A LIGHT SNOWFALL ON THE SIDEWALKS

It is the time,

the Times,

to be writing

about…

the place I visit

as often as

Time allows–

Canada, to be

the place I write

about–

I know you

my country–

damn the politicians

and all the time

lies use their mouths,

to fool the clock,

fool us, fool the fools.

It is time,

the place I find

is my country–

Canada, I want

better for you–

can I speak of you

like you are a you?

Canada,

you allow me to know

travels, many times away,

as someone calls it–

“a time away”– I will

take it, Canada,

I want to write

about you–

damn the Liars!

All the time

it has taken me

to become, to merge

into the Times,

right here where we

can easily touch

something…or somehow

someone real close…

very real…please.

A DEFINITION OF FREEDOM

So far,

as a

Canadian,

I

can say

whatever

I want

to the

World.

WHY SHOULD I WRITE ABOUT LOVE

Robert Smith

unlike any other

Smith

has come through,

until this morning

his song titles

hadn’t reached me,

but today I

take upon me

the cure

and open

that which has always opened

when great songs

have reached me,

I have been through it,

and so have

so many others

who won’t allow themselves

to be shut down,

to be dumbed down,                            to be the witnesses,

to become the ones

you know you are,

as Allison Goldfrapp                            has asked us

to become, the ones

who must lead now,

the ones who knew

what to do with Love,

unlike me,

at the end

ready to walk endlessly

into all the voices

trying to be human,

but were fooled, were

led from their true voice,

were no different

than the voices of

the Wild, they didn’t know

they possessed,

the voices that led me

into a place

I never want to leave,

now the place, with you,

please stay with me.

Chad Norman, Truro, NS, Canada

His poems have appeared for nearly 40 years in literary publications across Canada, as well as a number of other countries around the world, also translated into Albanian, Spanish, Polish, Chinese, Turkish, Italian, Czech, Vietnamese, Portuguese,  and Hungarian.

In October 2016 he was invited by the Nordic Assn. for Canadian Studies to give talks on Canadian Poetry and read from his books at Borupgaard Gym in Copenhagen, and Risskov Gym in Aarhus, as well as other readings in both cities, and Malmo, Sweden. Because of that tour Norman started the manuscript, Counting Coins In Denmark And Sweden.

 In October of 2017 he read at various Eastern Canada venues in Kingston, Ottawa, and Montreal, reading poems from his Selected and New collection, published by Mosaic Press (Oakville, ON).

In October of 2018 he read at various types of venues from universities to cafes to pubs throughout Ireland, Scotland, Wales, while there he visited Swansea and slept three nights in the room where Dylan Thomas was born. A celebration of Canadian Poetry took place during this tour too.

His most recent books are a children’s picture book, B And Boy, 2023, Cyberwit. Net (India), and a new collection, Parental Forest,  out with AOS publications (Montreal).

Finally, Norman’s poem, The Shoulds, has been selected to be included in the Vagabond Lunar Collection, part of the time capsule scheduled for a Fall launch to the moon.

 He is currently a member of  The Writers Union Of Canada, PEN Canada, and a volunteers for 12 local crow families.

Critical Analytical Reading of “Voices” by Eva Lianou Petropoulou – Greece .

By : Kareem Abdullah – Iraq .

Introduction: Eva Lianou Petropoulou’s poem “Voices” offers a profound exploration of the paradoxical nature of human emotions and responses in different situations. The poem presents a series of thought-provoking questions, drawing attention to the complexities of human behavior in the face of both joy and suffering. Through its introspective tone and concise structure, the poem challenges the reader to reflect on the deep connections between emotional expression, the human mind, and the concept of free will.

Analysis:

Title – “Voices”: The title immediately introduces the theme of communication and internal dialogue. “Voices” can be interpreted as a reference to the various calls for help, freedom, and peace that people make, but also to the internal voices that dictate how we react to different emotional states. The plural form of “Voices” suggests the multiplicity of perspectives and experiences, implying that the poem is not only about individual experiences but also about collective human emotions and struggles.

Theme of Contradiction in Human Emotion: The central theme of the poem revolves around the contradiction in human emotional responses. The poet asks, “But why we cry in our happy moments / And laugh…..when we are in a very difficult situations?” This rhetorical question serves as a powerful paradox that challenges the reader’s assumptions about the nature of human emotions. Typically, crying is associated with sadness, and laughter with joy; however, the poet disrupts these associations to point out how human beings sometimes react in unexpected ways. This highlights the complexity of human psychology and the ways in which people navigate their emotional landscapes.

Self-Defense and Human Instincts: The poet suggests that perhaps this contradictory emotional behavior is a form of self-defense. The line, “Maybe this is the self defense of our organism,” introduces an interesting psychological concept: the idea that our emotions, even in their paradoxical forms, may serve as protective mechanisms. This idea evokes the notion of the fight-or-flight response and the instinctual ways in which humans protect themselves from stress, trauma, or emotional overwhelm. The reference to “self-defense” could imply that emotions such as crying or laughing in inappropriate contexts might be subconscious ways of coping with internal or external pressures.

Exploration of the Human Brain: The line, “Still discovering the human brain,” reveals the poet’s awareness of the ongoing research into human cognition and emotion. The statement highlights the mystery of the human mind, which is still being explored by science. It suggests that despite our advancements in understanding the brain and human behavior, there is still much to uncover about the complex mechanisms that govern our thoughts, feelings, and actions.

The Concept of Free Will: The closing line, “What is certain… / It is that we have free will,” serves as a pivotal moment in the poem. After exploring the unpredictability of human emotions, the poet affirms the certainty of free will. Despite the paradoxical nature of human emotional responses, the poet suggests that we still retain the power to make choices and exert control over our actions. This line introduces an element of empowerment, emphasizing that, regardless of how complex or contradictory our emotions may be, we are not entirely at their mercy. The affirmation of free will serves as a reminder of human agency in a world that can often feel chaotic and uncontrollable.

Conclusion: Eva Lianou Petropoulou’s “Voices” offers a rich and thought-provoking meditation on the complexity of human emotions, the mysteries of the brain, and the role of free will in shaping our responses to life’s challenges. Through its paradoxical statements and rhetorical questions, the poem invites the reader to reflect on the deeper, often contradictory, nature of human behavior. The poem’s ultimate message—despite the uncertainty and unpredictability of human emotions—is that we, as individuals, have the capacity for free will and can exercise control over how we respond to the world around us. In doing so, the poem not only engages with deep psychological and philosophical questions but also affirms the resilience and agency of the human spirit.

Voices

So many people cry for help

Cry for freedom

Cry for peace

But why we cry in our happy moments

And 

Laugh…..when we are in a very difficult situations?

Maybe this is the self defense of our organism

Still discovering the human brain

What is certain…

It is that we have free will

Eva Lianou Petropoulou ( Greece )

She is an awarded author and poet from Greece with more than 25 years in the Literary field published more that 10 books.

Her poems are translated in more than 25 languages. She is President of creativity and art of Mil Mentes Por Mexico Association

Greece Mexico 

Official candidate for Nobel Peace prize

2024

Spokane

Disillusioned by

what was going

on around him

he tried to open

his life in another

window but was

never able to get

past the pop-ups.

Career Paths

At thirteen he decided to become a prophet. By nineteen he had died & been reborn five times. Nobody took him seriously. Youth is a hard barrier to overcome.

He then decided to emulate the form of regeneration that seemed to have been most successful for generating prophet recognition & had himself crucified. Unfortunately, one of the nails was rusty, & during the transition period he contracted tetanus. He came back unable to speak, & essentially illiterate since so certain had he been of his destiny he had neglected to acquire much of an education.

Nobody wants a prophet who cannot communicate his prophesies. He spent the rest of his allotted three-score & ten in silence. Alone.

nOne-step

Nothing ad-

ventured

nothing

gained

when you

rely on

toxicology

instead

of taste.

Otherwise

partly because the sun

was in an

inclement meridian

partially because

the moon was

in the wrong

quadrant of the sky

particularly because

the cusp between

daydream & nightmare

was a silver ribbon

with elastic properties

Ella in Budapest

Something I have always

found disappointing,

hearing a singer in concert,

hearing a recording of that

singer somewhere else, some

years later. The same song,

The Lady is a Tramp, music by

straight George, lyrics by gay

Ira, Ella Fitzgerald singing.

