Jerome Berglund graduated from the University of Southern California’s Cinema-Television Production program and spent a picaresque decade in the entertainment industry before returning to the Midwest where he was born and raised. Since then he has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Berglund has exhibited many haiku and senryu online and in print, most recently in Tofu Ink Arts, Vermillion, Hey I'm Alive Magazine, and Fauxmoir.
He is furthermore an established, award-winning fine art photographer, whose black and white pictures have been shown in galleries across New York, Minneapolis, and Santa Monica. You can read Jerome’s earlier published works collected in Bindle Bum and Paint Chips, available through Amazon.
Whispers of the Wind
Trees standing tall reaching to the sky.
When the wind dances between trees,
Leaving a trace of mist on the ground.
Leaves blow from one place to another.
A sound of a leaf brushing one another.
Clam finds a place among the breeze.
Serenity accompanies the whispering.
As the wind leaves a trail of freshness,
Clarity leaves me with a quiet soul.
Cemented Freedom
In the inner-city among the cemented sidewalks,
Buildings of cement reaching towards the sky.
Cemented bricks and cemented hearts that cry.
Among the cemented world lives freedom.
Freedom comes as flowers grow free.
Cardinals sing among the trees at dawn.
God’s freedom among the cemented city.
Freedom as the wings of the cardinal’s flight.
Among the flowers there is a life of beauty.
The Garden of Friendship
For Mary Kirsch
The sunshine, rain, and snow flowers grew.
As did our love for one another in hardship,
Flowers grow in the cracks of the sidewalk,
And through our fears and doubts of life,
Quietly as the candles burned on the altar.
We sat together with our hearts open.
In the garden love still grows,
Flowers grow through the cracks.
While we see the petals of the heart.
Summer Beauty
Her skin was the color of caramel
And her eyes the color of cream,
With a smile that warmed my heart.
She spoke like the wind in summer.
Seeing how gracefully she walked.
Reminding me of the beauty of life.
She sat by the window looking at me.
A moment of eye contact between us.
Remembering that glance in my prayers.
JOE UP LATE IN A SEAPORT
Downtown seaport.
one in the morning,
bar closes,
Joe hears the shouts
of the drinkers
as they stumble out into the street.
New moon makes nothing clear,
gray clouds haunt the night sky,
boats rock, docks creak,
and, for human sounds,
it’s Joe’s cold breath
against the alcoholic choir.
The men
slowly struggle up the hill
to their homes,
their sleeping families.
Joe stands by the memorial statue
for all fishermen who died at sea.
The drinkers look elsewhere.
They don’t like to be reminded
what a storm on the waters can do.
Joe imagines it’s just like this,
with men, once the street lights
lose track of them,
vanishing in darkness.
Until it’s just him.
And a marble sailor gripping the wheel.
And that whiff of liquor,
tinged with salt,
intoxicating.
A DRUNK IN HELL
Stars are Basin Street
at midnight.
hung like rosary beads,
like the glow of cigarettes
in the mouth of the snickering moon.
I prefer it when the clouds roll in,
white and puffy
as used condoms,
heavy as mud on a coffin lid,
the dark dogs of weather
snarling through the grill
of a sudden rain shower.
Clouds gather like mourners
at the nuptials of death and booze,
of the sax solo
boiling away from a nearby club
and the passing taxi pissing water
down my pants' legs.
I'm heading home
in the wrong direction,
crashing through Saturday night's demented party,
a parade of one,
liquored up, beaten down,
a float that stinks of a hooker's breath -
you'd think life would know better
than to let me inhabit it.
Maybe I'll just crash now.
Maybe I'll drop
where I am and if no one finds me,
so much the better for them.
But there's always a cop,
always the cry of "Move on, buddy."
So I move on like the clouds,
so the stars can reappear.
They're not light, they're fire.
It's their job to burn a hole in me.
FLOOD VICTIMS
Anna's rolling in the mud.
Husband Dave scoops up large lumps of sludge
in his hands,
watches it slowly drip through the cracks
between fingers.
This is what you do
when the flood retreats
and the land's a sea of slush.
No dimples in a baby's chin.
