Essay from Muhammad Yusuf Zulfiqorov

War is a tragedy. It is an evil that causes pain and death to innocent souls. Children suffer the most from war because they are the most vulnerable part of society. War deprives children of childhood, peace, tranquility, their homeland, parents and, above all, hope for the future. I don’t just mean children in Ukraine or Palestine, I mean all the wounded souls who are crippled by the blade of war. According to UNICEF, from 2005 to 2022, wars worldwide have killed at least 120,000 children. In Palestine alone, more than 14,000 children have died to date.

Children should not die because of war. In today’s world, where we have achieved unprecedented heights in science, technology, and medicine, children are still dying. And this does not happen due to incurable diseases or natural disasters, but due to wars that adults start. War cripples not only the bodies, but also the souls of children. It robs them of their childhood, replacing it with fear, pain and loss. Children who survive war often suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, nightmares, anxiety and depression. Every day in the media we see this or that news about the victims of war, but you were wondering how we can stop these wars, how can I stop these wars?

As a tenth-grade girl who wears hijab and often faces discrimination, I am tired of being a passive witness with nothing to do. I became a volunteer, joined the boycott, started to express my motives and views, tried to convey my point of view to a wide audience and call for action. In addition, I wrote a manifesto with like-minded people and we started distributing it at school and encourage everyone to join. Today I am calling on the VOY community and U-Report to join my manifesto and help spread it to the youth of the world. The future is in our hands. We have a responsibility to do everything possible to protect the world from war. We must learn tolerance and mutual respect. We must resolve conflicts peacefully, through dialogue and diplomacy. We must do everything possible to ensure that children never know the horrors of war. We must do everything possible to ensure that this future is peaceful.

In my manifesto I wanted to call on all people for peace. War is not the answer. It never solves problems, but only creates new ones. We must learn to live in peace and harmony so that children can grow and develop in a happy and safe world.

        “Manifesto: Childhood without war!”

            Childhood is a sacred time:

Childhood is a period of carefree games, the first steps towards knowledge, and the formation of personality. This is the time when children should be surrounded by love, care and safety. War mercilessly destroys this world, leaving behind only pain, fear and suffering.

            Children should not be victims:

No child should become a victim of hostilities. The war spares neither adults nor children. The projectiles do not differentiate between soldiers and innocent civilians. Children die, are injured, lose parents and homes.

            The future belongs to peaceful children:

A peaceful sky above your head isn’t just a dream, it is a vital necessity for children. Only in a peaceful society can children realize their full potential, grow up healthy and happy, and become builders of a better future.

            We are obliged to protect childhood:

Each of us must do everything possible to stop the war and protect children. Our voices must be heard by the leaders of this world. Let us demand an end to the bloodshed and violence.

Join us!

Together we can make the world a better place!

Poetry from Joshua Martin

Brute Neutron 

radio wrist Squirm
the screen fit beneath
Chin Up! Up! Up! Up!
summoned away spork
shining obedient crux
of Pearl Squirrel groove
lips   ,   shifts   ,   blimps
crack a Tick typo Tips
A shark Barking elevator
muffin   ,   an Oyster
Would that shake a Sack
a vegetable chair of Mutton
Strapping youthful vinegar
,   the whine selects   ,
a Ham application Antique
which Swats Drops   ,   arrow
predicating Apocalypse


bLiSs ExIsT Systematic 

touching warden stand
tall image continuation
process of eliminating
mayonnaise finger top
cosmos textile style a
shepherded earlobe jut
hut proverb maven raven
quoting adverbial mania




A spark, trembling on invisible sidewalk

the trip creases blending forehead
         consternation windows merely a spine
         to acknowledge murky phobia magazines
: ‘on that plane, sedated city’ :
                                 left doubted 
                                 overall imminent
. . . . .
            aforementioned pounds,
                                           labored,
(maybe sloths) - - - unpacked umbrella - - -
                  facial stimulated brain
                  startled scenario hairs . . . . .

scurrying had to be addressed
     , again, kick :  [otherwise] blank
                       declaration             , non-
binding , does fly , well-rehearsed skyline ,
          landscape in clusters
          a lapse, once upon an eyelash :

                                   tallest boots of
                                   dry tongue




Diplomacy

second grin
     be,stowed
            comparison
ROBOT transport
                  Vector

impale,ment
           speaking,ing
    of computerized
education            cycle
      symbolism

MaSteRpiEcE
               sympathetic
    SqUeeZe TOY
mermaid
         lady-in-
               waiting

AT aLL CoSts,
    coattails
, neon PaLaCe
              harsh
       RePeAL,s
                   November
   imaginary
 report      CaRd
         security
celebration.




chock full o’ diameter

dystopian like a cracker barrel hobby horse
     h00p earrings demonstrate soviet montage
     while laser tag aligns itself w/ German expressionism
          . New to older editorial cacophony
            lashing museum studies,
                               tongue breaks fortress
                               then growls::
brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,
                                    YUCK <end an automatic
                                                       sentence. :::
      ,, whisper a pinch
          & viral a bald spot
                           yip-yip-yip-yip-yip




Communal section accustomed

Constricted table
     negative light / slight
TOUCH       detaches    castle
                                  from    tree
                          LIMB (action judged
to slip prospectus into lemur)
             Mainly,solid,trained,lucid,
abrupt sleep corrodes district context

