First, from contributor Jacques Fleury, an announcement of a new book! “Immortal Lines of Poetry” by Sourav Sarkar and Jacques Fleury

A collaboration between myself and internationally renowned poet Sourav Sarkar of India. The book presents us both as “2 Poets of the Common Era Literature Period” (a term Sarkar claims to have coined himself on Oct. 24, 2021 and is celebrated worldwide on its founding date yearly) and allows the reader an opportunity to “sample” our poetic styles and substance. It is at times a supple staccato or eroticism, at times mesmerizingly musical of humanism, at times visceral to its soul core but eventually reaches a crescendo to volcanic eruption of literary passion, hope and inspiration for our seemingly crumbling humanity. Here is a sample of one of MY poems from the book. Hope you check it out on Amazon. Merci beaucoup! 

This month’s issue focuses on what’s going on inside of all of us, and how that shapes who we are. We’re going Beneath the Surface.

Stella Kwon’s paintings explore dreams, childhood, fantasy, and the interiority needed for a creative life. Jacques Fleury’s sample poem from his new book Immortal Lines of Poetry looks into dreams and internal inspiration. Debabrata Maji’s poem traces his heart’s inner journey. Damon Hubbs tracks the odds and ends running through his mind while watching competitive tennis. Annabel Kim’s artwork explores and celebrates human and natural creativity. Ma Yongbo evokes the change of seasons, nature, and mortality.

Mark Young renders maps and nature into works of art in his ‘geographies.’ J.K. Durick speaks to intellectual experiences – the news, books, museums – and how we communicate ourselves to ourselves. Jasmina Saidova honors an inspirational teacher as Abdirashidova Ozoda explores possibilities for digital technology in early childhood education. Eshmamatova Shabbona traces the history and evolution of Uzbek literature and Munira Xolmirzayeva traces the history of Russian writing.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou praises the delicate elegance of Lily Swarn’s new poetry collection A Drop of Cosmos. Uralova Gulmira highlights themes of personal experience and motherhood in the patriotic writings of Uzbek poet Saida Zunnunova. Sayani Mukherjee reflects on being driven towards poetry in a full and changing world. Dr. Rasmiyya Sabir writes of romantic love, poetic inspiration, and the irrepressible drive to be heard.

Jakhongir Nomozov interviews poet Rustam Bekhrudi, who intends to capture and convey the resilient Turkish spirit in his writing. Mesfakus Salahin speaks to human psychology and the drive to live amid the allure of death. Mahbub Alam describes a night of discomfort due to mosquitoes, which he endures by thinking of people who have it much worse. Abdisattorova Hurshida’s short story highlights the dignity and self-determination and patience of the hardworking rural poor in Uzbekistan, even when facing death.

Hanen Marouani probes our internal emotional life with tenderness. Bill Tope uncovers the veil of a past sixth grade classroom where the students and teacher are full of inner and outer turmoil. Alan Catlin continues his surreal examination of the physical manifestations of work anxiety as Elbekova Nilufar warns of the danger to our eyes and psyches posed by Internet addiction. Emeniano Somoza Jr. reflects on what we lose by lessening the ups and downs of our emotional nature. Donia Sahab’s poetry probes the psychological torment and confusion Dr. Alaa Basheer alludes to in his painting. J.J. Campbell navigates loneliness with his trademark wit and cynicism.

Joana L.J. Milovanovic’s words bear witness to the psychological and physical damage domestic abusers inflict. Mykyta Ryzhykh’s characters find themselves subsumed by the crushing violence of a metaphorical “leviathan.” Alex S. Johnson reflects on his friendship with Runaways band member and visionary Kari Lee Krome and how the music industry elevates and chews people up.

Jakhongir Nomozov’s speaker reasserts himself after intense seasons of emotional pain and rejection. Soumen Roy highlights the importance of respect and patience in true love. Munisa Rustamova expresses gratitude for her mother’s constant love in a harsh world full of fake people. Alex S. Johnson and Kandy Fontaine assert their confidence in their way of living and loving and show how power is expressed through service and care, not abuse. Liderqiz demonstrates this ethic of service through a profile of Uzbek Information Service leader Dilbar Ashilbayeva.