The voice a little harsher than

I remember but the phrasing is

the same. I sing along. We impro-

vise together. In unison. I know

what notes will come next.

B-SIDE

“Isn’t that your sister?” Harry said to Ben as they left school on a warm May afternoon.

“What,” Ben said. “Where?”

“Over there,” Harry said, pointing toward a green VW Bug. Emma was sitting behind the wheel, waving at the boys. “Did you know she was coming?”

“Why is she here?” Ben said, as they wove their way through clusters of junior high students released for the day.

“Hey guys,” Emma said as they approached.

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“Are you hungry?” Emma said.

“I could eat,” Harry said.

Emma laughed. “I’m sure you could. But if it’s okay with you, I need some time with my little bro.”

“That’s cool,” Harry said. “I have a lot of homework.”

Emma pushed open the passenger door. “Get in. I’m starving. Let’s go to the Empress.” She reached into the glove compartment and removed a cassette, which she handed to Ben. “That’s for you. I made it last night.”

Ben read the names of the songs. “Fire and Rain, Gimme Shelter, Bird on the Wire, Universal Soldier. Cool. Can’t wait to listen.’

“You’re going to love Bird on the Wire.”

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked.

“I wanted to see you.” Emma turned up 68^th Street toward Queens Boulevard. “There’s a B side too.”

“Aren’t you in school?” Ben asked.

“I have a break before finals.”

“Do mom and dad know you’re coming?”

“I’m not coming home. I just came to see you.”

“Cool. Should I be worried?”

“You worry too much.”

“Maybe. But it’s a five-hour drive. Each way.”

Inside the Empress, they settled into a booth, and Emma ordered a grilled cheese and a slice of blueberry pie. Ben ordered the same.

“You don’t seem happy to see me,” Emma said.

“I am happy to see you.” Ben took a sip of soda.  “I just wasn’t expecting you.”

“It’s a surprise. That’s how surprises work.”

“Is that the only reason?” Ben asked

“How’s school?”

Ben shrugged. “Fine.”

“Junior high is the worst. High school sucks too. But you will love college.”

“Do you?”

“I do. The people I’ve met, the friends I’ve made are all interesting and full of ideas and goals. I like my classes. I just don’t know what I’m doing there. But you’ll know what you want to do. You love math. That’ll make a difference.”

“Everyone says that to me. I’m good at math, and it comes easy. But what if I want to do something else?”

“Then you’ll do something else.”

The waitress topped off Emma’s coffee. Ben watched as Emma poured and stirred the cream. He liked the sound of the spoon against the porcelain. He noticed that Emma’s pink nails were jagged and uneven. She put down her spoon and brought the cup to her lips.

“I’m not quitting,” she finally said. “Quitting is a bad habit that’s hard to break. That’s not what’s going on.”

“What is going on?” Ben said.

“If something is not good for you, then you need to leave it behind and find something else. I don’t have any clue what I’m doing, or what I want to do. And I’m lucky. I don’t have to worry about the draft if I quit.”

“Sounds like you’re quitting.”

“I’ll finish the semester and then figure it out. I need to find a purpose for being there. For my life. And I haven’t found it.”

“Yet,” Ben said.

“Yet,” Emma said. “Let’s go to the pond.”

Emma drove through the neighborhood to Flushing Meadow where they found a bench.

“Remember when dad took us here so he could teach you how to ride a two-wheeler?”

“Not really,” Ben said.

“You were only three,” Emma said. “It came so easy to you.”

“That means you were nine. That’s why you remember. I do remember the time you talked me into riding our bikes to Central Park. Down Queens Boulevard. Across the 59^th St. Bridge. It was awesome.”

“That was such a fun day,” Emma said.

They sat together in the park, looking out toward the pond. A breeze sent ripples across the water. Ben took the tape out of his pocket.

“The B-side is just as good,” he said, looking up. “I can’t believe you made a mix tape without a Dylan song. Might be a first.”

“I think you’re right. I wanted to add one from his new album, Nashville Skyline, but I need to listen to it more. Have you heard it?”

“They play a few cuts on the radio. I like the one with Johnny Cash.”

 Emma leaned back, staring at the sky and said. “I’ll go back for now.”

“What?”

“I’ll ace my finals,” Emma said. “Maybe I’ll go to law school and work pro bono for draft evaders and death row inmates.”

