On the third sublevel of City Hall, where ventilation schematics have long since been swallowed by time, there is an office no one ever asks about.
The Ministry of Lost Things.
It appears on no building plan, yet boxes are constantly being delivered there.
Inside: socks, buttons, names of dead cats, lost dreams, forgotten keys to apartments that no longer exist.
The Minister is a pale man in a dark suit, with a face that seems slightly unfinished — as if the sculptor gave up halfway through.
He never lifts his eyes. He only whispers:
— What have you lost?
The clients vary. Some are looking for umbrellas. Some — for childhood.
One man returned for three years in a row, looking for his lost sense of humor, but each time he received only a receipt… and the faint sound of laughter behind the wall.
— We don’t return things, — they told him.
— We only register the absence.
One day, a child came in. He held a handful of air.
— This was my imaginary friend, — he said. — He disappeared when I grew up.
The Minister looked up from his papers.
For the first time ever.
— You don’t understand, — he said. — You disappeared.
And he just stayed… waiting.
2. The Letter That Never Arrived
Every morning, Edith came to the post office looking for a letter. Since 1957.
She would arrive precisely at 9:03, in a gray coat with a pearl button, walk up to the window, and say the same phrase:
— “Perhaps today.”
Young clerks came and went, aged, retired.
Only Danny — now gray and hunched — remembered that once, in 1957, she really did receive a letter.
She opened it, read it… and froze.
The next day, she came again.
— “Perhaps today,” she said, as if nothing had happened. And she kept coming.
No one knew who the letter had been from.
No one knew what it said.
And she never told.
On her table at home stood a crystal vase. Inside — carefully folded, yellowed with time — was the envelope. Opened. Empty.
3. Dream Registration
A new department opened in the city. Not for complaints, not for taxes. For the registration of dreams.
— Not a storyline, but the right to one, — explained the clerk.
— So that no one later appears in your dreams without permission.
The first to come was a man who, every night, dreamt of the same woman. He didn’t know who she was, but every time he woke up in tears.
— I want to keep her for myself.
— Describe her.
He described her eyes, her voice, the moment of farewell. Without a word, the clerk handed him a form: “Dream No. 14382. Registered. Claims denied.”
Then came a woman who hadn’t dreamt anything in a long time. She demanded compensation.
— For the void.
— That’s not for us. That goes to the neighboring department.
In the corner sat a boy, drawing something on his palm.
— And what are you waiting for?
He didn’t look up.
— I was born in a dream. No one registered me.
By evening, a man in a suit arrived. There was a stamp on his forehead.
— I am a foreign dream. Someone invented me and then forgot about me. I want to be free.
The clerk sighed.
— That’s against the rules. If you become real — who will be held accountable?
— And what if no one answers? — asked the man.
Then the lights in the room went out, and no one ever woke up again.
OK. OK. This here flows the muspascat-taculan room used for musing up only.
There you go here you are pull that up and sit click down as;
This flows get inside now please yes Mommy yes the muspascat-taculan room used for musing only.
This the muspascat-taculan room used for only. Canada’s the root source of most rotary conversations knuckle-knuckle insert size medium plath cementeriannatipn here and return in ten minutes
This muspascat-taculan room get inside now please dinner’s ready get inside yes Mommy yes used only.
This room click only. (and once in hair-up yes bones oh yes doctor Smith oh yes and oh yes yes yes yes doctor Smith doctor Smith yes yes yes go by that time it’s not hard set up immediately call for heavily armed back up head’s great, great uncle *what’s that spell what’s that spell* why Gregor that spells there’s a Gregor in the house eh get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes eh eh e there a—ooooooooo GREGOR IN THE HOUSE A ONCEANDFORALLIAN GREGOR IN THE HOUSE sure it hurts what you think sure it hurts, but we got to do it anyway okay all-rat yer-ass sure sure sure it’s I got to do it anyway you happy now get inside now please dinner’s ready why the hell’s heavens s’ you taking o long want a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes Sneezie, it’s not we got to BackWhang! BackWhang! do it it’s just ME got to do it not we but ME ME only and not we but but I can’t see the difference’s a rat anypipe, since we go in they’ll do nothing just watch me do want a whipping a good beating then a whipping do you must be looking for a whipping get inside yes Mommy yes everything Yes I built three new warehouses BackWhang! on time and in budget no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey Yes I built ten thousand approximately little Black Bakelite boxes on time and in budget | buy me a set of size large purplish trousers | no no liar liar it was US did it all you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey we keep the whippings and the beatings in there BackWhang! but be sure to set them down slowly on our universally credited silver-starred pallets Yes I launched thirteen huge hulls at my shipyard on time and in budget click click click no no liar liar it was US did it all using such devices keeps them fresh keeps them holy you just sat-fat, and watched hey hey no no yes yes no no its maybe maybe no no its yes yes yes yes no no no apportion these back there properly please we forgot we forgot but better late than never
tight slacks or tight trousers big sofa or davenport rocker-recliner please we’re here for hats not hose (particuluplarre)
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! there we’re sure that’s enough if there’r spares do not trouble to return to inventory for NO its not yes yes no maybe pay two dollars please ; .. ,, I want to keep them fresh and holy Mommy just like you do I also want to too
1 2 3 4 I pock-mark do not get the gas you need to get the gas I don’t the seals have been broken they can’t be reinventoried so just donate just d. gas you usually do so go get it if we need it that is if you get it when we don’t need it an accident may push out some stem and BLAST’s what may happen so—avoid that at all costs. why is it as I look at you I can actually see your whole brain stem ding!
before eating that one there needs a series of evenly spaced good heavy beatings
h ‘”]{+ GET GAS getting gas’s below me oh yah that there’s way up-top you and looks like they’re getting gas ha ha ha when mother calls and you don’t come in expect a good slap in the face (the bare minimum) Barry swivel! swivel! like this Daddy? “ ., yes like that {behold the McIntyres’ brand new Wok} swivel swivel Wow! Look! Are those fighter planes? do {of which they are so proud} the gauges say we’re full UP yet do day Daddy what do the gauges say ar ne beeo enough in, DADDY? is that you Barry? Is that really, really you?
are we in deep enough now
swivel-pivot
I hope so
no you don’t son hope doesn’t count as a strategy round-about here and environs
Nancy!
What?
Graddieo-o-oooookslaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan. Meestah Bo-Peepula’s windows (yah?) grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr couch glandular couches meest’s glandular couches the name of the {which will in their service serve up all future dishes wonderfully hot} conditions who’s condition why your condition of course you’re the one strapped to the machine not I see I am here and you are there and taken together we may be presumed so | Up there! Look up there! They’re so loud! Must be fighter planes! | but that does not mean it is I with the condition by my God and by my word I had such a terrible condition as you, why—I’d immediately drop everything and go get my head examined eh eh eh eh they say quite often to the deviating in some sometimes every very minor way, crap g’eon shit go get your head examinedDOC we think here quite securely you need your head examined, yes, no indifferently (write this down skoal) there {I got a date w’ a bunny out back o’ the laundromat} yours appears to be still on (write a checkmark under agency name there skoal {Christ, Ross, a checkmark cannot be an agency name reconsider *} while the patient goes on strapped in patiently waiting having faith in DoC Pantunnio’s pock-mark sheepskin “hung on their wall” saying in script this that and ten others this is indeed the son of God Yup, yup; yup yup yup yup yup yupyupyu[pock-mark pock-mark pock-mark pock pyu[yu[ in that paragraph there honey that’s there go read it |split| tgilasr-trinckular-r-r-r-ianne JESUS Christ, my back itches God DAMN God-d-d-DAMN there’s a tree by this here you may rub it ? this here what this here ? Is your name Lillian James? If so, then, I’ve that there this here ? oh oh those this here’s over there wait no I will go I will go I will go o’er there I will get one * say wise in the cemetery by the Louthurralianne’s churchery I will go get one see? See those there? I swear to God it was one of these graves right round here like a record baby round round right round + oh and so I need that large of a surgery Doc? how far out around when one says right round here how right round are we talking? “?. are we talking just one next grave all around ‘vry direction but {excuse me my friend here and I would each like a few more “injections” of that please and/or thi(a)nk you} why the hell’s such a simple condition required that huge of a surgery Doc doublecheck that out please Doc uh oh please this one here ah I {yes almost just almost but this grave here’s where ‘e count needs to start from +oh yah and okay just shut up and stand corrected surgery Doc?shitsurgery Doc? that’s the problem with you and this pack-o-chaps with you, you can’t Navarronned ‘lly just (the guns just the guns) shut the hell up and simply stand corrected o no no n no no now 998&&&$ yes it does matter which grave gets dug in the center ‘cause the anomaly’s there’s that years back in a visit the marker was a quietly unusual wrought iron custom-made cross full of curlicues. See? See? And all painted black in a suit of glossy Rustoleum you know you can picture the kind of black painted wrought iron curlicues what when you rub your finger down them you detect tiny bumps tits and otherwisely defectivities all over the wrought iron, and there was so, so much more to see and to know about it what an interesting grave marker what an interesting on’ BUT it is gone now.
What? My God, no. That is terrible.
Yes, terrible, And, where it is now is, a mystery.
Sure is yes, sure is.
I really want to see it but it seems no longer there.
What a pity.
No longer there.
A pity.
Not there.
Pitiful.
Yes. BackWhang!
Yes.
Yes pitiful Party! Oh, *## simply stand simply stand simply
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.
but is swallowed back in fog with a stumble and list.
Flirtatious Alpha Centauri beckons to the telescopes
but poet’s flaccid astronomer fails to focus.
All the usual muses are asleep,
the whiskey and the mistresses, strangers in the street;
neither the etchings on the walls nor the scrimshaw on the shelf
volunteer to help.
Empty poet begs along the Word,
laments poetry’s place as kickshaw at the smorgasbord.
And then — poet imagines
Humanity in its dungeon —
unbathed – hungry as a blight —
encaged in rags — in a hint of sunlight —
a detested defiled diseased
tenement for generations of fleas —
the cell’s metal, complicit embrace of laxity —
a skeletal thread against a mildew tapestry —
cornucopia of hopeless hope
that even a poor pen surpasses the sturdy rope,
that any desperate continuing
improves on the endless end,
–that hacksaws and pardons
may exist on some horizon,
dandelion the shackles,
and be lion to jackals.
ERGONOMICS
Sitting aside the curb a=nursing coffee and croissants, I can’t help but marvel at couples passing by. Nearly every boy is just-high enough that her head lies snugly in the fit between his face and shoulder. And this inexorably leads me to reminisce about baseballs, how they used to lodge so comfortably in my fingers’ arc, precisely like the exact hyperbole of your remembered breast.
the night - the eyes - the sea
in the night
the eyes see
the sea of stars
in the night
the waves water
your pure soul
in the night
the tears fall
from high in the sky
in the ocean of feelings
turned into silver mysteries
___________________________________________
clarity
when I arrived
I didn't see you...
you were hiding yourself beyond an eon
when I came back
I saw you in my dream...
you were hiding yourself beyond a moment
when I left
I felt like you've been here...
since the dawn of time
_________________________________________
dreaming
I see in my dream
I fall asleep on a cloud
I see in my dream
I fly to a star
I see in my dream
I breathe like the moon
I see in my dream
I live like the sun
I see in my dream
I get dizzy in the ether
up there, very high
I see in my dream
you haven't gone away
I know in my dream
you are still here
as in any dream of mine
________________________________________
conditional
if only I could
I would lift you up to heaven
if only I could
I would walk you in the ether
if only I could
I'd keep you away from nostalgia
if only I could
I'd put you to sleep on a cloud
if only I could
I would baptize you on a star
if only I could
I would clone your love
if only I could
I would give you a galaxy
if only I could
I would dedicate an astro-poem to you
_____________________________________________
mirror
pure frozen water
silver surface
water-lilies floating on water
reality reincarnated
close distance
imagined reflection
concealed knowledge
spiral depth
faded concentration
radiant symmetry
inverted imagination
apparition - invention?
___________________________________________
The heart, a scratched record repeating the same melancholic song,
a melody of regrets and missed opportunities.
Its needle, stuck in the past, prevents a new song from playing.
Hope, a small plant in a cracked pot,
struggling to survive in arid soil.
Its roots, weak and thirsty,
desperately search for a little water in the dry earth.
Life, an incomplete puzzle,
with missing pieces we’ll never find.
Its scattered fragments, disjointed memories,
prevent us from seeing the whole picture.
Silence, a heavy marble slab that weighs on the chest,
preventing emotions from flowing freely.
Its relentless cold envelops us in a profound loneliness…
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
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.
Also, the Educational Bookshop in Jerusalem, a store that has the mission of peaceful dialogue and education, invites readers to donate new or gently used books (all genres) that have been meaningful to them, with a note enclosed for future readers about why the books were meaningful. (The books don’t have to be about peace or social justice or the Mideast, although they can be). Please send books here. US-based Interlink Publishing has also started a GoFundMe for the store.
We’re also having a presence at the Hayward Lit Hop festival this year, and we encourage everyone to attend this free, all-ages event! Many local writers will share their work and we will also host an open mic.
This month’s theme is Journeying Inward.
Lidia Popa seeks her true self, believing in the value of her quest. Samira Abdullahi acknowledges her scant resources and the obstacles before her, yet bravely forges ahead towards her life’s goals. Xavier Womack expresses determination to stay free of a relationship that has turned controlling and toxic.
Maurizio Brancaleoni crafts bilingual English/Italian introspective vignettes. Philip Butera reflects on noticing different types of flowers throughout his life, paralleling his different moods. Christina Chin of Malaysia and Paul Callus of Malta collaborate on haiku resplendent with action and sensory detail about the minutiae of human life, highlighting how even smaller thoughts matter.
Charitha Jammala’s mystical poetry probes the depths of the human mind and soul, celebrating our inner essence and integrity. In elegant poetry, Haroon Rashid reminds us to look inward to find joy and peace rather than expecting it from the outside world. Alex S. Johnson revels in the dreamscape of human consciousness in his expansive poem.
Beatriz Saavedra Gastelum probes the power of dreaming to explore human consciousness in Alfonso Reyes’ writing. Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam collaborate on haiku capturing the delicacy and deliciousness of creative tension and human spiritual journeys. Fatima Anisa Ibrahim depicts the peace she finds upon sleeping, waking, and beginning a new day.
Stephen Jarrell Williams’ poetic cycle drums up a sense of urgency, evoking human mortality and spiritual quests. Peter Cherches speaks of time and memory, incidents that make us, small puny humans as we are, question all that we remember. Mykyta Ryzhykh renders the dissolution of language and identity through creative poems. Alaina Hammond probes the effect of present experiences to shift memory and identity in her drama, set at an art opening. J.K. Durick’s poems also address identity in a way, pointing out human experiences we face individually, yet share with many around the world.
Philip Butera’s lengthy poem explores existence, seduction, and morality through a lens of mutable personal identity and the archetypes of Greek mythology. Two literary critics, Dr. Selvin Vedamanickam and Grock, explore the struggle of individual people in a world that seems indifferent in Dr. Jernail S. Anand’s epic poem Geet: The Unsung Song of Eternity.
Bhagirath Choudhary’s piece honors and includes the feminine as well as the masculine in what it means to be human, and divine. Jacques Fleury, a Black man from Haiti, asserts his belonging to the universal human family regardless of racial distinctions.
Patrick Sweeney writes disconnected short pieces with an element of whimsy that explore our curiosities and obsessions. Duane Vorhees’ poetry revels in earthy sensuality and explores questions of personal identity, reality, and fantasy.
Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ images focus on fun and imagination in his images of children’s toys. Ochilova Ozoda Zufar shares a children’s story about travel, friendship, and new experiences. Abigail George reflects on her life’s trajectory, how circumstances made her the mother of words rather than human children.
Elan Barnehama’s short story places us back in our early twenties, when many of us were still making major life decisions. Still, many people past that age express similar sentiments. Tagrid Bou Merhi affirms the drive towards personal and artistic freedom. Anna Keiko reflects on how she has followed the call of poetry in her life. Chad Norman’s brash poetry celebrates the freedom to do and say and love as he wishes in his native Canada.
Doug Hawley relates his experiences in the natural vastness of mountainous and lesser-known eastern Oregon. Maja Herman Sekulic’s speakers lay exposed in the city, under the weight of human emotion as much as the heat of the sun and the relentlessness of the rain.
J.J. Campbell conveys regret, despair, and the lingering effects of a broken past. Mark Young’s poetry presents with wry humor dreams pursued and derailed. Susie Gharib’s work reflects the anxiety and discomfort of the human condition and her desire to find and choose peace. John Dorsey’s speakers seek various forms of comfort and stability.
Brian Barbeito reflects on the life and death of his beloved dog, Tessa. Taro Hokkyo’s short poems speak to grief and loss, ending on a note of regrowth.
David Sapp speaks to the lingering psychological impact of physical and mental loss during the American Civil War. Dennis Vannatta’s essay explores the wartime inspirations for some of Chopin’s music and compares that with his own Vietnam experience.
Fadwa Attia reviews Mohamed Sobhi’s new play “Fares Reveals the Hidden” which explores identity, homeland, and belonging. Dr. Kang Byeong-Cheol speaks to loneliness, nostalgia, and empathy.
Atabayeva Gulshan examines loneliness through the lens of Chekhov’s writings. RP Verlaine’s work posits speakers surrounded by maelstroms of feeling, unable to do more than watch. Dr. Kareem Abdullah reviews poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s work on the power of human emotion and the power of the individual to transcend it.
Nigar Nurulla Khalilova implores deities, and her fellow humans, for compassion towards struggling people. Eva Petropoulou Lianou misses human kindness and simple pleasantries of life.
Graciela Noemi Villaverde speaks to the physical coziness of true and long-term love. Isaac Aju writes of first love between a generous young man and a strong young woman who doesn’t feel conventionally feminine. Makhmasalayeva Jasmina Makhmashukurovna encourages love and respect for the wisdom of parents.
Sayani Mukherjee rests within a Romantic poet’s verdant natural dreamscape. Bekmirzayeva Aziza’s tale reminds us not to forget as we grow up that we can find happiness through simple pleasures and days in nature. Maja Milojkovic reminds us to care for the planet, asking us some hard questions in the process. Writer and literary critic Z.I. Mahmud compares Michael Crichton’s Jurassic Park to Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in its critique of humanity’s quest to micromanage and control nature.
Idris Sheikh looks to the awakening and rebirth of Nigeria from poverty and violence. Joseph Ogbonna mourns the Ottoman Empire’s genocide of the Armenian people. Marjona Bahodirova’s story illustrates the pain and loss many women in Central Asia endure, due to class prejudice and intimate partner violence. Bill Tope’s short story explores the evolution of a formerly open-minded person into a bigot and the long-lasting harm that does to his family and ultimately, himself. Taylor Dibbert recollects an encounter with an aggressive and clueless neighbor as Bill Tope and Doug Hawley’s collaborative short story humorously addresses social misunderstandings accentuated by our society’s prejudices. Patricia Doyne’s poem laments political aggression, power grabs, and the rise of autocracy as Daniel De Culla laments the political danger posed to democracies by a culture of brash ignorance.
Shahnoza Ochildiyeva explores the impact of literature on the lives of characters in Markus Zusak’s novel The Book Thief. Even though books cannot save them from the Nazis, they consider literature worth the risk of their lives. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa calls on humanity to seek knowledge and cultural advancement in the pursuit of peace.
Tarane Turan Rahimli speaks to the burgeoning literary scene and cultural heritage of her native Azerbaijan. Alex Johnson’s poem celebrates the enduring literary legacy of Patti Smith and William S. Burroughs and the Beat generation. Malika Abdusamat suggests possibilities for the role of artificial intelligence in language learning. Grock outlines the work and career of Indian poet Dr. Jernail S. Anand and considers his originality and suitability for a Nobel prize.
Dr. Andrejana Dvornic, in a presentation at the Belgrade Book Festival, explores themes of love, longing, and loneliness in the works of Umid Najjari. Teacher Liu Xingli sends in poetry from the elementary school students of the Xiaohe Poetry Society in China’s Hunan Province, which explores themes of nature and society, love and compassion, and heroism and sacrifice.
Vernon Frazer plays with splashy words and images. Rizal Tanjung situates the paintings of Anna Keiko in the developing history of world art. Scott Holstad probes Husserl’s philosophical understanding of phenomena and being.
Norman J. Olson evokes the wonderment and curiosity we can experience when we look at art and history. Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photography honors the Spanish heritage of faith and craft. Erkin Vahidov reflects on Uzbekistan’s proud cultural heritage. Toxirova Ruxshona highlights advances in modern world modern medicine in her piece on diagnostics and treatment for a variety of skin diseases.
Bangladeshi writer Mahbub Alam expresses his respect and humility before God in his Ramadan poem. Jake Sheff draws on mythology and history as he memorializes his family members and other figures from the past. Nilufar Anvarova’s poem tells the story of an elder encouraging modern people to remember the past.
Dr. Lalit Mohan Sharma reviews Dr. Jernail Anand Singh’s epic work “From Siege to Salvation,” comparing the battles of the Mahabharata with the siege of Troy and affirming commonalities of our human experience. Cristina Deptula interviews Nigerian poet Uchechukwu Onyedikam about transcending cultural barriers through his international haiku collaborations.
We hope that this issue will draw you out to peek at the world from different cultural and generational vantage points, then pull you inward to consider the value and wonder of your own thoughts and psyche.