Andela Bunos speaks of the universal human grief of lost love. Kristy Raines’ poetry expresses commitment to a romantic relationship despite being separated. Lola Ijbrater outlines the rise and fall of a romance through a series of flowers. Ken Gosse describes heartbreak through clever poems with increasing numbers of lines. Eva Petropoulou’s lines address intimate love and the beauty of forgiveness. Annamurodov Umarbek reflects on coming of age after losing his father.

Journalist Giorgos Pratzikos and literary figure Eva Petropoulou Lianou interview Greek writer Fay Rempelou about how she intends to inspire peace, creativity, and humanity through her poetry. Nilufar Mo’ydinova presents a thoughtful exploration of artificial intelligence’s potential and how to mindfully develop it for the benefit of human creativity. Taghrid Bou Merhi traces the moral ascent of humankind, as societies developed respect for life, human rights, and gender equity. Omonova Sevinch highlights the importance of educating women and girls to uplift society. Graciela Noemi Villaverde points out the power of icons and commemorations of peace to interrupt the hostility that leads to war.

Giorgos Pratzikos interviews actor and children’s author Zisis Papaioanou on his craft, his artistic vision, his inspirations in Christ and Aristotle, and desire for Greeks to have more neighborly concern and look out for each other.

Taylor Dibbert reflects on the impression Americans make while traveling abroad. Doug Hawley and Bill Tope present a humorous tale of unintended interplanetary cooperation. Duane Vorhees’ poetry deals with our humanity, the roles we play in life and who we choose to become to each other.

Abdel Iatif Moubarak’s words express solitude and the hopes and dreams of individuals and communities in an uncertain world. Abigail George reviews Nadine AuCoin’s horror novel Tucked Inn, a tale of survival and good overcoming evil. Justin Faisal, a Rohingya refugee from Myanmar and advocate for his fellow refugees, writes of his inner journey of perseverance and finding beauty in life. Sharifova Saidaxon reflects on similar sentiments, finding forgiveness and acceptance through her faith.

We hope this issue inspires you to dig into your inner psyche and uncover strength and reach for your hopes and dreams.

probability

The wheat stalks breathe you in,
Braid your letters for the evenings.
And stir your songs the day they met
Upon his face, the silence… the flock of stillness.
Depart to where we began our journey,
Indeed, the streams hold but fragments.
To a time squandered,
Forgive my death when I choose you,
To the mercy of the devout, in protest,
To the dwelling of the wound,
The distance of desolation.
And your endurance was to borrow
From the star, the day of collapse’s rituals.
Within you, the debasement of poems eludes,
Towards the sunrise.
And you quiet above some plains
The languages of apprehension,
In your sailing times.
You soothe the blaze of solitude… cities,
And pour into the eye the tears of reunion,
Branches from the beginning we were,
For the land of severance.
We carry to it the beseeching letters,
To write in love,
The beloved’s spinning song.
And you still swear by the earthquake,
So as to prepare a new homeland,
Which the questions lost in their lament,
And the impossible bolted its gates
With bursts of time that began to depart.
You never left the harvests of remembrance,
That we were quenching.
With your silence, visions will not overflow
The boundaries of emptiness.
And we…
Are in vain.

***

May God Strengthen You

When love confused you one day,
And you melted into it, and you had no choice.
That separation was coming for you, my heart,
Anyway, may God strengthen you.
Why did you obey him and walk with him?
He got lost with you from the first step.
You lived life after him,
And the pain of his separation keeps you awake.
When love called to you,
You saw paradise with your own eyes,
And you returned again with what’s inside you,
In every glance, he makes you remember.
Were his days a dream, or
Was it a time that came and went?
In it, my joy is absent from his presence,
And my sorrow and worry destroy you.
Believe me, a page has been turned,
Like the hearts that were burned.
From him, love and hearts intended
To return to him again and command you.
Anyway, may God strengthen you.

