A Funny Story 
Farjan Mushfiqul Amin

There were two friends. One good and one bad. A bad friend would always write and pass on the sight of a good friend. This is how it went until Bhaiba. The bad friend said to the good friend, "You go in first and then tell me what they ask and what you answer.""Okay," said the good friend. Good friend went in first. The authorities first asked the question, "In what year did the Liberation War take place?"  The good friend replied, "It was supposed to be in 1952, but it was in 1971."  The authority asked the second question, "Tell a freedom fighter's name?"  The good friend replied, "There are many, who shall I name?"  The authority asked the third question, "Comment on the share market."  "That's a matter of research," replied the good friend.  This time the good friend came out. The authorities called the bad friend this time.  The good friend said to the bad friend, “There is no time, just listen to the answers." In answer to the first question you will say, "It was supposed to be in 1952 but it happened in 1971."  In answer to the second question, you will say, "There are many, who should I name?"  In answer to the third question you say, "It is a matter of research."  Now the bad friend went in. The first question the authority asked was, "What year were you born?"  "Supposed to be in 1952, happened in 1971." replied the bad friend.  The authority asked the second question, "What is your father's name?"  The bad friend replied, "There are many, who should I name?"  The authority asked the third question, "Are you crazy?" The bad friend replied, "That's a matter of research."

Poetry from Md. Nurujjaman 

A Bullock Cart


I was walking down the street, 
Suddenly - 
I saw a bullock cart, 
Which was passing in front of me.

 Then I asked the bullock driver, 
"Can I get in your cart?"
The Bullock driver replied,
"Absolutely, get up."

Then the bullock cart started moving with me- 
The cow goes in the direction
The driver tells to go it. 

Nice, I like it very much. 

After some distance I got down,
As well as -
I politely bid them farewell.

A Story from Syed Tabin Ahbab


Once upon a time there was a different world where terrible animals and people lived together. But the animals were so bad .The animals killed people and destroyed their pets and crops. There were some animal hunters to protect people from them. They always protect people from these animals. The most famous hunters were Oad Robin and Sams. They did their work goodly .But people didn’t paid their salary because they thought Robin and Sams were maniac. So they’re so poor .They lived in a small hut.
The richest man at that time was king Junior .He had a wonderful palace. But there was nobody in this Palace because the most dangerous animal the Lion Back Dragon attacked there every year. In his Palace, no more could enter than his daughter and a servant and some soldiers. So King Junior hired Robin and Sams. After a dangerous war they killed the Lion Back Dragon. The King paid them  the money by which Oad Robin and Sams built a house .They lived there a happy life .

Poetry from Tanvir Islam

MY TRUE LOVE


I have a feeling
          That I can't comprehend.
In my deepest thoughts you are
          More than just a friend.

I wouldn't want to
          Rush us now
As love we explore,
          But there's a growing love inside
That we just can't ignore

I love the time we
          Spend together. 
We are comfortable and free.
          I think of you when we are
Alone. I think of you and me.

We have shared 
          Secrets to uncover. There's more
To life. We will both discover.
          I love   you always.

I'll love   you when you're dumb,
 I'll love   you when you're smart,
I'll love   you any way you are,
Right from the start.

I'll love   you if you're tall,
I'll love   you if you're short,
I'll love   you if you're pretty  ,
Or just an ugly dork.

I'll love   you if you're toothless,
 I'll love   you if you're blind,
Anything that's wrong with you,
To me you'll be fine.

My heart is opening up now,
Unlike it used to do.
I see the pain that's in your heart  ,
And sometimes I feel it too,

I'll love   you tomorrow  ,
I'll love   you today  ,
I'll love   you forever  ,
And forever always    .....

A Short Writing on Mango Prone Chapainawabganj from Mokhlesur Rahman


The Mango Capital of Bangladesh

Chapainawabganj is located in the north-western part of Bangladesh. It was formerly a sub division of Malda district. Everyone knows about Chapainawabganj by the name of Mango capital. I live at Tiktampur in Chapainawabganj. At presen, it is a part of Rajshahi division. It has five upazilas which are Chapainawabganj Sadar,Shibganj,Gomastapur, Nachol and Bholahat. Now, Chapainawabganj is the main Mango growing region in varitics Mango like Fazle, Langda, Himsagar, Khirsa, Ashina, Bombai, Amropali, Laksmanbhog, Gopalbhog etc. All of them, Khirsa is the best for it's unthinkable taste in Bangladesh. In summar, Mango is the main product that develops the economy of my home district. Chapainawabganj is full of Mango tress. Everyone can see the Mango trees here and there. Every people of Chapainawabganj supplies Mango for every region in Bangladesh. As a result, on June 12,2022-The West zone of Bangladesh Railway launched a special train of mango from Chapainawabganj to Dhaka.1800000 people are living in Chapainawabganj. The interesting thing is everyone wants to get the tasteful mango. So, I am proud of my home district which is the capital of Bangladesh.

Object Poem #5/nursery rhyme series

Dainty Dish

out of my deep fluted lungs fly four     
& twenty blackbirds/like a pop-          
out birthday cake nobody                      
w(ants)/one for sorrow, two                  
for mirth, three for… /all                  
the noses pecked
unseemly 
in the
flour

garden where pockets of rye upend   
sixpence of root vegetables             
gamey m(eats)/the odds & ends               
collecting to yoke a                       
crusted sheet over          
an ortolan                          
for the king’s
pye nest
flap.
 

Object Poem #6/nursery rhyme series 

Pail

You you youououou
      ououou
                 ououo
          u
                   ou
                o
                   u
          O
             are no wet cooper, hole-sprung 
the dark fish rock bite of lichen/air collapsing between metal-hooped ribs/
lung-sprung echo/
no muscle oaken to stave the leviathan drip/I take on 
white pebbles in death’s aquarium 
                     but for a moment I nursed the grinning look in your eye, Jack
Jill, before I 
fell 
too/tumbling  
down the fungal crown of the well/no rickety windlass will set the bones/
no vinegar & brown paper will mend the holes/
     just water   water   water fetched to sink/I look 
up spring-trapped to no reflection. 
 

and before them asks the peat harvester


The days are wet and acidic. Outstretched, the flaming orange-red tendril of the sundew plant snares a Scottish midge. The bog sustains its landscape as I cut turf—peat to burn and iron ore to make swords and cauldrons, shields. The crusted land weeps hacked bone. Tablet-woven braids of sphagnum moss drift between land and water. 

On the horizon, across the tarn, bird-stuffed clouds are borne on a northerly wind. I shovel and tusker, unlayering the earth’s buttery black core. Soft, pulpy trees buckle out of the peat maw. A wet nest of swamp roots pull and tug at the ball of my heel. I billhook and brick and dry neat walls of landscaped flesh on banks of heather. The bog glows like the plumage of luminous owls. With each peat brick it wispily exhales the miasma of rewetted rituals. 

in the bog body
barley, linseed and knotweed 
written for the gods. 
 

thin cushion between rock and air

Abroche/a biological structure making 
cements out of carbon
springtails nymphalids dipluran poised & sprung like wind horses

the invisible dream architecture of soil animals/mineral particles spidered into pores & passag-es/tiny clumps of hibernaculum are building blocks for bigger labyrinths/beaver dams/wasps nests/rhizosphere the plant’s external gut. 

At night/Swedenborg pushes nails into the dirt 
& hops across the lawn with head cocked like a bird
listening for the inner order of the world, the biotremology of how matter relates to spirit 

as immortal jellyfish reorganize themselves into new kingdoms.
 

the goldilocks zone

O! dive
{{{{{ doun
{{{{{{{{{{ dreepin 

guillemot, manx shearwater
into the boundary between mixed & stratified water/scrapefoot 
the intersection of shoaling clupeids

margins change through the column/inner 
edges of tidal fronts unmoored/0.99 AV-1.7 AV/
zombie ice vagrant

dive
///// doun
////////// dreepin         

the dinosaur bridge spans the meltwater
whaur bears hunt porridge under a stagnant lid. 

First of all, our friend and collaborator Rui Carvalho has announced the opening of our Nature Writing Contest for 2022. This is an invitation to submit poems and short stories related to trees, water, and nature conservation between now and the March 2023 deadline. More information and submission instructions here!

Also, our co-editor Kahlil Crawford and I are announcing a Latin culture-themed issue, which will be October’s first issue. Submissions for this are welcome up through the end of September. Kahlil was inspired by the works of Fernando Sorrentino, who sent in a set of stories, one of which is published in this issue. Lorraine Caputo will write the editorial letter for that issue.

Finally, we encourage you to support assistance and education, including literacy classes, for Afghan people in need through RAWA (The Revolutionary Association of Women in Afghanistan). They are looking for people to translate articles from Persian/Pashto into English and to translate the English and Pashto articles on their site into a variety of other languages.

Chimezie Ihekuna continues his half-year countdown to Christmas with a poem about traditional children’s and family celebrations in his homeland of Nigeria. Christopher Bernard also speaks to the change of seasons, describing the early beginning of fall weather in rich but sweltering farmland.

Mahbub turns towards nature as well, describing a couple who finds the beauty of their love reflected in an intricate coral reef and the timelessness of the ocean. Christina Chin and Matthew Defibaugh collaborate on another piece that’s a different sort of look at a couple on the beach.

Tanvir Islam’s poem celebrates the love between a husband and a wife, while Alimam Bolakale sends us a children’s verse style piece on romantic love. John Culp celebrates peace and love in a clever poem.

Gabriel T. Saah urges us all to embrace spiritual love, while Musa Ibrahim gives gentle calls for nurturance in interpersonal and inter-group relationships. Ike Boateng describes a quite eventful month in the life of his community in Ghana.

Md. Nurujjajman relates a tale of obsessive love turned violent, while Abdulbasit Oluwanishola laments the decay of a friendship due to someone’s being distracted by greed.

Faroq Faisal renders the motifs of a children’s story with talking animals into a meditation on betrayal from those we hope to help. R.P. Verlaine narrates the common barroom tragedies of love lost and promises broken.

Jaylan Salah’s review of John Crowley’s film Brooklyn explores a love story through the lens of the Irish immigrant protagonist’s search for home and belonging.

Shaurya Pathania’s poems show people desperate to assert themselves one way or another, calling out to the lonely road or to empty sets of clothes.

Sanjeev Sethi’s new poetry collection Wrappings in Bespoke, reviewed by Cristina Deptula, deals with aging and fitting into our world through intellectual thought. Preacher Allgood also addresses the physicality of aging through a poem about traveling with an old car and an old body.

Ian Copestick highlights a sad irony of life with chronic illness, the imprecision of our current mental health treatments and the awkwardness of life within a body. J.J. Campbell’s poems relate the wisdom and cynicism that come with age.

Akinmade Zeal’s vignette presents a father who still believes in the importance of traditional ways of raising one’s social position and a son who’s more world-weary.

Sayani Mukherjee finds joy in her incarnate experience, writing of the sensual joys of eating a juicy peach.

Michael Pollentine speaks of the stages of death, both personal and ecological. Jack Galmitz’ pieces praise commitment to social/ecological ideals while examining the element of showmanship present even in sincere heroism.

Mesfakus Salahin celebrates Bangladesh’s independence and its historical founder, and thus his own national and personal identity. Marjona Jurakulova outlines the contributions of Islamic Uzbek scientists and philosophers to world history and encourages her home country to continue fostering research and knowledge.

Jeff Crouch and Diana Magallon’s mixed media piece renders the disintegration caused by war into a grayscale surrealist film. Meanwhile, Ubali Ibrahim Hashimu hopes for the ultimate victory of peace over political and racial conflict.

Michael Ceraolo’s short sketches of stage plays speak to broad social and economic justice ideas, while Fernando Sorrentino’s drama presents “justice of the lambs” inflicted by the wronged weak banding together against the strong and cruel.

Christ Keivom evokes memory and the detritus of past lives and loves. Abubakar Auwal grieves at the loss of a dear mother and seeks to turn back time. Jim Meirose presents a stagelike drama that portrays a certain character through a loose drama about the “funeral business.”

WV Sutra remembers a singular character who cared about words and ideas and music, who marched to his own drummer.

Federico Wardal celebrates invention and genius through an article on the rediscovery of an old and anonymous play written as a tribute to Shakespeare’s ingenuity.

Dr. James Tipton, English professor at the College of Marin, also explores creativity by reviewing poet and novelist Mary Mackey’s book about her poetry, Creativity: Where Poems Begin. She offers a sober, realistic look at poetic inspiration, not from impairment, suffering, or chaos, but from thought and observation.

Christina Chin’s second poetic collaboration, with Uchechukwu Onyedikam, touches on ancient history and spirituality. J.D. Nelson contributes some more wordy experiments while Mark Young continues to work with dramatic line and color.