No soft pink squeeze of flesh.
Nothing clean as a fresh white towel
or a pressed Sunday suit
or a bread roll and a pad of bright yellow butter.
Some people armed with shovels
try to dig the town out from under
this deep brown muck.
Why fight it, says Anna.
I battled the disillusionment of marriage,
the burden of children, the grind of two jobs,
and the river still overflowed its banks,
washed away all homes and cars and life before it.
Others pick through the dark caked graves
of furniture, food and family heirlooms.
Dave had nothing worth having,
now he owns a house of silt.
The arguments are buried.
The disappointments can't breathe.
So what if the town smells
like rot, mildew, decaying corpses.
Anna can live with the stench.
Dave can live with Anna.
READING A BOOK GETS ME HOT
kind of reading,
love-in-book form,
feel urged to utterance,
plunge my waterbody
into your fish-tank –
sex, notwithstanding deaths,
the critical mass of human endeavor,
on the countertop, in the aisles,
a lovely dove inside a man’s hands
as his face imitates the one who killed it –
sex, this American sex,
I’d step way out of line to have it,
devour everything in its path,
thrash like a drowning man
if it was air –
in human terms,
the liquid violence,
as a young boy,
stranger than Chinatown,
even in diminishment,
the loudest noise a guy can make -.
nerve and pulse
reach into the dark places,
a body far from home,
a blunt butcher
carving his way
into the interior
of a pink palace –
and it’s this book that
does it,
sears my hands,
steams my head –
who wrote it?
I did –
when was it written?
after I’m done -
DANCE NIGHT
Having started in thought,
I ended with dancing.
Not as embodiment
but because thinking
wasn’t getting me anywhere.
I hadn’t the patience
for old lovers.
Nor the mind for wondering
what went wrong.
And my limbs were crying out,
“Why not us!”
The results of the mental process
were as meager as hummingbird feathers.
And nowhere near as fetching
as the woman I was with.
Music was playing.
We stepped out on the floor.
My legs mule-kicked,
My arms flailed.
I shook my body
like interrogating a suspect.
And, all this time,
my head was bobbing.
But just for identification purposes.
from time to time
i saw a lighter
and a spoon on
the nightstand
by the bed
she saw me
looking at them
and uttered she
only does that
from time to
time
i told her it
wasn't any
of my business
your life
your choice
she kissed me
with a tear in
her eye
i was her first
non-hypocrite
in a long time
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
falling in love again
i know i am running out
of chances of ever falling
in love again
i wouldn't say i'm desperate
but i know i can hear the old
soul in me growing impatient
the joys of being a loner...
but it isn't like they are beating
the door down to find me
one broken soul has stepped up
and thrown her hat in the ring
now, it is up to this broken
soul to actually pick the
fucking thing up
------------------------------------------------------------------------
have her way with me
the latest muse wants
to come over and have
her way with me
of course, the middle of
a pandemic and suddenly
i'm popular again
i have the luck of someone
that's been dead for years
and if this is the after life
i'm really happy i didn't
waste all that time in
church
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
surrounded by death
all these years surrounded
by death you can't help
but think about it every
now and then
and as much as i love
to die in my sleep i know
the chances get slimmer
and slimmer each year
the evil side of me wants
to die on the toilet like
elvis
oh, the fucking irony
the poet in me wants to
die inside the wife of
someone else
in reality, i'm sure it
will be by attrition
or right before i was
supposed to suddenly
be rich
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
in the arms of my first love
i had a dream last night
i died in the arms of
my first love
i know i should tell
her about the dream
but i'm not sure what
that would accomplish
all the miles between
us aren't getting closer
anytime soon
and knowing my luck,
when they do
i'll be too late
i know i am officially
old when my life
becomes lyrics from
a social distortion
song
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Black Coffee Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Black Shamrock and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Little ghost
There was a cabin in the woods
And snakes on the road
In that place
In the middle of God knows what
With the sheep
And the neighbour’s goat
My brother felt like talking to
With a sheet on my head
I tried to make my sister move
I tried to get her head
Out of those books
And her eyes
Were glued to the page
And I wished
They were glued to me
And looked at me
Not through me.
