————————————————————————–

boring is good

all the madness has

been drained from

my desire

it is all simply day

after day

same old shit after all

the other boring shit

it was explained to

me as a child, this

was life

that boring is good

and i’m stuck here

wondering if i am

even alive

but the sun will

come up again

the birds will shit

on your driveway

the stray cat will

piss on your porch

flowers and weeds

good thing i wasn’t

using that hour

just a little crack

in the misery

happiness always

gave me the creeps

———————————————————-

a touch of genocide

and here come the clowns

angelic devils sent to torture

young children

imagine all your birthdays

had just a touch of genocide

that yellow brick road

has been covered in

blood

just an endless war

to feed the rich

trapped in suburbia

knowing all of this

is futile

she gave me a handful

of dead flowers and said

like everything else, they

were once beautiful

all we have is nostalgia

you know,

when eggs were priced

less than a body part

porch cigarettes

and a bottle of jack

must be spring

———————————————–

murder mystery

a valley of sadness

a b movie on a saturday

night in the sticks

murder mystery

with a tv dinner

they still sell

salisbury steak

at the local deli

a red x through

all the days

calendar after precious

little puppy calendar

you like cats better

because all assholes

stick together

another empty

for the floor

death is in the air

crushing pills so the

alcohol still shines

wake up two weeks

later in the hospital

forgotten your name

but don’t worry, they

always know who will

be paying the fucking

bill

—————————————————–

in this vapid wasteland

sometimes it isn’t

even the pain

being tossed to

the side of the

road

wasting time trying

to find love in this

vapid wasteland of

unmarked graves

and declining

statistics

dead skin

sleeping on the floor

waiting for death like

a whore on christmas

one last glass of scotch

and some blues on the

radio

the shotgun in the corner

may get some action tonight

more than i can say about

the rest of us

—————————————————————————

the beauty of a few drinks in

her neon eyes caught

my attention from

across the room

all those curves in

all the right places

yet another one

way out of my

league

but the beauty of a

few drinks in is there

is no limits in a drunken

mind

first rule,

always make her laugh

i’m not sure about the

second rule as i never

had much success with

rule one

i bought her a drink

asked her name

and told her she

was beautiful

she said you can do

better than that

i laughed and explained

to her about disappointment

and sometimes you should

just enjoy the compliment

and free booze

the younger ones never

got those lessons about

honesty

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Dope Fiend Daily, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The Beatnik Cowboy and Disturb the Universe Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Woman,

You are alive

A mother

A daughter

Womens,

We respect eachother

We support eachother

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 

Eva Petropoulou Lianou 

Official candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize in 2024

International poet

As kind as a mother, as dear as a father,  

There is a being who is cherished like a friend.  

Carrying my burdens on their shoulders,  

Holding my hands, helping me overcome hurdles.

Introducing the good and the bad,  

Enlightening the heart with the light of knowledge.  

Awakening beautiful virtues in the heart,  

Completely forgetting their own comfort.

NATION, MOTHER, FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, and AFFECTION,  

Demonstrating their essence like a guiding flame,  

Burning for someone’s destiny,  

Spending sleepless nights in their thoughts.

Yet there’s no debt for all this love!  

Only a bright future is my only reward.  

If my heart is a mountain, should I succeed,  

It will embrace me, saying, “My child!”

If I achieve my goals,  

All my efforts are merely a drop in the ocean.  

If I weigh both of us on the scale,  

THIS HUMAN is the ocean, and I am simply a drop.

Life flows like a rushing river,  

Constantly adding youth with every passing moment.  

But I will not erase this person from my heart,  

The loving TEACHER who introduced me to the world.

Musurmonova Gulshoda Olimjon qizi was born on March 9, 1997, in Jizzakh district of Jizzakh region. After completing secondary school, she attended an academic lyceum and then continued her education at Jizzakh State Pedagogical Institute in the Faculty of Primary Education.

During those years, her interest in writing poetry began to develop. Currently, she is teaching primary classes at school number 42 under the system of MMTB in Sharof Rashidov district of Jizzakh region.

Gulshoda is married, and her poetry predominantly covers themes such as Parents, Homeland, Love, Consequences, and Life. She deeply expresses human feelings and promotes enlightenment in her works.

THE BOMBED GENERATION

Bivouacking among nameless bards, sounding boards transfixed by twinges of toothache,

i summon monsters masked by pain and anguish under bombardment

skilful tightrope walkers on the strings of enchantment, or disenchantment,

intermittent comet stars.

Shunning wishes of the Maurizio Costanzo Show,

like eighties vates, we take to the streets to sing,

and to endure charges like animals in battery,

never surrendering to the scheming

created by statesmen alien to all embarrassment.

OUT OF ISCHEMS

Try, once in your life, to stop living outside each ischeme,

without constant ink interruptions to the vein’s phoneme,

so that the western crisis becomes an occipital crisis,

with the saving of ants increase the consumption of cicadas.

As you stopped reading, at least stop writing

‘public’ that doesn’t exist and forces us to sell books like vacuum cleaners,

Porta a Porta, where Novi Aldi goes on Vespa and returns Bompiani,

after abandoning Theseus’ ship, in whiff of hurricanes.

This is the century, or the millennium, of the professional artist

not knowing how to do anything, you are content to remain a figurehead,

among the various shrewd actors and actresses of the publishing market

willing to give their children to a rom in exchange for an inch of shelf space

in the prestigious Feltrinelli bookshop in your town

you don’t want to stop living out of ischems, c’aggia fa?

I DON’T CARE

For the last twenty years or so, ‘I don’t care’ has been back in fashion,

herds of brainless constipated people, all, in search of the rehabilitierung of ego,

brick by brick, in the black shirt of ignorance organising raids,

with the outcome of ending up dead, a mosquito bite away, on couch Freud’s.

The new mass, without any strength, waiting for an acceleration,

placed under scrutiny receives its models from television magazines,

moved by a self-esteem disproportionate to its actual neural entity,

ite, missa est, giving extreme unction, being a cancerous mass.

Talking to the average italian is like talking to Louis XVI,

an anencephaly patient who dreams of residing in the Medici court,

living in Masters of Florence, the Renaissance soap opera,

forcing you to surrender to the Magone as Lucius Chinchus Alimentus.

With the new ‘I don’t care’ generations we should build democracy,

stuff of exterminating homo sapiens sapiens with an attack of epizootics,

we will rely on a detailed deliberative referendum of protest,

forcing our fellow-citizens to use their heads.

ASSAULT ON THE OVENS

Panem et circensens is asked of the contemporary artist,

playing the clown at readings grants 15 minutes of impromptu success,

they read kilometres of verse, written in half an hour, with a shrewd attitude,

they would also declaim verses in arabic if Isis established a Caliphate in Palermo.

They read, read, read, all the flour of their infinite sack

and we, with our gags on, to be subjected to their dribbling to end up in checkmate,

the queen, bored, is undecided whether to fuck the king or a horse,

and the contemporary reads, reads, without allowing us an interval,

without allowing himself an interval, between one bullshit and another, without ever being satisfied

he has to bring home the bread-roll, hey, as an artist who boasts of being overpaid.

THE BARBARIAN AND THE PRINCESS

To you who observe with your bistro eyes my discontents

you defuse me with a smile, you neutralise me with a love

as enduring as a Compact Fluorescent Lamp,

becoming aeriform, neon, argon, krypton,

maybe it’s the krypton that deactivates my Superman cravings,

climbing up my spine with catlike paws,

dissuading me from gobbling, from drinking, from brawling, from stopping writing.

Princeza romana, eu sou seu bárbaro,

i keep wearing white tank tops in my black underwear

not washing the dishes, banging on the keys,

better than washing the keys and banging on the dishes,

i kidnapped you on a raid on the coasts of Gaeta,

enchanted by you, late-modern Circe,

capable of turning pigs into men,

pig’s heart is equal to the human heart,

you alone have understood this, in twenty years, with your insulinous carefreeness,

with your insecurities, with your premenstrual breakdowns, with your questioning face,

always capable of disconcerting me, square mime destined to go bald,

without replacing me.

Princeza romana, eu sou seu bárbaro,

yet without being able to dedicate Odi barbare to you,

i am not equipped to hate anyone, or to mix metres,

– what shall we do, half a metre?- better my aptitude for duelling,

Ro rocamboling, half Cyrano de Bergerac and half Socrates,

i’m convinced that you prefer me whole, and long-life,

not having the ambition of the modern woman

to turn her man into an asshole.

AT THE TAVERN OF SOLID LOVE

My little love, solid, you, today, fell

and i was not there to support you, with my aggressive biceps

of a barbarian from the northern forests, my face painted blue,

lying in the spasmodic berserksgangr of drinking from the skulls of the vanquished,

it all begins with a trembling, chattering of teeth and a feeling of cold,

immense rage and a desire to assault the enemy.

My little love, fragile, you, today, fell,

and there is a tavern behind our house, all brianzola, your new world,

there is a tavern that serves a hundred and a hundred types of risotto

to spread on your wounds and on your skinned knees,

where i, imperative man, can still interpret every amber darkness

in your wise child’s eyes, manipulating the kaleidoscope of your irises,

voluntarily uncovering my flank to the dagger of your arctic lucidity.

If not a tavern, our love, resembles us: we eat and live,

remunerating each other, victories and defeats, hôtellerie, we bustle and eat,

until the innkeeper Godan, the god of stubborn ‘poets’, slams a mug of mead on the table

invite us to dance at Walhalla, Mocambo a contrario, dance far away, to the end of the worlds,

you will return to the simple freshness of your sea, you wandering caetan siren of sand,

and to me the fog-damp earth of the valley without ascents or descents will not weigh on my zinc.

In the ancient taverns of solid love continue to mix fog and sea-water,

outside thunderstorms, lightning and thunder, liquefied by the cloudburst everything is drying out,  

and we, we eat and live, we bustle and eat, sheltered, in our reserve of happiness,

aware that, hovering in the air, in the long run,

the misty ice crystals will flow into the sea.

Ivan Pozzoni was born in Monza in 1976. He introduced Law and Literature in Italy and the publication of essays on Italian philosophers and on the ethics and juridical theory of the ancient world; He collaborated with several Italian and international magazines. Between 2007 and 2024, different versions of the books were published: Underground and Riserva Indiana, with A&B Editrice, Versi Introversi, Mostri, Galata morente, Carmina non dant damen, Scarti di magazzino, Qui gli austriaci sono più severi dei Borboni, Cherchez la troika e La malattia invettiva con Limina Mentis, Lame da rasoi, with Joker, Il Guastatore, with Cleup, Patroclo non deve morire, with deComporre Edizioni and Kolektivne NSEAE with Divinafollia. He was the founder and director of the literary magazine Il Guastatore – «neon»-avant-garde notebooks; he was the founder and director of the literary magazine L’Arrivista; he is the editor and chef of the international philosophical magazine Información Filosófica. It contains a fortnight of autogérées socialistes edition houses. He wrote 150 volumes, wrote 1000 essays, founded an avant-garde movement (NéoN-avant-gardisme, approved by Zygmunt Bauman), and wrote an Anti-manifesto NéoN-Avant-gardiste. This is mentioned in the main university manuals of literature history, philosophical history and in the main volumes of literary criticism. His book La malattia invettiva wins Raduga, mention of the critique of Montano et Strega. He is included in the Atlas of contemporary Italian poets of the University of Bologne and is included several times in the major international literature magazine, Gradiva. His verses are translated into 25 languages. In 2024, after six years of total retrait of academic studies, he return to the Italian artistic world and melts the NSEAE Kolektivne (New socio/ethno/aesthetic anthropology) [https://kolektivnenseae.wordpress.com/].

Seeing Four Times

 1-

Hopper boarding house:

lights on behind each

window, a story in every room.

 2-

Hands framed like O’Keeffe’s

in black and white. Age spotted

and arthritic now. Two handled

coffee cup nearby, steaming.

 3-

Burchfield snowscapes surreal

as sun behind snow burdened

trees. All the walls inside

papered with dreams.

 4-

O’Keeffe’s night sky.

clouds over the desert.

Windows open to let

the stars in.

Seeing Five Times

 1-

Loud noise startles-

crows rise from

Van Gogh’s fields.

 2-

After the shipwreck-

Turner recreates

the storm.

 3-

Light clarified-

Monet’s out of focus

flowers.

 4-

Shadows brushed by light

at sunrise-new eyes

are needed.

 5-

Inside the cathedral:

sunlight through stained

glass. Hopkins’ pied beauty.

Seeing Six Times

 1-

Windblown sun against

window glass, a study

for a landscape.

 2-

An arrangement of summer

squash on a picnic table

by size and height;

almost art.

 3-

Rock formations where

mountains abruptly end.

Rising mist envelopes

lost climbers. Nowhere to go.

 4-

Felled trees carved

Into animal heads.

A man with a chainsaw.

Making art.

 5-

Dawn in the mountains.

Fog layers a lake.

Last night’s rain still

on trees.

 6-

Landscape with sunset.

low slate gray clouds

underscored by dayglo

red on the hills, windows

reflect bits of color.

Seeing Seven Times

 1-(Durant)

Last flourish of sun

over white mountains.

Shadows cloud still

water. Nothing moves.

Not even the light.

 2-(Hokusai)

Snowcapped Mt. Fuji.

Red sun sinks.

The sea on fire.

 3-(Cropsey)

Fading clouds last

reflective glow on still

water, sun tainted evening

mists drift towards shore.

4-(Hokusai)

Draws perfect circles,

one inside the other.

Then the Great Wave.

 5-(Church)

Low ridge of black

clouds. The whiteness

of a snow peak. A full

moon rising.

 6-(Hokusai)

Musing. Travelers hike

curving paths bearing

burdens on their backs,

where one trail ends,

another begins.

 7-(Self-Portrait)

Deeply furrowed flesh.

Collapsing facial lines.

Tired eyes still laughing.

The White and the Blue and the Black Three Times

 1-

The sky bleeds 

where sun meets

the sea

The slow tide

of night that

follows after

 2-

Lilacs in full bloom.

The white and the blue.

A purple Iris border;

Spring’s tone poem

 3-

Before the storm:

dead calm of still

black night

The island drawing

lightning from the sky

Wind chimes sound

the alarm

Les Preludes: Ted and Sylvia, One Each

 1-

Fluctuating sea breezes,

sky changing from

blue to gray to black;

hawk in the rain

 2-

Dead fall amid winter

trees; matted grass where

the deer lie down

world with no possible escape

 – Victor Serge

afternoons flip by like 

well …  afternoons 

what else is there to be said

 bygones be bygones 

perhaps

write along

it’s saturday 

oh no

it is tuesday 

where did the words go

he said

making love is not a sound bite

she said

want to lay a bet

evening

fine dinner

wine glass empty

evening

walk along the Seine

she cut the roses

he cut down the forest

together

the two of them

had an unhappy life together 

Grant Guy is a Winnipeg, Canada, theatre maker and poet. He has 6 books published and his poems and satories have been published internationally online and as hard copy. He was the 2004 recipient of the Manitoba Arts Council’s Award of Distinction and the 2015 Winnipeg Arts Council’s Making A Difference Reward.

Today’s poems are very reductive. They reflect more of the micro theatre pieces I began during the time of COVID.  In the micro theatre pieces the object or the gesture was the event.  In today’s poems the words are the event. Each word and/or line can be connected as pieces of shards by the reader.

 

Poet Pat Doyne invites writers to enter the Tor House poetry contest. Submissions must be sent via snail mail to the address in the link and postmarked by March 15th.

Poet Eva Petropoulou shares that Our Poetry Association, an international writers’ collective, has opened submissions for its spring contest, with a theme of justice.

Poet and essayist Abigail George, whom we’ve published many times, shares the fundraiser her book’s press has created for her. She’s seeking contributions for office supplies and resources to be able to serve as a speaker and advocate for others who have experienced trauma or deal with mental health issues.

Synchronized Chaos Magazine also encourages you to watch short videos of international authors, artists, and activists interviewed on the Xena World chat show, including several of our contributors.

Poet Annie Finch seeks assistance with training a new app that will identify and teach different forms of poetic scansion. She’s looking for people who know how to do scansion manually to go over the collection of poems in the training set.

Essayist and poet Chimezie Ihekuna seeks a publisher for his children’s story collection Family Time. Family Time! is a series that is aimed at educating, entertaining and inspiring children between the ages of two and seven years of age. It is intended to engage parents, teachers and children with stories that bring a healthy learning relationship among them.

Essayist Jeff Rasley’s new book is out: It’s a story inspired by my own experience of a sophisticated California kid transferring to my grade school in the small town of Goshen, Indiana in 1965. It did not go well, when the new kid challenged the “gang” of kids who thought they were the cool kids who ruled the playground. For most of us, it was a blip in our lives. But one boy never recovered. 

It is a short story, just 25 pages. So it only costs $2.99 for the ebook and $9.99 for the paperback. For some of you, it may evoke nostalgia for a time gone by (like using Juno instead of gmail). For others, it will be historical fiction from a strange time and place.
Check it out at https://www.amazon.com/Came-Parkside-School-Jack-Thriller-Mystery-Romance -ebook/dp/B0DY9TKL6V

Contributor Kelly Moyer has a new book out, Mother Pomegranate and Other Fairy Tales for Grown-Ups. It includes the piece “The Pussy Whip” which she sent to Synchronized Chaos, as well as many other stories. It’s available here.

Contributing poet and Pushcart nominee Kurt Nimmo’s new book Texas and New Mexico: Selected Poems 2015-2025 is out and available here.

Our April 1st issue will be crafted by co-editor Kahlil Crawford. He’s a poet, musician, and essayist who has put together previous issues on Latin Culture and Electronic Music.

In March we will have a presence at the Association of Writing Programs conference in L.A. which will include an offsite reading at Chevalier’s Books on Saturday, March 29th at 6 pm. All are welcome to attend!

So far the lineup for our reading includes Asha Dore, Douglas Cole, Scott Ferry, Linda Michel-Cassidy, Aimee Suzara, Reverie Fey, Ava Homa, Michelle Gonzalez, Terry Tierney, Anisa Rahim, Katrina Byrd, Cindy Rinne, Norma Smith, and Kelliane Parker.

Author Justin Hamm is hosting a FREE online literary event the weekend of AWP, known as StayWP. This will include author talks, informative panels, book launches and networking!

To register, please click here: https://docs.google.com/…/1FAIpQLSe0jqgxfQn…/viewform…

Now, for the first March issue, Oh, the Humanity!

Paul Tristram, like Whitman, sings of himself with easy confidence and exhilaration in life’s experiences. Philip Butera’s poetry speaks to the masks we wear and finding the courage to be authentic. Grzegorz Wroblewski digs deep into our fleshy reality, addressing the “meat” of our existence and our bodies’ undeniable needs. Tojiyeva Muxlisa also looks at our bodies, outlining common gynecological diseases and their treatments.

Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai’s poetry explores human emotion: romantic attraction, loneliness, grief, and confidence. Kendall Snipper speaks to the small and large sensations that bring back memories. Stephen Jarrell Williams looks back at the ‘paradise’ of his hometown in a moment of nostalgia. David Sapp recollects the wildness and local color of his boyhood days.

Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photography captures a sense of whimsy and joy. A cat, Jean-Paul Moyer, partners with poet Kelly Moyer to create splashy, colorful paintings by moving paint around on canvas.

Life meets art in Alan Catlin’s work, as he recollects bits of his past and how he engaged with literary movements and cultural icons. Mark Young evokes moments of change, evolution, and decision in his poetry, as characters grapple with taking stock of themselves. Alaina Hammond’s drama explores the tension and commonalities behind practitioners of different art forms, and how and why they chose their crafts.

Umida Haydaraliyeva expresses the creative joy of an emerging author. Muhabbat Abdurahimova speaks to a poet’s quest for inspiration. Chris Foltopoulos’ guitar plucks out dulcet tones on his experimental music project Arpeggios. Chuck Taylor turns to writing as one of many ways to find solace during fits of insomnia.

Mahbub writes of a dream journey through gardens and his early childhood as Rus Khomutoff’s visual poetry takes us on a dreamlike quest through the beauty and mystery and riddle of our existence. Chuck Kramer’s work comes from a speaker of a certain age reflecting on their life and its meaning, finding purpose through experience teaching young children.

Ilhomova Mohichehra offers up her gratitude to her teacher. Bibikhanifa Jumanazarova poetizes about her mother’s wisdom and gentleness. Ibrahimova Halima Vahobjonovna celebrates the lifelong love and devotion of her mother as Sevinch Abirova contributes a piece of love and appreciation for a younger family member. Mirta Liliana Ramirez points out how she learned and got stronger from her past experiences, even from people who were not kind to her. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa speaks to the power of kindness and friendship, even online friendship across the distance, to affect our lives.

Mesfakus Salahin recollects the joy of young love on a warm evening. Xavier Womack speaks of a crush and the desire for a deep connection with a classmate. Anna Keiko speaks to the joy, strength, and staying power of true love. Jeannette Tiburcio Marquez evokes the joy and sweet surrender of ballroom dance with a romantic partner.

Kristy Raines’ poetry explores both interpersonal romantic love and human compassion for the world. Peter Cherches’ short stories probe how much we owe each other as fellow inhabitants of the planet, how far we will go for each other. Graciela Noemi Villaverde expresses her hopes and dreams for international peace among humanity, and Eva Petropoulou does the same for the sake of the world’s children. She also pays tribute to her deceased father.

Dr. Adnan Ali Gujjar offers up a poetic tribute to the grace and mentorship of poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou and her advocacy for peace and global justice. Dr. Jernail Anand’s essay argues for the value of art and literature for a fully developed and moral society.

Nozima Gofurova shares about an inspiring visit to one of Uzbekistan’s national centers for the visual and performing arts. Poet and magazine editor Maja Milojkovic interviews one of Serbia’s greatest living poets, Dr. Maja Herman Sekulik, on her writing journey and the need for artists to teach ethics and culture to the next generation.

Saidqulova Nozima sings of her Uzbek homeland as Munisa Azimova celebrates her Uzbek heritage and homeland in tender verse. Still others focus on the nation’s many accomplished writers. Sevinch Shukurova illustrates how the genre of poetry allowed Uzbek writer Alexander Faynberg to concisely and directly express his message. Nilufar Anvarova sends up a poem on the creative legacy of Uzbek writer and statesman Erkin Vahidov. Odina Azamqulova highlights the contributions of writer and translator Ozod Sharafiddinov to Uzbekistan’s literary heritage.

Nosirova Surayyo offers up suggestions for becoming fluent speaking in a second language. Maftuna Bozorova encourages readers to learn about other cultures through learning foreign languages. Abduraximova Farida Khomiljon examines various methods for teaching English as a second language.