***

The Roofs of Houses

It peeks from the window of our hearts,
And steps onto the paths that have drunk
From its spring, the tales.
Upon a thousand civilians who implore,
And thousands of throats whose echo
Is the roofs of houses.
Their lament still embraces them,
And gathers them,
A million prayers,
Except what it couldn’t contain.
And you, who are ascetic within your prison, waiting
For a glimpse of light,
Just to caress your forehead.
Your umbilical cord between you
And the homeland,
Knows you overcome your tears
And split your chest for the cities,
So that life may enter them,
Free from the gloomy darkness clinging
To every wall that the specter of silence
Has demolished.
These are thousands of throats whose echo
Is the roofs of houses.

***

The Scars of Salvation

Let the halos of my heart fall from my brow,
A light I thought I’d find while resting on the shoulder of the word,
The one that hums a tune through the folds of this poem.
Illuminate for others my journey, this bitter taste of a homeland’s pain,
The anguish that fills it, stirring with every dawn
That rises on a morning full of nonsense.
The word was powerless then,
Unable to forge a new space for confession,
Or pluck a bejeweled pearl from its sky
To gift to the poor, the orphans, the forgotten,
Those on the brink of death.
I know I am the zero from which all poets begin,
The seed whose sprout only grew in the shadow of my ancestors’ verses.
From them, I drew the strength to survive,
Dreaming of their blissful, generous seas.
I lean on them all with a pride that lifts me
Into realms bright with the light of their wisdom, O Lady Poem.
All I ever wanted from you was salvation,
To end on your shores.
I began you (or you began me) among the transients
In a city whose streets had all gone dark,
Forgotten by long wars, then awakened just once
By the triumph of survivors, and drops of hope
That thirst couldn’t defeat.
Between tables of gunpowder and napalm,
Scattered limbs and blood-stained walls,
Jackets lie vomiting on the sides of ruins,
With the words “I was here” scrawled upon them.
A hemorrhage of questions.
How I’ve longed for my poems to take them on,
A path to grief and to release.
I craft my shoot for the fated crowd,
And belong to the march coming from those forgotten lands
Hidden in the folds of shackles and prison cells,
The torment of hungry stomachs,
The gasping of tongues behind cries for departure,
The absence of hope for a coming brilliance
That carries on its face the radiance of the impossible.
Lady Poem, I know glory in your proof.
I know the secret in your river.
This is how we meet, and with us, we meet
A life that has no shrine,
A life that only survived through an impossible bargain
Between a bundle of thorns that grew just once
From the pain of salvation.
I am destined to live and to see the city
Be the first to bless the burning heat of a step toward freedom,
Swearing by the fading glory in its children’s eyes,
The honeyed treasures flowing over a new homeland.

 

Heartaches By The Numbers

 

The End of the Road

My yellow brick road was paved with her promises.

 

A Dickinson Uncouplet

A rant without slant?

Don’t tell me I can't.

 

Night Cruises

Our ships passed at night.

She would pass many others.

I only passed hers.

 

The Rehearsal

When she rehearsed our wedding night

I’m sure it whet their appetite,

helping him rise up for more—

another notch, another score.

 

The Outsider

Perhaps if they’d stopped once they kissed,

I would never have felt that I missed

the delight in her heart

which was blissed from the start

of the joy she found on their first tryst.

 

My Mourning Star

I

still

wonder

where you are,

you who made my dawn

come up like thunder, morning star.

This War

How does it fit? Where does it fit?

A war made for TV, a reluctant war

Filling screens with carefully chosen

Words, words that can half mean or

Not mean at all. It’s newsworthy or

Takes up newsworthy space and time

Fills in between sports championship

Games, becomes a game of its own.

This is what we get when we let things

Go and think we can watch from these

Bleachers, the same ones we watched

From during the last war, last Superbowl

Last NBA finals. We are warrior watchers

Getting ready to go at it once again, like we

Did, like we did, and will probably have to

Do again.

                      Museums

Local museums, the kind historical societies

Put together, play time and place off each other.

A few hundred years ago, there was where we are

Right now, there were people trying to get by, get

On, living their lives creating this history that we

Can view and measure against now. There can be

Things we recognize in the places in the faces of

These folks. First descriptions, then drawings, then

Paintings, and finally photographs taking us through

The ongoing development of both cameras and

The people posing – this is the way a place becomes.