My arms were extended
And I sung “ooooooh”
Then stopped,
Then sung again “oooooh”
Until she told me off
And I made myself small
And haunted that house
Covered in white
And desperate to prove
My father wrong
In that
Everything
Was not alright.
A lesson learnt in Franco Manca
I became irritated at the thought of this man telling me that the pizza I ordered half an hour ago
was only just being prepared. My way or no way. I want to eat in, he does not. I want a million
dollar man and he wants trees. Sometimes, no one gets what they want.
Nadja Moore is a writer based in Surrey, UK. She has a day job, a roommate, a band called Lilies in my brain and no pets. Her poems have appeared in Horror Sleaze Trash and Terror House Magazine.
I Command the Chaos
I command the chaos — turn into order!
I command the death — turn into life!
I command the war — turn into peace!
I don't want to know a thing anymore.
You know my soul yearned for knowledge
but from this day on, I don't want to know a thing
except for, will I be able or not to love you.
Is it possible that the world has earned some relief?
The wings cut the skies
a dream hides reality within itself
and what if I learn the truth? So what?
Will I keep faith?
The will, the strength to save myself, will it stay with me?
I command the darkness — turn into light!
I shall linger on this planet a while longer
and I am closer to you than to anyone else
and a realization of my existence here
brings such bitter tears which I cannot explain
but I still have the path to reach those peaceful pastures
so, I'll stand up again and tell you that I shall gather strength
and something will happen, as if by accident
and we shall walk toward each other again.
I command the sorrow — turn into calm!
I command the noise — turn into silence!
David Dephy
DIVINE UKRAINE
Your eyes are the eyes of God.
Your breath is mother tongue of Earth.
Your blood is a symphony of fire.
Your lips are the truth-tellers,
no one can take your golden mystery,
no one can feel you without admiration.
Your heart is garden of kisses.
Your ears are pearls of expectation.
Your words are constellations –
the faces of heroes, encircled by rays,
drifted on the minds of the world,
their smile, their look, their strength and its innocence,
a tide that tugs at us. In times like these,
a sense washes over us, and we gather together
in the deadly noise of millennium and this stillness,
a stillness that never wavers.
All we have become, divine Ukraine,
is what your innocence has made of us.
The naked homeland of freedom
beats right in your heart.
David Dephy
March 1, 2022
New York
TAKE YOUR SANDALS OFF YOUR FEET
You are in Ukraine, take off your sandals,
for the place where you are standing
is holy and the air you are breathing is holy,
touching rays on your face,
drifting through the noise of madness
from the other side of the dark,
still, the lips touch the air
and this body is a foreign language
addressing a foreign world,
and its foreign skies. I say,
take a deep breath, my love,
let us embrace this great void as an old friend,
perhaps then we shall discover each other
far on the other side of alone.
Have you heard a song of braves?
Take your sandals off your feet,
the place when you’re standing is holy,
every grain is the heart of a child,
the grain of truth—
breathing through the golden shadows.
Have you heard the laughs and smells?
This is the greatest afternoon of freedom.
David Dephy
3/12/22
New York
EMPTY STROLLERS IN FRONT OF YOU
See the empty strollers over there? In front of you.
Now you see what Russians are. Don’t say a word.
Take a deep breath. Now you know what has happened,
why, how, where and when—
right here, not so far—
Not so far.
Just a second ago, they were alive.
My sweetest friend, they were loved.
The peace offering love—
Earth and heavens made sacrifices to that love,
the dews of their smiles are the words of holy.
Who ever heard or felt anything more divine?
Is there something precious we are longing to find out there?
Their voices hit your senses, burst your temples,
burn your breath. See the rays?
Or the black smoke under flawed stillness?
This is the other side of our happiness—
and its silence means the end.
David Dephy
March 18, 2022
New York
David Dephy
A Georgian/American award-winning poet and novelist. The 1st place winner of The Artist Forum Poetry Award in New York 2021, the winner of the Finalist Award in the 2020 Best Book Award National Contest by American Book Fest, the finalist and shortlist winner nominee of the Adelaide Literary Awards for the category of Best Poem, the winner of the Spillwords Poetry Award. He is named as A Literature Luminary by Bowery Poetry, The Stellar Poet by Voices of Poetry, The Incomparable Poet by Statorec, The Brilliant Grace by Headline Poetry & Press and An Extremely Unique Poetic Voice by Cultural Daily.
