The stars of the eyes are dense fog
In the stars of the eyes,
the dewdrops are accumulating in the dense fog,
I am losing my way in the darkness,
I am crossing the Indus.
The stars of the blue sky are searching for dreams in the folds of the clouds,
I am looking for a life without a life.
In the middle of the road, at the end of the day,
my body and soul are helpless,
The song is lost from my voice due to pride.
Enough Scars
When you look to my face
You will only notice
The deep wrinkles
Draw the long history
Of my non-stoppable misery.
And the grey hair
Reflect my dark and horrible nights.
My inner self
Is exhausted and crawling
Like a bleeding wounded
Who lost hope to survive.
My soul is tortured
As if the hell was created
Inside my body
My heart is like the dry river
In a deserted city
Full of scars
But no more blood to bleed.
Ahmed Miqdad
Gaza
Woman,
You are alive
A mother
A daughter
Women,
We respect each other
We support each other
Our power is strong
When we are together
Woman,
A friend
That we never leave you at your hard time
Woman,
The creativity
The poetry
The art
Woman we must celebrate and be respected everyday
Calliope’s Windfall Cadralor I. Autumn Amity Nonpolar effect hydrophobic leaves aggregate water droplets may hydrogen bonds join us in molecule cages. II. Goslings Noontime disruption thundershowers high above goose and gander honk once we danced in spring rains mimicked nature’s celebrants. III. Hades’ Decan Sizzling zodiac liquid smoke spareribs third March decan caution we share Pisces confidence tap psychic propensities. IV. Worm Moon in Libra Loving being loved full moon eclipse in Libra balanced relationships I recall picnics, plucking fresh flowers, crushing on girls. V. Cathedral Gargoyle waterspouts downpours fill granite gutters cleanse Notre-Dame steps may our ile de la cité stroll recapture memories. Matching Tattoos Vera woke early today but not alone last night she’d hammered her way bar to bar, allowing men & women to ply her with drinks, twerk & grind across low lit dancefloors before taking her leave & exploring other haunts. I should know; she picked me up & we spent the night carousing— a bevy of mixologists alleged We hooked up on midnight’s backside when starshine casts cosmic freckles upon damp pavement & sunrise heralds fill ebon streets with song; I remember lifting her inside a taxi, squinting open bloodshot eyes simultaneously at dawn; confused yet unruffled. Vera showered in her slip, dressed in an Uber sipped java as we drove club to club retracing after hour footsteps to likely saloons, 24-hour cafés & her parked car. We discovered her sedan at the Ink Masters Tats chrome hubcaps stripped, tires intact, radio blaring; she dropped me off out General Electric, my faux employer, listened to graveyard peacocks cry & scold like babies from Oakhill Cemetery across the street as we exchanged phone numbers neither of us intended to dial. Arc de Triomphe Pilgrims High school voyagers, premarital couples, & collage dropouts backpack through Normandy fields, nibble on exotic cheese sample cuisine, contemplating a side trip to the Aquitaine in search of Limousin beef, duck foie gras, rich, red Bordeaux wine & a chance to explore historical landscapes from the French Alps to the Pyrenees always atop Charlemagne’s shoulders each day celebrated like St. Crispin’s feast, Agincourt groupies, rambling towards Paris trekking like bicyclists across the Champs-Élysées. Wistful Entreaties Take me back to cherry tree orchards blossoming throughout Santa Clara Valley in the 1960’s, a time inspired before birthing Silicon Valley replaced fertile fields and fruit bearing groves with glass, steel, cement, tar, high technology, and computer chips. Free me from yesteryear’s idealized social diaspora perceived through a senior citizen’s vantage point; mindful of lessons learned, responsibility accepted, swing wide youthful curiosity, advancement’s doorway, acclaim achievements true, own up to virtue questionable. Help me ignore shadows, recalling bad decisions, regretting dump yard expeditions, adding rubbish to landfill— future housing track foundations—major source of toxins, leachate and greenhouse gases, tolerating Eichler’s radiant heating, San Jose’s mounting smog. Let me recall small budget pleasures frequenting drive-in movie theaters dotting the valley’s agricultural perimeter, where Steven’s Creek Blvd gave rancher’s a thoroughfare and the Winchester Mystery House marked the edge of town. Grant me childhood bliss hiking amid Alum Rock hills, searching for treasure filled caves—Joaquin Murrieta’s haunts— or exploring abandoned shafts inside the condemned New Almaden quicksilver mines, oblivious to dangerous rotting timbers and poisonous cinnabar ore. Permit me quaint mind expansion…just limit my high to Geritol enhancement; shorten day long treks through San Jose to mailbox journeys, and venerate fingertip entertainment as a respectable alternative to clubbing it, theatre premiers, lowriding kicks, or Mount Umunhum trysts in parked cars. “O’zapft is!” (“It is tapped!”) Löwenbräu flows, Oktoberfest beer steins raise, village voices shout, “Proust!” celebrant couples dress in Bavarian garb from Lederhosen to dirndls, flap arms like chickens, and twist ageless bodies to brass bands playing oom-pah-pah music drifting beer tent to beer tent sampling warm pretzels dipped in mustard, savoring smoked brätwurst, sauerkraut, and käsespätzle, sharing gingerbread hearts, inhaling apple strudel, basking in camaraderie, concluding with a horserace recollecting— honoring—Crown Prince Ludwig and Princess Theresa of Saxony-Hildburghausen nuptials.
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Sterling Warner’s Brief Biography
An award-winning author, poet, and former Evergreen Valley College English Professor, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared many literary magazines, journals, and anthologies including Lothlórien Poetry Journal, Ekphrastic Review, Synchronized Chaos, and Sparks of Calliope. Warner’s collections of poetry/fiction include Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori: A Chapbook Redux, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps, Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction 2019-2022, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci, Abraxas: Poems (2024), and Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories. Presently, Warner writes, hosts/participates in “virtual” poetry readings, turns wood, and enjoys retirement in Washington.
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Sterling Warner’s Author Website
The Child Cherubim
I am the undersigned hereby, the earthly human child—behold;
Does it serve me right to be the begotten so-called?!
Hearken, the plowshares plucking my seeds,
I wonder, ain’t you mankind aware of my little needs?!
Nothing might heal this world of roaming crows,
Nothing can prospect throughout my eyebrows,
Those perpetual whirls of the war tycoon,
Belligerently inflict a curse of my ephemeral cacophony as soon,
I swear in the name of whom my soul rest:
The child is the father of man—call it a jest!
There is no spacious room for promising buds to sprout,
We have to recline in our celestial abode— cherubim, with no doubt,
Down to those legislations that numb their voices and deafen their ears,
Ain’t we made of stone hearts that know no fears,
We are the offspring of today and the filament bonfire of tomorrow;
Could you believe that hoax? Hard to describe thine sorrow,
Verily, we deserve to populate this planet under the sun,
A rare symbol of giving without asking, we are the one,
Let-alone that kind of limbo we dwell,
Ain’t we are created to be subjugated, I can’t tell!
The Lord granted the globe with our bliss and glee,
Now, we feel doomed as nothing, a flea,
We are those Psalms, muses and angelic chants,
We cannot withhold that human fettering rants,
We are mongers of peace, love, playhood and serenity,
Inside environs of snobbery and obscenity,
Our plea for a world free from darkness loom,
Will there be a day when aromatic roses bloom?!
Our candles got dimmed with a helpless wick,
Is it high time for humanity to save before the louder tick?!!!
Anna Keiko’s Painting in the Map of Contemporary Art
By: Rizal Tanjung
In the realm of contemporary visual art, Anna Keiko may not yet be a household name among the giants of the global art scene, but her work holds a narrative potential and visual expression that should not be underestimated. One of her notable pieces is a 50×60 cm painting that, at first glance, suggests gestural freedom and the power of color. Yet, behind that freedom lies structure, silent narrative, and deep cultural resonance.
