Daddy, I miss you, I miss you

He fills the fireplace without stopping because of his family.

I can’t stop being a child, I don’t know.

My dear father, my heaven is mine.

Daddy, I miss you, I miss you.

My mother burned her hands when she baked bread.

We were arguing by the side of the oven.

We all walked together, feeling his love.

Daddy, I miss you, I miss you.

His hands are full of hard work.

White in his restless hair.

I look at the picture and miss every moment.

Daddy, I miss you, I miss you

Fatherland

Fatherland has, you have

Hey folk, hey life.

Without it, you are dead

Hey humankind.

There are your parents also

Is that true babe?

Homeland is here, mother is here

In addition your father.

Hence, you appear!

Makhmasalayeva Jasmina Makhmashukurovna was born on August 24,2008 in the Mubarek district of the Kashkadarya region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. Now she is studying at 28th school in Mubarek. She is creative, knowledgeable and faithful by nature. Until now she participated in several international competitions and anthologies. Holder of Multilevel B2 which is National English Language Testing System .She has many achievements. This is like a drop from the sea…

I'm leaving...

I'm leaving...
The end of my path is not in sight
A beautiful end of life.
Cheats discover lies
Let there be evil in the heart.

I'm leaving...
It's supposed to be in the grand corridor 
They put a shoe on my leg.
When I look back, my past
Sins will remain.

I'm leaving...
Stopping is a stranger to me,
And or no one is a friend.
Pains, sufferings please,
Leave it alone, leave it alone, that's it.

I'm leaving...
It's like in a grand corridor...


Anvarova Nilufar, a student of the 7th grade of the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov, Margilan city.

Alone

This sound says more than I can say Your trail stretched out in front of me But I don’t feel capable of walking it It’s like a cold shadow that doesn’t allow the seed to sprout, An interrupted laugh still in my throat…. And I’ll still be here at midnight At the nearest train station, towers of fog lie on the night roads of the mind, Follow the line of reason; the intrepid destiny of dawn, Before the world spins and the heart shakes, The space opens for another farewell wave…

I want you closer, but I don’t know where to start. The night kissed the wind and the rain fainted around the corner, The welcome signs faded into the landscape. One time, joy folded her tiny hand and snapped her fingers into glittery lights. In my thinnest version it was necessary to be vast and embrace all sights. Only among the white-capped Nordic mountains did a new day emerge transiently, And each step made everything coexist simultaneously, and perhaps it had been like this since the beginning: white sand house, blue flame of the northern lights, coastal mill headquarters, salt dune, matrix flora, abyssal paradise, rainbow in the shape of a pinwheel.

———————————————————————

old heaters in the winter

listening to the

sounds of old

heaters holding

on for life

i guess all the

money in these

places go to the

doctors and

insurance companies

—————————————————————–

snow in the forecast

the grocery store was a madhouse today

there must be snow in the forecast

why do all the white cashiers have

bag boys but none of the black

cashiers do

of course, i chose a black cashier

i’m not one of these closet racist

fucks

and she’s pregnant as well, that’s

doubly racist

i was tempted to help her but i

gave in to my evil urge that hopes

we as humans cease to fucking exist

this experiment has gone on long enough

i thanked her as she handed me the receipt

she did a really good job

the arthritis in my left hip kicked in

about 45 minutes earlier

the cold wind did me no fucking favors

soon, i’ll be an old man too damn stubborn

to ask for help loading these bags in the

back of some shitty vehicle begging for

a young soul to come put me out of

my misery

though, there’s enough alcohol in these bags

i just might find the courage to do it myself

——————————————————————

so this is my reality

sometimes the pain is

a constant companion

then, the fucking guest

that will never leave

i have given up on the

chance to ever be pain

free

so this is my reality

how do i get through

each day without getting

derailed by the pain

sure, the drugs help

but they don’t work

all the time

it is a game of chess

in a world of checkers

cheating death every

second of every day

———————————————————-

wholesome

’tis the season

of dysfunction

the myth of

family and

whatever the

fuck else is

wholesome

playing nice

to appease

aging mothers

or the old

grandmothers

that won’t give

in

eventually

we all die alone

it gets easier if

you live that way

as well

or so i am told

——————————————————————–

the kids that never grow up

a blitz of neon

fuck, halloween

isn’t here yet

christmas never

comes too early

for the greedy

kids, of course,

but the fucking

adults

the kids that

never grow

up

consumers

that know

no end

soon the bells

will be ringing

for the poor

the homeless

selling flowers

on the interstate

a hint of snow

in the air

eventually, frozen

bodies on the street…

the holidays

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is biding his time for god knows what. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, Lotherian Poetry Journal, Yellow Mama and The Rye Whiskey Review. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

I WANT TO BE MY LADY

I want to be my grandmother’s wife.

Let me dream with you, let me talk with silk wires.

Your thread is thin from my wire,

If you never fall from my tongue.

I can’t give you away from my hand,

Let me be your silk-wired voice.

If you are good, by all means, difficult things will be resolved quickly.

I come from Shirvan, from Shaki, I am silk wired.

Everyone who is a stranger to our history does not know their worth.

If you don’t want a memory, let me speak with silk wires.

Come, I will cover you with my head,

Give your secret to your confidant.

I’m looking forward to being a hundred years old,

I’m going to have silky hair.

In 1962, she was born from the Sadanağac-Guney family of the Basarkeçer district of the Goycha district of Azerbaijan. Five books of the poetess have come to light so far. Over time, she worked as a branch manager in several newspapers and journals in the press. Its operation continues today. At the same time, her poems have been translated into many languages ​​and appeared in Almanaxes, which is a member of the Azerbaijan Journalists Union and operates specially in the field of Medicine. She is the co-vice president of the Women’s Council of the Social Union “The Development of Relationships among Turkish Women”. She is the owner of many awards for her activities.

Andrea Ceccomori, the flutist who is conquering the world

Andrea Ceccomori, flutist and founder of Assisi Suono Sacro, is now the most acclaimed flutist in the world, an eclectic artist with an always generous invention. Assisi, where Saint Francis was born, is twinned with San Francisco, founded by the Franciscan missions. This Franciscan imprint of SF is expressed through cultural and religious dialogue and in care for animals and nature. An aspect of Saint Francis that should be remembered is that he was the first to create a religious bridge between Christians and Muslims through the king of Egypt Kamel. Ceccomori, who has concerts scheduled also in Egypt, has just had two recent successes: one at the beginning of October in SF on the occasion of the celebration of the St. Francis feast day at the SF Shrine church and Porziuncola Nuova and the other in China, where Ceccomori is popular. Ceccomori’s tour with pianist Sebastiano Brusco ended on November 2nd at the Art Oriental Theatre in Shanghai.

Ceccomori played a program of classical pieces such as Bach, Donizetti, Franck, Briccialdi, Rossini, Massenet, and Debussy, along with pieces composed by him including his hymn to peace and other Chinese pieces very popular in China such as Butterfly Lovers and My Motherland.

In the first part of the tour also participated the soprano Chiara Giudice who sang pieces by Puccini and Verdi. Shanghai Media Group curated the events and “Guiyahui” by Emma Wang Qin promoted the mega tour with concerts at the UCAS University in Beijing, the most important university in China and at the University of Hangzhou and at the International Festival Encuentros Art in Uangshang, with lectures by Ceccomori in a climate of exchanges with Chinese artists who often travel to SF where 35% of the city’s population is Chinese. Ceccomori is very attached to poetry and especially to that of Saint Francis. The flutist wrote the music for the famous “Canticle of the Creatures” by Saint Francis with a concert in Rome in 2022 and in Vienna in 2023 and has a project where the recitation of the “Canticle” of Saint Francis in the original language and in English will be part of his homonymous concert. 

From the Louvre in Paris to the Lincoln Center in NYC, Ceccomori, also artistic director of the Assisi Suono Sacro festival, is intensifying his relations with the city of SF to consolidate splendid artistic and cultural bridges.