Thánh địa Mỹ Sơn
Em treo mình ngàn năm trên vách tháp
Hằn dấu thời gian vũ điệu apsara
Chân đạp đất, tay chống trời khỏi sập
Đế chế suy tàn bất lực trước thời gian.
Bao tháp cổ dưới chân trời sụp đổ
Mảnh thời gian cào xước mặt tượng thần
Suối rả rích ngàn năm giàn giụa
Chế Bồng Nga từ đổ nát hiện về.
Ta trò chuyện cùng ông trong hoang lạnh
Ông xót thương ngàn vạn kiếp ma Hời
Mang hồn cốt dựng tháp chàm, Cổ lũy
Nay hoang tàn đổ nát bóng ngàn thu
Bao du khách muôn nơi về hội tụ
Mặc niệm một vương triều đang tàn tạ hoang vu.
* Kỷ niệm chuyến đi thực tế sáng tác tại Quảng Nam, Đà Nẵng ngày 11/7/2015.
Đỗ Toàn Diện
196 - Quang Trung - Krong Păc - Dak Lak .
ĐT : 0915743650
Sanctuary of My Son
You hang yourself on the tower wall for thousand years
Apsara dance stamped on the time
Feet on the ground, hands against the sky to keep from collapse
The powerless fallen empire with time.
Ancient towers under the horizon collapsed
Piece of time scratched the face of statue
The stream flowing for thousands of years
Cei Bunga* appeared from the ruins.
I talked to you in the cold wilderness
You sympathized with thousands of thousands of ghosts
Brought the soul to build the indigo tower, the ancient citadel
Now, the wilderness ruined with thousands of autumns
Many tourists from all over the world gathered
To recall the desolated dynasty.
*The general who ruled Champa from 1360–1390 CE. He was also known as The Red King in Vietnamese stories
Hành khất
Tuổi già cõng đói nghèo, ngửa tay xin thơm thảo
Chủ khách dửng dưng
Hạch sách
Nhìn…
Chó nhà giàu sủa vào chiều cô độc!
Có bàn tay vét lủng ngày, loay hoay bạc lẻ
Chút tình người, gửi rách nón mê
Vọng sau lưng những giọt tái tê
Dòng xuôi ngược trong bộn bề vô cảm
Đất trời như nêm
Chen chúc những linh hồn dị dạng
…
Chợt hoang mang cõi người .
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
A beggar
The old age carrying poverty, raising hands to ask for kindness
Owners are indifferent
Retorted
Looked…
A dog of the rich barked in the lonely afternoon!
A hand that tried full of day, struggled with pence
A little bit of human love, sent to the torn hat
Echoing behind the bitter drops
The up and down flowing in the emotionless mess
Heaven and earth are likely a wedge
Crowd of deformed souls
…
Suddenly bewildered of the human being.
Bàn tay thợ gốm
Chạm vào đất
Đất thở trong ngực tượng
Hoa nở trên tay anh
Lay động…
Phép nhiệm màu
Linh thiêng hồn đất
Quan Công dũng khí đà đao
Tôn Ngộ Không bay ra từ núi Phật…
Đất trong tay anh
Bừng thức
Hơi thở cuộc đời
Hơi thở đất…
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Hands of the ceramist
Touching the clay
The clay breathed in chests of the statues
Flowers bloomed in his hands
Shaking…
Magic
The sacred spirit of the clay
Brave Mandarin with swords
The Monkey King flew out from Buddha mountain...
Land in his hands
Waken up
Breath of the life
Breath of the clay...
Hóa đá
Xin em đừng hóa đá
Để anh tìm
Lạc bước trăm năm.
Xin em đừng hóa đá
Để anh nhìn
Mỏi mắt trần gian
Anh lần tìm
Rêu đã phủ xanh
Thời gian buồn hóa thạch
Găm nỗi niềm
Mọc rễ dọc thời gian .
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Turning to stone
Please, don't turn to stone
Let me find out
Lost a hundred years.
Please, don't turn to stone
Let me see
Tired eyes in the world
I'm looking for
Moss covered with green
Sad times fossilized
Grieved the feeling
Rooted along the time.
Viết trước tượng đài nghĩa trang
Chiến tranh đã vắt kiệt những giọt nước, mẹ chẳng thể khóc trước những nấm mồ thanh xuân, sợi sợi thời gian cháy tàn tro tóc mẹ, lá xanh rụng trước lá vàng.
Chiến tranh đã lùi vào dĩ vãng, để lại những nghĩa trang như ngàn ngàn vết sẹo trên hình hài tổ quốc, khắc vào thời gian những mất mát đau buồn.
Rải rác những linh hồn còn lang thang nơi biên ải, lang thang trên đất khách chưa về. Tiếng súng đã lặng im bốn mươi năm, truyền hình vẫn còn mục nhắn tìm đồng đội. Thăm thẳm biển khơi sông ngòi, khe suối, đâu đâu cũng bãi chiến trường.
Đất nước dày đặc đau thương, ta không thể lật tung từng ngõ ngách, những con đường hay dải đồng bằng châu thổ. Ta không thể san phẳng dãy Trường sơn để tìm nấm mộ… chiến tranh tự đào hố chôn người. “Bên nào thắng, nhân dân đều là người tổn hại”, gọt gọt sợi buồn tích lệ chảy ngàn năm.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Writing in front of the cemetery monument
The war had drained every drop of tear, mother can't cry over the youth graves, the threads of time burned to the ashes of mother's hair, green leaves fallen before yellow leaves.
The war had receded into the past, leaving cemeteries as thousands of scars on the body of the country, engraved in time with painful losses.
The scattered souls are still wandering in the border areas, wandering on foreign lands that have not yet returned. The gunfire has been silent for forty years, the television still shows messages to find soldier-mates. The deep sea, rivers, streams, battlefields were everywhere.
The country is dense with pain, we cannot turn every corner, road or delta strip. We cannot level the Truong Son mountain range to find graves… the war dug its own graves. "Which side wins, the people are the ones who suffer", peeling the sad tears that have flowed for thousands of years.
Mất tuổi
Tuổi tôi bị cháy mất rồi
Ngày sinh cha khắc đầu hồi chái hiên
Đạn bom cháy mất tuổi tên
Cha quên, rồi mẹ cũng quên tuổi mình
Thế là tôi giữa cộng sinh
Cái tên lạc tuổi triết minh với đời
Tự do hít thở khí trời
Vô tư nắng gió hát lời vô tư
Thế là thành kiếp lãng du
Làm đời không tuổi xanh như đại ngàn
Hiện sinh cùng những cung đàn
Hát lên điệp khúc Đam San giữa trời.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Lost age
My age is on fire
The birthday, father carved on the gable
Bombs fired and lost the sign
Father forgot, then mother forgot the age
Therefore, I'm in amid of symbiosis
The name is out of age, wisdom and life
Freely breathing the air
Carefree sunshine and wind to sing carefree lyrics
Therefore becoming a wandering life
As the life without age as green giant forest
Existence with the rhythms
Singing the chorus of Dam San* in the sky.
*The Great Epic of Sir Dam San is a famous seven-chapter epic of the E de people of Vietnam's Central Highlands. It is about the heroic E De chieftain Dam San
Chiếc gùi
Em cõng bốn mùa lên rẫy
Thả nắng gió lên nương
Gùi sự sống về buôn
Dáng em nghiêng hình đất nước
Gùi cùng em một thời oanh liệt
Qua nắng mưa, lửa đạn chiến trường
Gùi với em thành đôi bạn thân thương
Muối, gạo, thuốc men, dãi dầu sương gió
Đạp lên bão đạn mưa bom…
Gùi thức cùng em qua những đêm trường
Chiếc gùi Đam San bao đời truyền lại
Cõng ước mơ đi dọc cuộc đời.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
The basket
You carry the four seasons to the mountain fields
Releasing the sun and wind on the mountain fields
Sending the living back to the village
Your shape leaning to the country form
The basket together with you a glorious time
Through the sun and rain, the fire of the battlefield
The basket together with you becoming dear friends
Salt, rice, medicine, mist and wind
Stepping on the storm of bullets and rain bombs...
The basket wakes up with you through battle nights
The basket of Dam San has been passed down from generation to generation
Carrying dreams along the life.
Gỗ tạp
Dưới chân núi
Có loài cây cứ xanh lốp bời bời
Phởn phơ nắng trời cao vút
Người đời gọi là gỗ tạp
Trên đỉnh đại ngàn
Những cây Kiêng, cây Nghiến
Uống sương tuyết, nắng trời
Lòng gang dạ thép
Những bộ mặt búa rìu
Nhẫn tâm đốn hạ…
Gỗ tạp chân núi kia
Hả hê, cắm rễ sâu vào đất hút mỡ màu
Mơn mởn sum suê
Thả ngạo nghễ xuống đời!
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
The junk timber
At the foot of mountain
There are trees that are always green
Excited under the high sun
People call it as the junk timber
On the top of the giant forest
The trees of iron-timber, the trees of plants
Drinking the mist, the sun
Heart of steel
Faces of ax and hammer
Brutally cut them down…
Junk wood at the foot of that mountain
Happily, deeply rooted in fertile soil
Lush and luxuriant
Shadowing down to the life!
Tiếng trẻ vòi đêm
Đêm sài đẹn
Đứa trẻ nhành nhạch
Vòi đêm.
Người mẹ trẻ
Dỗ dành
Ngái ngủ
Tiếng ru đêm
Chòng chành
Kim cổ
Nhợt nhạt màu đêm
Trôi…
Dạt về rạng sáng
Khi tiếng khóc ngủ yên
Đêm mệt lả
Người mẹ trẻ rời giường
Cời bếp.
Thắp lên chạng vạng
Xua đi bóng tối
Xanh xao trên gương mặt ngày ngái ngủ.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
A child annoys at night
A night of child-disease
An annoying child
Night harassment
A young mother
Appeasing
Sleepy
Night lullaby
wobbly
Old words
Pale color of the night
Drifting…
To the dawn
When the crying stopped
Tired night
The young mother getting out of bed
Firing at kitchen.
Lighting up the twilight
Driving away the darkness
Pale on her sleepy face.
Mơ
Đêm. Giấc mơ huyễn hoặc
Bí hiểm nụ cười Lê Ô Na Đơ Vanh Xi
Mỉa mai chua chát
Bao trùm thánh thiện bao dung
Đôi mắt màu đêm qua miền hư ảo
Em gõ vào tiềm thức tôi một kẻ khờ nông nổi
Một chút vu vơ… Hạnh phúc giận hờn
Em trốn vào đêm tôi không sao tìm nổi
Xòe tay chỉ toàn bóng tối
Giấc mơ trôi. Chát mặn. Ngọt ngào!
Đỗ Toàn Diện
196 - Quang Trung - Krông - Păc - Dăk Lăk
A dream
Night. An illusion dream
The secret of the smile of Leonardo da Vinci
Irony
Covering the holiness and tolerance
Colored eyes in the night through the illusion area
You tap into my subconscious of a frivolity fool
A bit aimless… Happy angry
You hide in the night I can't find
Outstretched hands only the darkness
The floating dream. Salty. Sweet!
LÝ LỊCH TRÍCH NGANG
ĐỖ TOÀN DIỆN
Quê quán : Cẩm Sơn – Cẩm Thủy – Thanh Hóa .
Thường trú : 196 – Quang Trung – Thị Trấn Phước An – Krông Păc – Dăk Lăk .
Điện thoại : 0915743650 .
Hội viên Hội nhà văn Việt Nam .
Hội viên Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dăk Lăk .
ĐÃ ĐƯỢC TẶNG CÁC GIẢI THƯỞNG :
• Được tặng thưởng của Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dăk Lăk năm 2012 .
• Giải thưởng Chư Yang Sin ( Năm 5 một lần ) 2008 – 20013 .
• Giải thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2016 – Giải B .
• Giải thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2017 .
• Giải thưởng “ Học tập và làm theo tấm gương đạo đức Hồ Chí Minh của Tỉnh Dak Lak năm 2018 .
• Giải thưởng Chư Yang Sin lần thư 3 ( Giai đoạn 2015 – 2020 )
• Được tặng thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2020 .
• Đoạt giải B cuộc vận đông sáng tác văn học nghệ thuật Kon Tum năm 2020 .
• Được tặng Kỷ niệm chương của Ủy Ban Toàn Quốc “ Vì sự nghiêp văn thơ Việt Nam “ năm 2010 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Toàn Quốc Liên Hiệp Các Hội Văn Học Nghệ Thuật Việt Nam năm 2018 .
• Bằng khen 10 năm hoạt động văn học tỉnh Dak Lak . năm 2019 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Nhân Dân Tỉnh Dak Lak tặng vì có thành tích xuất sắc xây dưng Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 1990 – 1995 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Nhân Dân Tỉnh Dak Lak năm 2020 vì đã có thành tích xuất sắc trong lĩnh vực hoạt động văn học nghệ thuật nhiệm kỳ ( 2015 – 2020 ) .
NHỮNG TÁC PHẨM THƠ ĐÃ XUẤT BẢN :
• Hoa trong cỏ XB năm 1992 .
• Lời yêu XB năm 1994 .
• Lời ru Cao Nguyên XB năm 1998 .
• Ngụ ngôn trào phúng XB năm 2000 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2005
• Những điều trông thấy chọn lọc XB năm 2009 .
• Thời yêu dấu XB năm 2005 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2008 .
• Ước mơ nhà rông XB năm 2010 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2014 .
• Dấu chân thời gian XB năm 2016 .
• Khúc đồng ca mùa hạ ( Thơ thiếu nhi ) XB năm 2019 .
• Đám mây màu cổ tích ( Thơ thiếu nhi ) XB năm 2020 .
• Tuổi chuồn chuồn ( Thơ tiếu nhi ) XB năm 2021 .
Biography
Fullname: DO TOAN DIEN
Hometown: Cam Son - Cam Thuy - Thanh Hoa.
Address: 196 - Quang Trung - Phuoc An town - Krong Pac - Dak Lak.
Phone: 0915743650.
Member of Vietnam Writers’ Association.
Member of Dak Lak Literary and Art Association.
AWARDS:
• Awarded by Dak Lak Literary and Art Association in 2012.
• Chu Yang Sin Award (Once every 5 years) 2008 – 2013.
• Dak Lak Literary and Art Award in 2016 – Prize B.
• Dak Lak Literary and Art Award in 2017.
• Award "Study and follow Ho Chi Minh's moral example of Dak Lak Province in 2018".
• The 3rd Chu Yang Sin Award (The period 2015 - 2020)
• Awarded by Dak Lak literature and art in 2020.
• B prize in the Kon Tum literary art competition in 2020.
• Awarded the Medal of the National Committee "For the career of Vietnamese literature and poetry" in 2010.
• Certificate of Merit from the National Committee of the Union of Vietnamese Literature and Arts Associations in 2018.
• Certificate of Merit for 10 years of literary activities in Dak Lak province in 2019.
• Certificate of Merit from the People's Committee of Dak Lak Province for outstanding achievements in forming the Dak Lak Literary and Art Association in 1990-1995.
• Certificate of Merit from the People's Committee of Dak Lak Province in 2020 for outstanding achievements in literary and artistic activities for the term (2015 - 2020).
POETS PUBLISHED:
• Flowers in grass published in 1992.
• Words of love in 1994.
• Lullaby of the Central Highlands in 1998.
• Satirical parable in 2000.
• Things to see in 2005
• Things to see selectively in 2009.
• Lovely time in 2005.
• Things to see in the 2008
• Dream of a communal house in 2010.
• Things to see in 2014
• Time footprint in 2016.
• Summer children's poetry in 2019.
Fairy color cloud (children’s poetry in 2020.
Age of Dragon Fly (Children’s poetry) in 2021.