The painting presents three compositional clusters—two vertical figures and one group in the lower right—composed of rough brushstrokes, contrasting colors, and strong textures. Dominated by black, red, yellow, and green, these form ambiguous figurative shadows: are they humans, masks, or cultural silhouettes?
This essay aims to unpack the work from various perspectives: the history of painting, relevant art movements, aesthetic theory, symbolic approaches, and the broader global context in which it resides.
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1. Gestural Aesthetics and the Legacy of Abstract Expressionism
If we trace the history, Keiko’s spontaneous, dynamic, and emotionally charged brushstrokes have strong roots in Abstract Expressionism. This movement emerged in post-WWII America, led by figures such as Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, and Willem de Kooning. They rejected representational forms in favor of gesture and abstraction as a means to express the soul and existential condition.
Anna Keiko, though living in a different era and cultural context, seems to inherit this spirit. Her use of impasto (thick paint application) invites a sensory perception of texture and depth, making the painting seem alive and in motion. In her hands, paint becomes more than a medium—it becomes a “body language” that speaks directly to the viewer’s senses and emotions.
—
2. Figurative Ambiguity: Between Representation and Imagination
Unlike pure Abstract Expressionism, which often forgoes representation altogether, Keiko’s work offers shadowy but distinct silhouettes. We see “figures”—perhaps human, divine, or cultural icons—yet without clear detail. This situates her work within the spectrum of Neo-Expressionism, a movement that re-emerged in the 1980s as a critique of minimal and conceptual art.
Neo-Expressionism revived the human form in raw, expressive, and sometimes brutal ways. Keiko reflects this through a subtler, more contemplative approach. She doesn’t simply paint humans; rather, she suggests their presence through shadows and fragmented forms. As if inviting us to see humanity not through physical form, but through its traces and lingering energy.
—
3. Color Symbolism and Visual Tension
The color palette Keiko employs is far from arbitrary. Black dominates as background and contour, red evokes emotional intensity, yellow brings light and vitality, while green resonates with nature. These hues are not smoothly blended but rather “clashed,” creating strong visual tension.
In expressionist color theory, each color carries an emotional and symbolic charge. Kandinsky, a pioneer of abstraction, once wrote that color is a “psychic instrument.” In this context, Keiko’s colors are not decorative, but symbolic—conveying an unspoken narrative beyond words.
—
4. Eastern Touch: Zen, Emptiness, and the Meaning Within Silence
The name “Keiko” carries a Japanese nuance, and the minimalist tendencies in her composition suggest the influence of Eastern aesthetics. Traditional Chinese and Japanese ink painting, such as sumi-e, emphasizes the importance of emptiness, space, and brush movement as core aesthetic elements.
In Zen philosophy, perfection is found within imperfection. Keiko’s painting, with its rough, unfinished forms that seem to “pause mid-thought,” invites contemplation. It speaks through silence—eschewing literal narrative in favor of a personal, introspective experience. In this way, Keiko unites the duality of East and West: the expressive freedom of the West with the meditative depth of Zen visual tradition.
—
5. Art as a Cross-Cultural Space
In an increasingly fluid global art landscape, works like Anna Keiko’s serve as vital cultural bridges. Her work does not align itself with a single tradition—not strictly Western, nor purely Eastern. Instead, it embodies the global artist of today—working across geographic, historical, and artistic boundaries.
Her painting demonstrates that art need not choose between abstraction and figuration, between the personal and the universal, or between emotion and concept. All can coexist within the same canvas, just as our world moves in ever-growing complexity.
—
6. Positioning the Work within the Contemporary Art Map
In the midst of conceptual, digital, and interactive installation art, gestural painting like Keiko’s remains relevant. Arguably, it is becoming even more vital as a form of resistance to the sterile nature of digitization. The human touch, the brush’s trace, and visual irregularity become the “honesty” sought in an era of visual simulation.
