son is suspended for bringing a knife to school by Ron Riekki
for show-and-tell,
telling the class
how much he liked
the knife, and then
this massive reaction
of how much she
didn’t like the knife
(the teacher) and then
the students joining in
with this mass fear
of the knife that he
“loved,” according
to her son, its design
of a duck on the side,
a carved duck onto
a carved knife, not
the knife he “loved”
so much as the duck,
the cute duck. “Look,”
he says, eyes filled
with wet, “Why are
they afraid of that?”
and the duck looks
straight ahead, as if
it doesn’t realize it’s
on a knife, and we
stare at the duck,
and don’t realize
we are on a knife.
June 27, 2026
editors note: A show-and-tell not told, too sharp to show. – mh clay
Savage by Wayne F. Burke
The wind outside is howling
like a bunch of wild Indians
for my scalp
or blood—
as a kid I wanted to be Indian
not cowboy, a savage
with a tomahawk——what was that
all about?
I was pissed, I guess.
My mother left, father dead.
“Much too rough on the playground,”
my first grade teacher said
to my grandmother.
June 26, 2026
editors note: Rough roots make tough shoots. – mh clay
Robert Bly Almost Got Me Gulag’d by Guest Poet Erick Lima
Drunk as fuck, flying from Scotland to Japan with a twelve-hour layover in Beijing to save cash. The bus driver asks if I enjoyed my trip and if I’m going home. I tell him “China.” He says, “Too many Chinese for me, no thanks.”
On the plane, the CCP provides the entertainment. A Chinese grandma watches a state-approved film where a kid gets his arm torn off by a harvester. She panics, smashing the monitor buttons, trying to stop it.
I’m too goddamn hungover to fill out the immigration form. The woman assigned to help me smells the dried piss on my pants and watches me sign my name wrong in three different sections. She curses me out in Chinese, calling me a dirty American dog.
Anyway, I figure the whole kill-you-for-disagreeing thing is probably overblown by the American media, right? They pull my dumb poetic ass over because I brought The Party Train: A Collection of North American Prose Poems into the country.
They have a team of heavies going through it, checking for propaganda, and I’m thinking, “Mom, sorry. I’m going to be killed for the most useless niche of literature ever.” Thank Christ on a cross, they hand it back and tell me I’m clear to go. But they add, “Robert Bly is shit!”
June 25, 2026
editors note: Commie criticism, for the common good. – mh clay
Driving On by Ivan Jenson
Behind the wheel again
ballad playing on the radio
strapped in for the rest of my life
one mile at a time
next to others in their
moving metal miles of moments
each one with their fair
or unfair share of this world
sharing the road for awhile
sometimes tailgating
or road raging
or minding their own
business as usual
this extraordinary afternoon
as spring strips the winter
of its snow whiteness
and for now I like
living within
my own likeness
and am OK with
being between
destinations
all the while
guided by Siri’s voice
and as I pass
the newly expanded mall
it occurs to me
that there’s
a far chance
I might have already
had it all
June 24, 2026
editors note: For any, is all enough? – mh clay
The Word for Eat by Guest Poet Kimberly Gibson-Tran
I was not born
to the world
that warps
the glass of
proffered water
full of sound
without meaning
cadence of a jaw
thumping air
the hunger
to understand
warm hands
around mine
light
pushed
into a bowl
of rice
now & then
a catch in
the void
throat of wet
air thrumming
kin
kin she is
telling me
to kin
June 23, 2026
editors note: Eat hearty! – mh clay
FACETS OF TIME (45) by Christopher Barnes
Needles on Punkie,
Dainty mouthparts.
Fettered chunks
Of turquoise.
•
Water shrinks in jug.
June 23, 2026
editors note: Jeweler quenches his kink. – mh clay
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah by Randall Rogers
In America
The United States
We like our Sweeny’s
Straight from the farm
dewy, pendulous
milk white
beads of perspiration
areolas big as
silver dollar pancakes
suckled, spit worn by hungry mouths
erect nipples chewy as ju ju bees
dangerous to crowns and teeth
shining pink eraser tips al dente
we choose life fortissimo
slather paint chiaroscuro
our women Rubenesque
our cigars Churchillian
we lance the boil
drive Cadillacs and Harley Davidsons
in bold bright muted colors rowdy shy
we are kings of the road
America, God shed her grace on thee
And crown thyself rambunctious
From sea to shining sea.
June 22, 2026
editors note: How America sucks! – mh clay
We Stopped Using DDT by Guest Poet Billy Summers
The water at Jenks Lake is weedy and so are the fish. No one swims in it anymore; five-dollar lures hang there on the plant life and amongst the stones on the bottom, some clever catfish’s primitive attempt to fish us back. The sun shrinks to the west as you stand on the pier throwing in your own five-dollar lures, hoping they snag one of the dinosaurs on the bottom that never bite instead of a hunk of driftwood. You hope a buck comes to drink at the forested edge of the lake and you hope the sun hangs in the air a little longer. A (st)ranger in khaki shorts checks your papers and tells you they haven’t stocked in months, but there’s still bass in there. So, you fish. And hope.
You’ve cut your third lure and there’s a disturbance high in the trees; weight is lifted from a pine bough and a sleek chestnut teardrop falls and spreads into a massive bird which descends on the water in a drooping half parabola. A concussive splash and as it climbs you can see its head and holy shit it’s a bald eagle, you’ve been coming to Jenks Lake for twenty years and there’s never been a bald eagle and he’s got your fish. A rainbow trout. Good for him.
Bald eagles must not be endangered anymore, you think. You remember that DDT was bad for them and you remember we stopped using DDT years ago, and you remember the Ranger Rick subscription Grandma got you, and you suddenly remember that people can change things. And you have hope.
June 21, 2026
editors note: A little hope goes a long way these days. – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
Our featured weekend read, “Nostalgia in the Year of the Horse“ by Guest Writer & Contributing Poet Linda Sacco, sure has some giddy-up and go!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about our featured weekend read:
Trinkets, toys, totems and things we touched with our hands, that’s what we can touch from childhood, when there’s nothing to touch now.
Enough horsing around, here’s how this ride begins:
“Over Hills, Over the Hill” by Tyler Malone
After listening to a thirty-minute monologue from my neighbour about her daughter’s riding lessons, I had two thoughts. 1) I need a glass of wine and, 2) where are my childhood pony toys?
“Mum, can you check the roof for something?” I asked over Facetime with a drink in hand. “The little ponies. I’ve got my Barbies and the doll house animal families. A big bag of soft toys. I’ve got the movie viewer toy. But where are my little ponies? In particular, the really little ponies?” They were purple with lime green hair, blue with hyper orange. And another two with contrasting shades.
A few days later, I had her answer in a text message. “Dad checked the roof. No toys, just old lamps. Did you need a lamp? We’re taking them to the Salvos.”
I couldn’t believe my old toys were gone. I couldn’t stop thinking about them and even started dreaming of them…
If wild horses couldn’t drag you away from this read, then gallop on over here to get the rest of this read on!
•••
Today’s featured read (actually it’s called a drabble) “Uniformity“ comes to us from Contributing Writer & Poet Ken Poyner.
This take on segregation is too short to tease but Short Story Editor Tyler Malone’s comments might be teasing enough:
Everything, everyone, and every moment, will all finally be the same. (check out Ken’s new book of drabbles: The Lechery of Fish Tuners: A Gathering of Curious Drabbles).
“Cutting Cookies” by Tyler Malone
Get all 100 words of Ken’s drabble right here!
••• Open Mic •••
Join Mad Swirl this 1st Wednesday of July (aka 07.01.26) 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(ish), host Johnny O will set the stage for some open mic madness!
This month Mad Swirl Press will be featuring legendary Texas poet, Tammy Gomez! Here’s a bit about Tammy:
photo courtesy of Alan Gann
Tammy curates a monthly virtual poetry reading series titled RECORDANDO POETRY, and also hosts an in-person monthly open mic poetry series, SECOND SUNDAY SPOKEN WORD (SSxSW) at Arts Fifth Avenue in Fort Worth. She has studied improvisation, performance, poetry, and dance with many notable artists, including: Fred Ho, Ruth Zaporah, Kei Takei, Arthur Sze, Lorna Dee Cervantes, Elia Arce, raulrsalinas, Lourdes Portillo, and Richard Blanco.
Tammy directs the all-Latina spoken word/poetry ensemble, MUJERES SIN MIEDO (Women Without Fear), which made their professional debut on the Amphibian Stage for SparkFest 2026 in June.
Sustainability and social justice are deeply embedded in Tammy’s life and art practices.
Come one. Come all.
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 to be a part of this collective creative love child we affectionately call… Mad Swirl Open Mic!
Here’s the remaining 2026 features:
September: Tejana Cósmica
October: Trier Ward
November: 22 Years of Mad Swirl Open Mic Swirlabration
December: Holidaze Hijinx
••• Fundraiser •••
Mad Swirl rarely asks for help, but we are ready to take our global arts collective to the next level. Since 1999, we’ve been a home for over 180+ poets, 80+ writers, and 60+ resident artists worldwide. To keep growing this wild creative outlet, we need your support! Every dollar donated goes directly toward three major projects:
- An ever evolving MadSwirl.com: We are building & rebuilding our website to make sure it is an always highly interactive and seamless experience.
- More book publishing: Expanding Mad Swirl Press to print more individual contributor books alongside our annual Best of Mad Swirl anthology.
- The “Inside the Eye” Podcast: Launching a quarterly show featuring staff roundtables and deep-dive artist interviews.
If you love what we do, please consider donating a few dollars to our page. Every single cent counts!
Thank you immensely to everyone who has already pitched in—you are making this happen.
•••••••
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…
Connectin’,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor