Mirta Liliana Ramírez has been a poet and writer since she was 12 years old. She has been a Cultural Manager for more than 35 years. Creator and Director of the Groups of Writers and Artists: Together for the Letters, Artescritores, MultiArt, JPL world youth, Together for the letters Uzbekistan 1 and 2. She firmly defends that culture is the key to unite all the countries of the world. She works only with his own, free and integrating projects at a world cultural level. She has created the Cultural Movement with Rastrillaje Cultural and Forming the New Cultural Belts at the local level and also from Argentina to the world.
There is no experience quite like sitting alone in a totally darkened barroom at 5 AM on a Sunday morning staring at the upturned legs of the barstools, drinking pints of Bass Ale, listening to the leaking faucet drip into the stainless-steel sink.
The second hand scans the face of the clock, smoke rings dissipate in the antique, hand engraved Harp Lager mirror behind the bar.
The barman considers the room; the beer puddles on the peeling linoleum floor, the mud-streaked foot sliding prints, the broken glass shards, the spent matches, the blackened cigarette ends, the twisted plastic drink sticks, the wadded paper napkins strewn everywhere amidst the general rubble.
The barman considers these details of his life quietly as he drinks his Bass.
The clock hands move, the water drips, this is chaos revealed, this is the silent hour, the quiet hour when all that remains are the smoking ruins after The Fall.
Ordering Details:
In the heat of the night the barman consolidates his orders.
Pours beers from chrome plated taps, shakes drinks one handed over his shoulder, cracks ice in the palm of his left hand with a mallet wielded by his right hand.
Considers his world.
Finds Poems:
Music Men
They heard
tunes in
their heads
no one else
would ever
hear
They were
so whacked
out on
where they
had come
from and
where they
were going
they didn’t
have any
time for
the here
and the now
They were
music men
lost in
the ozone
and their
plane was
coming down
so fast
you could
see the
spirals
in their
eyes
More quarters fall into the jukebox. The pin ball machines in the background are ringing, automatically totaling unknowable scores.
Working Details:
The barman is an extremely precise, particular man of habit.
All the tools of his trade: his bottles, glasses, fruit mixes, and the like must be exactly where they are meant to be all the time.
Whenever he assumes a shift, he scrupulously examines the subject and orders his material; creates an environment in which he may comfortably function.
Riders of the Purple Sage
Had that
well worn
world weary
look of
men who’d
spent too
much time
somewhere
people
shouldn’t
go
Said ” line
‘em up boys.”
as if this
were the
last chance
saloon
Creation Details:
In the heat of the night, the barman considers his room as if it were a blank sheet of paper; every crowd as a mass of unknowns which must be ordered and controlled.
It is the barman’s role to assign meaning to every detail, to every person, to everything that he sees
Downhill Racer
She didn’t
look like
the crazy type
but she kept
switching her
drinks as if
she didn’t know
what event
she’d signed up
for
All I knew
was she’d
better look
out
She was going
down the
hill way
too fast
The Savage Muse, Details:
Outlaw
He was
plenty heavy
alright
Had all
of those
classic
bad moves
you associate
with movie
bad guys
out West
I thought
maybe he
had a black
hat in the
trunk of
his car
Thought maybe
he carried
a gun
and knew
how to use
it
thought
maybe he
was after
my ass
just for
the hell
of it
As an artist, the barman has no time for motivations; his only concern is the effect of the cause.
Escaping Details:
The Tenth Victim
She had
the look
of a woman
waiting
for her
tenth victim
She wore
only enough
clothes to
keep her
from being
arrested
Had a long
thin scar
the length
of her
right fore-
arm
Asked me
for a Vodka
Gimlet
Up
Sat drinking
her 20 dollar
bill until it
was gone
watching the
door
Watching me
in case
he didn’t
show
The barman is an escape artist.
He lives out on the street unprotected, confronting his material head on, directly engaging in a vicious, psychic tug of war with his savage muse.
At the end of his nightly struggle, the barman watches the sun rise outside the darkened barroom drinking Bass Ale as the water drips in the stainless-steel sink.
He is always too numb and too tired to look for or to find poems.
Application of innovative game technologies for primary school students
Abstract: This article highlights the importance of using game-based innovative technologies in the education and upbringing of primary school students. In modern pedagogical approaches, game activity is considered as an important factor that increases the activity of students, develops their thinking, independent decision-making, and creative thinking. The article analyzes ways to increase the effectiveness of lessons through interactive game technologies, digital game platforms, and didactic games. It is also shown that game-based innovative methods serve to increase students’ interest in subjects, develop their socio-psychological activity, and organize the educational process in a joyful environment.
Abstract: This article highlights the importance of using innovative game technologies in the education of primary school students. In modern pedagogical approaches, game activity is considered an important factor that increases student activity, develops their thinking, independent decision-making, and creative thinking. The article analyzes ways to increase lesson effectiveness through interactive game technologies, digital game platforms, and didactic games. It is also shown that innovative game methods can increase students’ interest in subjects, develop their socio-psychological activity, and serve to organize the learning process in a joyful environment.
Abstract: The article examines the importance of using innovative game technologies in primary school education. In modern pedagogical approaches, game activity is considered as an important factor that increases students’ activity, develops their thinking, independent decision-making, and creative thinking. The article analyzes ways to increase lesson effectiveness through interactive game technologies, digital game platforms, and didactic games. It is also shown that innovative game methods can increase students’ interest in the subject, develop their socio-psychological activity, and serve to organize the learning process in an engaging atmosphere.
In today’s era of globalization, the introduction of innovative technologies into the education system has become the main task of every teacher. Especially at the stage of primary education, the use of game-based innovative technologies in accordance with the age characteristics of students makes their learning process interesting, active, and effective. Because learning through play is a natural process for a child, in which independent thinking, communication, cooperation, and a creative approach are formed.
Innovative game technologies are understood as teaching methods in the form of a game, including interactive, digital, and creative elements in the educational process. They attract students to the lesson, increase learning motivation, and play an important role in consolidating knowledge. Play is the most important way for a child to express themselves, and for their further formation and improvement.
Games have an important place and special significance in children’s lives. Games mainly occupy a leading place in labor and educational activities. This is constantly and inextricably linked with these activities. Games, which constitute the main content of preschool children’s lives, activate all existing characteristics and opportunities in the child. The child moves, communicates, thinks, and at the same time perceives, satisfies needs, and understands the consequences of their actions.
Qurbonova Madinaxon was born in the Shahrisabz district of Kashkadarya region, Uzbekistan. She is a student of the Nizami Tashkent State Pedagogical University, majoring in Primary Education. Madinakhon is the author of several poems and creative-scientific works.
She is a holder of the “Yuksak Ilm Fidoiysi” (Devotee of Great Science) badge of honor. She is also a graduate of the “SMM School” grant project and actively serves as a volunteer.
From contributor Peter Dellolio: I’ve been very fortunate to have a short story collection and a book of new poems to be released this year. The short story collection is with Cyberwit.net and the poetry book is with Lost Telegram Press.
Eva Lianou Petropoulou shares the news about an upcoming poetry contest seeking all styles of poetry. Pieces are due November 30, 2025 and must never have won any other awards and must be accompanied by an Italian or French translation.
Contributor Jaylan Salah is between writing jobs and seeking a remote position from her home in Alexandria, Egypt. She’s got a background in literary and film criticism. Please let us know if you have a position for her or know of someone who’s hiring for gig or traditional employment.
Also, Synchronized Chaos’ first November issue will stop accepting submissions on October 26th. We’ll include anything sent to us on or before that date in November’s first issue.
Now, for this month’s issue: Union and Dissolution.
We explore ways we embrace and come together and ways we pull apart, divide or individuate ourselves.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand reflects on the closeness of family and how each of us seeks and needs loved ones. Maftuna Rustamova also speaks to the joy and importance of family in our lives. Priyanka Neogi contributes a tender and short love poem to a special man as Sevinch Kuvvatova pays tribute to loving mothers everywhere.
Fadi Sido shares of love and beauty concealed and revealed. Ibrahim Honjo crafts a romantic scene of love, youth, and brass bands. Mahbub Alam celebrates the renewing energy of youth. Kandy Fontaine and Alex S. Johnson’s Gogol-esque short story addresses the tenuous relationship many of us have with our bodies in a world where youth and beauty can be commodified.
Nicholas Gunter reflects on the anniversary of losing his father as Norman J. Olson contributes written and drawn sketches of country and farm life as a memorial to his deceased cousin Bill. Kassandra Aguilera grieves her deceased mother through dream conversations.
Ollie Sikes ponders requited and unrequited love. Mirta Liliana Ramirez speaks to the pain of love betrayed. Dilobar Maxmarejabova’s story highlights the harm done to children when parents don’t step up to the plate. Tea Russo sings a ballad of a loveless entertainer. Umida Hamroyeva sends up a poem of grief for a lost loved one as Taro Hokkyo expresses the visceral pain of losing his beloved, his spiritual home. Allison Grayhurst renders up a multi-section epic poem on emotional healing after the betrayal of a friend. Bill Tope’s story highlights prejudices people with disabilities face in the dating world.
The precarious political situation in the United States feeds into J.J. Campbell’s poems of personal disillusionment and slow grief. Ng Yu Hng reviews Nikolina Hua’s poetry, discussing how it evokes personal and societal sorrows. Kandy Fontaine speaks of a traumatizing and destabilizing encounter with a supposed professional in a piece that encourages readers to ponder how we use social power in our own lives. Mykyta Ryzhykh’s fresh poems speak with a tone of cynical self-loathing. In Kandy Fontaine’s second story, seduction and intimacy become weapons in a dystopian world where hybrid life forms feed off of others’ grief.
Srijani Dutta’s poetic speakers use memory and imagination to fill in the gaps created by miscommunication and mistrust in reality. Chloe Schoenfeld’s piece depicts music as a force to help two forgetful people hold onto their memories.
Dino Kalyvas sets a poem about universal human respect and dignity from Eva Lianou Petropoulou to music. Abigail George poetically asserts her unity with all of the world’s diverse creative people. Jacques Fleury defines himself in his poem on his own terms, part of the human race and sharing in universal human ancestry. Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews poet Nasser Alshaikhamed about the high aspirations he has for his poetry and for humanity. She also interviews Russian poet Olga Levadnaya about craft and the journey to peace through repentance. Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee poetizes about good overcoming evil in the form of the Goddess Durga slaying a demon. Graciela Noemi Villaverde elaborates on the transformative power of poetry as Dr. Brent Yergensen dramatizes one of Jesus’ parables in verse.
Niloy Rafiq harnesses a courtroom metaphor to highlight how he speaks the truth through his art. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva composes an essay on the purpose and value of the written word. Damon Hubbs depicts an encounter with the ambience and aesthetic of William Butler Yeats as he drinks in Dublin. Z.I. Mahmud probes layers of meaning in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, how his understanding of Shylock and racial and religious prejudice might have gone deeper than we realize.
To’raqulova Pokiza discusses ways to enhance student speaking and communicative competence in English as a second language. Abdirashidova Ozoda discusses how to encourage preschoolers to develop communication skills related to socializing. Hasanboyev Sardorbek urges educational leaders to make computer literacy and communication via computer an educational priority. Texas Fontanella connects a variety of words and images and references together in a series of text messages. Mark Young plays with words and images, exploring and stretching meaning.
Damion Hamilton speaks to common human, traditionally masculine fears and aspirations. Taylor Dibbert’s poem speaks to the ordinary and universal annoyance of food poisoning as Chimezie Ihekuna recollects sentiments of resilience during the Covid-19 pandemic. Lan Qyqualla’s poetry melds themes of love, loss, longing, and transformation.
Anthony Chidi Uzoechi’s prose poem evokes the weight of historical grief and suffering in the lives of many people of color. Maja Milojkovic reflects on the nihilistic destruction of war. Bill Tope laments and fears recent dark turns in American politics. Til Kumari Sharma speaks up for young people, women and girls, and the students fighting in the 2025 Nepali uprising. Duane Vorhees also speaks of revolution, along with sensuality, coupling, and new life.
Andre Osorio uncovers a language of resistance and survival in Hua Ai’s new poetry collection Exiles Across Time. Daniela Chourio-Soto draws on artistic language and metaphor to speak to despair as part of the human experience.
Alan Catlin mulls over the precarity and drama of human existence. Yongbo Ma crafts moments of inflection, when matters will soon change, as part of his commentary that movement is life and stasis becomes despair. Nicholas Vigiletti evokes the ennui and frustration of low wage, dead end jobs.
Jessica Hu’s strange poetry speaks to a brutal and cold world. Mesfakus Salahin implores nature’s wild elements not to ruin his joyful union with his beloved.
Aurelia Preskill reflects on the beauty of an apple and how easily Adam and Eve could have been tempted and forever changed. Sayani Mukherjee reflects on autumnal magic and metamorphoses. Rafi Overton gives us a butterfly’s reflection on his past metamorphosis and how what he truly needed was self-love regardless of physical status.
Ari Nystrom-Rice reflects on how people and nature, in the form of the ocean, are inseparable. Stephen Jarrell Williams’ poetic speaker shares many facets of his memories of the sea. Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin’s tan-renga convey different “moods” of nature: resilience, fear, aggression, and coexistence. Yongbo Ma evokes loneliness through images of burned-out spiders out of silk for their webs.
Abigail George reviews Rehanul Hoque’s novel The Immigrant Catfish, a parable about greed and environmental mismanagement and destruction. Bill Tope and Doug Hawley’s story narrates the redemption of a man who comes to protect birds he once carelessly killed. Jennie Park’s artwork shows a tender care for the natural world amid the threats it faces.
Brian Barbeito delves deeply into the nature and mysteries of one particular spot in the country. Other writers do the same for ordinary and individual people. Noah Berlatsky points out the subtle tragedy underlying Job’s Biblical story: the way the ending inadvertently suggests that people are interchangeable and thus disposable.
Teresa Nocetti uses a pillow to evoke the complex feelings of a person heading to sleep. Nidia Amelia Garcia does something similar with poetry concerning the history of wrinkles on human faces. Tanner Guiglotto presents a visceral battle with self-doubt. Ellie Hill explores different aspects of a teacup image to comment on how she possesses both delicacy and strength.
Muhammadjonova Ogiloy reviews Otkir Hoshimov’s story collection Ozbeklar, which highlights the dignity and beauty of common hardworking country Uzbeks. Pardaboyeva Charos spotlights the craft of Uzbek embroidery. Fali Ndreka highlights the creativity and skill showcased at Art Basel Miami.
Mushtariybonu Abdurakhimova relates her experiences at a cultural and academic youth development program. Her fellow students highlight other areas of study and knowledge. Aliya Abdurasulova outlines nuances of programming in the C++ language. Shahlo Rustamova’s essay reminds us of the importance of maintaining thyroid health. Ike Boat celebrates the career and skill of martial arts actress Cynthia Rotrock.
Dildora Khujyazova suggests a balanced and optimistic view of economic and cultural globalization, pointing out how individual creators can take advantage of the chance to bring their creativity to wider markets.
Synchronized Chaos International Magazine is intended as a venue for creators of all types around the world to display their works. We hope you enjoy this mingling of ideas!
Marla woke up flat-chested and full of dread. Her tits had left her.
Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. They had packed up their nipple rings, slathered on some coconut oil, and walked out sometime between 3:17 and 4:06 a.m., leaving behind a note scrawled in eyeliner on the bathroom mirror:
“We’re tired of being your emotional support meat. We’re going corporate. Don’t wait up.”
She stared at her reflection, now a pale slab of chest meat, and screamed. Not because she missed them. Because she knew what they were capable of.
2. The ATM Incident
Three days later, she spotted them at a Chase Bank ATM on Sunset.
They were wearing a vintage Vivienne Westwood corset, nipple tassels shaped like dollar signs, and a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on their areolas. The left one—always the sassier—was tapping away at the keypad with a manicured finger. The right one was sipping a matcha latte through a straw tucked into its cleavage.
Marla approached, hoodie pulled tight around her hollow chest.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Those are my tits.”
The left breast turned. “We prefer independent assets now.”
The right one blew a kiss and said, “We’re building a brand.”
3. The Debt Spiral
Marla tried to file a missing body part report. The cop laughed so hard his mustache fell off and scurried away like a cockroach.
She remembered The Nose by Gogol. How the nose dressed in a military uniform and refused to acknowledge its owner. Her breasts were worse. They were buying NFTs, investing in crypto, and launching a podcast called Boobonomics.
She saw them on a billboard for OnlyTans, a tanning salon they co-owned with a rogue spleen from Belarus.
Her credit score plummeted. Her name was attached to six maxed-out cards, a yacht rental in Ibiza, and a failed startup called “Nipple Futures LLC.”
4. The Podcast
Marla tracked them down to a podcast studio in Silver Lake.
They were being interviewed by a sentient vape pen named Chad.
“So, tell me,” Chad wheezed, “how did you go from being attached to a nobody to becoming icons of financial freedom?”
The left breast giggled. “We were tired of being objectified. So we became the object.”
The right one added, “We’re launching a lingerie line called Hostile Takeover.”
Marla burst in, breathless. “You’re ruining my life!”
The breasts blinked. “Do we know you?”
5. The Arrest
The FBI finally caught up with them.
Marla was arrested alongside her breasts for wire fraud, identity theft, and racketeering. They were accused of laundering money through a shell company called “BoobCoin.”
In the interrogation room, Detective Slade leaned in. His jaw was a meat cleaver. His libido, a broken fire hydrant.
“Tell me who’s behind this.”
The breasts giggled. “We are, Daddy.”
They seduced him with a slow bounce and a whispered promise of “interest-free pleasure.” He let them out on bail. Marla stayed cuffed.
6. The Showdown
Marla was released two days later. She found them in her apartment, sipping absinthe and watching reruns of Murder, She Wrote.
“You sold me out,” she growled.
“We upgraded,” they purred.
She lunged. They countered.
It was a knock-down, drag-out, tit-on-girl brawl. Fishnets tore. Lipstick smeared. The left breast bit her ear. The right one tried to gouge her eye with a stiletto heel.
They collapsed together, bruised and panting.
7. The Suffocation
Marla fell asleep on the floor, bloodied and exhausted.
She awoke to find her breasts trying to suffocate her, wrapping around her face like fleshy boa constrictors.
“Enough!” she screamed, grabbing a pair of bondage ropes from under the bed.
She tied them up, tight and trembling.
They moaned.
“Oh, you like that,” she said.
“We’ve always wanted a domme,” they whispered.
8. The Kink Ever After
Now they live together in a one-bedroom apartment above a taxidermy shop.
Marla is the Mistress. Her breasts are her submissives.
They pay off their debt one spank at a time.
Every night, she whispers to them:
“You may have left me once. But now? You’re mine.”
And they reply, in unison:
“Yes, Mistress. Forever and ever. Amen.”
9. Epilogue: The Nose Knows
Sometimes, late at night, Marla dreams of Gogol’s nose.
It floats past her window in a military uniform, saluting her with a crooked smile.
She salutes back.
Because in this world, body parts have ambitions. And sometimes, they just need a little discipline.
It hasn’t rained in a while. I hope it does soon. The earth needs the rain and besides, all the clouds and winds and strange atmospheric things that come with the rain are more interesting and inspiring than a sunny day.
You know though, come to think of it, the meadow, the place where much of this writing’s events and thoughts are set, is rarely completely dry. Its grasses and earth seem to retain some moisture, somehow. It is sagacious that way. I know because my shoes, most of the time Converse, high top yellow and regular blue (both faded now), get wet there.
Today there were a few souls along the path, coming back as they were, but after I passed them, not many. Not any at all in fact. Let me give some context to the place. It’s after towns and highways and even roads. In fact, the road ends at the beginning of the forest, having turned from asphalt to gravel to dirt.
There is a public forest to the right. It attracts dog walkers, hikers, joggers, bike riders, photographers, walking groups, and sometimes homeless people. Sometimes there is even a type that is hiding out from something like the law or people in general, a type that stays in the woodlands when others would not in parts where others don’t go.
But to the left is a private forest. This is the one that leads to the meadow. The meadow is like a golden treat at the end of a journey, a beautiful goal if ever there was one. There are two definite and visible No Tress passing signs at its two entrances. People obey them. But some lucky souls like me have permission from the old farmer that owns the land, to go there.
Two
There is something else, something bordering on the esoteric or gnostic. It’s insight seen while driving to that entrance of the forest that leads to the meadow. Since it’s rural, there are many sprawling properties. Many affluent homes, the new ones, are grey and without character. They just copy one another. It’s doubly sad, because of the copying but also what’s being duplicated. Not a thing in it all looks unique or soulful, not even a special trellis or bit of coloured brick, sounding fountain, or flowing garden.
But…I noticed that some places have older homes, from a time of wooden porch and red brick and chimney. From an era of grounded-ness and more honest atmosphere. And beyond rain barrel and sunflower, past stained perimeter fence and sometimes no fence at all, I could see a pond and little forest back there. They would contain a different area-atmosphere. Mysterious, even in the plane light of day under the clean azure sky. It’s as if the prose of the world turned into poetry, then. Trees. Leaves. Branches. What was back there? I wished I could know. I longed to go. But I knew none of them, not one of those owners. I supposed that they took the magic for granted, these sprawling old lands. And how could they not, if they indeed did? It was their reality. Lucky ones, that’s what they were, however hard working, they were still lucky. All I could do was drive by. Being an empath, I could just feel the areas even for moments and from a distance. I loved it. They were as if containing portals or vortexes to other worlds magical and monumental.
Often I imagine the coyote dens, the travelling foxes, the large porcupines. I knew there must be deer that wait and watch near there, because I had seen them. Maybe there were types of insects rare or not even discovered by scientific or poetic eyes. The scents of the flora. The sounds of the rains at night. The woodpecker or Bluejay. Strange snakes representing the kundalini energy. The kind summer dew morning. The autumnal hued leaves when that highly spiritual time came, the veil between worlds thinning. Halloween, Thanksgiving. Then some string of electric lights for Christmas. And much more. How come I couldn’t have a place like that? What a caretaker and curator I could be, surely would be. Ah well, I would think and sigh it away with a brief smile. What was meant to be, would be.
Three
Well, the path. What of it? And then the meadow itself of course. Go past the signs and there are two options, no, three. The top after heading left has itself stationed on the uppermost part of a long and winding valley. It is safe but the side does become steep if you go off the regular way. Deer cross there sometimes and other times hide in the bushes by the thick trees. Wild berries grow and there are snake holes, many sticks, and lichen and moss. The one grouse I had, only one slight one, is that there are very few rocks or boulders. I don’t know if they were removed or just never there. It would be nice to see some cinematic view of the lands through time to note small and large changes, to watch the valley and its surrounding habitat move, grow, glisten, and weather or bloom.
In the middle down the way is, well, the middle path, thicker on the sides especially of late for some reason. More raspberries, a hybrid berry of some sort, half black and half red. Many birds and numerous chipmunks running for cover at the sound of things or else up trees to safety, talking to their friends. The trail is bumpy in parts but also serene. So uninhabited by human presence. Mostly pristine and untouched. Those are the real ‘moments,’ nature lovers look for,- the meditative and quiet, the Zen-like phenomenon of being present amidst a type of natural mystical sense…
And the more main path, it’s old Oak trees and some Evergreens, straight for a while but also winding along. Mushrooms and pebbles, good old dirt earth and sometimes the rain drops left on leaves after a night storm. Walk and walk and walk. See and be and have a certain amount of glee. Soon enough, part Pine and placid easy places,
going along there by the verdant canopy where bits of sun filter down through to say hello, will be the magnificent meadow waiting.
Suddenly it can be seen through a frame of red sumac that reaches over both sides of the path arching to itself. Blue skies beyond. A green swath is cut all around and some ancient farm machinery wait in the middle like a token gesture, a nod to other decades. The sun lights everything then. Continue. A corpse of trees is waiting to the right. Birds fly in and out. Some to sing and some to speak their speech loquaciously and vigorously.
Onward is a way to a lower area where chaga mushroom, rare and not known by many, grow on some birch streets in a certain stand of them. The blooming earth has overtaken an ancient access road where a bank robber is said to have abandoned a stolen car, then gotten away while hiding in barns for nights and running between forests and meadows under the light of the moon. Now such an old story, but there is an actual abandoned car from that time down there, and everyone, even straight and upright old timers, are rooting for him. Some have him escaping out all with the loot and somehow making his way to down to Florida. Maybe a personal dream projection from some old storyteller local. Maybe not.
But drama, thoughts, and time come and go. The goldenrod and queens lace, impossibly tall, a refuge for myriad bugs and insects and the home of grasshoppers dragonflies and even the Praying Mantis, seem to stay. Tall and well-wrought in the clean air world. Every direction then is green and vast, open, and calm, pastoral and perfectly put.
——-
Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian poet, writer, and photographer. His third compilation of prose poems and pictures, The Book of Love and Mourning, is forthcoming in autumn 2025.
Maja Milojković was born in Zaječar and divides her life between Serbia and Denmark. In Serbia, she serves as the deputy editor-in-chief at the publishing house Sfairos in Belgrade.She is also the founder and vice president of the Rtanj and Mesečev Poets’ Circle, which counts 800 members, and the editor-in-chief of the international e-magazine Area Felix, a bilingual Serbian-English publication. She writes literary reviews, and as a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and international literary magazines, anthologies, and electronic media. Some of her poems are also available on the YouTube platform. Maja Milojković has won many international awards. She is an active member of various associations and organizations advocating for peace in the world, animal protection, and the fight against racism. She is the author of two books: Mesečev krug (Moon Circle) and Drveće Želje (Trees of Desire). She is one of the founders of the first mixed-gender club Area Felix from Zaječar, Serbia, and is currently a member of the same club. She is a member of the literary club Zlatno Pero from Knjaževac, and the association of writers and artists Gorski Vidici from Podgorica, Montenegro.
