Summer Snips

hot land
cities and small towns
summer fried walls

clothes on and shoes off
soaking in the bathtub
heat stroke

birds in the fountain
sipping cool water
splashing wings

moon tunes
lovers humming songs
owls joining in

doves cooing
in the dark of early dawn
windows opening



Shadow Moods

combing her long hair
in the dark bedroom
sighing alone

light on
in front of the mirror
touch of shadows

old wooden porch
sitting in his rocking chair
sway of memories

Heavenward

children play
even as the world shakes
the unknowing


Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on (X) Twitter @papapoet

THERE ARE MANY STARS IN THE SKY BUT THE MOON IS THE ONLY ONE

Introduction

Uzbekistan has stepped on the threshold of progress. We have gotten rid of the unpleasant word of slavery for many years, we have gradually achieved and are achieving our rights, traditions, holidays, religion, laws, and countless wealth.

In fact, at the beginning of the 20th century, the leaders of science, i.e., the Jadids, dreamed of today’s independent country and, accordingly, used a number of unsuccessful measures several times. Fortunately, they did not stop sacrificing their lives for the freedom of the people.

During the colonial period, our great nation was under both material and spiritual shocks, i.e., it was in such darkness that the nation did not even want to believe that there was a light.

The former Soviet Union occupied many countries along with our country. But at an unexpected moment, that is, in the 80s of the 20th century, the state of the USSR began to weaken due to the inexperience of the government leaders. This is an opportunity for a number of former Soviet Union countries to gain independence.

The post of President was introduced in Uzbekistan as the first among the colonial states of the USSR. On June 20, 1990, the Declaration on the sovereignty of Uzbekistan was adopted, and on August 31, 1991, the 1st President of the Republic of Uzbekistan declared Independence Day. they say:

“From today, I propose to declare September 1 as a national holiday in our republic, the day of progress,” they cheered up all the people.

On December 29, 1991, Islam Abduganievich Karimov was elected the first president of the Republic of Uzbekistan.

In fact, they turned their chests to the responsible work of managing it as a country and put heavy burdens on their shoulders. prosperity took the father of the country away from these pains.

Of course, it should be said that the word “difficulty” is not a foreign word for a nation that is being built.  Because, in people’s minds, an evil country called the USSR, in its time, the food, clothes, and prices in the markets are as if a person who says he is poor can wait for a guest for at least 3 days in his house. left a good impression. But they tried to uproot us from our values, our thousand-year-old indelible history.  Although the Uzbek people, a great nation, were decorated with the image of slavery for many years, they could not even move the foundation of our golden values. The honorable blood of our ancestors flows in our blood, regardless of the fact that the nation has become very old and has forgotten its identity.

Dear President had the following words in this regard:

“The blood of the Uzbek nation is hot, if someone from abroad seems to speak wrongly to us, it is difficult to bring us back to our mold. Europeans living in a cold nation do not understand this. who emphasized that.

In the first years of independence, difficult days began in the life of our people. Many people have money to feed, but there is very little product, there are factories, but there are few personnel who know it, there is a lack of knowledge and skills to process the grain. There was a big turn and unprecedented changes in the life of our people. But due to many years of difficulties, we got back on our feet and became stronger. We took our country from the hands of fascism, we realized our identity, that all the blessings in the heavenly land belong only to us and not to give double help to anyone. we understood that it is necessary. In order to develop industry, economy, defense, construction, agro-technological and many other modern fields in our country, training of qualified personnel has been launched.

Our honorable President also emphasizes that “we have put the people and their interests at the center of all changes and updates in order to achieve such results in the reforms we are implementing.” If we look at the above words, achieving independence, realizing our identity, learning our history is all for ourselves, for the nation, for the youth, for our future.

Today, the main priority of us young people is that we have a responsible duty and mission to move forward on this great path, to study the heritage of our ancestors and become a generation worthy of it, to be the leaders of the time in all fields. The words of the father of Islam, “we are not less than anyone and will not be less” always ring in my ears. No one will ever forget the selfless services rendered by this person to the Uzbek nation, the white hair in his hair, the packaging in his hands, the sleepless nights he spent thinking about the peace of our country, his eyes that have lost hope and light, and his priceless life that he exchanged for the happiness of others. needed.

Islam Abduganievich Karimov ruled the Republic of Uzbekistan for 25 years. He died of stroke on September 2, 2016.

About the author

Rustamjonova Nodira Tahirjan kizi was born on December 4, 2005 in Toraqorgan district, Namangan region. Currently she is 2nd year student of Biology department, Namangan State Pedagogical Institute. She is so intelligent and determined student. In 2024, she participated in the conference “Actual problems of biology: integration of science, education and production” with an article on the topic “History of medicinal plants. Their importance in human and animal life”.

The Memories

He can’t 

Write away

The memories

But he can

Write through them

And that’s

Not just

A big deal,

It’s everything.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.

Expression of the Heart

Night. Away from the sun’s embrace,
My moments are like a boundless sea.
No one can replace your place,
Neither stars nor the crescent moon, you see.

With your light, caress me slow,
Let the flame within my heart grow.
May clouds not block your way,
And darkness fade from your gentle ray.

Hide not your face beyond the peaks,
Make my heart’s garden bloom and speak.
First, in my heart’s quiet nook,
Sow the seeds of hope, as you took.

When I cast a gaze each night,
May it bring hope for tomorrow’s light.
Push away the pangs of longing deep,
And speak of you in dreams I keep.

Night. Away from the sun’s embrace,
My longing is a pain with no grace.
No one can replace your place,
Stay, and always be with me in this space.

Karimova Sarvara Karimovna was born on March 30, 2008 in the Khorezm region of Uzbekistan. Currently, she is studying in the 10th grade of a school named after Agahi. She creates in the genres of poems, stories and articles. One creative collection has been published.

Prayer of a Sinner


This is not everything,
Not the end of everything. 
I have to go another world,
Which is real but mysterious.
Death is the media to enter the world
That world will be endless
And death will never be a visitor there. 
Death will be a dead stranger there.

The ferry is ready to carry
The earth is waiting
Nature will adorn everything beautifully
I have to lay down in the fixed room
With a new dress of white cloth
The dress will be without pocket and stich
I shall have no chance to take anything.
The room will be closed forever 
It will not have any door or window
Bed will never be there
Nobody will give company or anything
I will be detoched from this world  
I will be attached with another world. 
My bones will not make sound
My heart will not beat
All the organs will be separated 
Only good deeds will be friend in the darkness
And bad deeds will be snake
I must be rewarded for my good deeds 
And disgraced for my bad deeds. 
The creator is the best justice
Who will judge everything on the great day.
Finally, I will get my permanent address
Oh God, my Creator, You are great
You are very kind
I am a sinner 
I have done wrong things
I have walked on the wrong track 
But I love you
You are always in my beliefs 
Please forget my sin and forgive me
I want your forgiveness.

Benzo Brain #1 *

“It’s a chemical imbalance

in the brain.”  Ad copy from

Don Draper. I bought it. An

almost mouse scampers

across the floor. A Native

woman with saucer eyes.

She’s nice. Someone in the

kitchen plays You Suffer by

Napalm Death. A firefly smiles.

Who knew? Adorable. Doc

says up dose for two weeks.

Stars in the living room. Kurt

Cobain hovers. “Hi. Miss you.”

“Mommy I can still crawl!”

Big Pharma cashes in.

2024

DECREATION

It is one moment past midnight

on the 8th day of morning.

Our Styx ferries become consumed

with the burning of bibles.

Seven heavens eighten themselves

and shrink and infinitize.

In this silent Babel

the sciencemagic we learned

while head over heels upside down

from hanged Marut and Harut

is finding and losing its feet.

Apocalypse collapses.

Ahuramazda unities

vanish darkness into bright.

Medusa’s pale horse Pegasus

comets Quetzalcoatl;

Fenris swallows the Eighth Archon

and then pukes and pukes him out.

The set sun eludes prediction.

No west exists to rise from.

CARNIVAL OF LOVE

The bearded lady

has two lovers,

the apeman and the geek.

Their sex is crazy,

peeling rubber

on high wires and the street.

When bearded lady

becomes mother

to a new circus freak,

the lucky baby

has two others

to help him feel unique.

FOWL WEATHER

Six ducks in a pond

swimming through a warm sweet spring rain–

pond is duck is air.

STILL STRANGERS:

EROS

IN EROSION

After years

of wear, she would sew

with those sharp dead

beads, new thoughts

into the threadbare pattern of memory,

and he solder

his older, darker, thoughts into place….

… Long ago…

they learned to slaughter

their eager laughter and tear

their deepest tears out of each’s other,

they taught themselves to utilize their exquisite words

like hamhamhammers and broadswords–

then, their mutual wounds

they wound all about their lives like poison ivy.

(Each just one more bothersome

clone to the other…)

But

There had been a time

,once,

before the tiny

mutiny,

when they were still strangers

to anger,

when they could lie naked,

sun-baked upon the jurassic sands

or beside the slow hearth,

unearthing new treasures from their together,

when, in some safe

cafe, their yes

-eyes could swallow entire

their sweet menus

of Venus

and for many an hour

pour their love

from lip to mouth like milk from a pitcher to a glass.

But that time passed…

Strangely

angel-like, two

naif

waifs

blown

down,

unable to unwind all the ivy accumulation

in a rugged wind – they just

shrugged, unable to face down

the demons of their facetious selves.

(This is not simply

to imply that they weren’t determined.

But, over time, stubborn assiduity becomes undermined,

especially when connubial cement lacks

reinforcement.

So, by fragile grapevines, over

tangled ravines,

the values they were hanging onto

kept changing.

They were unable to forge a structure anew

or to forget old collapse.

Neither the heights of their dear science nor

the weight of alerted conscience,

And not Keats, and certainly

not Yeats,

could keep the crevices in their isolate selves

from inventing the devices of their together’s undoing.)

Beached,

they discovered the sea:

inequal parts nausea and mystery.

HIGH COUP

O moon, so distant…

I’m not smokin’ in Tokyo,

my poem will not fire.

“Revolution bursts

sunlight on stained stainless steel:

your yolkcolored hair.”

Night’s vaunted Shakespeare:

just flaccid Little Willie,

cold to geisha stars.

“Nestraw hair – egg’s eye

blue – honeyed limbs; trunkhugging

bearcubeMe:     climbing.”

Sake enflames verse

(you say), arouses rhythm,

kindles rhymes sublime–

mine (old drunken whore)

fires up unsuccessfully,

sucks relentlessly,

till we fall asleep.

And Basho the monk remains,

red raw poem limp, still.

…

IN SOLITARY 

1. SAMIZDAT*

 Writer’s craft: manacled to conviction 

           like any zek to his sentence, 

            like a blatnoi to a pen

: assaults its own position 

: like a gaybist missionary, assassinates its friends

: like any other virgin –

just another bloody period, 

and another conception ends.

2.  YOUR BODY TELLS THE HIGHWAYMAN 

If prose is just a page running across your face, 

poetry is the line lying between your thighs.

Your body tells the highwayman’s short story life:

The drama of poems at the point of conception, 

but just one more hackneyed form in execution.

3.      LIFE/SENTENCE

 key in the cake –

(in music, truth hid?)

oh,

the poet’s prison is 

the rhythm of his

poem 

                        starved, 

                        scarred – 

he makes his

break

*inspired by Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago

…