Judge Santiago Burdon offers his new collection A Charlatan’s Aphorisms for review. Please contact us if you’re interested and we’ll put you in touch with him for a copy.

This is a Best of Collection of both past and new poetry by Judge Santiago Burdon. They were selected by dedicated readers and past publishers. Some have appeared in his books “Not Real Poetry” and “Tequilas Bad Advice Poetry With the Worm.” Judge Santiago Burdon’s poetry is a sophisticated slap in the face. The imagery induces you to clear your throat and shift your weight from one side to the other. Santiago doesn’t waste his words in an attempt to make you comfortable. As a poet he delivers defined grit and structured devastation. He speaks in the language of gasoline fumes and stale cigarette smoke. Always honest and fearless, never apologizing. Know that I am a fan.”

(Jack in the box popping out on the cover of Santiago’s book)

Now for our second October issue, The Shared Human Imagination. In this issue, we look to and draw upon our own creativity and love and that of the many who came before us.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa reflects on life’s complexity and on the overlap between poetry and music. J.J. Campbell’s curmudgeonly poetry explores age, loneliness, music and regret. Murrodillayeva Mohinur mourns her rejection by false friends as Ilhomova Mohichehra celebrates the refuge she finds in her dreams. Umida Jonibekova writes eloquently of clouds and rain.

Diana Magallon crafts visual poetic pieces on the movement of the ocean. Dilnura Qurolova highlights the importance of ecology and environmental awareness. Brian Barbeito probes the worlds within worlds in out-of-the-way corners within nature.

Raquel Barbeito’s visual art stylizes nature-based images. Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photography presents images of cultivation, humans carefully sharing space with and working with the natural world.

Ilhomova Mohichehra revels in the natural and cultural beauty of her Uzbek homeland and also her native region of Zarafshan. Nodira Jorayeva celebrates Uzbekistan’s rich and noble history as Mahliyo Sunnatullayeva reflects on the cultural heritage of Uzbekistan. Rajarbona Sarvinoz looks to ancient Uzbekistan, outlining Central Asian historical leader Amir Temur’s aqueduct engineering. K.C. Fontaine relishes the rich Latin culture of Chicago’s Logan Square.

Otayeva Dinora highlights the dignity and importance of the teaching profession. Rayhona Sobirjonova offers up praise for a respected teacher as Saydinqulova Elenora Olimovna presents solid life advice in the form of a letter to a friend and classmate. Barnoxon Ruxieva celebrates Uzbekistan’s well-developed education system, in particular its Barkamol Avlod children’s schools.

Bardiyeva Dilnura evokes the poetic beauty of the Uzbek language. Charos Toshpulatova outlines the importance and unique value of sign language. Abduvahidova Farangiz compares and contrasts physical books and e-books. Nathan Anderson describes the finely crafted musical language of Sanjeev Sethi’s poetry collection Legato without a lisp.

In a piece of literary analysis, Z.I. Mahmud discusses how Philip Larkin’s poem Whitsun Weddings depicts social and ecological changes in England after the First World War.

Mark Young probes an imagined world in a fresh set of his “geographies,” digitally altered photos integrated with visual art. J.D. Nelson peers at the edges of his world through a fresh set of monostichs. Jim Meirose sends up a quirky story on pleasure and its aftermath. Jake Cosmos Aller depicts a fanciful wild night whirling and drinking through the solar system.

Fhen M. speculates on how the element of mystery attracts us to Magritte’s paintings. Soren Sorensen shares a sunset image and a metallic melting clock, perhaps Dali-inspired.

Stephen Jarrell Williams sends in gentle vignettes of hope and faith while Mahbub Alam describes love as one of humanity’s lofty aspirations.

Mesfakus Salahin considers his psychological complexity and fallibility in light of a great love that leaves him humbled. Duane Vorhees reflects on memory, love, and the ironies of life. Lan Qyqualla draws on history and memory in his poetic vignettes of love and connection. Ivan Pozzoni orates in English and Italian on human history, love, beauty, and tragedy.

Michael Robinson speaks to the peace he found through a relationship with Jesus.

Xavier Womack offers love and respect to a spiritual mother figure embracing the world. Leslie Lisbona reflects on the death of her mother and the empathy she finds through a classic novel and the broader human imagination.

Rukshona Rasulova celebrates her deceased grandmother’s long and loving life as Murrodillayeva Mohinur contemplates her mother’s steady love. Maknuna Oblaqulova honors her parents and their love. Iroda Abdusamiyeva mourns her deceased grandmother and celebrates her life. Orinbaeva Lalezar Azadbay reflects on losses in her life, especially her dearly departed parents. Taylor Dibbert reflects on his deep love for his departed dog.

