Poetry from Maja Milojkovic

Younger middle aged white woman with long blonde hair, glasses, and a green top and floral scarf and necklace.
Maja Milojkovic

Children in the future 

Children’s laughter 

used to be carried by the wind 

through the street of my childhood. 

today – 

the same street 

he does not remember a single step of the child. 

The past was breathing 

through games, through dust, 

through cheering voices, 

and now 

the silence echoes 

like an empty yard. 

Modern times write new rules: 

social networks, 

non-touch screens, 

instead of a game — 

stickers are sent, 

hearts and hugs 

which do not warm anyone. 

The future of children 

he is already tying a scarf over his eyes. 

Unhealthy weather 

knocks on the door 

and no one asks who it is. 

Villages are disappearing, 

cities grow into concrete, 

and the parks are shrinking as memories. 

Friends become contacts, 

nature — background for the picture. 

More and more steps with the dogs, 

and less and less the beginnings of life. 

And while children follow trends 

staring at small screens, 

parents do the same 

and over humanity 

slowly the crack opens 

and smile 

some cold, 

with an unnatural smile.

Maja Milojković was born in Zaječar, Serbia. She is the deputy editor at “Sfairos” publishing house in Belgrade, Serbia.  She is the vice-president of the association “Rtanj and Mesečev poetski krug”.  She is the author of 2 books: “The Circle of the Moon” and “Trees of Desire” She is the editor of the International Anthology “Rtanjski stihopevi” One of the founders of the poetry club “Area Felix” from Zaječar, Serbia and the editor of an international e-magazine for creative literature and culture “Area Felix”.

Poetry from Mahbub Alam

Middle aged South Asian man with reading glasses, short dark hair, and an orange and green and white collared shirt. He's standing in front of a lake with bushes and grass in the background.
Mahbub Alam

Imperialism 

You engineer ruin 

in endless sequences— 

because power permits you. 

A forest predator, 

all teeth and hunger, 

you erase whole herds 

in a single breath. 

Soft faces dim. 

They turn away from the world, 

learning too early 

that the earth does not claim them.

They leave behind 

a quiet, exhausted sigh— 

for you. 

But beneath the silence, 

something ancient stirs: 

a volcano,

red-eyed, no longer asleep. 

When it exhales, 

the air itself becomes flame. 

Lives—small, unnamed, countless— 

collapse into ash. 

Life begins 

to answer life. 

And when that day arrives— 

tell me, 

what language 

will your eyes speak?

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

10 April, 2026.

The Ruined Flower

A broken flower rests on the table. 

Some flowers, even in death,

remember how to breathe 

fragrance— 

but this one 

has learned fire instead. 

Its petals burn. 

Its thorns speak louder

than any beauty it once held. 

It trembles— 

and something unseen 

detonates across the room. 

People come close, 

drawn by love. 

They bleed. 

They fall. 

They rise again 

with raised hands, 

learning resistance 

too late. 

Still, they return— 

to the same flower, 

the same mistake. 

Some errors 

do not remain small. 

They ripple outward,

shaking the architecture of the world. 

A crooked table 

never truly stands straight. 

And some of our mistakes 

bend time itself— 

until generations inherit the ache. 

Generation after generation.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

10 April, 2026.

The Strait of Hormuz

A narrow strait— 

yet it carries the weight 

of entire histories. 

It maps routes, 

spins dreams, 

tilts the sky 

on its axis. 

It sharpens minds— 

and ignites wars. 

Cities burn in its shadow. 

Ports rise and fall 

by its permission. 

For a passage this small, 

your dreams and mine

are undone— 

then rebuilt 

in some uncertain future. 

It is a bridge. 

It is a wound. 

It speaks in opposites: 

fire, then rain. 

famine, then peace. 

And if we could look away 

from the imperialism of Hormuz

that surrounds it—

perhaps something quieter, 

something untouched, 

would still be flowing— 

clear, 

beautiful, 

unafraid.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

11 April, 2026.

Apiculture

The world—
a vast apiculture.

So why does a planet built on honey
taste of poison?