That is how we get to see them, know them. This is

Museum 101, and the locals have caught on. Here

We are, some strangers looking, touring through

Yet another place, and here they are trying to slow

Us a bit and get us to see where we are, not just in

This moment but in a larger context – the context of

Time and the idea of place, their place.

          Book

This book needed to be,

had to become, became

then shouldered its way

to the front of the shelf

with so much to say, so

much to tell us, trippling

on its pages, not mouthing

like the others often did,

often do. This book reads

itself to me, handles it all

so well, like a parent, like

a grandparent reading to

an attentive child, bounces

me on its knee. This book

was meant to be, was most

of the reason the word “book”

was ever said. It shines, it

shadows, it knows the tint of

every emotion available to us.

It fills in the blanks, crosses its

t’s and dots all our i’s, commits

it all to words on its pages, does

us a great service – it summarizes

who we are and what we’re about.

It’s the book that needed to be put

together and then was.

APPRECIATED TEACHER

A bright star shines in my heart,

 You are a classic among people. Your traces are in every letter and word,

 A dear teacher who opened the way to hearts.

We have learned manners and knowledge by following you,

 We have learned every aspect of knowledge.

 You were kind even in your reprimands, 

Now we are learning the lessons of life.

The lessons you taught have paved the way, 

We have laid the foundation for our future dreams.

 The kindness and attention we have received from you always motivates us to justify our trust.

Thank you, teacher, for your kindness, 

Your value to us is high and great. You will live forever in our hearts, My dear teacher, 

I bow to you a thousand times.

Jasmina Abdusaidova was born on July 20, 2011 in Gallaorol district, Jizzakh region. She is a student of district school No. 22.

BRIDGES WALLS AND DOORS

liars(lovers)(artists)

execute an honest

condemned activity

misshaping reality

art is a seed a hedge

love is a need a bridge

that connects a leisure

to unextinguished torture

greenest seeds weed their way

from criminalities

too covert to commit

and too active to stay hid

the right to scream is held

only by us tortured

the will is a wall made

to support or separate

the corpse is tradition’s

usual exhaustion

of palettes and menus

and an unfreedom to choose

love and art are the words

used to mimic or urge

the word is a closed door

but an urge opens the door

COUNTING THE COCKS IN THE HEN HOUSE

How many celebrants have danced in your penetralium?

Your hangar has sheltered how many planes?

COME THE REVOLUTION

Which among you shall being sandwiches?

And who’ll organize the selfies?

Which manifesto would you execute?

“The sky must be purged if the earth is to prevail!”

“The earth must be buried for Heaven to reveal!”

Which Utopia would you provoke?

Which of the pasts should be banned?

But don’t be the freak hot on the runway

or the gangster in church.,

don’t be the priest caught in the whore house,

or banker man in the line-up.

[The democracy entered upon the struggle with dictatorship heavily armed with sandwiches and candles. — Trotsky]

IN MY DEFENSE

And dark it was, yes, and I: alone

but full unwilling to succumb

and weaponed she: silk&smile&cologne.

Yet I still could hold my own

till lastly, Your Honor, did she come

at me with All the moon.

TIRED ONES STILL ALIVE 

Anđela Bunoš, Serbia 

There are hearts you cannot hold,

even if I shared the stories they hide.

My smile belongs to the world,

but my tears are saved for one soul alone.

I wear a smile for all to see, Suzana—

and you should know the truth beneath.

I won’t whisper that you’re rare,

nor confess how deeply I long for you.

For if your eyes can’t find it,

then words would fall in vain.

But I know you feel it still,

for our roads run side by side.

Our souls remember,

our lips confess in silence.

Our gazes speak, weary of life—

yet still, somehow,

you and I remain alive.

Anđela Bunoš was born on October 2, 1998, in Belgrade. She completed her undergraduate and master’s studies at the Faculty of Teacher Education, University of Belgrade. She is currently working as a teacher at the “Sava Šumanović” Elementary School in Zemun.