Tea

Teapots and adorable napkins
The child's soul knows no bounds
It clasps a little a lithe wards dream
A homesickness that grows in your soul
A pungent tea flavoured gift that i picked up
A flower of moth eaten daisies I charm in thee
Bottled and boat necked gifts that churn my soul
A homely affair a stage show for faint hearted
I like to knit sweaters in lulled voice
What if my voice reached you today? 
I will scramble and do the dishes the art of 
Domestic choices still I landed on my fairy tales
I daresay I will write on my behalf 
As poetry becomes a stagecraft for skin and home. 

Dead poet

The famous poet 

died and left his manuscripts 

to his wife and publisher. 

After he was put in the ground, 

the wife and publisher 

went through the unpublished poems. 

It was decided the dead poet 

was an embarrassment: 

he wrote about crude things, 

alcoholism, sex, bodily functions, 

he was misanthropic 

and that was unacceptable 

for the widow and publisher. 

He used coarse language, cursed 

and said bad things about people, 

especially women, 

and it was unacceptable, 

politically incorrect 

for the widow and his publisher, 

so they edited, 

removed words and entire lines, 

softened things up, 

all of which would have outraged the poet, 

but he was dead 

and unable do anything about it. 

I am not a famous poet. 

I am nowhere near fame, and when I die, 

it is unlikely anyone will modify 

and sanitize my poems. 

Most likely, when my remaining possessions

are gone through, they will find my poems, 

stories, and artwork in a box

and like all undiscovered 

and undiscoverable poets, 

everything will be rolled out to the curb 

for trash pickup 

on Thursday.

making ends meet

it’s a terrifying thought. 

the alarm clock 

going off next to my head 

before light has had 

a chance to conquer darkness. 

the bathroom thing. 

I no longer shave, 

but I must brush my teeth, 

what’s left of them, 

and there’s no hair to comb, 

so I am spared another routine. 

dress in clothes perpetually wrinkled, 

put on workman boots, 

a strip of cardboard showing at the heel, 

tie laces with tired fingers. 

out to the car. 

the cars I have gone through, 

they find me when they want to die. 

traffic. it is endless, 

and the anger and impatience, 

the inevitability of road rage 

and casual murder, 

dismemberment in the breakdown lane. 

I pull in at the far end 

of the parking lot 

because I am always late 

and on the edge of discipline, 

write-up, termination. 

and the boss. 

his face forever 

the mirror reflection of a nightmare.

the dream refuses to evaporate. 

and the work, 

mindless, numbing, deadening. 

this is what I face 

here in the autumn of my life. 

it is late November 

and I tell the cat it’s impossible, 

starvation is a possible answer,

a final and futile 

Buddhist gesture.  

the cat looks up at me.

it’s time for his breakfast. 

Timeline

One minute 

you are driving along 

obeying the law 

and the next minute 

a pregnant woman in a pickup truck 

careens from a side street. 

Life is irrevocably altered as she plows into you.

You are no match for her truck and distraction. 

This morning an email was sent. 

It said there are no matches for your job search criteria. 

The woman at the Center for the Aged in the Future

said there are currently no positions for senior citizens. 

You do not ask why.

You have learned not to ask questions. 

Questions are answered in the negative. 

Outside in the car 

you look at traffic and see 

a cement truck approaching. 

If you hurry 

you may be able to reach the street 

and change the timeline

forever. 

until death do us part

my wife

fell off the toilet

hit her head

hard

on the edge of the sink

until crimson flowed

down and dribbled

from her chin. she sat there 

naked on the floor bleeding

looking at me. 

my wife was so drunk

she was in another world

another dimension

and did not recognize me.

her addiction

held tight as a galvanized steel vice 

the two years we were married

and only released its

cold grip upon

death. 

Kurt Nimmo lives in New Mexico. He published Planet Detroit and PNG Chapbooks in the 1980s and 1990s. 

Clashing Tempos

BALLET DANCER sits on a wheelchair, her leg clearly wounded. Enter MODERN DANCER.

Modern Dancer: Hey. I thought I’d dance for you.

Ballet Dancer: Why?

MD: To cheer you up. To distract you.

BD: That’s awfully arrogant.

MD: Fine then, maybe I just feel like dancing.

BD: Oh, here we go. The spirit of dance moves you, the Holy Ghost possesses your bones, and now you have to show it off in front of a captive audience. Where’s my aspirin?

MD: You’re so contemptuous and condescending. God, Don’t you ever just dance for fun?

BD: You’re one to talk about condescension, treating ambition and focus as a mental illness. Go ask a medical student if he ever stays up three days in a row for fun. Ask a law student why she can’t just take a month off. Ask astronauts why they look so stressed. See what they tell you.

MD: I see your point. But you’re not an astronaut, you’re a wounded ballerina. And I feel like dancing, so I will.