Why do we return
again and again,
with bitterness
coating the tongue?

Why does life itself
stand on the brink?

Why do humans
turn against humans—
with reason,
without reason—
as if destruction were instinct?

Bees do not forget their order.
They gather,
they build,
they sustain.

But we—
creatures of thought,
of language,
of sky-reaching dreams—
fall beneath them.

We grieve
for an ant crushed underfoot,
yet raise our hands
against each other.

We were meant
for something gentler—
to sit side by side,
soul beside soul,
in a world that could have worked.

Since the first dawn,
the stars have poured out light.
They have never
rained fire.

Then why do we?

At the summit of civilization,
why do our faces
still bend in shame?

Why does war return
like a habit
we refuse to break—
border after border,
generation after generation?

What kind of progress
carries this depth of ruin
in its shadow?

And in the end—
this careful hive we have built,
this architecture of survival—

may be the very thing
that calls forth
our collapse.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

11 April, 2026.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

Once when he was in grade ten in 1990, his Bangla letter was selected as the best one from Deutsche Welle, Germany Radio that broadcast Bangla news for the Banglalee people. And he was given 50 Dutch Mark as his award. They would ask letters from the listeners to the news in Bangla and select one letter for the best one in every month.     

From 17 to 30 September, in 2018 he received a higher training in teaching English language in Kasetsart University of Thailand for secondary level students through a government order from education ministry. 

On 06 November 2015 he achieved Amjad Ali Mondal Medal for his contribution in education field by a development organization in the conference and felicitation function for the honorable personalities at Rajshahi College Auditorium. 

On 30 December 2017 from West Bengal in India he was declared a ‘Literary Charioteer’ in Bangobandhu Literary and World Bango Conference and they awarded him with a Gold Medal in their International Literary Conference and Prize Giving Ceremony.

In 2018, he achieved Prodipto Lirerary Award in Prodipto Literary Conference at Kesorhat, Rajshahi for poems in Bangla literature. He received honorary crest from the administration of Chapainawabganj District Literary Conference and Cultural Function in 2021 and 2022 consecutively. 

His poems have been published in many international online magazines such as Juntos Por las L Raven Cage Zine, and Area Felix.  His poems have been translated and published in Argentine and Serbian, and he participated in many international online cultural meetings. 

Essay and poem from Kandy Fontaine


Post‑Beat Poetics: Breath, Lineage, and the Ethics of Community By Kandy Fontaine aka Alex S. Johnson

Post‑Beat poetics begins where institutional Beat revival ends. It is not concerned with titles, laureateships, or the pageantry of literary inheritance. Instead, it returns to the first principles that animated the original movement: breath, embodiment, community, and the sanctity of the outsider voice.

The Beats were never a monolith. They were a constellation of seekers, queers, mystics, addicts, pacifists, anarchists, and wanderers. Their lineage was never meant to be curated by committees or guarded by gatekeepers. It was meant to be lived.

Post‑Beat poetics recognizes that the breath that animated Ginsberg’s long lines and Whitman’s yawp now moves through bodies historically excluded from the center of literary culture. Disabled bodies. Fat bodies. Queer bodies. Neurodivergent bodies. Bodies marked by trauma, poverty, and social disadvantage. These bodies are not deviations from the lineage—they are the lineage.

To write in a post‑Beat mode is to reject the stale rooms where trophies gather dust. It is to open the windows, to let the air in, to remember that poetry is not a competition but a communion. It is to stand with the ancestors—not as icons, but as kindreds whose breath still moves through us.

Post‑Beat poetics is not a return. It is an expansion. It is the recognition that the movement’s future lies not in institutional validation but in the lived experience of those who continue to write from the margins, from the body, from the breath.

It is a poetics of presence, resistance, and remembrance.

It is a poetics of community over hierarchy, lineage over branding, breath over bureaucracy.

It is, simply, a poetics of the living.

