“When you look at art made by other people, you see what you need to see in it.”
Alberto Giacometti
••• The Mad Gallery •••
“Inner Demon” by Featured Artist Madelyn Olson
To see ALL of Madelyn’s (uniquely)assertive, (softly)affrontive, (nervously)abashing, (unsettlingly)arousing artworks, 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 tried the roots of ancient truths; we were getting the snap of creating a map; we Tuesdayed through with six things to do; we familied finer in pink wine recliner; we queried for news with nothing to choose; we hid, helter-skelter, in a calico shelter; we sought for ends with lasting friends. We say what we think when we put it in ink. ~ MH Clay
Boneyards by Julia Vaughan
Obsolete items
Stored, forgotten, cannibalised
Stripped of anything useful
To make something new, or fix something else.
Like my sewing bag
Scraps, waiting for just the right project
Waiting for years, sifted through, and discarded
Time and time again.
Now realising my life’s a boneyard
A litany of shipwrecks, pointless pursuits
So important at the time. Faded friendships too
Oceans of angst; and some regrets
Broken skeletons. So much time wasted
Didn’t make a schmick of difference
In the long run.
If you’re lucky enough
A few special friends last the distance
Wholesome, challenging, laughing, loving
Treasured. Nurturing. Should’ve spent more
Time swiftly discarding rubbish
Not hoarding hurts and grudges
Not holding onto derelict debris. Corpses.
I wish I’d learnt earlier, to walk away
I wish all the world’s peoples could
Learn that too.
It’s better to always be looking forwards
Together. Spending more time
Talking, learning, laughing
Baking cakes and planting trees.
October 10, 2026
editors note: It pays to keep that yard clean. – mh clay
Calico by Jenna Restel
Still as the paws of the calico
who rests her chin on
my hands in the midst of a storm
A chair flies above an aching head,
so close that
hairs whoosh along with it
But she stays,
subtle bobs of the head,
with every gentle breath
Profanity laced shouts
lead to her heavy sighs,
exhaling in my language
The slam of a door, then
a drop of a tear,
caught with a sandpaper tongue.
October 9, 2026
editors note: The best port in any storm. (We welcome Jenna to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. Read more of her madness on her new page – check it out.) – mh clay
ALL THE NEWS THAT’S FIT TO PRINT by Brian Wood
The old newspapers used to care,
Or said so: they had superhuman
Eyes, and they couldn’t wait to share
The news, like Dewey Beats Truman.
But that did not pay off somehow
So today’s lede, of thousands now
Dead, from dark monsoon or earthquake,
Is next to Bake A Thai Love Cake.
And what few columns they do run
Are questions from readers about
Which local pub is best for stout,
Or which beach town gets the most sun.
Those old gray ladies, they told you
What to ponder, eat, or imbibe;
Now they don’t care what might be true,
So long as you don’t unsubscribe.
October 8, 2026
editors note: Just keep scrolling… – mh clay
Vicodin and pink wine by Trier Ward
Vicodin and
pink wine
Don’t mix on divine
trips to the
Back of the recliner
Where I get in
The most insane
conversations I
must have forgotten
why I’m here-
father-of-the-year?
Just grin and bear it.
No one ever questions
Why you always get
Drunk at family
gatherings do they?
They say that’s just
her way. Black sheep
But they never say
why she turned out
that way, do they?
It’s okay, everyone’s
okay as long as the
squirrels don’t chew
Out the wires. As long
as the animals don’t
Come out of the woods.
October 7, 2026
editors note: But when they do, best get out of the way. – mh clay
Six Things to Do on Tuesday Morning by Jeff Grimshaw
1. Reboot the computer which has been
– Frozen for three days
My patience is not infinite
2. Think about scrubbing the ring
– Around the bathtub
Not for too long tho
3. Find the electric bill
– & pay it
(Note to self: look under
– – The loaf of bread
– – – I meant to put away yesterday)
4. Make an epic movie about the chaos
– Underneath my desk
Cast as yet unconfirmed
– – But we are in talks
– – – With multiple superstars
5. Compose an awesome song about the fudge
– Under my toe nail
Not too many augmented chords
– – My knuckles are a little stiff
6. Write 17-book trilogy about the nose hair
– Twisted around my nose hair trimmer blade
– – Because I didn’t change the batteries
– – – In a timely fashion
Already at work
– Roughing out the sequels!
October 6, 2026
editors note: And then lunch. – mh clay
The Geography of Imagination by Guest Poet Jimmy Sharma
Imagination has always been a poor cartographer.
It refuses borders, folds mountains into pockets, lets rivers wander off the page before anyone remembers to name them. Every map it draws comes back stained with fingerprints, coffee rings and the weather.
Reality, meanwhile, insists on straight lines.
It measures fences with admirable confidence, labels each field, numbers every house, then pretends the birds have signed the paperwork.
The heart distrusts such administration.
It keeps smuggling impossible things across invisible frontiers—a childhood smell hidden inside an old coat, a conversation that never happened but refuses to leave, a face remembered more clearly than yesterday.
People call this confusion.
The heart calls it inventory.
There are mornings when certainty arrives fully dressed, carrying rules polished to a military shine. By afternoon, imagination has borrowed its shoes and disappeared through the back gate, laughing quietly enough that only the trees hear it.
Wisdom, I suspect, has little interest in winning arguments.
It waits beside the road where maps end, watching travelers discover that getting lost and finding oneself have been conspiring together all along.
Art begins there.
Not with inspiration.
With the moment someone notices that the blank space at the edge of the map has been looking back the entire time.
October 5, 2026
editors note: No blanks, no filling in. – mh clay
Ancient biblical land by Milenko Županović
The Persian symbol
of the sun
in the soul
of biblical nation
Horites
the mythical
land
with the blessing
of the God
Sarasvati.
October 4, 2026
editors note: What are the roots of the truths we hold? (symbols, saints) – mh clay
••• Short Stories •••
If you need a dreamy read, then wake up and check out “Release“ by Contributing Writer & Poet Susie Gharib!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this weekend read:
Between life and death is waking and sleeping, and so much life in-between it all–for a bit.
Here’s a few sleepy steps to get your started:
“Awake?” by Tyler Malone
(Inspired H.H.)
The biological clock was vehemently ticking, like the persistent crows of an efficient cock. She rose under the urge and headed to the loo, without consulting the call of reason that enjoins one to examine decisions before their execution. Sitting on the toilet seat, she began to experience the indescribable relief, anticipated when under the pressure of an imminent flood. As the liquid was flowing, the ears were regaled by the sound of the gurgling waterfall. Before the termination of the act, she suddenly spotted her son opposite, remonstrating loudly in words she could not make out, but his gesticulations pleaded with her to stop. As soon as he vanished, her younger son appeared to be alerting her in the same style. She instantly interrupted the release and headed back to her bedroom, where at the door she was met by her husband, who took her hand and gently led her to bed…
Tip-toe on over here to get the rest of this resting read on!
•••
Knock-knock. (Who’s there?) Canvassing. (Canvassing who?) “Canvassing“ by Contributing Writer Edward N McConnell is our featured read today!
Here’s what Short Story Editor Tyler Malone has to say about this weekday read:
Being out in the world is where the world is. The world, all its madness, and you.
Here’s how this soliciting begins:
“Next Door” by Tyler Malone
I’m a lawyer who’s always looking for a side hustle. That’s why I’m running for an open at-large city council seat. Once I get the job and make a few favorable decisions for the right people, I’ll pick up new clients and more money. But first, I have to play the election game.
Today, I started canvassing. That’s politician talk for going door to door begging for votes. The neighborhood where the party ward boss wants me to start is distressed.
My first attempt is to visit Arnie Crenshaw. According to party records, Arnie is a potential supporter. He lives in a two story brick building which used to be a neighborhood grocery, now converted to apartments, one up, one down. My records offered no advice as to whether he was upstairs or down. So, arriving at the building, I knocked on the downstairs door.
A frazzled young woman clutching a screaming, runny nosed baby, flung the door wide open. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I just got this wailing fuss bucket to sleep. Then your pounding woke the little darlin’ up. You wanna come in and calm her down?”
Without comment, I rejected the idea I was the cause of the child’s distress given I could hear other children inside making loud, unpleasant noises.
Ignoring her tirade I smiled and asked, “Is Arnie Crenshaw here?”
Pointing, she said, “Around the side and upstairs, numb nuts.” Before I could give her my name or offer her a flyer about my enlightened ideas for city government, the door slammed shut. I then followed the unsafe, broken concrete walkway around the side of the building.
Amazed I had not turned my ankle; I passed a parked Harley Davidson resting on its kickstand next to a rickety wooden staircase. Its specialized license plate read, “3 RD RIKE.” I wondered what the plate meant. It should have been a warning, but I missed it. Climbing up the stairs, I knocked on the door…
Knock-knock. (Who’s there?) Get’yer. (Get’yer who?) Get’yer read on right here.
••• Open Mic •••
This past 1st Wednesday of October (aka 10.07.26) Mad Swirl Open Mic was found whirling up the Swirl at Barbara’s Pavillion, getting the Mad mic opened for ALL you Mad ones out there!
This month we featured Contributing Poet and New Mexican Trier Ward! And what a feature she delivered to us! If you were there you know what we mean! If not, check out our live feed at the end of this post.
Grats to ALL the participators & swirlabrators who swirled up some mic madness with us:
Feature:
Trier Ward
Hosts:
Johnny O
MH Clay
Musical Overture:
Swirve (Chris Curiel & Gerard Bendiks with special guest Rick Eye )
Open Mic:
Johnny O
MH Clay
Desmene Statum
Chris Zimmerly
Rosie Lindsey
Alan Gann
Christopher Soden
VP Crowe
Robert Wynne
Brett “BA” Ardoin
CJ Critt
Tim Cloward
Harry McNabb
Brian Duran-Fuentes
Jean Galante
Alex
Brigham Petit
Victoria
Kaitlyn Capps
Suza Kanon
We know you have a choices of what to do with your Wednesday night & we’re thrilled you picked lil ol’ us to hang out with!
Stay tuned ’til next 1st Wednesday (aka 11.04.26) when we will be swirlabrating 22 YEARS of open mic madness!
Peace,
Johnny O & MH Clay
P.S. Here is what you mighta spied with your lil eye if you the LIVE feed of our open mic:
•••••••
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…
…seein’ it,
Johnny O
Chief Editor
MH Clay
Poetry Editor
Tyler Malone
Short Story Editor
Madelyn Olson
Visual Editor