Dark Clouds

Dark clouds floating in the sky

Wearing the black blanket

Upside down

Ticks in the heart

In the deep forest the hungry lions

Devours all the existence

It drizzles

It blows the sweetness of heart

Of course a healthy green atmosphere we step on

On the other

It revives the volcano

Erupting lava spread all around

Burn the earth with the firing

Birds fly away from there

Taking a shelter to the alternatives.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

1.大地流彩

文/肖世嘉(小荷诗社，11岁)

五彩缤纷的世界

也有流光溢彩的大地

春天的大地穿上了绿油油的衣裳

绿是希望的象征

这份希望绿是独属于春天的大地的

夏天的大地戴上了深蓝的帽子

深蓝的大海有着无穷的奥妙

这份奥妙蓝是独属于夏天的大地的

秋天的大地穿上了金黄的毛绒大衣

金黄的毛绒表示着丰收的稻田

这份丰收黄是独属于秋天的大地的

冬天的大地披上雪白的披风

雪白的白雪和枯萎的大树形成了一种凄凉美

这份凄凉美是独属于冬天的大地的

The Earth Flows with Colors

By Xiao Shijia (Xiaohe Poetry Club, 11 years old)

This colorful world

Also has a radiant earth

In spring, the earth puts on green clothes

Green is a symbol of hope

This hopeful green belongs uniquely to the spring earth

In summer, the earth wears a deep blue hat

The deep blue sea holds endless mysteries

This mysterious blue belongs uniquely to the summer earth

In autumn, the earth dons a golden fluffy coat

The golden fluff represents the harvest fields

This harvest gold belongs uniquely to the autumn earth

In winter, the earth wraps itself in a snow-white cape

The snow-white snow and withered trees form a poignant beauty

This poignant beauty belongs uniquely to the winter earth

2.无题

文/邹斯宇(小荷诗社，9岁)

大树伤心的时候

会落下一片叶子

但人类会觉得是一处美景

Untitled

By Zou Siyu (Xiaohe Poetry Club, 9 years old)

When a big tree is sad

It will drop a leaf

But humans will think it’s a beautiful scene

3.人生

文/雷雨晗(小荷诗社，10岁)

有些人的人生像苦瓜一样苦，

而有些人的人生像糖一样甜。

人生很苦的人想要人生变甜，

首先他得适应生活，

就像不喜欢吃苦瓜的人一样，

只要坚持下去他会变得很喜欢吃苦瓜，

那就代表坚持得了生话的各种苦。

所以，

一切都有可能。

Life

By Lei Yuhan (Xiaohe Poetry Club, 10 years old)

Some people’s lives are as bitter as bitter melons,

while others’ lives are as sweet as sugar.

Those who live a bitter life want their life to turn sweet.

First, they have to get used to life,

just like people who don’t like bitter melons—

as long as they persist, they will come to like bitter melons.

That means they can endure all kinds of hardships in life.

So,

everything is possible.

4.无题

文/张雨涵(小荷诗社，11岁)

老天这是怎么了

总是在流泪

让大地、河流都变成了汪洋

让大豆、棉花都在潜水

让鱼、虾都在遨游

农民苦不堪言

雨过天晴后

一切都恢复了平静

Untitled

By Zhang Yuhan (Xiaohe Poetry Club, 11 years old)

What’s wrong with the sky?

It keeps crying

Making the earth and rivers turn into a vast ocean

Making the soybeans and cotton seem to be diving

Making the fish and shrimp swim freely

The farmers are overwhelmed with suffering

After the rain stops and the sky clears

Everything returns to peace

5.花

文/胡裕乐(11岁)

她静静站在那儿

人来人往都夸她

美丽、清新

可我却说她不屈

你不信

那是你没有看见她

在淤泥里的挣扎

Flower

By Hu Yule (11 years old)

She stands there quietly

People come and go, praising her

For being beautiful, fresh

But I say she is unyielding

You don’t believe it

That’s because you haven’t seen

Her struggle in the mud

6.我不算谁的附庸

王韵瑶

也不是某段的支流河

比起这些

我更想成为一场顷刻间的滂沱

旷野间乍起的风波

又或是唐朝遗风外

悬着的唯一月色

人生本就是一首诗歌

而他们的文字浅薄

不该被潦草地印刷着

所以在我笔下

一重山有一重山的错落

我有我的平仄

I Am Not Anyone’s Appendage

By Wang Yunyao

I am not anyone’s appendage

Nor a tributary of some section

Compared to these

I’d rather be a sudden downpour

A gust of wind rising in the wilderness

Or the only moonlight hanging

Beyond the legacy of the Tang Dynasty’s style

Life is originally a poem

Yet their words are shallow

Not to be carelessly printed

So in my writing

One range of mountains has its own arrangement

I have my own rhythm

Su Yun’s Poem:

栅栏

我学会笨拙的飞

或是跳跃

我就去爬盯我千遍的栅栏

用我沾上的泥点记录

我所填过的格块

填满一面

包括尽头挤压变形的铁丝

我忘记笨拙的飞

或是跳跃

我就去走俯视我千遍的横杆

用我脱落的绒羽记录

我所歇息过的桩头

走满千寸

包括中间被冰雹敲掉的木板

当我已经无力，溃烂

就让我的骨头

凭着记忆粘在铁网十字的中心

凝视人巷学会苟活的人们

用混着羽毛捏的泥人

标记十字路口的空间

The Fence

When I learned the clumsy flight

or the leap

I went to climb the fence that had stared at me a thousand times

using the mud spots stuck to me to record

every grid I’d filled

Filling up an entire side

including the twisted wire at the end

When I forgot the clumsy flight

or the leap

I went to walk the crossbar that had looked down on me a thousand times

using the downy feathers I’d shed to record

every post I’d rested on

Walking a thousand inches

including the plank in the middle, knocked off by hailstones

When I’m finally powerless, decaying

let my bones

stick to the center of the iron net’s cross

staring at the crowd in the alley—people who’ve learned to survive by compromise

using a mud doll kneaded with feathers

to mark the space at the crossroads

Biography 

Suyun, 17 years old, is a member of the China Poetry Society and a young poet. His works have been published in more than ten countries. he has published poetry collections Yang Fa Wan Wu (Inspiring All Things) and Rui Yu Zhe Si (Wise Words and Philosophical Thoughts) in China, and WITH ECSTASY OF MUSINGS IN TRANQUILITY in India. he is the recipient of the Guido Gozzano Orchard Prize of Italy, the Special Prize for Foreign Writers of the City of Pomezia (with the organizing committee hailing him as “a craftsman of Chinese lyric poetry”), the “Cuttlefish Bone” 

Award for Best International Writer Under 25, and the Creative Award of the Naji Naaman International Literary Prize of Lebanon.

“Geoment Abacus” Device for Visually Impaired Children: An Innovative Approach in Geometry and Mental Arithmetic Education

Author:  Islomov  Inomjon Umidjon o‘g‘li

Student at the National University of Uzbekistan named after Mirzo Ulugbek
inomjon21022006@gmail.com

Keywords: Geometry, Mental Arithmetic, Visually Impaired Children, Inclusive Education, Geoment Abacus, Sensory Technology, Innovation.

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Abstract

This article analyzes the scientific and practical aspects of the interactive device project “Geoment Abacus” designed for visually impaired children. The device offers the opportunity to teach the basics of geometry and mental arithmetic through tactile perception. The article justifies the device’s effectiveness based on international experience, educational psychology, and inclusive education methodologies. It examines the challenges faced by visually impaired children in mastering geometry and mental arithmetic and outlines how the innovative “Geoment Abacus” can improve the effectiveness of teaching these subjects. The structure, functionality, and pedagogical value of the device are explained, with analyses based on practical trials.

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1. Introduction

When the education of visually impaired children is delivered through traditional methods, they often face significant difficulties with subjects that heavily rely on visual materials, such as geometry and arithmetic. According to the World Health Organization (WHO), approximately 285 million people worldwide have vision impairments, including about 19 million children [1]. This global issue necessitates specialized approaches within education systems.

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2. Description of the Geoment Abacus Device

The “Geoment Abacus” is an interactive device designed to teach geometry and mental arithmetic to visually impaired children using physical models. With this device, children can understand different geometric shapes through tactile interaction. For mental arithmetic, it uses a traditional abacus format adapted into a tactile version with distinguishable features.

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3. Scientific Foundations and International Experience

3.1. Tiflopedagogy and Haptic Learning

Tiflopedagogy is a specialized branch of pedagogy focused on teaching individuals with visual impairments. Research has shown that haptic (touch-based) teaching methods help visually impaired children develop imagination, spatial thinking, and the ability to navigate complex problem-solving situations [2].

3.2. International Experience

Similar approaches have been employed globally, such as the “Tactile Geometry Kit” developed by the Perkins School for the Blind in the United States and Japan’s “Feel Shapes” project. These devices allow students to understand shape, dimension, and spatial relationships through touch. Such tools have increased interest in STEM fields among visually impaired students [3].

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4. Composition and Technical Description of the Device

The initial production cost of the Geoment Abacus is approximately 1 million UZS, with serial production estimated at around 470,000 UZS. The device includes:

• A variety of tactile (raised) geometric models;
• Tactile abacus elements – sticks designed for tactile differentiation;
• An audio assistant guide for learners (planned in future versions).

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5. Expected Outcomes

By piloting the project, the following results are anticipated:

• Enhanced imagination and spatial reasoning among visually impaired children;
• Increased interest in geometry and arithmetic;
• Development of independent thinking and problem-solving skills through tactile learning.

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6. Pedagogical and Psychological Approaches

The Geoment Abacus is tailored to the multisensory learning styles of visually impaired students. It enhances independent thinking, memory, and the development of formal concepts, contributing positively to both cognitive and emotional learning processes.

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7. Conclusion

The Geoment Abacus represents not just a technological innovation but a step toward social equity. Its implementation can open new doors for visually impaired children in STEM education. Grounded in scientific principles and supported by international experience, such initiatives play a vital role in advancing inclusive education in Uzbekistan.

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References

1. World Health Organization (WHO). (2019). World Report on Vision.
2. Jones, L.A., & Lederman, S.J. (2006). Human Haptic Perception: Basics and Applications. Springer.
3. Smith, D.W., Kelley, P., & Hauser, P.C. (2015). “Tactile Learning for Blind Students in STEM.” Journal of Special Education Technology, 30(4), 195–204.

At the National Gallery

He’s at the National Gallery

In London

And he realizes

That the people 

Who speak loudly in museums

Probably deserve

Whatever happens to them.

Taylor Dibbert is a poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, “On the Rocks.”

More than Enough

Take it out

and spin it in your hand

as if that is what

it was always meant to do.

These are the moments that see us

undeniably under,

promising things physically impossible

to come through with.

But still,

it’s the hope

that proceeds everything,

and most days,

that’s more than enough.

The Interim

A rock embedded in the wall

near the bottom of a canyon

knows nothing of the constant pressure,

the massive force under which it operates,

because that’s all it’s known

since before history,

or somewhere thereabouts.

You see, it’s all about perspective,

stretching that timeline to the

far reaches of our collective imagination,

neverminding the present troubles,

or at least shrinking them

to their true infinitesimal form.

But it’s so hard to practice this zen

when every horizon

illuminates the suffering of

everyone

who could be anyone

who could be you.

On a long enough timeline,

everyone’s survival rate

drops to zero,

but what we do in the spaces

between where the string is cut

is what matters,

whether we choose to

plant

or paint

or burn.

Consequences

Mom told me

if I messed with raw meat,

especially raw birds,

I’d get sick and die.

It was a practical warning,

since we lived out in the woods;

feral cats

and coyotes

and stray dogs

always leaving half-eaten presents

that she didn’t want me covered in,

because who knew when

the well would run dry,

and a drive to town

just for a shower at the Y

was always such a hassle.

So, defiantly standing in that trailer

in 198-whatever,

I laid a palm flat on the

package of uncooked chicken.

It was still frozen,

so cold, it didn’t take long

for my hand to begin to hurt.

I pulled it away,

and rubbing it, thought:

If I die, I’ll be in so much trouble.

Weather Report

She stands under a rotting eve,

waiting for the

storm to pass.

This has been going on

longer than she can remember;

seeking questionable shelter

from a life that

continuously dumps.

Regardless of her

ample experience,

she always finds herself

soaked in some way.

But right now,

as nothing physical but sunshine

threatens her day,

she hides,

because everything is a storm

when she refuses to see

anything else.

Trees flutter in the breeze,

no cars pass to thicken the air;

it’s all a reflection of

someone else’s ideal.

There’s little but desolation behind her,

and all she can see ahead

is the unveiled threats

of an uncaring world.

A cloud purer than watercolor

passes overhead,

but all she can envision

is the coming torrent.

She stands under a rotting eve,

waiting for the storm to pass,

but it never does.

Sunrise

We admit that we see things

only from forgotten corners;

a less than desirable perspective,

but it’s the one we’ve got,

flowering from a slant view,

we see little but refractions,

and we use those to create

our own infractions,

pulverizing the semblance

of community,

terrorizing any sense of

coming to balance.

Last night,

tonight,

tomorrow;

it all blends into a blandness

felt by all,

but acknowledged by none.

So we see these things

only from forgotten corners,

but sometimes

we can look to and from afar,

and can almost make out

a new horizon.

James Benger is the author of several books of poetry and prose. He serves on the Board of Directors of the Writers Place, and the Riverfront Readings Committee, and is the founder of the 365 Poems in 365 Days online workshop. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and children.

Black Wings

‘Twas the night before they hooted echoes of cackling laughter 

that played a loathing symphony;

knotted joints grasped the veins of empty melodies,

in hopes that someone would notice their song;

cobweb strings mourned,

as the roots anchored dust into its wooden body–

tilted softly along the whispers of dusk–and

entrapped notes being forgotten, gingerly;

pressing black and white muffled the air,

how stagnant they were under her ethereal beauty 

as she breathed warmth in their cadaver,

and hushed them a lullaby;

yet, one would only see the angelic dusts

flying ever so gently under the nacreous clouds of the evening, 

above the obscure fields of daffodils; 

their shadows pirouetted under the moon,

and they ambitiously started plinking,

caressing the void notes,

along the breaths of velvet, dark green Earth;

I heard them. 

The Korean Flower

Her glass drops reflect the eyes 

she once had sown,

as she sinks into the innocence that never 

drifted away 

A soft breeze swirls her silver hair as she 

slowly collapse 

her wrinkled eyes,

brim her lips 

with the last water,

cascades of them 

she last colored, 

kisses of sun bleeds through her body

Petals she collected in her vase,

withered too soon before goodbye–their

picturesque shades soak the 

great emerald beauty, floating 

Roses of Sharon on its gentle shivers,

and how she watch her fingers slip away from those

fading memories and the blooms

Gentle laughter of her children echoed like wind chimes,

each mellow tune harmonizing in her ears

and then she saw–

her daughter’s warm tears trickling down, her 

trembling hands cradling the weathered palms

that once taught her how to hold the world

With her last breath, the mother whispers one final lullaby for her daughter:

when mother leaves to pick oysters in the shadows of the island,

the baby stays behind alone, watching over the house

then, to the lullaby sung by the sea, 

slowly and gently, the baby falls asleep,

hoping that her daughter would marvel at the 

ephemeral Nature and one day realize 

how petals perish 

beautifully.

Last Moments with the World

A mother’s wail drifted through the gust of waves,

beware of him who walks where echo fades.

Clung her tight from the

Devil’s hand–choking,

eating those

fleshes 

gargling Death before it spoke

hushed by the piercing wind

Is that what it feels like–to be

Justified? 

Kingdoms fall

like lullabies luring a child to 

marvel at the synchronous aurora and dirge 

Nature sings so calmly,

one day it will realize 

petals wither with with beauty too cold to touch

quivers of sand and wind 

rocked the ship 

side-to-side 

tilting the decks

until all that it left was the

vulnerability a human endures–how they 

writhed.

xanthic light flickers between the rumble while her

yearning carved on the woods

zipped shut by the deep hush.

Jian Yeo is a student of poetry based in Massachusetts, where the changing seasons and scenic landscapes serve as a constant source of inspiration for her work. She is currently a student, balancing her academic pursuits with her passion for writing. 

Previously appeared in Romance Buds, and Butterflies

Asha sashayed across the London tavern floor, looking every bit the exotic, strikingly beautiful Indian ex-pat. As she walked, men turned on their barstools to regard her, thinking, I’d like some of that. But Asha was not available, at least not to them.

Ignoring the others, she stopped at a table in the center of the saloon, where sat an 80-ish man, gray at the temples, and with a slight tremor in his hands. He seized his cane and made to stand up, but Asha held up her hand to stop him.
“Don’t get up, Ari,” she said, taking a seat by his side.

Across the tavern, covetous men shook their heads, bewildered at Asha’s choice.
“Have you been waiting long?” she asked.
Ari shook his head no. He seemed to have difficulty speaking.

Suddenly Asha moved, leaning into Ari and throwing her arms about him and kissing him affectionately on the cheek. She squeezed him tight.
The spectators in the bar rolled their eyes and tossed back their drinks, puzzled by the apparent attraction of the old man to the stunning woman.

“What’s that all about, Fahey?” a large, attractive man dressed in the garb of a construction worker asked the bartender.
Fahey said, “I can’t say for sure where it began, Mike, but I’ve heard rumors from those that know one or the other of them. Ari was an upper class Brit in the colonial days. Some of them were right bastards but he was one of the good ones. He did what he could to help the locals. Asha’s family was quite poor, but Ari got her father a good job as a government bureaucrat. Got a good paycheck for signing papers, and making low-level decisions. As a result, Asha’s family and Ari’s socialized a lot. Asha’s family learned about Britain, and Ari’s family learned about India. When they first started socializing Asha was two years old, and Ari was a forty-year-old man with a wife the same age.”

“How old is she now?” inquired Mike.
Fahey shrugged. “Around 40? Anything else you want to know?” he asked archly.
The irony of the remark was lost on the other man. “Is she involved with the old man, or is she a…free agent?”

“My man,” said Fahey, with a knowing grin, “nothing in this life is free.”
“How about you introduce us?” asked Mike.
Fahey began to wipe down the bar. “You’re a little late,” he said.
“You mean…” began Mike.

Fahey nodded. “They’re married.” When Mike looked lost, the bartender continued, “Ari lived in India until about ten years ago, when he began to get dementia. Ari’s wife, Mabel, moved them back to London to their old home so he’d be in more familiar surroundings. About five years ago, his wife became terminal and she contacted Asha and she came to the city almost immediately. She moved in with them and took care of them both. Then, a year ago, when Mabel died, Asha and Ari got married so that it was acceptable for the culture for them to live together. You understand?

Mike did understand, and gazed with compassion and admiration across the tavern at a true love story.