+
Did my talking shut the Door?
And when I walk away
will you understand?
Our taste is shared until
the fear steals the
resonance.
And as the Door swings
I see you Reaching
Beyond the slam
Somehow it makes sense
to gently place my
Palm on the
Door &
feel what we
still share.
I AM feeling a mirror
of myself that is freely &
individually in Both of us
Something Wonderful !
I just think now,
It was the Wind
that caught the Door
for separated by Laminates
of grain & structure
Keeps each well at Heart
Nothing is Wasted .
Love is in the Free essence
Drawn, inspired & inspires
on any
with the Blessing that find
the quiet awakens the Hearts
often standing in
diversity.
"Bring the Good",
my Heart springs.
rest
I AM Well.
The Door that slams
Has no walls around its
Frame.
Infinite is in every
newness to prepare
comfortably, Freely,
in LOVE.
by John Edward Culp
Sunday morning
January 7, 2024
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa
Awaiting Summer Take me to Summer's show Where the sea breeze blow And sunshine glow To where butterflies fly Clouds swim in the sky And no goodbye A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer's fun, fun, fun A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer is fun! Come join and dance with me Swing your hips with glee No stinging bee Summer heat that can't burn Where snowflakes can turn Hi! How ya durn? A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer's fun, fun, fun A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer is fun! Awaiting Summer's fun Spring's dragging its run Winter's just gone Come, let's dance as we wait Have iced chocolate Summer comes late A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer's fun, fun, fun A-Waiting Summer's fun Summer is fun! Great Wind at My Back May the Great Wind be at my back Feet not hindered by petty setback May Great Wind stir gently the pool Like silken thread around the spool Will the Great Wind send me back To jungleland from Eden’s outback How the Great Wind stir the pool Tighten thread tensed in the spool Give me wisdom what to pack Strenght to carry my backpack Let not past be just memories full Of anger and grief make one fool May Great Wind blow at my back Feet pushed forward beyond track May Great Wisdom push and pull Weave silk threads from thick wool May the Great Wind be at my back Feet not hindered by petty setback May Great Wind stir gently the pool Like silken thread around the spool Will the Great Wind send me back To jungleland from Eden’s outback How the Great Wind stir the pool Tighten thread tensed in the spool Give me wisdom what to pack Strenght to carry my backpack Let not past be just memories full Of anger and grief make one fool May Great Wind blow at my back Feet pushed forward beyond track May Great Wisdom push and pull Weave silk threads from thick wool 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.
Essay from Laylo Mamatova
Navruz is a holiday of life and renewal»
Mamatova Laylo Ulugbek’s daughter
Shahrisabz State Pedagogical Institute
2nd level student of the «Languages» faculty
Scientific supervisor: T. Musurmanov
Teacher of the Department of Foreign Languages of SHDPI
Annotation: In this article, the essence of «Navroz», a national and ancient holiday of the Turkic peoples, the time of its emergence and the processes of celebration, the sources written about it in the Middle Ages, and the events held in connection with the holiday, as well as Navroz in the years of independence. The researcher commented on the attention paid to the holiday.
Key words: New day, Turkic people, UNESCO, UN, national heritage, historical sources, ancient traditions, years of independence.
Spring is the flower of the seasons, the season of awakening. The whole being, mother nature, lives and renews itself. There is a living creature that can enjoy the birth of a new day. It is not for nothing that Turkic people also celebrate Navruz holiday, that is, the birth of a new day, in the spring season. The term «Navroz» is composed of two Persian words, «nav» – new, «roz» – day, meaning «new day». Navruz is the most popular and beautiful holiday of the Turkic people. According to historians, the history of this holiday is more than 3 thousand years. Navruz is mainly celebrated on the vernal equinox. Navruz is a symbol of the rebirth of nature, the season of renewal and living. On this day, the ancient traditions and national traditions of our people, which have acquired a new color, are revived. Navruz holiday is celebrated in our country as a symbol of prosperity, peace, harmony, international harmony and tolerance, a real eastern holiday that awakens goodness in our hearts. During the years of independence, Navruz was recognized as a national holiday. In 2009, Navruz holiday was included in the list of intangible cultural heritage of humanity by UNESCO. In 2010, the UN General Assembly announced March 21 as the International Navruz Day and called on all countries to widely promote this ancient holiday in the world.
Navruz is one of the oldest holidays in history. According to historical sources, Navruz is a traditional holiday whose history goes back thousands of years. March 21 is the equinox day. On this day, several people of the Northern Hemisphere celebrate Navruz as a holiday. Among them are the Turks, Turkmen, Tajiks, Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, Karakalpaks, Kazakhs, Tatars, Georgians, Persians, Kurds, Azerbaijanis, Afghans and Albanians in the Motherland and the Balkans.
Navruz folk songs such as «Navroz», «Sumalak», «Boychechak», «Binafsha», «Muborakabad» are popular in Uzbekistan today. Navroz tunes are now sung at local national and even international concerts. -songs are available. In addition, the Afghan song «Mulla Mamajon» is very popular and is sung in Mazar-e-Sharif, Iran, and Tajikistan. Navruz is also celebrated in Uzbekistan as one of the national holidays. March 21 has been declared a holiday.
References:
2. https://cemc.uz/uz/page/575/navrozni-nishonlash
3. https://uz.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Navro%CA%BBz
4. https://new.tdpu.uz/news/376
Poetry from Dildora Toshtemirova
I'm tired mom Although my face is smiling, my eyes are not smiling For some reason, I'm a little tired, mom My patience is running out How long will you be patient mother? I'm really tired of being patient Mother's heart ached a little I have some friends What a funny mother I shouldn't laugh now Mother with a heart turned to stone Your happy girl is now Mother can't be happy at all Toshtemirova Dildora Hakim qizi . Born in Uzbekistan in 2008.
Prose from Brian Barbeito
The Broken Bell and The Death of Goodness
The lady asks the man serving the food why the container is only half full. He looks at her annoyed and remarks, ‘I do my best,’ and walks away. It’s obvious to everyone that it’s far from anybody’s best. Not long from there three men harass an actual security guard. ‘How much money do you make?’ He tells them it’s none of their business. Then they move on and try to speak to two women but the women won’t give them any attention, so low is their vibration and problematic their aura. Everyone is sullen and hardly anybody wants to be there. The place is almost empty. I remember the old man whose truck was stalled and nobody would help him in the cold and wind and snow with night approaching. I tried to help him but had difficulties. I am not a mechanic. A lady approaches me and looks at my coffee. I figure it’s not allowed. ‘Can I have the coffee here,’ I ask. ‘You can have the coffee. It’s that I am dying for a coffee also.’ She waits for an answer. I don’t know if she wants me to buy her a coffee. Outside I can see the night, the lights. There was a bread shop that used to donate to the homeless shelter where I worked. I notice it’s gone. I remember the shelter, for there were doors that looked as if they had spirits inside them, and there were many, many good men. And the shelter sat away from the lonesome one lane highway upon the top of a hill. I began work and you had to work part time to begin then, or I did, but I worked 88 hours a pay period which was 8 more hours than the full timers. And I learned much from everyone around me, and I learned many things about life but there is always much more to learn. Outside the window the wind blows cold and that particular town is dirty, grimy. There is some kind of bell affixed to a post. Maybe it is a Christmas bell. But the bell is broken. It’s inside must have fallen out, its ‘heart’ so to speak. The bell is then a shell. It has no heart. But who cares about the poor bell? Nobody. There isn’t even anybody around. The lights that guide the traffic turn. The ones that don’t, well they remain a rueful melancholic yellow. The radio said that storms will arrive. Storms. Ice. Hail. Colder air. As if the world there hadn’t enough trouble already. As if it needed more.
Poetry from David A. Douglas
Train Wreck (a pantoum) Being driven by the urge to stand still I watched the passenger train derail It screeched and pounded with a shrill At iron against flesh with a wail I watched the passenger train derail My jaw dropped to the platform At iron against flesh with a wail Of death screaming like a thunderstorm My jaw dropped to the platform In disbelief at the destructive disarray Of death screaming like a thunderstorm I pounded my chest, to face it this way In disbelief at the destructive disarray I felt a surge of Divine courage I pounded my chest to face it this way Firm in faith against chaos and carnage I felt a surge of Divine courage It screeched and pounded with a shrill Firm in faith against chaos and carnage Being driven by the urge to stand still
Poetry from Maja Milojkovic
FEEL THE RHYTHM OF FREEDOM! We poets are like fish in a glass cage, many admire us because we are displayed as living figures, we swim in the comfort zone, where others will say that our love poems in a collapsing world are very important as themes, and congratulate us on a nice outfit. Yes, we are sublime poets who stand for peace in the world and for a free life in the salty sea, we don't know. We are scared because we heard that some dead fish are floating in the sea. Sharks and some larger fish stalk the tiny souls. And we so glorious in our poetic movement, we kiss the hand that carries our food and directs our bodies, minds and words. Sometimes we are on the surface, sometimes at the bottom, but it is important that we are protected. We watch the audience following our movements as we swim in the limited space of our personal freedom and peace. Feel the rhythm of freedom! It vibrates in my mind as I want to jump over the glass edge, and even if I were to swim alone in the sea, at least Poseidon will see my desire. Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" is circulating through the blood. That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. "Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle." She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.