We continue to express sorrow over what’s happening in so many different parts of the world and encourage our readers to support people and the planet.

Also, we are hosting our Metamorphosis gathering again! This is a chance for people to share music, art, and writing and to dialogue across different generations (hence the name, the concept of ideas morphing and changing over the years). So far photographer Rebecca Kelly and English/Spanish bilingual poet Bridgett Rex are part of the lineup and more are welcome! This event is also a benefit for the grassroots Afghan women-led group RAWA, which is currently supporting educational and income generation and literacy projects in Afghanistan as well as assisting earthquake survivors. (We don’t charge or process the cash, you are free to donate online on your own and then attend!)

This will be Sunday, December 31st, 2-4 pm in the fellowship hall of Davis Lutheran Church at 317 East 8th Street in Davis, California. It’s a nonreligious event open to all, the church has graciously allowed us to use the meeting room.

You may sign up here for event reminders. RSVP appreciated but not required.

This month’s issue concerns our positions within time and space, sometimes pulling us deeper within our own psyches and intimate relationships and at other times drawing us outward into a broader universe, or simply destabilizing our normal perspectives. Join us as we venture Within and Without.

Niles Reddick’s dramatic pieces highlight the danger and mystery hidden within everyday life. Bill Tope’s piece illuminates the fluidity and risks of young people’s lives and travels during the American 1960s.

Helena Jiang explores how our mental states color our perceptions by taking us outside on a bicycle ride through the eyes of a grieving boy and out on a sailing ship through the eyes of an artist.

Sheila Henry illustrates the visceral experience of depression to encourage empathy for those who endure mental health struggles. Alma Ryan dramatizes anticipatory grief for the loss of a person who cares, but cannot truly understand her.

Thoreau famously claimed that many men live lives of quiet desperation. Returning poet J.J. Campbell must surely be among them, as his speakers seek to dull their souls as their hopes drift away.

Ari Nystrom-Rice illustrates the journey of a person facing intractable damnation.

Filip Zubatov tells us to stop lying to ourselves and set goals and take action and make the most of our lives. Jerry Langdon comments on the brevity of life with solar mythology as a metaphor and reminds us to tell our loved ones we care while we are still here.

Taylor Dibbert reflects on how many people only seek marital counseling when it’s too late. Kristy Raines looks back on romantic love and on life’s ups and downs from a mature perspective.

Abdurazokova Murad urges parents to set down their phones and pay attention to the growth and education of their children and also reminds us to make the most of the limited lives ahead of us. Bakhora Bakhtiyorova speaks to wise, balanced parenting while at the same time encouraging all people, especially young people, to seize the day and achieve their goals.

Sabrina Ishmurotova’s poignant poem illustrates a young girl’s longing for her lost father. Mokhinur Askarova speculates on who would miss her if she disappeared. Faleeha Hassan’s speaker remembers a complicated relationship with her mother, where love commingled with grief.

Boqijonova Madinabonu reflects on the love of family and how mothers are often the glue that holds families together, even after children grow up and move out.

Qodirova Madinabonu Mirzamaxmud praises the care and guidance of teachers in her poem of respect to them, while Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa reminds us of the innocent wisdom of children who have not yet learned prejudices.

Annie Johnson evokes love that is both spiritual and interpersonal in her poetry, which celebrates the light and joy of Christmas.

A. Iwasa reviews the second issue of Signal, A Journal of International Political Graphics and Culture and concludes that the magazine holds wisdom from a variety of political and philosophical traditions.

Hauwa Jibrin cries out in anguish at war and brokenness in his country while Santiago Burdon expresses his support for the Palestinian people to find peace and self-determination. Aklima Ankhi celebrates the independence of her homeland of Bangladesh and shares her hope for peace in the world and freedom for all its people. Mahbub joins her in rejoicing in his home nation’s birthday, taking pride in his country’s founding as a victorious struggle of formerly oppressed people.

Daniel De Culla reminds us that the shiny veneer of the holiday season is not enough to cover over systemic injustice and brutalities, including religious leaders’ sweeping child sexual abuse under the rug.

Noah Berlatsky calls out the financially exploitative nature of practices within the writing world and the struggle of many for just a chance to be seen.

John Mellender’s poem speculates on the true nature of courage, what gives us the strength, or foolhardiness, to throw our bodies against the iron bars of life’s injustices.

Mesfakus Salahin’s tale concerns a clever boy determined to keep honest and preserve his self-respect. Sayani Mukherjee speaks to remaining near the light of truth, even if you are alone with a small candle.

Stephen Nwankwo expresses his determined hope for the future of his country.

Bill Tope’s second story highlights the struggles of many young women to be believed and understood after sexual assault. Set during a time just a few decades in America’s past, the story shows an otherwise loving and caring mother who wants to empower her daughter, yet has her generational blind spots.

Isabel Gomes de Diego’s photography of children sightseeing in the city is tinged with wonder and joy, encouraging all of us to glimpse the world through fresh eyes.

Daniel De Culla’s images highlights juxtapositions, disparities and conjunctions within environments both natural and human-built.

Phil Demise Smith’s graphic novel chronicles and halts the movement of time and how it organizes chaos into a series of moments, the present.

Brian Michael Barbeito’s poems capture lush natural and seasonal environments: the sea, fields in spring and trees in autumn, in language both atmospheric and philosophical. In a similar, but more personified and romanticized, vein, Sreya Sarkar renders snowflakes into ballerinas that distract the sky and a lost thoroughfare.

Brian Michael Barbeito’s artwork aims to capture the spirits of places, both extreme closeups and panoramic vistas that incorporate nature and human construction and pose the question of how exactly we define “place.”

Don Bormon conveys the endurance and sturdiness of trees, both physically and ecologically as the backbone of so many ecosystems.

Texas Fontanella’s visual art connects a dizzying expansive explosion of angle and shape and color.

Z.I. Mahmud outlines ways in which the technical craft of cinematography affects the visual impact of storytelling in movies. Steven Mayoff probes the similarities and differences between writing prose and song lyrics.

J.D. Nelson brings more of his signature ‘graf’ poetry, with one liners stringing together images and sounds like a garland.

Grant Guy’s visual poetry melds Morse code, squiggles and graphics, absurdist humor, and oddly placed inspirational messages. Mark Young’s work juxtaposes varying units of sense into pieces that, oddly, flow together.

We hope the same is true of this issue, and we wish you a very happy holiday season.

Teacher

Winter. The snow has learned the purity from you teacher
Spring. The flowers have learned the beauty from you teacher
Warm shines of the sun pattern is you
Your knowledge is light in the darkness, too


If this world is an ocean, my precious jewel is you
If this world is a flower, my wisest gardener is you
If students are stars, you are my endless sky
You are the brightest sun that lights my way.


Teacher this world would not meaning without you
The human step would not reach the moon without you
The honorable name of "teacher" would not heard in the world
No one's value, the honor would not glorified like you


All respect to you, all thanks to you my dear
After all, my wonderful world is you my dear

A mother is a mother.  She does not need another quality.  (O’tkir Hashimov “World affairs”) 

August 29, 2022…

  The last days of summer.  Hot days are over.  One season was ready to give way to another season

.  Having graduated from school, achieved my dream, and been admitted to a higher educational institution, I fly in the seventh heaven, hoping that I will be a special person in the coming season, that is, I will be a student.  I grew up in a simple village, among simple people.  This event that I remember now is what I witnessed with my own eyes.  The names in it have changed.  Maybe people too.  But it did not affect me.  I know there are many stories, fairy tales, songs, poems about mothers.  Among these, I would like to add the fate of a poor mother who I witnessed.  I know that I am powerless to reprimand someone for something.  However, through this story, I would like to remind you that we need to understand the truth more deeply.  

ЭIt was August 29 … I was returning home after celebrating with my friends because of my admission.  There are a lot of cars and people on the street.  I could not understand what happened.  A little while ago, when I was returning from a party, I fell into a different state after seeing this situation.  I could hear the whispers of people passing by me on the street: “Yes, the poor man was ill for a long time, it was difficult for his son. Such words. I felt like I understood.  Aunt Farida … Aunt Farida is dead. Aunt Farida is our neighbor, she has one son and one daughter. Her children divorced her husband when they were small. I am also the richest person in the world.  I don’t say that I am satisfied with life and my fate, I am living a very good life. Therefore, this cannot be expected even from a poor and helpless person. But my aunt Farida was really struggling to make a living. As soon as her daughter graduated from school, she worked from morning to night in order to help her mother. It is not for nothing that they say that the role of the father in the upbringing of a boy is great.  Farida’s aunt’s son may have lacked this upbringing.  True, he also helped his family and his mother, but for some reason he did not act himself until he said that his mother was suffering and that he should act for the sake of the family.  One day my mother was baking bread in the oven.  I was always busy with tasks.  Aunt Farida came to our place.  While they were talking with my mother for a while, my mother went to the oven again, to my aunt Farida’s house.  At that time, my mother said that she will stay with you today.  It has been a year and a half since the wedding of my aunt Farida’s daughter Sevinch.  He came out to say that his son is staying at our house because he is alone at home today for some reason.  That day remained with us.  He could not sleep well at night because it was a strange house.  Whether my brother or mother noticed it, I felt it very well.  Sahar got up in the morning to pray the morning prayer.  We all read.  But he said that he will go home without having breakfast.  The medicine he used to drink before breakfast was left at home.  One day he went in without agreeing to do nothing.  Aunt Farida’s house is almost not finished, even so, it took a lot of work to get to its current state.  That is, my aunt Farida picked cotton and carrots in autumn.  In the spring, he took out the cotton crop.  So, in every season, seasonal jobs were found for him.  My mother said that they restored these houses with the help of my aunt Farida’s father, and then they did a lot of work themselves.  Of course, his children were young at that time.  In 2020, when the coronavirus spread all over the world, my aunt Farida became seriously ill.  His daughter is married.  His son was in Russia.  He spent a lot of time in the hospital.  He left the hospital, but the effect of his patients did not go away. They were in the process of renovating their house beautifully to marry their son. It was summer.  It was the end of summer.  Aunt Farida was affected by that illness, difficult times of fate, the end of many misfortunes, literally speaking.  Maybe there are many things that happened in the fate of this mother that I did not know.  But the difficulty of the past tense of these simply written words, which I have listed, is actually great.  What was the saddest thing… After the death of my aunt Farida, she sold her son’s houses, the house where she was born and grew up, where she spent her childhood, where her mother and grandfather worked hard, and married a woman in the city.  He moved to the country.  He did not stay in that house because of his mother’s respect.  Sorry… It really hurt me.  Because it was not just a house, but also a memory.  One day my married sister came to our house.  When they come, there will be a holiday in our house.  When my sister was talking to my mother, I overheard: “I saw my aunt Farida in my dream last night. They were looking at me and saying: Iftar is being served in heaven, I am going there.” They were like happy people. 

Mother’s love is real, not everyone understands it.

Boqijonova Madinabonu. Born in 2004 in Fergana region. Currently, he is a 1st-year student of the Faculty of Philology of Fergana State University, majoring in Russian language and literature.

If I head away.
Maybe then my worth is known, 
If I leave a mark on your heart. 

My parents miss me,
They have been waiting for me for years.
Looking at the streets where my childhood was left
You know my worth again.

You can't find me,
Your dreams are telling the truth-
You look for my laughter, though, 
You can't find them either, my friend! 

You ask the moon where I am
He is ashamed of not being able to answer.
I repeat again, my dear ones,
You will never find me 

Mokhinur Askarova daughter of Bakhadir was born on May 13, 2006 year in Jizzakh city.In 2013 year she went to the 14 th school in Jizzakh city. She is also a member of about 20 international.organizations and the owner of more than 50 international certificates. a graduate of the special course of the world famous"Oxford University's Home study center"course, published the first poetry collection "World" announced.America's "Amazon"his poems were published in "Raven Cage"magazines of Germany,he was invited 3 times as a guest of"Assalom Jizzakh"show.

Ishmurotova Sabrina Sarvar qizi

A little girl who missed her daddy

She is a child, but there is no childhood,
There are no exuberances, no masculinity.
Her heart hurts so much
A little girl who missed her dad .
Seeing her mother secretly crying
Her heart troubles again.
She can't tell anyone about her suffering
A little girl who missed her dad.

Hugging her dad's pictures
"I miss you dad", - she says.
A girl who didn't see mercy from Father
Why does she miss him so much? 

A little girl of six-year-old 
Listening to her longings, you say: "Ohhh!"
O, people, tell me what is going on
Listening to it, you will be feeble.

There are so many tiny hearts in the world
I don't know, how many at the moment.
But, a girl who missed her daddy
Don't cry from longing anymore
One day, you will be very happy 

Measurement of life according to the scribes

All of us have been granted the invaluable gift of life by the Almighty. Each person must decide how to use it. You should expect to experience
a variety of difficulties throughout your life pathways. We ought to make to the most of the possibilities that are given to us. Life shouldn’t be wasted on pointless things. Every second that goes by is an integral aspect of human existence.
It will be a witness to a person’s gain or loss on the Day of Judgment. Therefore, a Muslim should manage his time like a savvy businessman.
I have no issue with advising all scientific students to read ‘’The Value of Time in the Eyes of
Scholars’’ in order to be able to manage their time wisely and utilize it efficiently.
This book exhorts the reader to seize each moment as it comes. When a genius rests,
They rehash what they have written and the information they had learned since they were so absorbed in what they were doing.
Time is not a fabric that can be created; rather, it is an opportunity that comes along only once.
‘’Each day that begins calls out: ‘O son of man, I am a new day, I am a witness of your deeds,
Take advantage of me. If I pass away, I will not return until the Day of Resurrection, ‘’remarked
Hasan Basriy, may God have mercy on him.
Time is precious.

Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student.