The Age of War

For most of a life now long enough 
to be half buried in history,
the country, half-despairingly,
I call my own—
half-decadent, half-barbarian,
and wholly crass—
has been, above all things, at war.

Not only the kind that bleeds headlines.

A frigid civil war, scar 
of a hot one long ago,
between a party drunk on virtue
and another, aggrieved and vengeful.

A war between races,
nations, tribes,
for which will tyrannize
the seven continents.

A war between generations
as callous adulthood sends its children
to the slow death of lack of enough
money, or drones and killing.

A war of the rich on the rest of us,
rooted as old as time
now a monstrosity
beyond obscenity.

A war between the sexes
whipped into a frenzy;
a war man and woman refuse
either truce or loss.

War on war on war across
decades I do not wish to count—

at times almost about to gamble 
a cagey ceasefire,
only to be pulled underground
in cunning retreat,

like a wild fire that forever burns,
threatening at points that cannot be known
to claw and tongue into the air again
and sweep away to ashes 
the wilderness of mankind.

I do not see an end to them.
Perhaps they cannot end:
perhaps they are as old
as mad, foolish humankind,
and so they will end only
with the last human sigh.

And so they are tearing us to pieces.

_____

Christopher Bernard’s book The Socialist’s Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the “Top 100 Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews. His latest book of poetry, appearing in the fall of 2025, is The Beauty of Matter.

I am a poetess

I am lucky to be a female poet in the 21st century.

During thousands years of history,

Women’s status and rights have always been humble.

Now I want to stand among the forerunners of the present.

It’s not just about being a good daughter, wife and mother,

Nor does it just consume energy and time to sew and cook,

But to be as strong and as independent as a pine tree.

Of course, we also smile like a flower.

Like Marie Curie’s wisdom rising to the heights,

Like Nightingale, the founder of poetry,

Like Simon de Beauvoir writing her own philosophy.

When you can hold an umbrella for someone else

You don’t have to be afraid of rain and snow,

You are worthy of life in that way.

You are also the creator of this era.

******************

Anna Keiko, a distinguished poetess and essayist from Shanghai, China, has made a profound impact on contemporary literature. A graduate of Shanghai East China University with a Bachelor’s degree in Law, she has achieved global recognition for her poetry, which has been translated into more than 30 languages and published in over 500 journals, magazines, and media outlets across 40 countries. Keiko is the founder and chief editor of the ACC Shanghai Huifeng Literature Association and serves as a Chinese representative and director of the International Cultural Foundation Ithaca. Her affiliations extend to Immagine & Poesia in Italy and the Canadian-Cuban Literary Union, reflecting her commitment to fostering cross-cultural literary exchanges. Her poetic oeuvre spans six collections, including “Lonely in the Blood and Absurd Language”, showcasing her exploration of human emotions, environmental concerns, and existential themes. Her innovative style and evocative imagery have earned her numerous accolades, such as the 30th International Poetry Award in Italy and the World Peace Ambassador Certificate in 2024. Notably, she was the first Chinese recipient of the Cross-Cultural Exchange Medal for Significant Contribution to World Poetry, awarded in the United States in 2023. Her works, including “Octopus Bones” and other acclaimed poems, have resonated with readers worldwide, garnering invitations to prominent international poetry festivals and conferences. Her dedication to the arts extends beyond poetry, encompassing prose, essays, lyrics, and drama, underscoring her versatility as a writer. Nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 2020, Anna Keiko continues to break barriers, bringing Chinese literature to the global stage.

The Natural World 

The natural world becomes less natural when
We leave behind our plastic past
When we throw inorganic debris into its sea
When we secretly dump our toxic waste in reprehensible haste
When impervious politicians push back against laws
To keep our flawless green spaces green and clean
When we stump on the seeds of the earth by cutting down trees
To make more room for the gentrification of our open spaces
To the dehumanization and exclusion of “other” races
The natural world becomes less natural when
We don’t ardently squawk our exhortations against unnatural offences
It will be more natural when it finally dawns on us that
WE WILL ALL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!!!

Natural Haikus

Opened eyes see cloudy skies
Summer rain will fall down to earth
Gives rise to the rose…

Sun shines behind shady clouds
Naked trees do a grotesques winter dance
Waiting for clouds to fall

Birds waggle in their nests
Spring gives rise to fools for love
Happily flipping off the snowflakes

The Jolly Butterfly

“Jolly Butterfly” image c/o Jacques Fleury

The jolly jolie butterfly is throwing a party
It is expected to be a treat to its natural family
It is staging a grand theatrical production
And it’s seeking principal backers
So naturally it is producing a backers’ audition
Where it will beckon all their butterfly and insect ancestry
To strut contentiously their intrinsic beauty and esthetic ability
So that all the spectators can see
All those who work tirelessly
To speak up!
Stand up!
And own up!
When it comes to circumstances
Involving environmental grievances
All their allies from environmental protection agencies
And passionate college students from MASSPIRG
Ensures that their voices are HEARD!
Vociferously voice their obsecration
To liberate the earth from ostracization
So, the jolly jolie butterfly is throwing a party
And you are naturally invited to celebrate earthly beauty
That it is unstintingly striving to hold onto for posterity…

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Spirit of Change Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.–

Classmate

Do you remember, my classmate,

That first step into the schoolyard?

When I recall those cheerful days,

Tears of longing fill my eyes.

At seven years old — pure and innocent,

I felt the joy of being a pupil.

The school stood tall before me,

And I called it my “dear sanctuary.”

Do you remember our first teacher,

Who loved us like her own children?