Keiko’s painting stands as proof that “painting” is far from obsolete. It is not merely a traditional medium, but a transformative one—capable of fostering contemplation, self-expression, and cross-cultural reflection.
What may appear to be a modest-sized painting holds layers of thought and complex visual intensity. It stands as evidence that abstract art is not an escape from reality, but rather a quest for meaning beyond surface representation.
Within a single canvas, Anna Keiko invites us to explore art history, dive into inner depth, reflect on color symbolism, and ultimately—meet ourselves. She is not merely an artist who paints forms, but one who transforms visual experience into spiritual and cultural resonance.
West Sumatra, April 7, 2025
In a world haunted by the echoes of what was lost, presence lingers in absence and memory is etched into every stillness. Shadows speak louder than voices, and silence becomes a vessel for all the questions too heavy to ask. Time stutters through forgotten wars and empty rooms, while fragile gestures—watering a barren plant, floating a paper name—reveal the quiet ache of endurance. Nothing shatters outright; instead, things unravel—light, language, even the self—until what remains is the soft breath before a storm, the quiet no one names, but everyone carries.
WHAT THE SILENCE HOLDS
<Vo Thi Nhu Mai>
1/
A bird circles above the ruins
as if sketching a name, it once knew
but cannot pronounce.
The wind holds the walls upright
only long enough
for a child to pass through.
The silence is not absence
It is the weight of unasked questions
left at the door of every house.
Someone or no one
has taken the weapons
and buried them in a field
where no one remembers to search.
Before the first word
a shadow knelt.
It did not pray
It did not ask to stay
It simply pressed
its whole being
into the space
between heartbeats.
2/
The window was not broken
It just forgot
how to hold the light.
You asked me a question
with your back turned
something about staying
Or maybe abandon.
The clock kept time for a war
no one remembered starting.
And still you kept watering
a plant that never grew.
I folded my name into a paper shape
and set it afloat on the floorboards.
Somewhere under the house
a slow leak was learning
how to become a river.
There were footsteps upstairs
No one was home
Only the dust, and a song
that wouldn’t stop
forgetting its own melody.
If a silence opens its mouth, who listens?
If you survive, but your shadow doesn’t
what walks beside you?
There is no anthem for the unbroken
Only this: the hush before thunder
that no one calls a promise.
VO THI NHU MAI
http/vietnampoetry.wordpress.com
– Date of Birth: March 18, 1976
– Hometown: Quảng Trị, Vietnam
– Current Residence: Dianella, Western Australia, Australia
– Occupation: Primary school teacher in the public education system of Western Australia
– Education: Master’s in Education, Master Degree in Literature
– Roles: Poet, translator
– Work History:
– 1998-2003: English teacher at Ngô Quyền High School, Châu Đức, Bà Rịa-Vũng Tàu
– 2003-2010: postgraduate studies at Edith Cowan University (ECU), WA
– 2006-2016: Taught at Dryandra Primary School, WA
– 2016-present: Teaching at Maylands Primary School, WA
– 2015-2022: Volunteered at Hùng Vương Vietnamese School on weekends and successfully secured government funding for school activities twice.
teacher, poet, translator
As a primary school teacher with over twenty years of full-time teaching experience in Western Australia, following five years of teaching at a high school in Bà Rịa Vũng Tàu.
In addition to being a poet with numerous published works, my poetry was selected for inclusion in a book as part of a 2023 English poetry competition in Western Australia, organized and curated by WAPOET.
Several of my poems have been set to music and performed across various districts within the country.
I am also an advocate for promoting the works of fellow artists, often designing, presenting, and writing prefaces for their literary collections.
I frequently present bilingual poetry readings at cultural festivals organized by the Vietnamese Women’s Association in Western Australia.
Poetry Collections:
Vietnamese-English Translated Works Published in Recent Years: