there is no silence
in a men’s homeless shelter . . .
late-night cough chorus


—


today marks ninety
days at the homeless shelter . . .
misophonia


—


downtown skyline through
the shelter’s dock door window—
men snore in the night


—


today marks five months
here at the homeless shelter . . .
let’s just sleep all day


—


purple foam earplugs . . .
the shelter at midnight is
almost dead silent


—


bio/graf

J. D. Nelson is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA

The List

You get to hear about
Bucket lists

All the time

Around here

And they say it like

They invented the term.

So they tour like desperate

Folks. Old folks trying

To get it full

A bucket full of foreign cities.

Walking on canes,

Wheelchairs, walkers

Hobbling along

Seeing this and that

Filling their buckets

As if their life will fill

With this:

Stockholm, Helsinki, Tallin

Riga and Berlin

Copenhagen and Amsterdam.

They fill their buckets

Like Egyptian Pharaohs filling 

Their tombs for their time

In the next life.



                Sea Story

The North Sea, just its name reads

like a caption in a history book:

a seascape of crashing waves, one

of those wooden ships, full sails

sailing into a troublesome future.

The North Sea, sounds like an entry

in an immigrant’s journal, the feel

of loneliness and an unknowable

future. The North Sea, even today

seems like a summary of a climate

we all have to face along the way.

The North Sea all around us and

ahead of us, greeting us like it

greeted so many before us, a sea

untamable that we all will face.



            Tour Guide

How do you explain a place

You know so well to people

Who know little or nothing about

You or the place you need to

Explain. It’s a job, it’s your job

So you begin. There’s history

And all the details that set it

Up, the forces, the personalities

This war, that occupation, but

You notice the group start to

Doze off. These aren’t students

These are tourists, who yawn

At things they don’t know. You

Can pick out important sites or

Start off on the nature and how

It fits this place and people. You

Can talk about the economy or

The social systems that you know

They know little about, education

Media, the military if you must

And the various religions that vie

For prominence in a country not

Known for its religious traditions.

It’s an avalanche of material with

Little appeal. It’s an audience that

Pays a lot but wants very little. It’s

A job and you do and pretend that

Somehow it makes a difference.

.

One freezing mid-December morning, I drove into the forested coastal plains of middle Georgia, along the Ocmulgee River. I was headed to visit The Orianne Society’s Longleaf Stewardship Center, a 2,000 acre longleaf pine preserve outside McRae. A friend’s family had invited me to join them for a tour of the preserve and a barbecue for members and donors to the society.

            As I pulled into the dirt parking lot that cold morning, I saw a vehicle with a license plate reading “SERPENT” which peaked my curiosity. Who was this devotee to one of the most feared creatures of nature? As I stepped out of the car, my eyes drank in the bright sunlight and opened wider. The invigorating cold air woke me up and I could see my breath when I exhaled. I saw a group of people standing outside near a big pole barn building, so I walked over to join them. I gathered that this was going to be an educational tour as well as an adventure into the forest.

            During a circle of introductions, I found out I was surrounded by lovers of the wild — true outdoors men and women including of an amateur zoologist and former forester, a professor of psychology, ecology and evolutionary biology, a former Athens Y Camp naturalist teacher, herpetologists, biologists, conservationists and prescribed fire ecologists. After introductions, a member of the staff began to talk to us about the longleaf pine. The longleaf pine ecosystem is truly its own Amazon of North America, containing nearly 900 species found nowhere else in the world. I had no idea when I was growing up on the southern coast that our region contained such ecological treasures. Conservation of this system is the mission of The Orianne Society. Started in Georgia, the organization has spread their conservation and education work throughout Florida, the rest of the country and across the world.

            When I began learning the history of the longleaf pine savanna before this visit, I was astonished. Original, old-growth forests on this continent covered around 90 million acres across the southern part of the country, from Virginia to Texas. Today only between 3 to 4 million acres of this rare ecosystem still exists, hence the need for preservation. The endangered nature of this ecosystem and its creatures, and what the loss of this diverse ecosystem has meant to the places where it thrived has only come into public awareness over the last few decades. Georgia, Florida, and the rest of the Southeast are worse off environmentally, culturally and socially because of the near-demise of this rich ecosystem, our very own heritage. What is at stake here in health and survival of this ecosystem is our very own existence as humans, as well as all the creatures, flora and fauna within it. 900 species found nowhere else in the world each individually have a role that cannot be replicated elsewhere. By destroying it, we have destroyed parts of ourselves.

            To demonstrate this, The Orianne Society staff brought out some crates to show us some of the creatures of the longleaf pine forest, mostly reptiles and amphibians, which are their focus. They passed around creatures so we could hold them. When it came time to show the eastern diamondback rattlesnake, they threaded it into a tube, with the tip of the tail sticking out. Its rattle was made of keratin, smooth and glassy. The turtles and snakes that we got to meet were not living in the wild, but instead were living in The Orianne Society’s research center.

            The highlights included gopher tortoises, a keystone species in conservation biology that can live for 80-100 years. They are in the coastal plains and on all the barrier islands in Georgia. Sadly, they are threatened in both Florida and Georgia, and even more so in Florida. Touching the gopher tortoise’s hard, graceful shell, I noticed how this important, reclusive land animal was relatively small, about the size of my two hands together.

            The blue-black colored eastern indigo snake, known as the Emperor of the forest, hails as the flagship species of its habitat. My friend and his brother were standing next to me with these large, magnificent indigo snakes casually dangling on their shoulders and arms, studying them in detail before passing them on to me. The indigo snakes sometimes eat rattlesnakes and cottonmouths since they are immune to the venom.      Prior to this, the only reptile I had ever held was a baby alligator when I was young, which was still half the size of me — when my family had visited a Louisiana bayou — and anoles, which are little lizards, since they were everywhere in my environment as a child. Sometimes I’d find baby lizards inside the house and want to escort them back to their true home outside. I knew that some people didn’t like lizards, but I did. I wasn’t afraid of them. I thought they were beautiful with their array of colors, and I marveled at how fast they moved. And amazingly, I felt both excited and tranquil to be interacting with the snakes.

            As we passed the snakes around, I thought about those who could see their allure. The people who understood these fragile, gentle creatures and knew their role in the ecosystem, as everything in existence has a purpose and contributes to the greater whole. I’d seen snake charmers in India and I still have a photo I took in Indonesia, where a Balinese man sat with a child in his lap with what looked like a very large yellow python contentedly coiled right next to them. I had seen these exceptions in cultures where a few people still remembered that every spot on earth is sacred and that every creature is sacred. But I had viewed these from a distance, not up close as I was now in the sanctuary of the longleaf pine forest. And now, one of my companions commented to me, “You’re so calm in the presence of the snakes.”

            During my late twenties and early thirties, I lived in New York City on the 42nd floor of my building and worked in a Manhattan corporate job on Wall Street. As exciting as “Zoo York” was, as it’s known, the concrete jungle always left me yearning for a wilder and more adventurous life that felt far away. Volunteering at the botanical garden in the Bronx provided temporary  therapeutic relief. I dug my hands into the earth and crouched down low, sitting on the ground to pull weeds all day long. I practically had to drag myself away at the end of the day, so reluctant I was to leave that slice of nature and return to the depressing gray concrete that left me depleted. My senses were screaming out for more nourishment.

            Later that morning, I spoke with conservation biologist Chris Jenkins, the rugged and inspiring head of The Orianne Society. He asked about my background.

            “I studied to be a diplomat, but was more drawn to nature over time,” I told him, “and these days I’m writing.”

            Not losing a beat, he reflected, “You’re an Ambassador for Nature now.”

It was an epiphanic moment for me when he said that, and the weight of that realization sunk into my awareness. The Orianne Society staff and members were already ambassadors for nature, and here I was, aspiring to join their ranks.

            When I had felt depleted over the years, I realized I needed to be back in that lush green glorious landscape of my youth, which is why I returned. Those sublime surroundings lit up something inside me. Now, at The Orianne Society’s longleaf sanctuary, the trees were swaying in the whistling wind that blew my hair, energizing me and charging my senses. I felt more alive hearing the riotous symphony of birdsong, my inner spirit wanting to merge with the melodies. All around was the tapestry of nature connecting me to it. I was part of it and coming back alive.

            “Why are people so afraid of snakes,” I asked the group of eleven or twelve people when we passed around the snakes, “since snakes were historically revered in Eastern philosophy and indigenous mythology worldwide?” I knew that the ancient traditions around the world believed water snakes to be symbols of fluid wisdom and elegant steadiness. The kind, distinguished professor (fittingly, the SERPENT license plate that I had seen in the parking lot earlier that morning was his) replied sorrowfully, “In reality, even in India and other Eastern countries, most modern people have lost the connection to nature. Since many people don’t know which snakes are poisonous, they often kill harmless snakes, just like here in the West.” The professor was reflecting what I already imagined but wished was different. Something about what I took to be sincere love for and devotion on the professor’s part to these often overlooked creatures — he had written a book called The Secret Social Lives of Reptiles — resonated with me even though I barely had a fraction of his familiarity with these creatures.        I remembered a story my mother told about when I was three or four years old, playing at the edge of the St. John’s River in Florida at my grandmother’s rustic river retreat, and she gasped when she saw a water moccasin glide up nearby where I was playing. My mother, her nerves fraying, called out to me in a wavering voice while trying to remain calm, “Amanda Leigh, can you slowly back up and move away from the water and that snake you’re looking at? Come over here and play!”

            Who knew if it was the venomous cottonmouth or a non-venomous water snake? It was enough to give my mom a fright. I suppose the snake swam on because I lived to tell the tale and since, I’ve always been drawn to the symbolism of snakes in mythology, as the archetype has woven its way in and out through the twists and turns of my life with their groundedness, the shedding of their skins, the creative life force, renewal, rebirth, transformation and the ouroboros of eternity.

            Finally, here I was living a moment in the much wilder and more adventurous life that I had yearned for, back in the region where I was born, where I felt I belonged. Here I was standing with a yellow and black pine snake snugly wrapped and draped around my body, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, exuberance bursting through me. A surge of energy arose from within me and seemed to go out into the world to meet it and all its inhabitants.

            As the day had gone on, we headed out to watch a prescribed fire burn which helps to incinerate competitive vegetation and maintain the health of the forest. Controlled burning is supposed to imitate what naturally occurring lightning strikes used to do for the longleaf savanna. I had to move further away from the shimmering heat of the spreading fire which had swooped in, as my body felt the heat touch my skin. I could smell the smoke as it drifted right towards us, picked up by the fierce wind. At midday, peeling our layers off as the temperatures soared, we hiked out through the wire grass, searching for gopher tortoise burrows, which house a variety of other species as well, especially snakes. Gopher tortoises stay busy digging burrows and a multitude benefits from this underground housing. Quail flew off when they heard us coming.

            It was still too cold that day to find any snakes. The sun was blazing yet not hot enough to heat up that cool air. But the Orianne folks showed us their long, meandering hoses with cameras that can reach around 25 feet into the burrows which can be 30 to 40 feet long.

            I listened and marveled as the biologists named almost every tree, plant and creature in that setting. Later that afternoon we went off into a different part of the forest again and into a cypress swamp where we found all kinds of salamanders under logs — spotted, marble, dwarf and slimy.  The biologists waded into the creeks with their nets, hoping to find more. Some waded so deep that the water spilled over their knee boots. We eventually drove our trucks, bouncing up and down, side to side, along the terrain, all the way to the winding Ocmulgee. Everyone looked like big kids, playing and discovering the delights of nature. I remembered that I, too, was once a child who stayed outside playing and exploring till sundown, communing with creatures in their elements. No wonder I had felt lost and spiritually starved in an unnatural sea of skyscrapers and concrete.

            We ended the day with a campfire, seated at wooden picnic tables where we ate barbecue with hot sauce, next to a small cabin which was rustic but comfortable, with a bathroom and kitchen. It felt like a return to more simple times, settings that I recalled from my youth. When it was time to go, we bid each other goodbye with strong embraces and fervent wishes to meet again in this lively setting.

            I returned home, full of new awareness after having connected more profoundly with our beautiful natural surroundings in the longleaf pine forest. I also felt called to share the experience with others so perhaps they, too, will answer the call to deepen their relationship with our vital ecosystem. Back when I had pounded the hard pavement for nearly a decade in New York, I’d felt a nearly constant gnawing emptiness inside, my instincts crying out for something more and a pull that was leading me elsewhere. I had struggled with it for a long time. Now, I was finally fulfilling that inner desire, feeding that hunger, in the process of re-wilding and reclaiming parts of my own self. I had experienced a sense of homecoming and rediscovery of my native land that was powerful in and of itself, so strong that I hoped others would seek out such experiences and find similar organizations in order to support and get back in touch with the wild and our ecosystem.

The world is a jungle

The world is a jungle,
is what I was told.
This is what my father said to me
as long as I can remember:
Once a soldier,
always a soldier.

I didn’t know, when I was young,
that I was from a land of warriors.
How could I,
when I was surrounded by them
and that’s all I knew.
I hadn’t yet left
to see from the outside.

Looking back,
I might’ve been
the only little girl
obsessed with war movies,
playing toy soldiers,
held by an era.

Then, one day
I found a book
by a woman
who was the daughter
of a tunnel rat.
She knew what it was like
to have the war brought home to her.

You weren’t there, he said to me.
No, I didn’t have to be
because I lived through it with you
from the day I was born.

It wasn’t much talked about,
it was what was overheard —
all those generations,
the silent ones.

How could you speak
when there are no words
to describe horrors
and atrocities
that threaten
to destroy your soul.

It’s no wonder
the soul had to take flight
until it was called back in
gently coaxing, soothing,
but some never returned.

Soldier’s heart, battle fatigue,
shell-shock, ptsd, finally,
post traumatic growth.
Aren’t we all tired of it?
Hasn’t everyone suffered enough?

The ones who devoted their lives
to helping —
Gabor, Bessel and others,
The mother, the grandmother 
who prayed for all her sons. 

The relatives would whisper
but the children overheard —
He was never the same again,
they said.

Some wives woke up at night
to find their husbands
up in the trees outside,
somnambulant,
the survivors,
not knowing,
why they’d been spared
but feeling dead.

As a child, I thought
that all hearts were purple,
that all uncles had shrapnel.

Isn’t it fitting 
that this daughter,
before she even realized,
would find herself
in tropical jungles,
drawn to them, in love with them,
a full circle of sorts,
but drawn with love,
a different kind of mission.

and along the way,
after a very long time,
she was surrounded by warriors again,
still too young to realize
and recognize
how familiar it all was.

It wasn’t sought out
yet somehow
the past alive and well,
never even really past,
as Faulkner wrote.

Where are the landmines?
they’d ask.
Yet this was a different battlefield.
It saddened me,
weren’t we supposed to be
in this together,
in harmony?

It became apparent that
these were all lessons,
they were all lessons.
It was all learning,
to witness, observe,
to experience.

I was told
that I was a soldier,
that I marched when I walked.

I’d like to say,
that this part of me died
and is long gone.

Some say
that heaven and earth are right here
on this very earthly plane. 

The long journey to Hades,
to the underworld,
full of archetypes 
as the mythology describes,
is an accurate portrayal
of the parts of us that
go to war within oneself —
That die,
That shed,
mimicking nature
to be transformed. 

It is said,
that when you heal yourself,
you heal seven generations back
and seven generations forward.

That is my practice,
That is my practice.
Every day,
every moment,
I am my own medicine.
You are your own medicine.

I now plant gardens,
not quite in the jungle
but close enough.

I build bridges
that connect
different people, languages and cultures,
a place to truly come home,
to return home
to my roots,
to my origins,
to my body
and to my heart.

Synchronized Chaos Magazine expresses sympathy for all the people affected by the recent violence in the Middle East and shares the hope for a peaceful and just resolution and for justice and equality for the region’s many groups of people.

In the spirit of what we do here, we are sharing author Michael Lukas’ recommendations of fiction and poetry from both Israelis and Palestinians that he and others believe will help people understand the issues and the cultures in the region.

Please feel welcome to suggest other titles.

We are also aware that Afghanistan has suffered an earthquake that has killed thousands of people. We invite people to help however they can and suggest the Afghan-founded and led organization RAWA which assists those of all genders and racial backgrounds in the country. They are seeking people to translate articles on their website and help in a variety of ways.

Finally, we stand with the people of Burma who are continuing to undergo war and repression. We encourage people to assist through groups such as Doctors Without Borders.

On another note, this month’s submissions, and the whole project of Synchronized Chaos, bring to mind the research of Ilya Prigogene, whose scientific work demonstrated that when complex systems are far from equilibrium, small islands of coherence can shift the entire system to a higher order.

This magazine is an effort to synthesize various ideas and projects and pieces into a “small idea of coherence” each month.

Photo c/o Sheila Brown

Nigerian physician Ayokunle Adeleye urges people to rely on science and seek sensible and knowledgeable medical advice. Uzbek author Amirova Niginabonu recognizes the value of parents and teachers in imparting wisdom to younger people.

Adhamova Laylo Akmaljon speaks to the power of faith to heal through calming intense or troubled emotions. Adiba Pardaboyeva speaks to the comfort and calm she finds in her faith and her home and family. Nilufar Thoktaboyeva reminds us that while life’s emotions can be strong, they are transitory.

Anna Ferriero expresses her awe at the power of romantic love and large birds in her Italian and English poetry. Sayani Mukherjee reflects on a transformative love through a panoply of autumn and winter imagery.

Christopher Bernard reflects on another kind of transformative love, Aeschylus’ take on the ancient Greek myth of Io, a human woman who caught Zeus’ eye and was turned to a cow by his jealous wife. In this version, Io is not silenced and her voice continues throughout the ages.

Image c/o K Whiteford

Iftikhar Zaman Ononno explains the importance of trees to the natural environment and encourages tree planting and conservation. Muntasir Mamun Kiron joins in the song of nature’s beauty and diversity while Aklima Ankhi rejoices in the variety of colors present in each and every season. Mirta Liliana Ramirez recollects a time when she took comfort in poetry and the sea and the sky while in pain. Annie Johnson expresses her love for the totality of nature: summer days, moonlight, and morning. Channie Greenberg sends up hopeful photography of peaceful farm fields in the Middle East. Z.I. Mahmud explores the nuances of the creative and destructive imagery of the West Wind in Percy Shelley’s Ode to the West Wind.

Michelle Adegboro’s speaker comments on whiteness, blackness, and belonging in the world through childhood images of astronomy and eclipses.

Mehreen Ahmed describes the sights and smells of a city at night with elegant, layered language. Khojabekova Musharraf’s poetry, translated into English by Nilufar Ruxillayeva, extols the beauty and majesty of the Uzbek city of Samarkand.

Rafiul Islam shares a tale of best friends who seek adventure and find riches. Nahyean Bin Khalid presents a story of a boy who gets trapped in a haunted house. Fernando Sorrentino relates a tale of how a soccer game gone wrong causes a boy to question his character.

Image c/o Petr Kratochvil

Tasirul Islam celebrates the peace and stability and strength of his homeland of Bangladesh. Faleeha Hassan takes pride in her heritage as a Black Ethiopian Iraqi woman and remembers her father’s love. Zebuzar Yusupova crafts a hymn to the independence, pride, and beauty of her native Uzbekistan. Begoyi Allabergenova Aytjan Egamberdievna’s work, translated into English by Nilufar Ruxillayeva, also honors the Uzbek nation, land, and history.

Nurujjaman’s story shows the danger of marrying without a realistic plan for adult life. Jim Meirose’s tale of a brickyard hod carrier presents a hard working man who never loses his imagination or capacity to dream.

Monira Mahbub extols the virtues of education. Oydinova Malika offers up advice for those in Uzbekistan teaching English as a foreign language, using her experience and research as a guide. Rano Dilshadovna offers advice directly to students on how to learn spoken and written English while Marjona Qurbonova discusses whether online language learning environments can be as effective as in-person courses and Ravshanbek Nasulloyev proposes strategies for learning to think in English.

Jerrice J. Baptiste, niece of our contributor Roodly Laurore, sends in photos and shares about a school in Haiti for low income children where her aunt volunteers. We are also aware that Haiti has experienced major violence and disruption in recent months and encourage people to support education as well as general relief there.

Mahbub Alam laments the human losses caused by warfare. Mykyta Ryzhykh expresses the utter dislocation and destruction caused by modern warfare in his prose and also echoes those themes in his poetry. Abdurrashid Abdulrahman (newbornpoet) mourns the violence and injustice in his native land, while Ajibade Abdurasheed sings out his hopes for justice for the poor and vulnerable. Olanrewaju Timothy Fatoye’s lyrics decry criminal violence against the vulnerable. Indian artist Mantri Pragada Markandeleyu harnesses Marilyn Monroe as a universal symbol to help him advocate for world peace in his graphic design. Giddi Vivian Hembafan speaks to redemption from the violence in the human heart through faith.

Image c/o Karen Arnold

Don Bormon contributes a caring poem about his best friend. Leslie Lisbona speaks to the long-term, profound relationships she had with her family’s various dogs. Taylor Dibbert’s speaker mourns and remembers a very special dog. Catherine Arra illuminates adult and childhood grief through the story of a family dog’s dying in an accident.

Azemina Krehic speaks of a love beset with danger, longing, and loneliness. K.G. Munro evokes the joy of a first attraction between lovers who meet by a campfire, then turns to the dangers of vaping. Kristy Raines talks of a beautiful and unconditional love that might be too amazing to exist in waking life. Sergio Ortiz draws on both nature and mythology to explore his heart and speak to different relationships from his past.

Ahmad Al-Khatat celebrates a love that perseveres and helps him to navigate the memory of past trauma. Hannah Aipoh recollects how writing helped her survive mental illness and a traumatic family situation. Makhfiratkhon Abdurakhmonova relates the story of a breast cancer survivor who triumphs through resilience and patience.

Graciela Noemi Villaverde asks for clarity to understand the true nature of her situation. Elnura Mahammadiyeva urges people to clarify their dreams into specific goals and work towards them.

Zahro Shamsiyya finds her identity and self respect in her poetry and reflects on her life and possible afterlife. Jerry Langdon considers mortality through the metaphorical death of his journal and through another piece on vampires and nighttime. Roy Gu speaks to mortality, grief, beauty, and making the most of an imperfect life. Bruce McRae uses surreal whimsy and entertainment-industry metaphors to wonder about the stability and possible mortality of the universe itself.

Image c/o Petr Kratochvil

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumnova quests for a departed loved one and for a gentler world through her poetry. Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal returns to ancient roots and to nature as he seeks authentic poetic inspiration. Precious Moses hopes and dreams for a peaceful society in his Nigerian homeland.

Brian Barbeito contributes a lush meditation on nature, groundedness, love, and poetry. Steven Croft memorializes the former poet laureate of the state of Georgia, David Bottoms. Eva Petropolou shares wishes for her poetry to become powerful enough to bring about transformative change.

Duane Vorhees explores identity, autonomy, travel and groundedness, and mythic wonder in his poetry. Precious Olugbodi highlights the importance of grounding your life’s projects with a solid foundation.

Nigirabonu Amirova highlights the up and coming literary scene in her native Uzbekistan. Another Uzbek writer, Bakhora Baktiyorova, shares her dream of becoming a journalist. Meanwhile, Parivash Sobirova regales us with a tale of a young girl discovering the joy of reading and the wonder of a library.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa encourages readers to find joy where they can in a lovely but precarious world. J.J. Campbell writes of acceptance: of age, of change, of the presence of different parts of yourself.

Elmaya Jabbarova revels in the music all around her: sounds from nature and her Islamic services. Iqra Aslam finds elegance in precisely chosen language in a Zadie Smith novel. Noah Berlatsky finds a form of rhythmic art in the repetitive daily nature of life.

Image c/o Victoria Borodinova

Maja Milojkovic speaks to the persistence of sorrow and longing for loved ones. Mesfakus Salahin reminds us in his short story that money alone cannot solve all the world’s sorrows. Laylo Bakhtiyorova addresses the all-too-common human condition of feeling dissatisfied, but not knowing what will solve one’s problems.

Mark Young probes the limits of AI algorithms in understanding us and guessing our preferences and interests. Edward Lee’s poetry looks at different types of human and natural creation and speculates on where we can find beauty.

Patrick Sweeney’s one-line poems combine the mystical, the logical, and the physical for unexpected results. Isabel Gomes de Diego’s photography captures whimsical moments of contrast or interest. Daniel De Culla combines whimsy and humor with curiosity and nature with human crafts. Mantri Pragada Markandeleyu contributes the first installment of a comic play about a group of beggars.

Laura Stamps jokingly laments how the pandemic has turned many of us into homebodies and “slugs.” Stephen House speaks to the need to make the most of our short lives, as we never know when we will face suffering or disaster. Meg Freer’s stories involve change and reconstruction of people and things. Peter Cherches plays with time and identity in his humorous short stories where nothing is as it seems and multiple ideas are simultaneously true.

AND JUSTICE SHALL REIGN

I extremely pledge to my country
Where peace had been dwelled in the past century
To not illegally compose an abusive write_up
Because Justice must be ours and my pen can't shut up

‘...And justice shall reign' is what ended our national anthem
More also we're practising a democratic system
The national anthem composer knew then that we will need peace
That was why someone made it as a song and put it into practice

Citizens are clamouring, both left and right
Unknown to them that their leaders have denied their right
Their clamour to them is like a sweet melody
That is why they refused to find its remedy

There is rule of law according to our constitution
But law was made for the poor as we dwell in destitution
Hunger makes a poet to strike for creativity
It is unfair, this is an enormity

Hi all, we will publish our editorial letter Monday, October 16th. This is because it’s long and full of so many amazing submissions.

— Cristina Deptula