Holy Henry Dasere laments some universal struggles of young womanhood as Graciela Noemi Villaverde highlights women’s determined struggle for equality and safety. Hilola Abdullayeva discusses ways to psychologically support people recently released from jail and prison.

A. Iwasa reviews activist and anti-fascist professor Josh Fernandez’ memoir The Hands That Crafted the Bomb as an exploration of how to take youthful brash exuberance into adulthood. Dr. Jernail S. Anand warns us about the danger of words to ignite hatred and violence, how the computer keyboard in the wrong hands can be more dangerous than a bomb.

Ahmad Al-Khatat’s poetry evokes sorrow over the loss of love and human experience as well as life in wartime. David Sapp speaks to how ordinary people react to global tragedies as Alexander Kabishev continues his grisly tales of the brutality Russians suffered during the siege of Leningrad. J.K. Durick explores new poetic ways the world could end.

Eva Petropoulou encourages the world to choose peace and tolerance as Daniel De Culla urges the world’s people to end the shameful tradition of hate. Mykyta Ryzhykh laments environmental destruction, war, and a personal heartbreak in his poetry. Pat Doyne pokes fun at Donald Trump’s style and ethics in her poem of warning.

Jacques Fleury urges us to get beyond our fear and welcome the “other,” those unlike us. Bill Tope’s poems highlight the pain children went through before we understood learning disabilities and neurodiversity.

Childhood is a time of adventure and wonderment. Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photos show a small child experiencing new spaces: a ship preserved on land with a carved mermaid on the prow, a park train with a red caboose.

As we grow, we try new things, sometimes get disappointed, learn, and move forward. Panijeva Dilnavo Shukurvna celebrates the youth of Central Asia and expresses her wish for her generation to thrive and triumph. Rukhshona Rasulova urges brave and dedicated work towards our goals. Orzigul Sherova highlights the importance of motivation in reaching one’s goals. Alex Stolis’ poems draw on addiction as a motif and speak to waiting, hoping, and being stuck.

Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna’s poetic speaker reflects on how her heart and intentions were pure, even if her goals did not work out.

Maja Milojkovic encourages us at any age to embrace blessings in our lives, with the understanding that they are temporary.

We hope that this issue will be thought-provoking and a blessing in your life.

Tears of the Clouds

Clouds blanket the sky's wide embrace,
Shielding the sun's glowing face.
A gentle breeze whispers soft and light,
Stroking the clouds in its flight.
The world feels draped in sorrow's shroud,
Veiled completely by the cloud.
The wind, at times, takes clouds away,
To distant lands, they sway and stray.
Moisture glistens in the clouds' eyes,
Perhaps the wind has paused its sighs.
Tears known to all as gentle rain,
Fall and soothe the earth again.


Umida Jonibekova was born on December 18, 2002, in Arnasoy district, Jizzakh region. Currently a fourth-year student at Jizzakh State Pedagogical University. Has published several articles on methods of teaching English as a foreign language in international journals and is an active participant in international conferences. Additionally, one of the top 10 participants in the United Kingdom's "National Poetry Competition."

That Rotten Kid


There once was a boy named Eddie. And

clearly there was something very wrong

with this nine-year-old. Ask anybody: they'd

tell you, with an eye roll, that Eddie was

disruptive, distracted, and inattentive in the

classroom. It was 1962 and Eddie had just

been enrolled in the third grade.

 

He was forever shouting out non-sequiturs,

throwing his pencils and erasers across the

room and striking other students and

teachers; constantly making his unwelcome

presence felt.

 

No one knew quite what to do with Eddie.

He had been held back in school and so was

bigger and stronger--and more destructive--

that his fellow students.

 

Though it was suspected by some school

officials that he was, deep-down, quite

intelligent, Eddie was unable--or, they

thought, unwilling--to work with other

children or to complete an assignment. 

Rarely could he finish a single written

sentence before his attention wandered

again.

 

Other children tried to ignore him, as

they were instructed, but he was a

handful, always out of his seat, in

everybody's business and fighting with

the class bully, who couldn't quite

grapple with Eddie's size and manic

strength.

 

Teachers washed their hands of him. He

was sequestered to a far corner of the

room, but kept dragging his desk, like a

security blanket, back amongst the rest

of the students, on the other side of the

room. He got lonely. Teaching him, they

discovered, was impossible; he was

admonished to "just sit and be quiet." For

Eddie, however, that too was impossible.

