MOTHER NATURE

Another of my ideas concerns farms, but in a different way. This involves promoting an ancestral cultivation technique, which the Celts first used in Europe, but which has been largely forgotten since the Middle Ages: animal fallows.

As their name suggests, animal fallows, also known as grassy meadows or green meadows, are an agricultural land management technique that involves using fields left fallow for cultivation to graze livestock, particularly sheep or cattle.

Livestock grazing on fallow land helps renew it and fertilizes it by living there, so that soon, the meadows used in this way will be of even better quality than those left as only fallow. We gain from it: in natural fertilizers, in biodiversity, in soil mobility, for the soil is turned over by the animals, and from the livestock’s point of view, of course, in fodder and land usable for pasture. This is what our ancestors did. As I told you, it has been forgotten, and yet, having seen it done on land belonging to my family in Ariège, in France, I can guarantee that the results are surprisingly successful.

The principle of setting aside cultivated land is universal, even mandatory for farmers in many places, and yet these animal fallows I’m talking about are almost never used anywhere. So, this is good advice I want to offer farmers, which will help them revive their fields, which we know are tired, often impoverished by modern farming techniques and the various chemicals we use today.

While I’m talking about farms, I’d like to take this opportunity to tell you how much good I think about permaculture. Permaculture is a farming technique invented in Japan in the 1970s. It consists, primarily for market gardening, of using nature itself and the combinations of plants, including flowers, and crop seedlings, as well as the composition of the soil, to ensure an abundant harvest of vegetables and fruits or cereals, without using any fertilizers or pesticides, just letting nature take its course, so to speak, from what we have sown.

A permaculture food plot, for example, greatly contributes to the biodiversity of a local ecosystem. It’s particularly good for bees and pollinators. I recommend it to every farmer!

And, still talking about nature, I wanted to discuss with you an idea that is particularly close to my heart: the fruit forest.

Here we are again very close to permaculture, with this concept that designates a forest, perhaps a woodland, like so many in our country and around the world, where humans, through their labor to plant or graft fruit trees, allow wild fruits to be harvested in all seasons.

Let me explain: it is very easy to plant fruit tree seedlings in a natural wooded or forest environment, or to graft them onto host trees in the same locations, so that they will bear fruit in the desired season. By varying the species, for example, this can allow an entire forest to be abundant in fruit all year round.

Obviously, it will take a lot of human labor at the outset to achieve this result, a bit like maintaining a full-scale orchard. However, natural rhythms, and the wildlife that inhabits the area where we work, will help farmers and allow the penetration and even expansion of crops in the environment. Once the goal of a fruit-bearing forest is achieved, what benefits will there not be for its owners, first of all, to have an abundance of fruits that continue to grow by themselves almost in all seasons, for their own consumption, of course, or for market gardening, or even for their livestock, or even for the views of the game that this will bring to their land! What benefits will there not be for local biodiversity, for the flourishing of the flora, and of other tree species in particular, thanks to the insects and birds that it will bring, and finally for all the wildlife that will see a new pantry! The entire forest will benefit. This idea is close to my heart. It is particularly easy to envisage in France, where we have so many forests, hedgerows, and so on. And it will be equally so in all temperate wooded areas.

No doubt, it will seem a little utopian, then, for me to call on you to create a “forest of abundance” in this way. That being said, once again, the realization of this idea is very easy, locally at least. Anyone with a wood could achieve it in a few years of work. So, for a result that is understandably so profitable, we might as well get started and do it, right? I wanted to advise this to you!

All the Years to Arrive

Here

Yes, yes, I am near the edge.

No, on the edge.

All the years to arrive here, at the edge.

All the memories. All the chances.

All the chances taken and not taken.

Time changes with the wind but we still push petals round and round

going in circles.

In circles.

Cards are played. Cards are held.

Secrets are kept.

Secrets are known. We earn things. We steal things.

Mostly, we stumble. We stumble into living.

But life, the life we lead,

has little to do with living.

Look at the sea, how beautiful it is! It exudes so much feeling.

Like dreams. Like sweet dreams that dance at night. 

They dance at night. But become just dreams just dreams in the daylight.

Guarda il mare, com’è bello! Trasuda così tante emozioni.

Come sogni. Come dolci sogniche danzano di notte. Danzano di notte. Ma diventano solo sognisolo sognialla luce del giorno.

One more step. The last step.

The heart hungers while the mind mingles with all that is false, yet true.

One nail then another, then another. How swiftly we unfurrow.

How swiftly we become what Gatsby said, “Of course you can.”

As the spirit leaves your body.

Mentre lo spiritolascia il tuo corpo

Philip received his M.A. in Psychology from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada. He has published six books of poetry, Three novels, including Caught Between (Which is also a 24-episode Radio Drama Podcast https://wprnpublicradio.com/caught-between-teaser/)  and Three plays. Philip also has a column in the quarterly magazine Per Niente. He enjoys all things artistic.

Moreso, Series Two

Her parents told her that marriage to a carnival barker would never work out, but she was a seamstress, and the carnival needed one, so that was that. They toured the country together as carnies for over 40 years, he touting the acts, she mending the pants.

When they finally retired, due to age and, frankly, a change in public taste, they settled in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and became enthusiastic Yoopers.

---

“You smell of regret,” she told him. He sniffed the air around him. No odor of regret, as far as he could tell. Sure he had his share of regrets, don’t we all, but nothing he thought was noticeable.

“We don’t always notice our own odors,” she told him. “That’s what friends are for.”

---

“One chicken panino,” the man ordered.

“One chicken panini?” the waiter asked.

“There’s no such thing as one chicken panini. Two chicken panini, yes.”

“Whatever you say,” the waiter replied, and a few minutes later returned with two chicken panini.

---

Two homines erecti were divvying up their take after an exhausting day of hunting and gathering. “Same time tomorrow?” one of them grunted. “Sure thing,” the other grunted back.

---

A single shoe was lying in the middle of the crosswalk, a Rockport World Tour walking shoe, the left one, tan nubuck, size 10.5, extra-wide, my size, I discovered when I picked it up. I looked down at my feet. Both were securely shod in size 10.5 extra-wide tan nubuck Rockport World Tour walking shoes. But the lost shoe, or should I say found shoe, was in much better condition, like new, I’d say, while mine had seen better days, a little dirty, heels worn.

Should I take the shoe? But what would I do with it? If I wore it
instead of my current left shoe its quality would become a liability. I’d walk with an uneven gait due to the difference in the heels, and it would show up my right shoe as a sad old thing on its last legs. So I couldn’t take the lost shoe—it wouldn’t be practical unless there was hope of finding its right sibling.

Should I do that, roam the streets looking for the other shoe to drop, like magic, into my field of vision? No, that simply wouldn’t be practical. So in the end I just let the shoe drop back to roughly where I’d found it. And that’s why we can’t have nice things.

Peter Cherches’ latest book, Everything Happens to Me, is winner of the 2025 Next Generation Indie Book Award for Humor/Comedy.

La Fenetre de Paris announces a submission opportunity for poets. Poetry anthology Water: The Source of Life seeks submissions

Contributor Taylor Dibbert seeks reviewers for his new poetry book On the Rocks. Please email us at synchchaos@gmail.com if you’re interested.

Also, we will stop accepting submissions for November’s first issue on October 25th. You may still submit after that date, but your work will go into our second issue for the month.

Now, for this month’s second issue, Learning From History.

Sayani Mukherjee muses on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire.

Kelly Moyer’s film, created together with Hunter Sauvage and starring Robert P. Moyer and Annie, draws on ancient myth to understand the United States’ modern political situation. Abigail George analyzes the strengths and weaknesses of certain leadership styles illustrated by Donald Trump and several African leaders. Patricia Doyne speaks to the hubris of American political leadership. Andrew Brindle and Christina Chin’s tan-rengas explore society’s injustices and contradictions.

Ivan Pozzoni’s poetry declares his speaker’s independence of mind as an artist and offers critiques of government funds’ being taken from ordinary taxpayers to bail out large banks. Bill Tope’s short story celebrates the power of understanding and empathy for people at all social levels. Poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews poet Til Kumari Sharma about the importance of gender equality, humanity and empathy, and living with solid morals. Til Kumari Sharma reviews Brenda Mohammed’s poetry collection Break the Silence, about ending drug addiction, domestic violence, and human trafficking. Nordona Norqulova describes strategies world governments use to combat terrorism. Til Kumari Sharma also expresses her hope for a world where women, children, and everyone is treated with respect.