Ben looked at her. “Would that make you happy?”

“Happiness is fleeting. Purpose isn’t,” Emma said. “Maybe I’ll go live in Paris and be a writer like Baldwin.”

“Is he a friend of yours?”

“I wish,” she said. “He’s a great writer. You should read him. I’ll get you one of his books. Did you finish, On The Road?”

“Twice. I love it.”

“I’ll bring you The Fire Next Time, when I come back.”

“How would I see you, if you go to Paris?” Ben said.

“You should come back to school with me. Yes. That’s what you should do. We’d have so much fun.”

“You do realize I have school,” Ben said. “And we’d have to tell mom and dad. And don’t you have finals to study for?”

“I know. I know. I just thought it would be fun.”

“It would be fun,” Ben said.

Emma sighed and stretched her arms above her head. “I should take you home.”

As they walked back to the car, Emma jingled her keys. Ben watched her, memorizing the way she moved, the way her shoulders didn’t sway, as if she was holding onto something heavy, and didn’t want to let go.

Elan Barnehama has published two novels: Escape Route and Finding Bluefield. His flash fiction collection is forthcoming in January 2026 from Poets Wear Prada. His writing has appeared in numerous publications, including ParisLitUp, Synchronized Chaos, 10×10 Flash Fiction, Boog City, Jewish Fiction, Drunk Monkeys, Rough Cut Press, Boston Accent, Red Fez, Syncopation Lit, HuffPost, public radio, and more. Elan served as the flash fiction editor at ForthMagazineLA, a radio news reporter, and was a mediocre short-order cook.

Seen In Eastern Oregon                                       

Eastern Oregon is defined as east of the Cascade Mountains.  The east/west divide is political and topographical.  The fauna and flora and climate differ as well.

Many years ago, it could have been 2010, I went with a group of nature guides from the Portland Oregon area to an interesting historical site close to the Northeastern Oregon city Baker.  The main attraction in nearby Sumpter was the remains of an odd gold mining operation that operated from 1934-1954.  A dry land dredge created its own stream while running rock through the dredge.  Workers picked gold from the rock that passed through.

As interesting as that was, what caught my attention was a scene at the yard of a Sumpter resident.  A dog on a leash was barking at a deer peacefully munching on edibles in the yard.  The drama looked like it could be a nightly show.  After he had enough of the relentless barking the resident of the house came out to shoo the deer away.  The dog relaxed.

That wasn’t the only example of games animals play.  When we visited the Malheur National Game refuge in Southeastern Oregon we witnessed a coyote stalking a pheasant.  When the coyote got close the pheasant would fly twenty feet way.  We watched the slow motion unsuccessful pursuit for a few minutes, but it looked like the show could go on all day so we moved on to other wonders of nature.  Imagine a slow motion version of Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner.  Beep Beep.

On another occasion we found what appeared to be a flattened road runner.  A coyote didn’t get it, but it may have failed to Dodge a Maverick, Cougar, Impala, or other animal-named automobile.

Going through South Central Oregon just north of Nevada, we have seen herds of antelope (more accurately pronghorns).  They are the fastest land animal in the USA.  They evolved when dire wolves were around so they needed to be a little faster, and the excess speed has survived the demise of dire wolves.

The bittern is a bird that stays safe by standing head tilted up in reeds and is hard to discern from its surroundings.  It is good at hiding but we saw one.

The landscape east of the Cascades is much different.  The trees are different and smaller.  The juniper, sage brush, and horned toads (actually a lizard made famous by Yosemite Sam – I’ve run across a few) won’t be found in Western Oregon.

The differences between East and West are partly from climate differences and extent and timing of volcanic activity.  Western Oregon has a moderate climate with a lot of rain.  Eastern Oregon is arid and much more extreme.  Volcanoes made both Crater Lake National Park and Newberry Crater National Monument, home to East and Paulina Lakes, a frequent summer vacation for my family in the 1950s.  On a much smaller scale, there are the lava tubes and ice caves which were formed by lava vents.  Lava River Cave is over a mile long and open to visitors.  The various ice caves can keep ice for much of the year when the outside temperature can reach 90F.  In earlier times they provided Bend Oregon with ice in the summer.