"You don't need a weatherman to tell you where the wind is blowing"-Bob Dylan

How quickly we
pivot
From
ethical foundation to
foundations
without them
So we must remember
the breath
It has been carried by
lungs of
generations
The bellows of
lineage
The great in
spir
a
tion
of
Legions
Before
During
and
To come
The heart: the core
beating
alive
open
Tremendous seeking for
true
kindreds
The heart
a muscle of memory as much as
circulation
The ring of the ancestors
their eyes, their
hair, their fingernails
Their nostrils
their
Scents
Sometimes a little
funky
Carried on the breeze
snuffled
snorted
Carried on shoulders
backs
limbs of post mechanics
Disabled
socially disadvantaged
fat
maligned
Queer
Gatekept
Out of the
region
The stale rooms where
trophies are
kept must be
Aired
the
Fuck
Out the
Rigid
enclosures
Where a handful of
anonymous judges
Decide who to
validate
Flung apart with a
tornado of
Just indignation
The skin
is
Holy the
Cells are
holy the
microbes that
crawl in our
Dust are
Holy and I stand with'
Blake and Ginzie I stand
with the
lineage of
kindreds and with the eye of
On
History condemn
The small minded
sacrilege that
Sets arbitrarily
apart that
Poisons
community
The water of
bodies the
Massive up
swelling of
Uncontrolled
anger
Bitterness
BIG MY GATE ENERGY
BIG MEAN GIRL ENERGY
BIG REGINA GEORGE VIBES
MY MY MY MY
PRECIOUS
Awards
ME ME ME
egotism masquerading
As
Whitmanesque
Sovereignty and
Cosmic
Bray
This is not right
I
Speak not for the moment
not for
This time but for
Times
Before
Present and accounted for
For the exiles and the humble of spirit
within the tradition
Feet planted
firmly in the turf of
Consensual
Reality
Breathe
stand and
In that breath and breadth
Command
yourself.

Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin

South Asian man with reading glasses and red shoulder length hair. He's got a red collared shirt on.
Mesfakus Salahin

‎The Silence of Multiplicity

‎Mesfakus Salahin, Bangladesh

‎I stay up all night

‎I tie my mind’s  horse

‎In an invisible thread

‎The horse flies away into solitude

‎The thread is weak

‎The earthly mind

‎Floating in the mysterious water

‎The self is always deceived

‎in the midst of the trance

‎The new-fashioned arrogance plays

‎Written in the dew of a leaf of grass

‎Returning again and again

‎The horse blows away the dust

‎Leaving everything behind, its own circle

‎In the circle of greed, in the crowd;

‎In the story of life, in the prose of wealth;

‎Only searching for oneself in the depths

‎In the deluge that pierces the veil of night

‎The intention of touching a straight line

‎Wakes up in the estuary

‎I cut the blood line

‎I cut the dark mountain and catch the guest

‎The sky descends with the color of the sky

‎The guest is lost in the unknown

‎All darkness becomes light through discussion

‎The soul enters the grave of the night and moves

‎The night does not remain in the grave

‎The greedy hand does not remain

‎Day does not remain

‎Whatever is colorful becomes bare

‎There remain deeds and lamentations

‎The dead river of boundless time have crossed

‎In the living grave, night remains, the illusion of night;

‎The shadow of day on the back of day

‎The multiplicity of self

‎The silence of multiplicity

Essay from O‘rinova Diyora

CAUSES OF STYLISTIC ERRORS IN STUDENTS’ SPEECH AND WAYS TO ELIMINATE THEM

O‘rinova Diyora

Master’s student, Namangan State Pedagogical Institute

Abstract

This article examines stylistic errors found in students’ oral and written speech, their underlying causes, and effective methods for eliminating them. The study employed content analysis, surveys, observation, experimental methods, focus group discussions, computational linguistic analysis, and psycholinguistic testing. The findings reveal that students frequently struggle with selecting appropriate speech styles according to text types. Based on the results, practical recommendations are proposed to improve students’ speech culture and stylistic competence.

Keywords: speech culture, stylistic errors, communication, language norms, educational process, statistical analysis, content analysis

INTRODUCTION

In modern education, developing students’ communication culture and ensuring stylistic accuracy in their speech has become one of the most pressing issues. In linguistics, stylistic errors are defined as the use of language units that are inappropriate for a given context or inconsistent with a particular speech style. Such errors negatively affect students’ speech culture, weakening their ability to express ideas clearly, engage in communication, and adhere to literary language norms.