Patrick Sweeney’s one-line senryus decenter the author as head of the universe. Mark Young contributes a fresh set of altered geographies. Baskin Cooper describes encounters slightly mysterious and askance. Christopher Bernard describes the frenzied, ghostly glamour of Cal Performances’ recent production of Red Carpet.

Brian Barbeito reflects on the wonder and spiritual curiosity he finds in natural landscapes. Su Yun’s collection of poetry from Chinese elementary school students reflects care for and admiration of the natural world and also a sense of whimsy and curiosity. Stephen Jarrell Williams’ short poems depict an escape from overcrowded cities back into nature. Vaxabdjonova Zarnigor discusses the chemical composition of chia seeds and their nutritional value. Nidia Garcia celebrates the natural environment and urges people to plant trees. Madina Abdisalomova reminds us that environmental care and stewardship is everyone’s responsibility.

Mahbub Alam extols the beauty of morning and nature in his Bangladeshi home. Jonathan Butcher’s poetry explores the different rooms in which we make our lives and the stories they could tell about us. J.T. Whitehead shows how external cleaning can parallel interior personal development. Srijani Dutta discusses her personal spiritual journey in prayer to the divine of at least a few faiths.

Alexandros Stamatoulakis announces his new novel The Lonely Warrior: In the Wings of the Condor, about a man discovering himself in the midst of a tumultuous modern environment. Chris Butler’s wry poetry explores long-lasting, but hopefully not implacable, truisms of the human condition. Ana Glendza speaks to the fear and insecurities that come with being human. Kavi Nielsen speaks to the experience of loneliness and rejection.

Noah Berlatsky satirizes faux-human tech support and our efforts to understand our whole world through technology. Timothee Bordenave outlines innovative ways to improve electricity transmission as Abdurofiyeva Taxmina Avazovna discusses treatments for cataracts.

Zarifaxon O’rinboyeva’s short story presents a woman overcoming poverty and grief to become a physician. Doug Hawley reflects on the ups and downs of summer jobs. Turdiyeva Guloyim’s poetic essay shares a complex emotional tapestry of childhood village memories. Rahmataliyeva Aidakhon highlights the importance of grasping folktales to understanding Uzbek heritage and culture. Madina Azamjon highlights the literary importance of Hamid Olimjon’s writing and how he drew on Uzbek folk culture for inspiration. Gulsanam Qurbonova extols the linguistic and cultural education she has received at her university. Ermatova Dilorom Bakhodirjonova explains the intertwined nature of Uzbek language and culture and the need to preserve both.

Mukhammadjonova Ugiloy celebrates her school and the sports and student leadership education she received there. Choriyeva Oynur outlines benefits of integrating technology into education. Abdirashidova Ozoda outlines the importance of encouraging and fostering creativity for preschool students. Nilufar Mo’ydinova discusses ways to encourage second language acquisition at an early age.

Anila Bukhari’s poetry celebrates the creative spirit surviving amid poverty and oppression. Taro Hokkyo’s prose poem details his protagonist’s escape from emotional and spiritual darkness to rise to the heights of creativity. Alan Catlin’s barman odyssey explores the roots of creative inspiration.

Emran Emon speaks to the recent Nobel Prize award for world literature and the value of writing. Abdusalimova Zukhraxon outlines strategies for teaching the Uzbek language to foreign students. Abdusaidova Jasmina Quvondiqovna shares some of her art and expresses her pride in her native Uzbekistan. Jumanazarova Munojot Elmurod qizi suggests ways to help young children learn to tell time. Qurbonova Madinaxon discusses the importance of games and play in children’s education. Hayotkhon Shermatova outlines issues with Uzbekistan’s educational system and how to address them. Azamova Kumushoy illustrates the importance of teaching language students how to analyze literary texts.

Duane Vorhees revels in erotic sensuality and the learnedness of ancient history. Perwaiz Shaharyar’s poem, translated to English and Italian by Maria Miraglia, celebrates the beauty of the positive aspects of many cultures’ concept of the feminine.

Ismoilova Gulmira celebrates the strength, thoughtfulness, creativity and resilience of Uzbek girls and young women. Abduqahhorova Gulhayo’s poem takes joy in the grace and kindness of young Uzbek girls. Svetlana Rostova finds beauty in everything, even ugliness, loss, and death.

Graciela Noemi Villaverde praises the creative insight of her dance teacher. Saparov Akbar outlines his personal quests and passions and his desire to educate himself and elevate his life. Mesfakus Salahin’s poetry celebrates the artistic inspiration that can come from romantic love.

J.J. Campbell details his middle-aged, disillusioned quest for love or maybe just a little break from reality. Donia Sahib speaks to spiritual and earthly love. Teresa Nocetti’s poem urges a loved one to invite her into their life. Eva Petropoulou Lianou shares a tale of lovers in search for one another.

Graciela Irene Rossetti’s poetry revels in tender gentleness. Mirta Liliana Ramirez expresses the pain of being shamed for who she is. Rezauddin Stalin speaks to partings and farewells. Umida Hamroyeva expresses her love and longing for a departed person.

Ahmed Miqdad speaks of the forgotten sufferings of ordinary people in Gaza. Fiza Amir’s poetry evokes the many personal losses and griefs of wartime. Jacques Fleury reviews Joy Behar’s play My First Ex-Husband, which explores marital and relationship issues in a way that is relatable for many people, married or single.

Mykyta Ryzhykh presents a protagonist who explores alternatives and then revels in his ordinary humanity. H. Mar. shares the joy of day-to-day human companionship.

We hope this issue provides artistic, emotional, and intellectual companionship to you as you peruse the various contributions.

Review of “Break the Silence: Anthology of Verses”. Vol. III  in 2025

      First of all, infinite thanks to Brenda Mohammed to bring this book in light, Florabelle Lutchman to bring nice book cover  and poets around the world who are included here to bring world light.

      The book is the best version of healthy life style that it deals with poems of many poets. Brenda Mohammed  brings very nice thoughts to make society, nation and world better. She wants to mitigate the dirt of  inhumanity through these poems. The poetic theme is to pause drug using, abuse to people, and exploitation to women. The poems have crafted a new shining world to bring peaceful humanity.

       The book mentions about the useless drug addiction and other violence that ruin the world. The suggestion of this book brings concept to make useful and peaceful society where utopian leading will be there. Poems reduce the concept of bad environment of society. This book urges the readers that all poems of poets from different countries suggest not to take drugs, not to engage in trafficking and violence. Then we can create the best and meaningful world.

     Today’s world is full of inhumanity and unethical doings. So, the book provides the higher education to all kinds of people not to fall in rough world and not to endure any injustice for us. Revolution should be there against injustice. The poets inside it revolt against the false matter of evil things of society in which people engage in unethical things. Sometimes we writers are abused by illegal and unethical people. So, this book urges to be ethical and civilized human. Another happy moment in this book is that it is Amazon Best Seller 1 book. Founder Brenda Mohammed inspires we all to express our feelings against all kinds of violence in society.

     So, thanks to the founder and all poets inside it to craft the words of justice. 

MASQUERADE

 using AI

Talem was someone who had once forgotten his own name. He lived in a city where names could be changed as easily as shoes: one in the morning, another in the evening, a third in dreams. The city had no name, or rather, it had all of them at once.

One evening, when the shadows from the streetlights grew thicker than the lamp posts themselves, Talem found a letter at his doorstep. The envelope was black as the ash of a burned book and warm to the touch, as if it had only just been held. Inside was a card, inscribed with silver writing:

INVITATION TO THE GREAT MASQUERADE

Location: The Hall Between Times

Time: When the clocks stop

Bring your mask with you. Or let it find you.

He didn’t remember agreeing to anything, but he was already on his way.

The Hall Between Times was a glass palace, standing in a place where the city ceased to be real. The walls reflected not faces, but possibilities: you could see who you might have become if you had chosen differently. Or whom you had lost by choosing as you did.

Talem was not alone. He found himself among the guests, each wearing a mask — strange, alive, breathing. Some wore the faces of lion-headed beasts, others had the likeness of hawks, some bore golden tridents, while others had six eyes. The masks moved, shifted, as if they were worn not by humans, but by beings with their own life.

Talem wore a blank mask — smooth, like a mirror’s surface. He had received it from a random street vendor as he passed by. The man had said:

— Here, this is it. Without this, you won’t get in.

He felt like an outsider, as if he were a mere shadow against these vivid faces. But that was the point.

He met three of them.

First was Horus, the Egyptian god of the sky. His mask was made of pure gold, with falcon eyes that blazed like the sun. He stood by the window, watching the clouds slowly move, not in a hurry.

— I lost my father’s throne, — he said. — And now I know: the truth cannot be found when it disappears with every glance.

Talem said nothing.

Next was Kali, the destroyer of illusions. Her mask was made from a tangle of skulls and serpents, and she seemed both wild and merciless. Her hands were many, each holding a lotus, a sword, or a bone.

— I do not kill bodies, — she said. — I destroy lies. I become what your soul hides. Look at me, and you will see what you hide. Put on my mask — and you will see what remains of you.

Then came Odin, the god of wisdom and war, his mask made of horns and raven feathers. His gaze was penetrating, as if he knew what would happen to everyone in this hall a thousand years from now.

— I gave up sight for wisdom, — he spoke. — But now I don’t know what to do with it. No matter how much you know, the answer is always hidden in another question. Are you ready to find that question?

But Talem did not take any of their masks. He simply remained silent, listening to their words, which seemed to grow emptier with each passing moment.

The next gods approached.

On the balcony, far from the rest, stood Tlaloc, the Aztec god of rain, wearing a mask of jade. He laughed, but his laugh sounded like a storm, a prelude to disaster. His fingers slid through a bowl filled with water.

— People call me good when they desire rain. And evil when I bring floods. Are you ready to be the one who no one understands? The one who is both condemned and exalted at the same time?

Then in a corner appeared Ereshkigal, the Sumerian goddess of the underworld. Her mask was made of burnt clay, with eyes that seemed to peer into eternity.

— I was once the sister of the sky, — she whispered. — Now I lie beneath the earth. Are you ready to consume darkness? To be the one who never sees the light?

But even she did not tempt Talem to wear her image. Instead, he approached one corner of the hall, where stood the Nameless — a god whose name had never been known. His mask had no eye sockets, and his face was just a dark void.

— Who are you? — asked Talem.

— I was a god, but I was forgotten. My name no longer echoes in prayers, but perhaps you know me. I am the one who is never remembered but always present. I am the future of all gods, even if no one remembers us.

Talem was silent once again.

At midnight, when all the clocks in the Hall Between Times stopped, the Exchange began — an ancient ritual in which the gods could leave their masks. And the mortals could take them, to become what they were not.

Talem felt the weight of many hands before him, each holding a mask, each offering a promise.

— You are empty, — said Kali, extending her mask. — But this emptiness can be anything. Fill it with me, and you will become the one who destroys illusions.

— Or become mine, — said Odin, holding out his mask, full of wisdom and loss. — Become the one who sees, but cannot close his eyes.

— Are you ready to be the one who gives everything and takes everything away? — asked Tlaloc, his mask flashing like rain in the light.

Talem stood in the center of the hall, feeling their eyes on him, the weight of these possibilities. But he did not move. He simply looked at them.

— All of you fear emptiness, — he said softly. — But I do not fear it. I do not want to be someone I do not know. I do not want to wear a mask. I am a human. And I choose to be empty, but real.

He took off his blank mask and placed it on the floor.

A silence settled over the hall, like a cloud that absorbs the light. The gods were silent. They did not speak, but there was something new in their eyes. Fear. Respect. Understanding.

Talem turned and left. Behind him, the gods remained, once again locked in their masks, which now seemed not alive, but simply dust in the air.

When he stepped outside, the morning was already knocking at the city windows. He walked, and the world seemed the same. But Talem knew: now, he was just a human. And that was enough.

LET’S  PLANT A TREE

Let’s plant a tree

Deep in the earth

This gives pure air

It’s my greatest wish.

We can participate

And almost without realizing it

Take care of our land

So that we can enjoy

the National Parks.

Like the finest pearl

More beautiful and more valuable

This is the divine land

I don’t think of anything else.

Let’s keep the air clean

Also the land and the water.

There’s no time to lose

Tomorrow will be too late.

Nidia Amelia García, from Buenos Aires, Argentina, is a writer and an active member of Juntos por las Letras (Together for Letters). She has participated in numerous virtual events in Uruguay, Paraguay, Bolivia, Spain, Colombia, Portugal, Nigeria, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and elsewhere. She has also contributed to literary anthologies such as “Books of the Immortals” and “Anthology of the 50 Poets of the World 2022.”