Joshua Martin is a Philadelphia based writer and filmmaker, who currently works in a library. He is a member of C22, an experimental writing collective. He is the author most recently of the books O! fragmented glories (Argotist Ebooks), Prismatic Fissures (C22 Press), and peeping sardine fumes (RANGER Press). He has had numerous pieces published in various journals. You can find links to his published work at joshuamartinwriting.blogspot.com

Poetry from J.D. Nelson


gleem toothpaste pepper yogurt purple


—


alert owlet the wrong orange



—


icicle painted silver lord oh lord



—



head of the larks nightly news epaulet



—



o’dell of the forest namely nothing



—



forked doorknob the proof of prawns



—



bio/graf

J. D. Nelson’s poems have appeared in many publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). Nelson’s 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. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

Poetry from Philip Butera

An Outcast In My Own Life

A white peach, a slice of green melon,
and a peeled mango!
They all have a delicate pleasantness,
but the taste of you
lingers.
That taste has sweetened
the bitterness
around my heart.

I cherish those moments
when you are near.
The shadows
of apathy and uncertainty
disappear
and though
I feel vulnerable
I love
the flavor.

I once
devoured the night
and its consequences
now I lay next to you,


welcoming the morning light.
You dissolved that feeling
I’d be forever lost.
I am no longer
an outcast in my life.

Poetry from Christina Chin and Paul Callus

snow fleas 
surface the light snow
jumping 
the thrill of a springtail
launch 

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

snow mountain
a bobcat closes in
on a white-tailed deer
the timorous bursts
of vulnerability

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

daily picks -
hometown favorite
restaurants
a unique experience
of local cuisine

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta) 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -



Poetry from Duane Vorhees

OLD SONGS SUNG AGAIN



This beach that we run on, this beach that we sun on,

was a cold mountain once, indomitable quartz.

An insatiable wind chewed the granite into flinders.

The weathered remains gathered themselves as grains

along this treasured shore, this diamond corridor.

But the bored, restless waves too soon will take their leave,

Our beach’s secret cache will be revealed: the smashed

shells, patches of lather, condoms, crap, cadavers….



Life is like a ledger book.

Plusses and losses shape our plans.



The past is a castle; the present, a pasture:

Both are famous for blades (for cattle, or for knaves).

Instants leave instantly, last an eternity,

and new historians find and restore eons.

…. Mississippi …. Egypt …. Pasts clatter in their crypts,

yesterday’s tomorrows detached from their augurs.



Busses and crosses map our lands.

Life deserves a second look.



EVIDENCE FOR THE MUTATIONAL CODEPENDENCE OF TIME 



Yesterday 

today 

was 

tomorrow 

& my future



:ours



JEN




Not too short, not too thin,

she hid her out within.

She never showed her smile,

never revealed her pain.



SHAPE OF GOD DEBATED



Once, the future shape of god

was subjected to debate

between Simons, one a sage

and the other dubbed a rock.

One said

that a hermitage

was proper for apostles,

and the other

that brothels

were the fittest

for a sage.



Along with the skies,

the Hawk’s wings

lift

human prayers and praise.

But all the tears

are embraced

by the coils of the

Snake. 



LEAP FROG 



In slo/ 

        /mo 

                                               / frog.

           tree, and, shade, leap / 

Seasons pass, and Velcro lovers to Teflon stray.

Tomorrow 

will we kids too play 

   kids 

   play              leap 

                                   frog 

                                           

                                           leap?

Poetry from Gregg Norman

MATRIARCH

Sarah stood a tall, broad-shouldered
woman of regal bearing 
wearing a dress always
and faux pearls with a black toile hat
flat as a stove top lid.
She came from Stoke-on-Trent
in old Blighty where she worked 
as a clerk for a milliner.
She married her love, Matt,
at a tender age but he toiled in a cage
in a mine and had no prospects.
The only way to escape indenture
was by adventure so they emigrated
uneducated as to their destination.
A trip by ship took them to Halifax,
then on by train to the vast plains
of Saskatchewan, where winter
was so cold, truth be told,
it tore the breath from their mouths
in gouts of astonishment.
But through it all she smiled with a style
far above her raising, a proud, penniless
émigré cleaved to her man standing alone
against a world of possibilities.
Matt hired out to farm a farmer’s land,
while Sarah took to cooking in the farmer’s house.
In time they went to rent  a place nearby
Where the wheat grown was their own.
She bore five children, three daughters 
and two sons, her family then begun.
She suffered through the Great Depression
but never questioned her decision
to become the woman she longed to be.
She was a corner post for most
of the local women in a community
of immigrants, native-born, and transplants.
She thrived, so alive in her role
as a woman risen beyond her station
in a nation where such was possible.
When her Matt died she made her way
to stay with daughters, one, two, three,
then on to a home where she roamed
the long halls on the arms of her 
grandsons, favored over the women
as was the British way. But a slip
and a broken hip sent her to hospital
undressed from her dress and bedded
without her pearls and teeth.
They called upon my mother, but Sarah wanted
no other to see her in what she knew
to be a sorry state, refusing all pleas
to please eat something, saying she knew 
what she had to do – and she did, willing
herself to die at ninety-three,
a woman to be reckoned with
to the end.