 

After the third grade, Eddie ceased being

a student; once again he had failed and

been held back. No one I knew ever saw

the young man again.  Word had it that he

was declared "unteachable" and "incorrigible"

and institutionalized. One teacher was heard

muttering about "That rotten kid..." Eddie's

departure came as a relief to the

teachers and the other students, but in a

sad way.

 

ADHD was not officially inscribed into

the Diagnostic Manual of The American

Psychological Association until 1987.

Today there are more than 6 million

children diagnosed as affected by this

condition.

 



Incorrigible

 

Bob sat at his desk in the 1st grade classroom,

blinking his eyes and rolling his head to first

one shoulder and then the next.  This drew

the unwanted attention of his teacher, Miss

Edison.  She stepped briskly down the aisle.

 

"Robert, I've told you before to cut out the

antics. You know you're disturbing the other

children."  Bob sneaked a glance at the boys

and girls in his class, saw their happy grins;

at the moment, they were happy not to be

him.

 

Bob coughed nervously.  "And that cough,"

said Miss Edison.  "I've sent you to  the school

nurse a dozen times but there doesn't seem

to be anything physically wrong with you." She

laid heavy emphasis on the word "physically,"

which set the other children off laughing. "So,"

she concluded unfeelingly, "if you're trying to

get out of class, you can just forget about it."

 

Bob's face grew hot, his skin a bright pink.

He stared down at his desk.  He wished he

could sink through the floor.  "Now, you sit

there and don't move a muscle for the rest

of the day or you're going to be in big

trouble. 

 

Bob laid his hands flat on his desktop and

tried to hold himself still.  Miss Edison

hovered over him and everyone was watching

expectantly.  Suddenly Bob's head turned to

the left. his arm shot out straight and he

coughed hoarsely.  Once again the children

exploded in gales of laughter.

 

Miss Edison blew out a disgusted breath and

told the class to be silent, that this wasn't

funny.  The teacher intoned somberly, "A class

cut-up did no one favors." The classroom  

settled down, listening to every delicious word.

This was how delinquency and a life of crime

began, she added fiercely.

 

Bob stole another look at his classmates, again

saw their derisive, toothy grins.  "You can just

stay in class for recess and when the rest of us

go to lunch!" proclaimed the teacher.  "I wash

my hans of you.  You are, Robert, truly

incorrigible"  And she stalked back to her desk.

 

Little was known of Tourette's Syndrome in the

1950s.

 

 

 

———————————————————————-

scribbling down some poems

sitting in the

waiting room

watching all

these people

come in and

decide to sit

on the other

side of the

waiting room

as i’m sitting

here scribbling

down some

poems

crazy wins

again

————————————————————-

better when drinking

she had eyes

of the deepest

blue

i was too poor

to even think

i could get a

chance with

something

so beautiful

she bought

me a drink

one morning

after work

we started to

talk and play

a little pool

she didn’t know

i play better

when drinking

apparently,

i was supposed

to let her win

——————————————————-

hello is a better choice

a steamy eyed

vixen says hello

my first instinct

is to ask how

much money

does this cost

i figure hello is

a better choice

of course, a few

days later and it

will be questions

of how much can

i spend on a gift

card or anything

for them

humans have this

constant ability

to do nothing

but disappoint

me

—————————————————————–

the better of me

i once asked burroughs

to cook me up a shot

fucker kept it

for himself

i used to dance naked

in the rain until time

got the better of me

she tasted like clove

cigarettes and trouble

i should have married

her on a tuesday

coltrane plays me

down from the ledge

yet, i can’t shake the

haunting feeling that

all good men fucking

jump

endless regret wrapped

inside a lover’s lament

yet another tootsie roll

i won’t get to lick

flirting with death

like a whore at last

call

i never thought

loneliness would

be the hill i’d die

on

—————————————————————-

the simmering rage

say hello to the pain

to each wrong step

that brings about

misery

say hello to fucking

traffic

bumper to bumper

for no fucking

reason at all

say hello to the anger

the simmering rage

and the final days

where you’ll be able

to control it

say hello to dysfunction

the guiding light

through every dark

day

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is slowly wasting away in the suburbs. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash Quarterly, Mad Swirl, The Beatnik Cowboy and Disturb the Universe Magazine. He has a few copies of his book with Casey Renee Kiser, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls, for sale. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.

---

The Birds at the Destination

We know that the eagle is admired worldwide for its bravery, courage, and strong will. It teaches its young to fly with extreme rigor. When the time comes, it throws its offspring out of the nest to prevent them from lazily returning to the “warm home” again, even going so far as to destroy the nest. The eagle is a bird unafraid of flying in rainy weather; in fact, such conditions stir its spirit, and it can use the pressure of the air to its advantage. Additionally, it brings benefits to agriculture by preying on rodents.

These characteristics of the eagle can be compared to those of teachers. For it is through our parents and teachers that we come to know the world, understand it, and achieve something. When we first come to school, our dreams are as high as the sky. We dream of changing the world. We debate with our peers about which professions are valuable and which are not, aspiring to become doctors, businessmen, or lawyers. It is the teacher who instills in us the understanding that achieving these dreams requires education. They dedicate their time, patience, and life to teach us, showing us how to distinguish between right and wrong. They teach us that life is not smooth, and that to achieve something, we must make an effort. If we face failure, they encourage us to try again, reminding us that for us, everything is just beginning.

Just as no two fingers are alike, people also have different goals and characters in life. Some may attempt to mislead those on the right path out of jealousy or for monetary gain. The teacher, however, teaches their students how to rid society of such “parasites.”

To the teacher, a student is like their own child. If the student makes a mistake, the teacher helps to correct it. Where the student spends their time and with whom, what they do—these things matter to the teacher.

A teacher is someone who has spent years studying and researching, climbing to the peak of their own success. Now, they are a noble professional, striving to ensure their students reach that same destination.

Otayeva Dinora Urinboy qizi was born on May 31, 2004, in the Khorezm region. She is currently a 3rd-year student at Urgench State Pedagogical Institute. As a creative student, she has participated in several competitions, including the regional stage of the Zomin Seminar.

Sweet Dreams

I dream with sweet dreams,

If it doesn’t come to you, it’s okay.

Actually, that’s how real life is,

Of course, this is the only time to write a poem.

Dreams pull me to the depths,

It puts a lot of weight on my shoulders.

I like these sweetest thoughts,

On the contrary, a negative thought sinks into the heart.

I also live in dreams,

I will take another step towards happiness.

Sometimes I miss four

Sometimes I love the heart.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is an 8th grade student of Zarafshan city, Navoi region, school No. 9.

CONFESSIONS

Everyone’s a politician

and everyone’s a journalist

and none of us has inhibitions.

But we all have our tales to twist.

I went to see my physician

in her office inside my tomb.

For practice, she writes out prescriptions

just to kill the kids in their wombs.

My preacher makes his confession

to the girls who are blonde and young.

He lays on his hands, as his mission,

and exhibits the gifts of his tongues.

Professors write dissertations

in order to hide all the facts.

And if you want real information,

–well, you needn’t even ask.

The lawyers brand themselves hired guns.

They court the richest criminals,

who transfer to them ill-gotten funds

to lie as far as laws allow.

I said I’d fill that thin co-ed

who said she hungered for new verse,  

though she still starves though I’m her poet

and she’s swallowed my Complete Works.

Was Jesus tacked to an easel

so Romans could paint him later?

They staged all the acts of the apostles

just to build wings for their theaters.

And everyone had truth to twist

till they convinced me I was cured.

But when I asked, my psychiatrist

sneered. “Why no, I’m not even bored!”

 METAMORPHOSIS

Brave audience caterpillar

agrees to enter

the stage magician’s magic box–

LOVE’S MEASURE

Although I know marble outlasts wax, longevity isn’t love’s measure,

and I know how to read with pleasure the artists, the crafters, and the hacks.

ZOMBIE VAMPIRE MUMMY….

One of us was born to die living,

one of us to live dying.

The one and the one

are one and the same.

And there’s one other other,

one for whom

living is dying is living–

each one is one and the same.

As we alternate these ones

we cling, otters, to each other,

to these disparate slices

of our pied kaleidoscopic whole.

LILLIAN THE OCEAN AND THE ISLE OF PALMS

Together in memory are soldered 
Lillian, the ocean, and the Isle of Palms, 
fused cubistically like frozen sculpture 
of motionless craft forever becalmed

            a picture of beach-clinging waters

hanging between the frames by their thumbs.

And Lillian the old skygod’s daughter

parades ashore on the Isle of Palms

followed by fleecy waves that slaughter

themselves as sacrifice for her balm,

            crashing on the beach at her immortal

feet like jap endless squadrons of bombs.

Sun-sand-sky welded to ageless water,

seagulls shackled to the gulf like charms,

ocean as static as a krater,

and sands as eternal as the psalms:

            my marble memories unaltered.

Lillian, the ocean, and the Isle of Palms.