Noelia Cerna, in her new poetry collection Las Piedrecitas, as reviewed by Cristina Deptula, endures great loss, abuse, and racism. She finds the strength to stand firm in her own worth as a woman and a Central American immigrant in the United States, claiming her culture and her identity.

Poet and magazine editor Maja Milojkovic interviews poet and peace activist Eva Petropoulou Lianou about the power of our shared global poetic heritage to connect us.

Nafosat Nomozova draws connections among art, life, and the universal language of mathematics.

Lazzatoy Shukurillayeva translates a poem by historical Uzbek writer Alisher Navoi that considers the vagaries of fate. Duane Vorhees speaks with a gentle humor to both intimacy and mortality. J.K. Durick’s work comments on transience: money, moments in time, even our health will pass. Kurt Nimmo addresses forms of living death in his work alongside actual mortality: being stuck in a dead-end job, being addicted, having one’s life’s work erased.

Mykyta Ryzhykh crafts a somber, deathly world. Jacques Fleury’s protagonist drowns himself in a quest for oblivion after his mental illness drives his family away, missing some potential positive news after his passing. Alex S. Johnson’s short story character decides against suicide when he encounters “spirits” who wish they had had more time on Earth.

Paul Durand’s piece explores how Andy Warhol transcended his ordinary, vulnerable humanity through art and fame. Taylor Dibbert finds a kind of strange and transcendent solace in the fact that great authors have written about the kinds of travel mishaps he experiences.

Maftuna Rustamova reflects on life lessons from growing up poor. Joseph C. Ogbonna describes the small and large privations of life in poverty in Nigeria. J.J. Campbell speaks to his memories, life, struggles, and inevitable death. Denis Emorine’s excerpt from his upcoming novel Broken Identities addresses the long shadow of the Holocaust in the cultural and personal memories of academics and writers.

Pat Doyne lambasts Donald Trump’s plan to take over and gentrify the Gaza Strip by displacing its impoverished residents. Bill Tope’s short story traces how casual prejudice and homophobia can lead to violence. Abeera Mirza’s poetry tells the tale of how a young wife escapes domestic violence. Bill Tope and Doug Hawley’s collaborative story also presents hope as a wife bravely confronts her husband about his behavior and he chooses accountability and sobriety.

DK Jammin’ turns to his faith for moments of grace and solace in ordinary life despite a complex and sometimes harsh world. Sara Hunt Florez recalls the constant passage of time and encourages us to make the most of what we have, even in small moments with those around us. Ma Yongbo speaks to shifting reality and impermanence, human limitations and death, and the immortality he finds through creativity.

Isabella Gomez de Diego’s photos reflect the simple joys of nature, family, home, children, and faith. Maja Milojkovic offers simple kindness to a ladybug, releasing the insect to fly and dream freely outside. Lidia Popa reaches deep inside her mind to find inner personal peace.

Sayani Mukherjee revels in the small pleasures of a spring tea party. Rasulova Rukhshona celebrates Central Asian spring Nowruz New Year with a poem about loving grandparents, flowers and birds.

Brian Barbeito’s prose piece evokes his youth and personal creative awakening. Mushtariy Tolanboyeva expresses the lament of an impatient tree who wanted to blossom, but bloomed too early before winter finished.

Daniel De Culla’s piece illuminates his love for all of the planet’s life and recognizes that each species’ existence is inter-related. Adaboyev Maqsad’s essay suggests pathways towards ecological sustainability, elucidating economic and legal means of addressing environmental issues.

Murodjon Asomidinov also discusses economics and global justice, calling for empowering the youth of the world through financial literacy education.

Z.I. Mahmud’s essay explores feminist Indian writer Amar Jiban’s writing about the struggles of older single and widowed women and the need for all women to have education as a pathway to independence and financial security. Nurmatova Aziza relates the tale of a young woman who bucks traditional gender expectations by traveling to the city for an advanced degree.

We hope that this issue will be a source of empowerment, commiseration, and merriment at the many facets of our shared humanity and our shared connection with the rest of Earth’s life.

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