BD: Suit yourself. And I’m a ballet dancer with an injury, please don’t make it sound more ridiculous than it is. “Wounded ballerina,” it sounds like a book of bad poetry. Speaking of mediocre art, keep your leg straight.

MD: That’s not the way this dance goes.

BD: Oh I see. You’re out of tune, but you meant to sound flat, so it’s OK.

MD: Oh we’re going for a musical metaphor? It’s more like, there are a few discordant notes, but it’s part of the symphony’s larger harmonic structure.

BD: Did you just compare yourself to a whole symphony? You’re a dancer who can’t be bothered to stretch a muscle!

MD: Everyone’s a critic.

BD: So you’ve taken it one step further. You’ve dismissed the concept of criticism completely.

MD: Aren’t you an artist? Don’t you know it’s subjective?

BD: No, good art is subjective. Crappy art is recognizable as such.

MD: Jesus, if it means that much to you I’ll straighten my leg. Happy now?

BD: It’s nothing to be proud of.

MD: I’d like to see you do better from where you’re sitting.

Don’t cry. I’m just kidding. Of course you can. As I said, it’s all subjective. I’m just doing my thing, I’m enjoying myself.

BD: You’re a hedonist. You have no sense of discipline and resent those of us who do. It takes no practice to be wild.

MD: And you’re enjoying yourself too, I think. You can’t dance at the moment so you kick. You don’t like my music so you bang the pot louder. It DOES take practice to be that rude.

BD: Look down on my manners all you want. Meanwhile, thrust your chest forward, throw your head back, weave around the stage and call it art. A drunken robot could do that.

MD: You just basically described the routine of a wind-up toy.

BD: Did I? How embarrassing for you and the drunken robots.

MD: Ha ha. Your clever insult makes YOU look petty. Reducing what we do to mere tricks and jumps shows you have no imagination, that you’re not paying attention to real art, truth and subtlety, because you’ve decided the form is beneath you. That’s so…bland.

BD: Go watch people do a “let’s pretend we’re kernels of popcorn” exercise and tell me who’s bland.

MD: First of all, that sounds fun.

BD: Uh huh. If you’re five.

MD: Secondly, so what? If you don’t like one teacher, one choreographer, do you discount the medium?

BD: Don’t be silly. There are other reasons to dismiss the genre. It’s… generic. Modern dance, what does that even mean? If I do jumping jacks to catchy music, I could probably convince you it’s a sophisticated yet minimalist routine.

MD: That’s not modern dance, that’s post-modern dance! It’s…you…I’m making up a dance based on your argument! I’m calling it “The Strawman!”

BD: I see. Ballet dancers aren’t as concerned at winning arguments through reason. We’re too busy DANCING WELL.

MD: Bull. You just love how restricted and repressed you are. You’re comforted by the weight of your costumes, the tight lacing of your shoes, and not breathing feels as natural to you as breathing feels to us. The dancing itself? Well, that’s just a side effect. The real joy comes from your sense of burden. We danced our way out of that tiny box and onto a larger stage.

BD: You’re not more evolved than I am just because you forgot your fundamentals, or ignore them.

MD: But discipline isn’t beautiful. It doesn’t look graceful, your artificial grace. The more spectacular the pirouette, the more the audience cringes in pain. Do you think we’re stupid? That we don’t know your feet hurt?

BD:  Why are you so soft, that you no longer tolerate pain? There’s no way to be a part time ballerina, and yes, that requires….You can’t “wing it” and stumble into your footing, then say, ha, I meant to do that.

MD: So you resent that our lives our easier, that our talent comes more naturally?

BD: We resent that you have a loose measurement for what constitutes talent.

MD: Do you really think so little of us? That anyone can do what we do? Wrong! Some of us are gifted, even though we didn’t have our backs broken into ugly straight angles by the time we were ten. You’re like those snobs who deny that a Shakespeare level genius can emerge without elite education.

BD: If geniuses emerge in middle age and later, from amateur night classes, then maybe the term gets thrown around too much.

MD: Fine then, who cares whether or not we’re anointed bright and shiny? You’re jealous because we dance out of love. You stopped loving it so long ago you’ve forgotten the beauty of dance.

BD: Don’t question my love. I sacrificed a literal leg for love. You just put on some comfortable pants and rocked out to fun music. Oh, maybe you memorized a few specific moves, some beats. But you’re self-indulgent. The audience is just watching you play with yourself. I’d rather watch a child color, or a teenager masturbate.

MD: Did you ever find to time for either activity? You were born so old, so cynical. You don’t have dance partners. You have adversaries. You’re on stage with them, trying to out-dance them, trying to prove you’re the best. Even when we don’t touch, we lift each other up. True collaboration makes for better art, even if it’s less symmetrical.

BD: Symmetry is beauty. It’s hard to achieve, but magnificent.