Eastern Oregon – it’s something else.

spent

<i am the flight>

im flying

air air rrr flash (to)

space (bar)

im immobilized

my hands _wings_feathers_shreds

im letting myself down

sip wind wind breath

dot space

point line curve straight

_/\___▪︎▪︎▪︎▪︎_____________

the hospital intensive care unit rumbles

in silence

horse-house

I swallow the horse’s bow-legged apple

house is no use

I run to the other end of the rounded planet and return to a house that does not exist

Newmore

After long debates, the parliament finally approved the state budget presented by the government for the coming year. In a more ideal world there would be a poem instead of this text.

beast

who would dare to hug me:::

stomach digests panther fangs

the tail strangles the neck

sperm burns stubble

a soldier looks out of the

emptiness/purity of the fog

and begs for alms at the breast

wanting to latch all the milk out of the nipple

Shortest steppe poem

I’m no more

No title

I’m a dog and not a wolf

I’m a cat and not a tiger

I’m a worm and not a cobra

I’m a person and not [?]

GENDER BOX

A highly celebrated Yogi

An ardent Haj going Maulavi

Keeper of commandments 

A “holy than thou” Christian saint

Together they went to the heaven’s gate

O, keeper of the cosmic records

Open the gate of heaven

Let us in, they said in one voice

The keeper of the gate said

Go back to earth

And bring back your other halves

Only complete person is allowed

We sent you together

And together you shall return

All three were dismayed

What does he mean by the other half ?

They asked him

which other half you are talking about, Sir

The wise gate keeper replied

Where is the woman ? 

Further the keeper of gate added

You three acted as male chauvanists

You lived in the prison of gender

Never came out of gender box

You never respected your other half

You must know that every man has whole genome

Male and female together

So does every woman

O Yogi, you pride yourself

For your self contemplation

Yet you never allowed single meditation

Upon the greatness of feminine divine

You never tried to know

How to turn your blood into “liquid love” 

To feed the liquid love – the milk for the babe

How to have infinite patience

While incubating the eggs or

Waiting upon the child

You never tried to contemplate

Why woman chose her costume ?

With a rucksack in front

To practice the self sacrificing

To offer her back to the wolves

But to keep the love child safe.

O, self claimed pious Maulavi

You kept your woman under the tent

She was not the mother of your children

But a reproductive machine

Who after birth

Handed over the child to you

So you could make a swordsman

For your insatiable greed of empire

building

O, keeper of holy commandments

You made a playboy of yourself

The woman was stripped naked

To boast of a civilized world

For your burning desires of material consumption

You made a advertising Mannequin of the divine feminine

I know you all three are cursing me

But the truth must prevail

For in heaven

Only one dharma has dominion

That is the dharma of truth

Wise ones say thus

There is no religion greater than religion of truth ( सत्यात् नास्ति परो धर्मः)

So please go back to earth 

And only return when you are complete human being

Then, the Yogi implored thus

O, divine self be our Guru

And give us the discerning eye

The wisdom eye (उपनयन) that sees only truth.

The divine gate keeper said thus

You must come out of the gender box

Either you contemplate the feminine divine of your genome

Or be a woman in next birth

So you can be witness to the glory

of feminine divine.

And incorporate the truth in your DNA

Know it well gentlemen,

The gender box is the last gate upon earth

And it equally applies to women as well

And every man and woman must come out of their gender boxes

Before you could reach to the gate of heaven.

And let the truth prevail upon earth.

June 14, 2018

……..

Divine Woman

Evolution lovingly refined a woman

Indeed so much more than a man

Crowning her with deeply loving attitude

And with life sustaining deep ecology of gratitude.

Godly attitudes come to a woman

More naturally than a man

Love, empathy, care and patience

Come to her more easily than beastly violence.

Evolution wrapped her body into a beautiful dress

And gave her a tiara of a living goddess

She is embodiment of divine human passion

Evolution made her mother of human nation.

How a man allows the beast to dominate him ?

Why a man gives in to his animalistic whim ?

Why a man behaves so insane and wild ?

Violating a sister, mother and an innocent girl child.

It is high time that all earth nations of man

Rise above gender injustice and sadistic pain

Man must transcend the beastly male chauvinism

His beast must evolve into divine human organism.