Friendship is close to the concepts of brotherhood, friendship and brotherhood, but from a psychological point of view, it is different from each other. We believe that friendship is a psychological concept. Friendship is a wonderful bond that connects one person to another person, one nation to another nation. Every person and every country has a brother country, a friend. Even lonely people. Loneliness is not unique to people. People have many friends, but only one friend. .He stands by your side in good and bad days. Friendship is a relationship between people based on views, mutual understanding and trust. If you trust your friend to tell your secrets, he will never He does not reveal to whom. There are poems about friendship with a wonderful meaning. Friendship can be likened to a glass, because the glass cannot be restored and returned to its original state…
Friendship is not likened to a bottle for nothing.!!!
Kurolova Dilnura Shokirjon’s daughter was born on October 15, 2009 in Gurlan district of Khorezm region. She is currently a student of the 8th grade of the 30th school. To date, she has achieved many achievements.
SEEKING GOD’S KINGDOM ON EARTH
A Psalm-inspired prayer for leaving the earthly world for God’s Kingdom: “My heart is set on heaven, my soul long to fly, to leave this earthly world, and touch the sky, I yearn for God’s Kingdom,...What does it mean to seek God’s Kingdom, To follow His Holy Son Jesus? This is the life I’m prepared to seek and leave behind confusion, chaos, and hate. My joy, hope, or contentment. I have this hope and I have a future.” “As I grow in the Spirit of God, I experience joy, hope and contentment. I find continued joy, compassion and hope because the scriptures say that God has plans to give me a hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11 I have this hope and I have a future in Christ Jesus.
Prayer: Hear my plea my Heavenly Father, I kneel and bow my head in obedience, to live a life that is filling my mind, heart, and soul. I contemplate about a life you have given me since childhood. These memories give me solace. I give you praise and thanksgiving for I have Salvation and Redemption.
MERCY AND SALVATION
My soul rests beside the waters of your heart. It’s stillness which brings me contentment and faith. I have not lacked the faith You placed within me since childhood. It was a time of prayer and reflection to watch the candle of your presence on the altar. I have prayed to You and praised You for decades. It’s with profound humility I kneel at the altar of lights, remembering many times that I sought to be close to Your Heavenly Kingdom, Your Kingdom
has fulfilled all my needs and wants. I seek nothing more than your Holy son Jesus Christ to reside with my soul. Prayer: My Father, Creator of all that is good, please accept my prayer that I may continue in Your Being for it is Your grace that gives me a sense of presence of your love for me.SEEKING GOD’S KINGDOM ON EARTH
A Psalm-inspired prayer for leaving the earthly world for God’s Kingdom: “My heart is set on heaven, my soul long to fly, to leave this earthly world, and touch the sky, I yearn for God’s Kingdom,...What does it mean to seek God’s Kingdom, To follow His Holy Son Jesus? This is the life I’m prepared to seek and leave behind confusion, chaos, and hate. My joy, hope, or contentment. I have this hope and I have a future.” “As I grow in the Spirit of God, I experience joy, hope and contentment. I find continued joy, compassion and hope because the scriptures say that God has plans to give me a hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11 I have this hope and I have a future in Christ Jesus.
Prayer: Hear my plea my Heavenly Father, I kneel and bow my head in obedience, to live a life that is filling my mind, heart, and soul. I contemplate about a life you have given me since childhood. These memories give me solace. I give you praise and thanksgiving for I have Salvation and Redemption.
Seven Untitled Monostichs
patter onus peach I’d name dust
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opine, etheric soursphinx! I AM
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at dusk what if pirate einkorn?
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of suns set forth o allied orgone axis
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please neatly bee star lamb anchor
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limping ice cold velveeta beet sprite
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dumpty erstwhile now not whey
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bio/graf
J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.
Dan’s Box
In nineteen thirty-something, between the Depression and World War II, Dad built a small box, not big enough to call a chest or locker, from scraps of pine board, nailed together and screwed down with unnecessarily heavy hinges. He carved his name, Dan, into the lid, added a lock, and kept it under his bed to secure a few dollars and his precious boyhood possessions from his little brothers, Stanton and Wayne.