MD: Well, I’m sure your feet are equally calloused. They’re bumpy and beaten by your mistreatment of the part of your body you’re supposed to love, without which you can’t do art, but at least they’re symmetrical.

BD: That’s my business. My feet stay in my ballet slippers. That’s another thing. I’m so sick of looking at your feet. It’s as if you think you’re farmers or priestesses, so holy, so in touch with heaven and earth. But it’s a well-lit floor in an indoor theater.  Why are you showing us your ugly, dirty feet?

MD: Come on, they’re not so bad. (Removes her shoes and socks)

BD: What are you doing? Put them away! I don’t want to see them!

MD: This is how your feet look now. Your calluses are barely there anymore, but your feet still know how to dance. The break in your leg? You can barely see the scar.

BD: I’m a ballet dancer. Any flaw is visible.

MD: Well, I’m not a ballet dancer, not anymore. And so I forget, sometimes, how hard it was. You’re right: I’m arrogant. It comes with being a dancer.

BD: I know ballet is as ballet does, but…You really don’t feel like a ballerina, on the inside?

MD: No. But I was. And it helped me. I’m a better modern dancer because of it, better than the people who didn’t first learn the structure before they played with it. I know I pretend I never compete with my fellow dancers..,I try, but I’m still human.

BD: We’re dancers.

MD: Besides being the same person and having the same DNA, dancing is what we have in common. It’s what binds us, foot to foot.

BD: Then do you think, for old times sake, you could do a few tour jetes? Give them a modern spin if you must.

MD: You taught me well. I’ll do my best.

BD: (Clapping) Yay! I’ve still got it!

MD: Yes and with a few new moves!

BD: Show off!

MD: …Sorry!

BD: I didn’t say stop!

Alaina Hammond is a poet, playwright, fiction writer, and visual artist. Her poems, short stories, paintings, drawings and photographs have been published both online and in print. @alainaheidelberger on Instagram. Playwright’s note: Clashing Tempos was originally produced at Manhattan Repertory Theatre, in February 2015. It starred Sarah Ann Masse as Ballet Dancer, and Arianna Taxman as Modern Dancer.

GYNECOLOGICAL DISEASES COMMON IN WOMEN

Abstract

This article focuses on explaining the importance of early detection and diagnosis of diseases in women’s health. It aims to provide useful information for medical professionals and the general public by covering common gynecological diseases today, their causes, types, treatment methods, and similar information.

Keywords: Myoma, Adenomyosis, Ovarian Cysts, Endometriosis, Cervical Erosion.

Introduction

The health of the female reproductive organs is crucial throughout life, encompassing reproduction, hormonal balance, attractiveness, and other female-specific processes. Disruptions in these processes can lead to various gynecological diseases.

Main Part

The primary gynecological diseases in women are linked to the anatomical and physiological characteristics of the female body. Although these diseases mainly affect the reproductive system, they also influence the entire body. The pathology of vital organs is of great significance.

Uterine Fibroids (Myoma)

Currently, uterine fibroids are diagnosed in 30-35% of women. Myoma is a benign tumor that develops in the muscle layer (myometrium) of the uterus. There are three types of myomas:

Intramural Myoma: Develops within the uterine muscle layer, causing noticeable uterine enlargement, menstrual irregularities, severe pain, and pressure on the bladder and rectum.

Subserous Myoma: Forms on the outer wall of the uterus within the serous membrane, growing outward into the pelvic cavity. These tumors are often asymptomatic, but may cause constipation and frequent urination.

Submucosal Myoma: Forms under the inner lining of the uterus and is rare but severe, leading to abnormal menstrual cycles, excessive bleeding, lower abdominal and lower back pain.

Symptoms of Myoma:

Not all myomas cause noticeable symptoms, especially subserous ones. However, in some cases, clinical signs include:

Menstrual changes (lasting more than 8 days, heavy bleeding, blood clots)

Severe pain between menstrual cycles

Lower back and abdominal pain

Increased abdominal size

Pain during intercourse

Adenomyosis

Adenomyosis is a chronic gynecological disease where the endometrial tissue (inner uterine lining) invades the myometrium (uterine muscle layer). This condition is often referred to as internal endometriosis due to its similarities with endometriosis. It causes thickening and enlargement of the uterus. Research suggests that adenomyosis is diagnosed in 70% of women of reproductive age, particularly those aged 35-50.

Causes of Adenomyosis:

Although the exact causes are not fully understood, several factors contribute to its development:

Hormonal imbalance (high estrogen levels)

Disruptions in estrogen and progesterone balance

Previous abortions, uterine surgeries, cesarean sections

Chronic uterine inflammation

Autoimmune factors (where the immune system attacks its own tissues)

Symptoms of Adenomyosis:

Painful menstruation (dysmenorrhea)

Heavy menstrual bleeding (menorrhagia)

Pain during intercourse

General discomfort in the pelvic area

Endometriotic Cysts (Endometriosis)

Endometriotic cysts, or “chocolate cysts,” are another chronic gynecological condition. In this disease, the endometrial tissue grows outside the uterus, attaching to other organs, leading to inflammation and severe pain. The menstrual blood in affected women often takes on a dark, chocolate-like color.