Speech culture plays a crucial role not only in education but also in an individual’s social success. In the digital era, the rapid development of technology has introduced new tendencies in students’ speech. For example, abbreviations, emojis, and informal expressions commonly used in social media are increasingly transferred into formal written language, leading to stylistic distortions. This phenomenon can influence not only students’ academic writing but also their future professional communication.

Therefore, eliminating stylistic errors requires a comprehensive approach that considers not only grammatical but also pragmatic and discourse-related aspects. This article analyzes the main causes of stylistic errors in students’ speech and explores effective ways to address them.

LITERATURE REVIEW AND METHODOLOGY

Numerous scholars have conducted research in the field of speech culture. For instance, G‘afurov analyzed the theoretical aspects of speech culture, while Karimov systematized literary language styles. Qodirova provided practical examples of stylistic usage, and Xudoyberganova examined linguistic features from a psycholinguistic perspective. International researchers such as Smith, Ivanova, and Brown explored comparative, cognitive, and educational aspects of language norms. Recent studies by Yusupova, Petrov, Nurmatov, and Wilson highlight modern teaching methods and the impact of digital communication on speech.

The study was conducted among 100 students from grades 8–9 in Tashkent city and region. Their written works (essays, summaries) and oral responses were analyzed.

The following methods were used:

Content analysis: identifying and classifying stylistic errors

Survey: assessing students’ knowledge of speech styles

Observation: analyzing teaching approaches and classroom speech

Additional methods included:

1. Experimental Method

Two groups (control and experimental) were selected. A “Teaching Speech Styles” program was implemented in the experimental group for three months. As a result, students’ ability to choose appropriate styles improved by 35%.

2. Focus Group Discussions

Five groups (8 students each) discussed the influence of social media language. About 70% of participants preferred writing “as they do on Telegram.”

3. Computational Linguistics

Using the AntConc program, 100 essays were analyzed. Words such as “very” (143 times) and “amazing” (78 times) were overused, indicating excessive use of expressive vocabulary.

4. Psycholinguistic Testing

Only 31% of students correctly identified appropriate stylistic choices in academic contexts.

Additional statistical findings showed that errors in formal letters were distributed as follows:

Introduction – 23%

Main body – 41%

Conclusion – 36%

RESULTS

The analysis revealed the following common stylistic errors in students’ speech:

Mixing formal and informal styles – 43%

Using artistic expressions in scientific texts (and vice versa) – 29%

Pronunciation and stress-related stylistic distortions – 15%

Transfer of internet and colloquial language into writing – 13%

Although 67% of students demonstrated general knowledge of speech styles, only 21% understood the importance of selecting an appropriate style according to the text type.

DISCUSSION

The findings indicate that the main causes of stylistic errors include:

Insufficient theoretical knowledge of language styles

Transfer of informal speech into written language

Inability to distinguish between text types

Strong influence of internet and social media language

To address these issues, the following strategies are recommended:

Teaching speech styles through comparative practical exercises

Conducting text-based analysis and discussions

Developing exercises for appropriate stylistic selection

Ensuring teachers model correct speech usage

Limiting the use of informal internet language in academic contexts

One of the key reasons for stylistic errors is the lack of emphasis on stylistic aspects in textbooks and classroom instruction. Additionally, students’ exposure to informal digital communication significantly shapes their language habits. Therefore, teachers should dedicate more time to text analysis and encourage students to practice writing in various genres such as academic articles, formal letters, and essays.

CONCLUSION

Reducing stylistic errors and improving students’ speech culture requires systematic teaching of language styles in both theoretical and practical ways. This not only promotes adherence to literary language norms but also enhances students’ ability to communicate clearly, accurately, and effectively in social and professional contexts.

The following measures are recommended:

For teachers: organize seminars and training sessions on stylistics; expand textbook content

For students: engage in text analysis, speech exercises, and projects (e.g., “Correct Speech” clubs)

For parents: encourage reading and monitor children’s speech habits

For educational policy: develop national programs aimed at improving speech culture

O‘rinova Diyora Kamoliddin qizi was born on November 6, 1997, in Uchqo‘rg‘on district of Namangan region. She graduated from Secondary School No. 25 in her district and continued her studies at an academic lyceum. She obtained her higher education in the field of Uzbek Language at Namangan State University.

Currently, she is a second year master’s student at Namangan State Pedagogical Institute. She holds certificates in both native language and English and is recognized as a highly qualified teacher within her field. She is also the regional stage winner of the “Book-Loving Teacher” competition.

Her main goal is to share her knowledge with young learners and contribute to the development of future specialists through education and scientific activity.

Essay from Bill Tope

Why Do I Write: What’s in it for Me?

Why do I write creative fiction? That was a question posed to me by a cousin I was once close to. I had told Sherry that I was getting more and more involved in scribbling poems and stories and essays and the like, and she seemed mildly amused at first. Then, when she saw I was in earnest, she became increasingly perplexed as to my motivation. I had told her I made almost no money for my efforts and this seemed to rub her the wrong way.

“Why, then,” she asked in bewilderment, “do you do it?”

Until that very moment I hadn’t given it a lot of serious thought. Writing exercised what Hercule Poirot called “the little gray cells” and made me more alert, more aware, more interested in life. Moreover, it made me feel good. I was retired and had little else going on. Most of my friends were deceased or moved away.

“Billy,” she said with a frown, “if you don’t get paid for writing, then it is a waste of time and effort.”

During the same conversation, Sherry had asked me how I was “progressing” in a relationship I was in at the time. When I was noncommittal, she got down to it: “Have you scored yet?”

“Not everything,” I told her, “is so transactional.”

When she “humphed,” I continued, “Not every activity has to result in a paycheck to be considered worthwhile.” Before she could go on, I added, “And not every personal relationship has to wind up between the sheets to be fundamentally sound. No one is keeping ‘score,’ cousin, so just cool your jets.”

That was two years ago, but the question remains: why do I write?”

I think it’s because when I write, I am master of my universe. I decide who succeeds and who fails, who lives and who dies, who lives happily ever after and who burns for an eternity in hell. This is quite an ego trip. I know a little of what God must feel like. I know what everyone’s thinking, what moves them, and how they will accept either failure or success.

I can revisit my high school years and rewrite the events as they did not transpire. I can ask out the prettiest but most demure girl and she’ll say yes. And I’ll have the dough to take her out. I’ll have a car–a hotrod of course–or maybe one of those low-slung English sports car. Nothing is too much.

I’ll fashion myself into a record-setting student athlete and bask in the admiration of my fellow students. I’ll get an A in calculus rather than a D. I’ll try out for and grab the lead in the school play. It’ll be a musical, because unlike reality as I lived it, I’ll be able to sing. And join a garage band and wind up with a record contract.

I’ll stand up to my abusive brother and fight back and kick his ass. I’ll get the after-school job I could never get and earn money to take out more pretty girls. In college I’ll study and not party but for the spring breaks in Florida that I could never afford to attend. I’ll make my parents proud and they’ll never have to bail me out.

I’ll say none of the stupid things in life that I did say. I won’t hurt anybody’s feelings and won’t allow either of my two cats to die and my best friend won’t have abusive parents. I won’t be teased for having Tourette’s or being disabled with Parkinson’s Disease and peripheral artery disease and poor eyesight and hearing and all the rest. I’ll still be able to lift my weight and play soccer and run five miles. If not myself, then others will carry the banner and succeed where I failed abysmally.

I write so that things turn out right, and not to shit. I live vicariously through my characters; I learn lessons I was too stubborn or dense to heed before. I am a normal child, teen, and now old man. I have children and grandchildren who flock around me in my dotage, rather than live alone in a hovel in the American Midwest. That’s why I write.

Sherry and I have not spoken since she posed her question, but I’m alright with it. I’ll know now what to tell her, should she ever call again. But she’ll not be argumentative this time, since I’ll be writing the script.