Dan was also my first name, but never truly belonged to me. Dan of Daniel David, two strong Old Testament origins, Daniel of the lions’ den and David, the sensitive king of Israel and Judah. I was called David, Davy, or Dave unless I was “daddy’s little helper” that day on the Jet Quality Cleaners delivery route in which case I was often called Danny by those who assumed I was a diminutive version of my father. I was Davy when I was little as all the kids watched Davy and Goliath, a creepy Christian Sunday morning claymation. (There was no beheading of Goliath as he was Davy’s dog.)
And on Saturday mornings there was Davy Jones from The Monkees TV show. I looked a bit like the very cute Davy Jones and the name Davy Jones made me think of Davy Jones’ Locker and pirates. Dad’s box looked as if it belonged to a swashbuckler who sailed the seven seas. In junior high school, I wanted girlfriends to call me Dave as it was much cooler for the brief time I was moderately and marginally popular. And to this day Dave is selected by those who don’t know me very well, attempting to be immediately chummy. I don’t correct anyone – unlike my acquaintances Robert (Bob) and Charles (Chuck).
When Dad didn’t need the box anymore as now he was a grownup with a bank account, safety deposit box, and a wall safe in the bedroom, he gave it to me to put my things in. It was empty. I hoped it wasn’t, but filled with his things, the things that were important to him. I filled it with my own boyhood treasure, the beginning of accumulating possessions.
Three arrowheads, one broken at the point, one crudely tooled, and one perfect, all found by Dad, not me in newly plowed fields after a rain. Five prehistoric shark teeth I found, not Dad, or so I liked to recollect, on the beach at Venice, Florida. It was more likely that Dad bought these along with shells and sand dollars in a cheap gift shop. A pair of gold, wire-rimmed spectacles which once belonged to a great grandparent, but no one told me which. A few walking liberty silver dollars – pure silver, Dad said.
A tiny pouch filled with gold ore Dad brought back from one of his trips to Colorado. At the time he was trying one of several new business flops, in this case selling plots of land for a new subdivision west of Pueblo. Two two-dollar bills because Thomas Jefferson was my favorite president in third grade. A note from a girl claiming she liked me – also from third grade.
Several inconsequential Army lapel insignia misplaced from uniforms at the dry cleaners. Later I wondered if any of these belonged to young men who were killed in Vietnam as I started my collection in the mid-1960s. Dad’s Ohio National Guard marksmanship badge which resembled a German Iron Cross a little too much, a decoration found around the necks of Nazis. One jumbo marble shooter, cracked, and five equally chipped cat eyes from the playground at Elmwood Elementary (I wasn’t very successful at marbles.)
A skeleton key to a door of which I had no knowledge. Maybe it was Grandma and Grandpa’s extra key, but they wouldn’t need it as they left their doors unlocked knowing no one would want to rob their old farmhouse. And when they did rarely lock the door, they hung the key from a nail on a post on the porch where anyone could easily find it. Coins and brightly colored bills from the Bahamas from when Mom and Dad travelled there for a dry cleaners’ convention. A Saint Christopher’s medal from catechism, maybe First Communion, which I never wore because of how my enthusiastically evangelical protestant grandmother talked about Catholics.
One pocketknife with a broken blade and one mini penknife meant for a key chain. And a fountain pen that, depending upon how it was tilted, the ink revealed the woman depicted on the side as either clothed or naked. All of this was locked up with a combination lock, the combination frequently lost or forgotten. And I often needed to ask Dad to open it as I could never get the turn-left-and-turn-right-past-the-last-number just right. I am not sure what became of Dan’s box. Despite filling my it, the box remained more Dan and Dad than Davy, Dave, or David.
David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the
southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.
Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, Kingfisher, and Presence. His first full-length collections of poetry Bathtub Poems and Funny Pages were just released by Setu and Meat For Tea press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Yavanika.