Causes of Endometriosis:

Genetic predisposition

Hormonal imbalance

Acquired factors (surgeries, immune dysfunctions)

In some cases, it can lead to infertility

Treatment Methods

Treatment options for the above-mentioned diseases include:

Conservative therapy: Steroid medications, hormonal treatments

Surgical intervention: Removal of fibroids, cysts, or affected tissues

Chemotherapy: Used in severe cases

Diagnostic methods: MRI, ultrasound

Conclusion

To prevent these gynecological diseases, women should undergo regular medical check-ups and seek gynecological advice. Maintaining a balanced diet, ensuring hormonal stability, and engaging in physical activity can significantly contribute to overall reproductive health.

References

Information from gynecology studies

https://uzdiseases

Tojiyeva Muxlisa

Bukhara State Medical Institute, Turkey Faculty, Student

Peace

I knew a child 

When the bombs destroy her school

She cried for her books

I knew a child

When he died

He said before

I will tell all to GOd

I knew a child

That he was in the boat

With his books

When the boat sink

We found out that he was the best student

All his grades on the bottom of the sea

Was all “A+”

I knew a child

Who walked from Syria

To Turkey

With no father

No mother

No brother

No shoes

Never forget….

Better peace than war

For all daddies in heaven 

Rest in peace father

My father 

I will miss the kind face

The conversations about life and future

I will miss the time we spend in our garden

Your generosity will remain in my heart, 

As a tree blossoms

And give his shadow

You gave me so much to remember…

As a boat make a journey

U were my captain in this world..

For years and years

Silent

But strong

Farewell my father

Angels are your family now…

Your smile will be in our hearts….

Farewell my father 

Was happy to have you in my path

Farewell my father

The beauty of your soul

Will be my guide…

Forever

…..

The Tranquility of the Interspace

In the interspace, the joyful assaults of the day are repelled,

the sunlight filters weakly, like broken dreams,

silence reigns supreme, among persistent shadows,

where the noises of the world become distant.

Here, between walls of suspended time,

the mind takes refuge, in search of quiet,

a place of calm, a shelter defended,

from the screams of the day, from disturbing anxieties.

But even in the shadow, a small ray,

insinuates itself, bringing a faint hope,

a promise of peace, in the heart, a glow.

Oh, interspace, guardian of serenity,

protect the soul from nameless storms,

and let silence soothe every pain.

Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.

She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

She wrote her first poem at her age of seven. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.

BOOKS

She has published her poems in six books:

in Italy:

1. ” Point different ( to be ) ” – ed. Italian and

2.” In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,

3.“ Sky amphora ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,

in Romania:

4. ” The soul of words” ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,

5.” Syntagms with longing for clover ” ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.

6.” The Voice interior ” LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.

Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban,USA,etc.

Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.

Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.

She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.

She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.

SHE IS

*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)

*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,

*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,

*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina

*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,

*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh

*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada

International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh – 2023

*Founder literary group Lido dell’anima with LIDO DELL’ANIMA AWARDS

*Founder LIDO DELL’ANIMA Italian magazine

*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine

*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry

etc.

Sweet Coral of Oz

It was but a passing chance meeting

A name I did not even remember seeing

By chance we both noticed a funny post

But by your memory in details I would have been lost

Your passion for fairness I could never forget

How you did stand to your principles set

A poem I wrote who would think would start

A friendship so true in form as a dart

A nasty post once that made me cry

Overnight you stayed by my side

Never mentioned that I was being petty

I was struck by your patient loyalty

Days and months did pass us by

Never once to each other did we lie

For a time together we fought for a cause

Now we are too busy from different source

Still the friendship kept its glow

As our rivers to other branches flow

Strange how two strangers connect so neat

When in person we still yet have to meet

Heal with Smile

Many are the secrets of pain

With scars seen and unseen

Blood and tears a soul stain

Smile covered the past scene

Not deceit nor indifference

Pains still remain not gone

Grieve or move on’s chance

A choice where love has won

It is not a spiritual weakness

When one choose to forget

Outside one show happiness

Inside same joy one can get

Heal inside as heal outside

Inspire others forbearance

Awaken strength in reside

A smile not for appearance

Why must choose to wallow

Sink your head in filthy gutter

Why drown in sea of sorrow

Joy from other source gather

Life is hard but still beautiful

In the midst of dark seek light

Consider the glass as half full

Space to fill with greater delight

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.