ANNOUNCEMENT: National World Storytelling Championship Seeks Submissions

Picture of a golden and red velvet crown and the website for the National Storytelling Championship. nationalstorytellingchampionship.com

It all started with the World Storytelling Championship! 

Year 2020. 

ACEnovation took a deep breadth and jumped into the warm embrace of the ocean called storytelling! The cool water enveloped us, silencing the world above and pulling us into its serene depths… The deeper we dived the more interesting & beautiful  it became – an underwater garden bustling with stories – we felt a sense of freedom and that inate connection to stories, storytelling and storytellers! 5 years. We swam around the world. Quietly. Setting benchmarks. Touching lives. Making a difference! Brand ACEnovation is warmth. It connects…Bonds. We, now have family in 181 countries. The numbers increasing. We are one. The strength in that oneness drifted us back to India. 

To Launch a  Storytelling Championship ! 

  For ages 3+ to 103+ ( 6 age categories) 

We picked up pearls on the way. 

🫶‘The Hindu in School’ as Media Partners. 

🫶 VIT – Chennai Campus as Organizing Partners

🫶 Amar Chitra Katha as organizing partner

🫶Chools Group as organizing partner

🫶 Image King as Bronze partner

Strung together, we made a lovely necklace and called it :

*The National Storytelling Championship  NSC – INDIA 2025!* 

To know more visit our website: (It is truly a well crafted story)

***https://www.nationalstorytellingchampionship.com

Thank you all for the love… Shower us with more.. Join the championship… Craft your tale. Capture the crown!! 

Poetry from Timothee Bordenave

One for all!

O Saint Lord, blessed of all, and of far more than all,

Thy are not bound inner the walls of Vatican,

We know Thy Orthodox, Lutheran, Anglican,

Calvinist, Maroonist, Greek, Copt… Christ has the whole…

Better yet : the Hebrews were first to pray Thy name,

Believers of Islam, love Thee since a long time…

Thus did Buddha pray Thee, prophet without a grime,

Then to all of Hindus, your Legend is the Fame !

Nô, to the Japanese, Great Spirit to Bantus,

Ineffable Tao in China, Wakan Tan…

Thy are one for us all, all in one, for Thy can !

Then I believe mages, counting their arcanae,

A Voodo, a Wizard, or Witch, or Draconer…

All are yours, as the fays, and the unicorns too !

*****

Union of prayers

Unicorns of this World, unite !

And get along with us, poets,

Then our alliance, infinite,

Shall rule this lovely planet…

O Fays, o Mages, come around !

We shall dance in a sarabande,

Until we find some common grounds,

With all prophets, from all far lands…

Morning, day, to dusk, night, till dawn,

Brother Sun, keeper of our dreams,

Sister Moon, grace on your soft beams…

Join us ! We know the Angels own,

Everything for Christ… Wonders,

Join Us ! Pixies, Salamanders…

*****

Graces to the Skies!

Here, I wanted to say : thank you,

From the very depth of my heart,

For all of this beautiful art,

For every books I went through…

For all of your joyful ideas,

Each of your gifts, each of the flowers !

Thanks for the laughter, for these hours,

Of love, of joy, of peace, of ease.

I am a simple man ! I eat,

I drink, I work, and rest some time,

Interact with people I meet…

Lucky to walk by on my feet !

You are my treasure from a dime,

Thanks, o Jesus ! I wish I’ll fit…

*****

Emy – Angel

« You know well how I love you dear ! »

« I love you too so very much… »

« When we lay, as morning comes near,

I cherish your embrace, your touch ! 

Then when you wake up in a smile,

I look at you pouring some tea,

Half naked… Angel from the Isles,

You are beautiful ! »

                            « Timothy !

You already told this to me !

I am not an Angel at all…

I am a simple girl ! »

                           « Emy !

I am writing at the moment,

A poem to express my whole,

Adoration, o firmament… »

*****

Benedictions

Thy o Lord in the Skies, above,

Know of how much I revere,

In my heart your wise, tender love,

Mysteries, Thy will forever.

Oh beautiful, oh shade or light,

Oh praises given, blessings brought,

Through a humble life, long were sought,

Destiny’s chances, thy all might !

When bent over my work table,

I worship the benedictions,

Of life, itself, praying for peace…

Thy o Lord grand please enable,

Better thoughts and better actions,

While I hope from Heavens a piece…

*****

My secrets

Once to a phlegmatic, British girl in Paris,

I taught all my secrets : « Prayer is alchemy,

Love is light, peace is safe, ignore the enemy,

You would never be too hurt if your mind is free…

Be mobile, be tender, be liquid as water,

And positively try just to act with good will,

There after you could not fear any encounter,

Yet, if someone fights you… Fight ! Otherwise keep still.

When the Angels above want to bless us with grace,

They are unseen, but soon their blessing will reveal,

Knee then, or bow before their soft, happy embrace…

Oh ! And work ! From your work would your life be success ! »

This girl, named Sue, listened to me then she appealed,

My lips to hers,

             She smiled, and silently we kissed.

*****

A new life!

It’s often two warm hearts find a new home in love…

A mystical silence soon follows, intertwined,

With a scansion of sounds, well, as their passion wins,

Kisses and joyful plays melt bodies instinct drove…

Then it also happens often : a child is born,

Then an other, later, a few, eventually…

This is what we human call a true family,

Elders, lovers, and kids, for Nature to adorn.

One fine day all gather, to a brunch in a park,

By a sunny morning, in the shade of an oak,

To spend some good moments, with their friends, or cousins…

And at the magical instants when sings a lark,

It is said, I heard it, two grown up cute young folks,

Find love again ! O Virtue ! A new life begins…

(Thanks to my dear Anna !)

Poetry from Lidia Popa

Middle aged light skinned woman with red curly hair and reading glasses with a long shell necklace and a black top.

Shared sign

Ink that pulses, matter in waiting,

the shadow settles on the skin of the verb,

oozes from the body of the sheet, intertwines

with the breath of another.

The gesture engraves flesh and thought,

a watermark mutes in transparency,

the inkwell swallows distances,

it becomes an echo of the inexpressible,

liquid memory that mixes with the folds of written time.

It is not a word, it is a trace,

it is not a form, it is tension,

the sign unravels and recomposes

in the time that flows beyond syntax,

beyond ordinary perception,

where ink lives like blood,

where meaning twists and expands.

You dye in someone else’s inkwell

as in your own blood,

let the word expand,

let the border dissolve,

because language does not exist in solitude,

but vibrates in the flesh of those who welcome it.

Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.

She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

She wrote her first poem at her age of seven. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.

BOOKS

She has published her poems in six books:

in Italy:

1. ” Point different ( to be ) ” – ed. Italian and

2.” In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,

3.“ Sky amphora ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,

in Romania:

4. ” The soul of words” ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,

5.” Syntagms with longing for clover ” ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.

6.” The Voice interior ” LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.

Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban,USA,etc.

Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.

Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.

She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.

She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.

SHE IS

*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)

*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,

*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,

*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina

*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,

*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh

*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada

International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh – 2023

*Founder literary group Lido dell’anima with LIDO DELL’ANIMA AWARDS

*Founder LIDO DELL’ANIMA Italian magazine

*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine

*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry

etc.

Poetry from Eva Petropoulou Lianou

Middle-aged, light-skinned European woman with light blue eyes, light brown hair, and a black turtleneck sweater.

Αbout poetry

Poetry

Is a very demanding woman

She knows how powerful are the words

They can win a war

With the right verses

Poetry,

Needs loyal man

Needs time

And caring

As you take a white paper

And you give your self

Creating sentence s

With your heart

A woman need so

Much caring

Much love 

As the poem

Is ready

To come out of your

Stomach

Or your heart

Feelings never spoken

Feelings never shared

A woman was never loved…

Poetry

It is the way 

We see the love

We see 

Ourselves

Trying to  

Be loved

Trying to make 

Wishes

 to come true

Poetry

Is our freedom…..

Poetry from Donna Dallas

In Any City

A muffled radio can be heard  

from a neighboring motorist 

stopped at the light 

When it’s green

vehicles thrust forward 

in unison with blind force 

rush by

a cathedral 

framed in scaffolding 

kids playing basketball

in the adjacent schoolyard 

barefoot homeless 

somewhere on any street 

universal longing

The taxi meter ticks

as the basketball bounces

from hand to hand 

the horns drown out a death or two

an eagle cries out 

for its mate

a traffic light is red globally 

while someone’s heart beats 

like a wild bird 

for it to turn green

for the ball to make the hoop

for the barefoot homeless girl

to return home

for some damn thing to happen

for the love of God 

anything above and beyond 

the hustle and bustle

down a street 

in any city

in any life 

Write How Quiet It Is

5am dawn crawls into the sky – hello

write me a love note

some fool’s verbiage

to tell me the dark stars – our death stars

have exploded

and we are free

from judgment

free to write

Write this you fool:

all that glitters

was in my hand

and like the sand

slid into the sea

all that matters now

is that you write it

Speaking goes into

the void of forgetfulness

pre-dementia waiting

on the forum

I write it

buy milk

put gas in car

feed and let dogs out

dumb-ass notes

in fifty years our kids

kids

kids

will read this stuff

and say

how simple she was

good ole

great-great grandma

But listen as I write

the quiet

of my heart

as the beats wind down

as the dawn

has finally won over the night 

and my meager mind

simple as a leaf

sits in a complex

pile of mulch

the deterioration

breaks me down

My two eyes stare

into the vast ocean

recall each molecule

of sand that slipped through

Write it you fool

All My Months of Forever

Every cigarette I swore was my last

that dang cat 

you swung it by its tail so hard

rendered it vertigo-ridden 

for the rest of its measly lives

back then all you did wrong was twist up that cat

would have been so easy to declare you a good soul

Winded now

from just a flight of steps – just one damn flight

you said I was a monster

yet you endlessly wanted to be with me

hence, we birthed the monster together

slipped into its asylum

a toke here and there

on some good marijuana

we spiraled into the Cadillac of drugs

We died some nights

straddled together in an agony so great 

it gives me chills dare I think about it

death is good for you – remember you said that?

it’s good to come back alive and on fire

I came back with one eye and dimwitted

I came back with a limp

I came back with a burned neck

I saw the stars spray

over an archipelago 

in a swoon 

during one of my deaths

I’m sure it was Jesus

That battered black cat long since dead

you – now homeless and a smell 

caked so deep 

you cannot be cleansed

I waited for Jesus under that moon

naked and busted up

it took all those months of forever

it took all nine lives of that wretched cat

He came for me

barely recognizable

me – not Jesus

(I’d know Jesus if I was deaf 

blind or headless)

when you were high as fuck

pouring lighter fluid on his beautiful white loincloth

I scrambled behind with a bucket of water

Jesus remembered

I Wanted Virgil

Same dream again and again

I trudge to the edge overlooking an immense blackened gorge

teeter and sway

will myself to step off 

my body in complete disagreement  

pushing myself with my mind

I flail myself over 

into the abyss 

then Virgil appears 

disappointed

worn and beaten 

from our grim replay 

I awake in time 

to swallow a scream

light a cigarette 

the orange glow soothes

yet my heart 

blows up 

On my nineteenth birthday 

we stood outside our building 

giggling in snow knee-deep

the heroin 

just started to flow

created magical art

on canvases we imagined 

in our personal heavens 

when she hurled her body over the roof

twelve floors 

the slow motion movie scene 

mesmerized us 

Her heart continued to beat

even after her body hit

we heard it – the beat 

a loud gong 

like a wildebeest being taken down 

not ready – the heart never ready 

defies all purpose 

simply because its primary desire 

is to beat 

The red-pink snow shaped a grave

around her twisted body 

and we – high as fuck

mourning like half-wits 

clumsily dipping and falling 

to lean together in some wrecked sadness 

or perhaps envy 

Virgil comes back 

pasty white 

stone-faced 

stares accusingly

annoyed that he 

is my chosen 

chaperone 

I awake again soaked with sweat 

still feel his rough ancient breath 

my heart dead

but the beating steadfast 

so violently alive 

Donna Dallas has appeared most recently in Beatnik Cowboy, Quail Bell Magazine and Fevers of the Mind.  She is the author of Death Sisters, her legacy novel, published by Alien Buddha Press. She has two chapbooks, Smoke and Mirrors, launched with New York Quarterly, and Megalodon, launched with The Opiate. Donna has served on the editorial team of Red Fez and NYQ. 

donnaanndallas@gmail.com

@DonnaDallas15 

Poetry from S. Afrose

Young South Asian woman in a pink and light orange headscarf holding a book cover where the photo is a woman with flowers in her hair drinking tea. She's in front of red and green curtains.

What is Life???

A living being on the earth 
Seeking so many amazing rides,
Facing unbearable shoots and arts
Is that the meaning of life?

What is life?
Who cares or shares?
Who bears?
Who roars?

Life is nothing but the Illusion
Imagination is its own creation.

What do you mean about this?
What does life depict around this phase?

Life! It comes and says-
I know so much the fact.
No way to show any case
Life is itself a casino stage.

The fact lies on the phase
Life is the beautiful pace
Need to believe and feel
Life is the universal reel.

What is Life?
Now say this time
It’s omnipotent dear
Let it flow and clear.

Life is the charm on earth
Lit it with eternal arts
The heart and mind know all
Life is the beautiful pool.

Author S. Afrose hails from Bangladesh, a lover of poetry world. Poetry is her passion. Her writes have been published on magazines, anthologies etc. There are some published poetry books available on Amazon Worldwide. YouTube: S Afrose * Muse of Writes*

Poetry from Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna

Young middle aged Central Asian woman with short brown hair, reading glasses, a floral top and brown jacket.
Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna

ITS NAME IS LIFE …

You falter,

Longing bears the weight of pain…

Yet Love—eternal—soothes the strain,

As solace knocks upon your door,

And joy leaves traces on your shore.

Its name is Life:

Victory waltzes

With sorrow and bliss in fleeting embraces.

Ruins of your heart, once lost in despair,

Find comfort in moments of hope laid bare…

Like a bird, you spread your wings,

Within, transformation sings.

You rise, embrace purity’s grace,

Unshaken—Freedom echoes in space!

As if all your dreams take flight,

Drifting like clouds so white,

Until Spring’s flowers kneel in delight,

Greeting you with colors bright…

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by YunusEmro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey.