Poetry from Philip Butera

Flawed

Orchids are delicate,

a passion,

an obsession.

Roses are appropriate

for love

or death.

The Buttercup is overlooked

and the Easter Lily

is always acting

to entice you.

Know

that I love lilacs.

They are not bashful.

They announce their presence

even before being seen.

I am careful or careless

depending on one’s

definition.

Simply self-assured or selfish,

depending on my mood.

Flowers are intriguing images,

like a dazzling ring on a finger

or a glowing branding iron

about to touch your heart.

Lost thoughts gather

among the clouds

and then disappear

when the Sun

breaks through.

That same Sun

that nourishes flowers,

turns them pale yellow

and

brittle at the edges.

I can’t seem to grasp my actions,

I love,

I lose.

I buy flowers

they die.

I once had dreams

but they were flawed

often centered

on sight and scent.

Picture me in a garden

surrounded

by beautiful flowers

celebrating summer.

I was among the Tulips

and

unprepared for

the wrecking ball

about to smash

into my desires.

It only took

a few words

and what was colorful and stunning

and what was not

became questionable and gray.

Leaden gray.

Gray, the blush

of no garden.

I notice Marigolds now.

Golden Marigolds.

They are polite

not intrusive.

They give one permission

to see beyond

what is staring

past them.

Philip received his M.A. in Psychology from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada. He has published five books of poetry, Mirror Images and Shards of Glass, Dark Images at Sea, I Never Finished Loving You, Falls from Grace, Favor and High Places, and Forever Was Never On My Mind. Three novels, Caught Between (Which is also a 24-episode Radio Drama Podcast https://wprnpublicradio.com/caught-between-teaser/), Art and Mystery: The Missing Poe Manuscript, and Far From Here. Philip also has a column in the quarterly magazine Per Niente. He enjoys all things artistic.

Poetry from Alex S. Johnson

Person with long light brown hair, a dark hat, and reading glasses sits in a swivel chair inside.

Visible, For Ellyn (Maybe?)

As I wait for our nearly ten hour conversation to upload

This poem is always already published in heaven

with respects to Patti Smith

“Oh wow”-Ellyn Maybe

“There’s something in the collective paw of the world”-also Ellyn (“Whiff of Wonder”)

So where do I begin

of all the

Encomiums pinned to the

goddess fold this is among

The flowers

the surface of the turf of the waves of the silver mine

The dramatic unfolding of the rose within the heart of matter melting into infinity

The remarkable steep climb down/up a very short/long limbed cliff

That makes the counterintuitive look like:

The breath of God

Or maybe the ear God scratches on its fins

Or maybe the…

Gosh

Golly

So yeah

so yeah

so yeah

(Giggles)

Wow, what a trip, right?

I agree

That was wild!!!

A really intense, pleasurable, purely innocent

walk on the moon’s moon

walk on the star’s spume

Walk along the

Hands of the

Golden clock walk in the

Shade of the garden of the

Fauns

and frankly, fuck

Adam and Eve

Nothing against them, but boy is that mythology

Begging for a reboot ‘

Let’s let lapsarian swim some

Laps at the bottom of Rimbaud’s alchemy of the Word

L’alchemie du verbe

Let’s allow the glow to

Gather at our

Toes let’s

Freeze frame this desolate timeline for once and

All

Let’s make quantum theory look like Santa Claus

Flowing in and out of the chimney of God’s

Hair

Let’s make quantum computing look like if

Iceland

was really

Sweden was really

A

Forest of star-spangled

Elephant meerkats

Let’s turn over

First principles

Let’s unearth

the

Satellites we stole apparently Emily Dickinson

Let’s deface the astral mime-field of

Walt Whitman let’s and

Let’s and

Lettuce

See

What is at the end of

The final fork

Oh beauty of a dream of life, terrible and

wonderful and

throned in blood

Oh verite cinema complex where

dragons hit the

Snuff pipe of radiation

Oh Weimar complex where the

Dusseldorf vampire is doing bumps with

The Sno-cone nose of

Adolf Hister

Let’s turn over a new lava lump

and glow

glow

glow

Like

Fabulous

Opera…

Love is a multiple Folio William Shakespeare’s sonnets

paddled out through the

Desert of the waters of the

Future

Love is a pincushion made of

Elves in a

Sidereal blast you

jogged me at the

Elbow saying

In the end it will

be

Okay in the

End it was our communal landing strip where

Bob Dylan and

Dylan Thomas and

William Blake and

All the other

Rock and roll niggers were

Examining the

World’s largest

Tuning farce inside the

Grimdark nostrils of

the grumbling stones.

Photo credit: Alex S. Johnson, taken from a ten-hour zoom conversation Sunday March 23rd, 2025 or it was a minute.

Poetry from Mahbub Alam

Middle aged South Asian man with reading glasses, short dark hair, and an orange and green and white collared shirt. He's standing in front of a lake with bushes and grass in the background.
Mahbub Alam

My Prayers in Ramadan

I dream for the day, O Allah

When you will recall us together, you said

And we get afraid of the condition

Standing before you

What the result may come out to the selves.

At that time the situation will be so grave

Nobody can come forward to save

The near and dear ones without your consent

You, the only King of the whole kings of the universe

We, all will fly to you like the insects

You, the supreme authority, my dear Allah

I dream just like a dreamer

We are all born dreamers in different perspectives

You know very well and you said also

My everyday prayer to you in the Ramadan period

You must fulfill my dream

That you told to keep ready for the dreamers and good doers

I know I am a sinner

But you mercy is more than our sins

I love to be your servant following

What you have told to perform

Though we fail every time

Our deeds are so little

We are so weak and careless to our deeds

Overlooking all the mistakes

I have a firm faith in my breast

You will receive us in your wonderful, loving, unimaginable

So expected charming ‘Jannah’

When nobody can read my heart without you

I am so worthless, useless, helpless to myself

O Allah, please permit my prayer in this holy Ramadan.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

28  March, 2025

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.

Poetry from Lidia Popa

Middle aged light skinned woman with red curly hair and reading glasses with a long shell necklace and a black top.

The road to silence

Through the back door, into the nothingness of the day,

With silent steps I lose myself in the semblance.

From the tumult of the world, I slowly detach myself,

And in the deep calm, I surprise myself.

In the arms of the wind, I listen to them as they return,

Lost thoughts, like a secret fortune.

The silence comes, like a sweet call,

An eternal moment of blessing.

In the shadow of the dawn, under the clear sky,

I search for myself, a liberated soul.

With time I learn that it is not a sin

To be closer to your true self.

Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.

She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

She wrote her first poem at her age of seven. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.

BOOKS

She has published her poems in six books:

in Italy:

1. ” Point different ( to be ) ” – ed. Italian and

2.” In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,

3.“ Sky amphora ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,

in Romania:

4. ” The soul of words” ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,

5.” Syntagms with longing for clover ” ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.

6.” The Voice interior ” LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.

Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban,USA,etc.

Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.

Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.

She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.

She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.

SHE IS

*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)

*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,

*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,

*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina

*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,

*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh

*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada

International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh – 2023

*Founder literary group Lido dell’anima with LIDO DELL’ANIMA AWARDS

*Founder LIDO DELL’ANIMA Italian magazine

*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine

*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry

etc.

Poetry from Makhmasalayeva Jasmina Makhmashukurovna

Young Central Asian woman with brown eyes and dark hair up in a ponytail. She's in a tee shirt with the words "No Hard Feelings" and some black flowers. An abstract design wallpaper is behind her.

Parents

There is no love that can compare to the love of your parents. Your parents raised you, clothed you, cared for you your whole life & never left you.

Nobody can ever replace that. They are the biggest & most precious blessing so whenever you look at them say Alhamdulillah.

Spend quality time with them, show them how much you love & respect them & cherish every moment you have with them.

This life is short so serve them as much as you can. May Allah (swt) grant our parents the highest in Jannah & protect them always, Ameen.

Makhmasalayeva Jasmina Makhmashukurovna is very creative and smart, an easy-going student of the 28th school in Mubarak, Kashkadarya, Uzbekistan.

Essay from Dr. Andrejana Dvornić

Middle aged light skinned blonde woman in a black coat speaking at the Belgrade Book Fair, with a sign behind her.

On Umid Najjari’s Poetry

The Collection of Poems “PHOTO OF DARKNESS”

 “The sharpness of mind is never born in harmonious conditions” (Haruki Murakami).

Cover of poetry book by Umid Najjari. Pencil drawing of a middle aged man in a coat and glasses and turban and a black dripping paint image below the gray and yellow title.

If we look at the origin of someone’s poetry through that prism, then Umid Najjari would be its prominent representative. His literary description and narration confirm that he is a highly intellectual and artistically delicate poet. His poetry is not distant or alien and has no boundaries. His fragile written word has a mighty power of artistic creation, and this is exactly the impression given by the poems in his collection  Photo of Darkness.

Umid Najjari was born in 1989 in Tabriz – East Azerbaijan Province, in northwestern Iran. After completing his studies at Islamic Azad University of Tabriz (2016), he continued his postgraduate studies at Baku Eurasia University, Faculty of Philology in Azerbaijan. As a writer, journalist and translator, he published the books “The land of the birds” and “Beyond the walls”, which stand out in his work. His poems have been translated into many world languages and published in the USA, Canada, Spain, Italy, Turkey, Uzbekistan, Iraq, Georgia and many other countries. He is the winner of “Samad Behrangi” Award (2016) and “Ali bey Hoseinzadeh” Award (2019). He was awarded the “Mihai Eminescu” Award in 2022. He was awarded the International Prize “Medal Alexandre The Great” in 2022. Najjari has also been elected Vice-President of the BOGDANI international writers’ association, with headquarters in Brussels and Pristina. And he is an active member of the Turkic World Young Authors Association.

By combining life and literary experience, Najjari writes poetry that evokes inviolable sense of depth with his readers. Sometimes pointless  and ungenerous descriptions reveal the essence and and let us travel from apparently meaningless to the deep meaningful, from abstraction to real stronghold of events, and by its authenticity they attract the reader to explore further through his poems and to return to them again and again.

A poet of the original style, deep in himself, does not divide the past and the present as the two different spheres, but perceives them as equally dominant and represented with the same intensity in his life.

 There is no harmony between them, expressing deep emptiness and loneliness in his life:

“everything seen in a mirror is loneliness…” (the poem “A homeland as big as umbrella”).

There are many and diverse relationships present in the poem, from immeasurable love to immeasurable nostalgia.

As the themes of Najjari’s poetry, besides longing and helplessness ‘the shadow of longing enters us….sometimes the laughter is the last breath of crying’ (The Shadow of Longing), the poets draws  hints of tragedy in his descriptions – ‘sad black stones in cemeteries’ (The Shadow of tree) that sometimes  even have apocalyptic tones.

Night pains…

Darkness shot into his lap….

So we cannot fly …” (,, I Fire a Match”)  

(implication of despair, variation of sorrow and suffering, a step curled up in despair)

 ‘a pile of fire on the cross…’

Rebellious, unstoppable restlessness of fire is a picture of eternal movement, a world full of opposites, the scene of the constant struggle of opposing forces of light and darkness….. Heraclitus)

The light is a reflection of hope, and the frequent return to a night in poems reminds us of torturous reality, and various sides of dark forces and evil fate of the centuries…

His poetry weeps over the fate of the world, over darkness, without a stronghold of posterity. In his poem The Symphony of Separation he tries to find an escape in oblivion. The lack is strong (Telegram), passing through an awareness of freedom of choice and the need to live.

The poem Absurd mentions Zarathustra, the ancient philosopher, underlining his idea of the essence of our existence represented by the constant struggle between light and darkness, good and evil.

The unequal verses and intermittent rhythm of his poetry remind us of Mayakovsky’s writing. He even mentions him in the same poem by saying: ,,The side of Mayakovsky in my body hurts’, emphasizing the lyrical creation of the suicidal instinct and near death….

Above all the poet glorifies love, in various relations, as the most important and motivating thought in the essence of our being:

‘Open your hands, protect me from the winds, keep me from drying out my eyes….’ (‘They are all excuse’).

This is just one of the possible interpretations of Umid Najjari’s individual and extraordinary poetry.

                                      Andrejana Dvornić, professor and writer

                                      Belgrade, Serbia

Haruki Murakami* – 1Q84 (Book 1)

Poetry from Joseph Ogbonna

An Ottoman label for Cleansing (1915-1923)

An Ottoman label

An Ottoman branding.

To uproot my human development.

A human development of two millennia 

once flourishing in Anatolia.

I was labelled Armenian! 

I was branded Armenian!

By whom?

by merciless Ottomans!

I took a long hike to my own graveyard,

accompanied by the Ottoman funeral cortege.

They played the dead march for my own interment.

My interment in the Syrian desert.

My offence was my identity, and 

a global conflict and its attendant heavy losses.

A conflict I knew little or nothing about.

I was preyed upon by men of beastly testestorone.

Coercively I became a sunni proselyte,

and I was dispossessed of everything vital.

Terribly weakened by an inflicted famished state, I was laid to rest in the Syrian desert.