She was our mountain of trust,

Her heart aflame for our young souls.

I still remember clearly

That little Alphabet Day celebration,

The verses I recited back then —

I cried today, recalling them.

Do you remember our mischief?

How we leapt so high when thrown to the ground?

Those moments were full of joy,

When we knew nothing of sorrow.

The first-time snow fell for us,

Oh, the delight — I still recall it.

Today I searched for those days in vain,

But they melted away with the snow.

When my mother braided my hair finely,

I couldn’t wait to run to school.

Each time I stepped onto its threshold,

I smiled with a child’s heart.

Do you remember, at the start of recess,

We’d run and race to the door.

No one could block our way —

We’d quarrel, then make peace again.

I remember the gloomy rainy days,

When we hurried home in the rain.

Today I searched for those moments again,

But they remain locked in my heart.

Years passed — we became young men and women,

Yet our mischief never truly left us.

Before time, we are powerless —

No one can bring those days back.

 
Spring returned, though the past did not,

It reminded me of our school garden.

Once we brought an armful of roses,

Decorating every corner of the classroom.

We filled each lesson with chatter and laughter,

Even troubling our teachers at times.

True, we were mischievous —

But our hearts were pure, like children’s.

We were in one class, one family,

Always ready to stand together.

Whatever the trial or sorrow,

We faced it side by side.

Skipping the last lessons of the day —

Why don’t we value school more?

We should have known those days would end,

Yet we never looked back with care.

When I recall it, my heart overflows with memories,

Appearing one by one before my eyes.

Our playful school years are now behind us,

Ahead lies a fate full of tests.

Though we cannot be together in one class again,

Our shared memories will last forever.

The final ring of the last school bell

Brought childhood rushing back to me.

Do you remember, my classmate,

That first step into the schoolyard?

When I recall those cheerful days,

Tears of longing fill my eyes.

Xo‘jamiyorova Gulmira Abdusalom qizi was born on June 25, 2004, in the Surkhandarya region of Uzbekistan. While studying at School No. 22 in Uzun district, she actively participated in mother tongue and literature Olympiads, earning distinguished awards. In 2022, she was admitted to Termiz State Pedagogical Institute on a full state grant. She is a graduate of Shine Girls Academy and the Formula for Success program, and a member of the “Qo‘sh Qanot” Union of Poets and Writers (Creative Foundation) in Kazakhstan. Her creative portfolio includes numerous scientific and journalistic articles, as well as original poems, which have been published in international newspapers, literary journals, and anthologies. She has received multiple international certificates and was honored with a commemorative badge by Quality Publication publishing house in recognition of her literary achievements.

The Bird is in the Flag

On the Independence Day of India,

a committee was celebrating independence on the field,

The turn of the flag at the end of the Jana-Gana-Mana.

A wise man comes and pulls the rope,

 Goes up to top spot, leafy,

This time the flag will fly, and the flowers will storm.

But it is not happening anymore,

As much as the flag is over to the rope,

Yet the flag does not open,

A bird came to see this,

Try to open by his lip,

The flag opened.

Opened and the flag flying this time,

The flowers touched the ground,

 kept a beautiful stream.

Short biography: Amb. Dr. Priyanka Neogi from Coochbehar. She is an administrative Controller of United Nations PAF, librarian, CEO of Lio Messi International Property & land Consultancy, international literacy worker, sports & peace promoter, dancer, singer, reciter, live telecaster, writer, editor, researcher, Literary journalist, host, beauty queen, international Co-ordinator of Vijay Mission of Community Welfare Foundation of India.

IN THE MIRROR

In the mirror, through your own eyes,

you watch me.

You call to me.

You hide me.

You love me.

You close your eyes — to forget,

to stop everything.

But like water at the mill — it does not stop.

A wheel of liquid drops keeps turning,

life flows like a river.

I am born again in your eyes,

beneath your eyelids,

a love with which you cover

another love.

Forgetfulness comes when the mirror breaks.

But ours…

Ours is reborn each time —

when you look at yourself

and in your reflection recognize my eyes.

That is us:

connected by thoughts,

without meeting,

without touch,

without anything —

yet with everything,

in the fullness of feeling

that transcends words.

Maja Milojković was born in Zaječar and divides her life between Serbia and Denmark. In Serbia, she serves as the deputy editor-in-chief at the publishing house Sfairos in Belgrade. She is also the founder and vice president of the Rtanj and Mesečev Poets’ Circle, which counts 800 members, and the editor-in-chief of the international e-magazine Area Felix, a bilingual Serbian-English publication. She writes literary reviews, and as a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and international literary magazines, anthologies, and electronic media. Some of her poems are also available on the YouTube platform. Maja Milojković has won many international awards. She is an active member of various associations and organizations advocating for peace in the world, animal protection, and the fight against racism. She is the author of two books: Mesečev krug (Moon Circle) and Drveće Želje (Trees of Desire). She is one of the founders of the first mixed-gender club Area Felix from Zaječar, Serbia, and is currently a member of the same club. She is a member of the literary club Zlatno Pero from Knjaževac, and the association of writers and artists Gorski Vidici from Podgorica, Montenegro.

The Footprints of Borges

In labyrinths of ink and knowledge,

a blind guide, illuminating being.

With words, he wove parallel worlds,

mirrors where we see our longings.

In every library, a universe,

on every page, a perverse dream.

Time is an eternally branching river,

and destiny, a garden without winter.

His footprints, shadows in the Aleph,

an echo in the garden of intersecting paths.

In every verse, an echo of his faith,

Borges lives, where reality blurs.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.