experts

i’m surrounded by experts
wherever i go
in my walk-around listening-in days
they appear out of nowhere
carrying their wisdom
and give it out to all who will listen

just recently  
i’ve encountered an increase of them
sharing their knowledge vocally 
like the woman on my local jetty
telling her friend
how to fix up her marriage 

the man in a park
giving information to another
about buying a rental property
the boy at a beach
explaining to his mate
the trick to skimming a rock on water

the guy sitting with coffee in café
instructing a young bloke
on what to do with his money
the girl in a busy bakery
advising her friend 
on what to have for lunch

and on it goes more and more 
every day in every way  
these fabulous experts 
directing those they’re with
on what to do
and how to do it

i thought to myself 
while on the bus yesterday
i don’t think i’m an expert at much
and while i’ve certainly done 
plenty of things in my life
doing things doesn’t make one an expert     

but with so many experts 
who have so much to say
i don’t think the world needs any more
so i’ll keep walking-around 
and listen-in when i can
to the experts and their expertise  


Stephen House has won awards and nominations as a poet, playwright, and actor. He’s been commissioned often, with 20 plays produced, many published by Australian Plays Transform. He’s received international literature residencies from The Australia Council for the Arts to Canada and Ireland, and an Asialink residency to India. He’s had two chapbooks published by ICOE Press Australia: ‘real and unreal’ poetry and ‘The Ajoona Guest House’ monologue. His poetry is published often. He’s performed his acclaimed monologues, ‘Appalling Behaviour’, ‘Almost Face to Face’ and ‘The Ajoona Guest House’ widely. His play, ‘Johnny Chico’ ran in Spain for four years.

NOAH’S CHILDREN PRAY FOR RAIN

                        Look around—the world is on fire!

                        We could really use a biblical flood.

                        But who will claim all available arks?

                        One large ark is seized by Supreme Court justices–

                        judges who seek to make presidents into kings,

                        turn women into passive breeding stock,

                        and reward rich pals with rulings that make them richer.

                        When the big rains come,

                        they will gather in the galley, break out the beer.

                        The outboard motor doesn’t want to pull-start.

                        A pair of penguins watch, shaking their heads.

                        One ark’s impounded by Congressional showboats—

                        pro-Putin, anti-vax, stolen-election right-wingers.  

                        Each stateroom features a wide-screen TV

                        so media mouths can monitor their sound bites.

                        “Bleached-blonde bad-built butch-body” rants

                        keep campaign contributions pouring in.

                        When the big rains come,

                        limelight-loving lawmakers will stand on deck

                        shouting into the wind at well-placed cameras,

                        blaming the cloudburst on liberals and drag queens.

                        A pair of chimps make faces behind their backs.

                        One gold-plated ark will house a convicted felon.

                        This puppet of greedy billionaires

                        will lounge on the top deck– combing his halo

                        and posting ALL-CAP diatribes on Truth Social.

                        He’ll rail against rivals, against RINOs, against rainclouds.

                        (File his complaints about Killer Clouds

                        with gripes about shower heads and flushing toilets.)

                        When the big rains come,

                        Nazis and Christian Nationalists alike

                        will tread water alongside his ark, seeking shelter. 

                        But he shows as little mercy to his followers

                        as to his enemies.  No one crosses his borders.

                        A pair of wolverines patrols his deck.

                        Those who did not reclaim his kingdom for him

                        deserve to drown, he says, along with immigrants,

                        disloyal politicians, DAs, fake news,

                        and disrespectful late-night TV comics.

                        No one’s at the helm to chart a course.

                        His ark runs on pure entitlement.

                        When the big rains come,

                        vested interests will launch corporate ferries;

                        lawyers will man fishing boats;

                        the NRA will commandeer a cruise ship at gunpoint;

                        MAGA die-hards will paddle kayaks;

                        QAnon will grab inflatable rowboats;

                        and cult sheep will gather on a flimsy raft,

                        which they firmly believe is a lifeboat.

                        Steady rain for 40 days and 40 nights.

                        With luck, the deluge will wash away pollution,

                        conspiracy theories, and self-serving lies.

                        With luck, masses of wavering voters

                        will think before casting one last ballot.

                        With luck, those enjoying deluxe arks

                        won’t notice bunches of barnacles

                        munching on their hulls; sharp-toothed, hungry mouths

                        chewing through their immunity—

                        and letting in fingers of angry sea.

                        Salt water will inundate the bilges,

                        slowly turning each ark full of smug VIPs

                        into the Titanic.

                        Crazed leaders torch our world, and fan the flames.

                        We need a flood to cleanse our hurting world.

                        Copyright July 2024                 Patricia Doyne            

PROTECT NATURE

The steppe-deserts consider me a friend,
My heart laughs.
If I hope, I will believe,
Being seen.

Even if the storms howl and rise,
Calm down.
If I spread my arms, the songs
Hooray tinar.

I planted a seedling, the bucket caught the clouds,
It's raining.
The purple wind quenches his thirst,
Milk the man.

The seeds of the millennium sprout.
Like grass.
I landed like a butterfly on the rocks,
It's natural to forget.

In my gaze, the world is circumcision,
Blue happy.
Let the food you prepare for the earth,
Hard work.

I strive in the endless ocean,
Foggy road.
It lights up from the sound of babies,
A blue outstretched hand.

There were deserts, there was a sea, there was a field,
The form of tyranny makes nature pale.
My sprouts will shrivel if I don't water them,
It shows the cause of ignorance.

Heads Man is an optimal solution for himself,
Different ways.
If we don't take care of them, they will become deserts like deserts.
Even lakes..

08/05/2023

O'tkir Mulikboyev Kochkor oglu, Koshrabot district, Samarkand region, Republic of Uzbekistan

The son of Mulikboyev O’tkir Kochkor was born on August 11, 1990.

Currently, he is a student of the ISFT Institute, majoring in “Primary Education”.

Promoter of creative and cultural issues and primary education teacher at school 75 in Koshrabot district, Samarkand region

His creative works are “Bakht khunirogi” Tashkent, “Buta 5” Azerbaijan, “Turan writers” Turkey, “Anthology of Kazakh and Uzbek artists” Uzbekistan, “Uzbek writers anthology” Canada, “Young Pencilers 2″ ” Published in Moldovan, republican and international collections.

His poems were translated into Turkish, Azerbaijani, English, Russian and published in more than ten countries.

Hundreds of poems have appeared in the press.

Awarded with the “Initiative Reformer” badge of the international level.

Why 

Why a young girl standing on her balcony shot on her head?

Why a child on the roof in the lap of her father on her birthday?

Why the passers-by and hundreds of people die on the agitation?

Why? The interrogation always hunts me with much depression.

Why the BTV (Bangladesh Television) Building, Metro Rail Station

And the Norsindi jail burnt and the prisoners flew away from the jail?

Why the internet service got off and later its service centre was burnt?

Why though the net connection repaired, the Facebook use still banned?

Who are the suffers most and who are the gainers-the play is still on the flow.

The commoners understand all, though the uppers realize little.

Human being is less important than the life of an ant, we confess or not.

Seen at home or abroad all the way wherever you run, can mark the same.

Through out all I must say I love you Bangladesh, I feel you much.

Though bloods falling on you, we mourn for them, our sweetest songs.

Chapainawabganj,  Bangladesh

30 July, 2024.

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.

Navoi Mining and Metallurgical Combine is 65 years old! 

The Navoi Mining and Metallurgical Combine ranks 10th in the world in terms of gold production and reserves. NMMC was founded in 1958. During the 65th year, NMMC has made a huge contribution to the growth and income of the Republic of Uzbekistan, both externally and internally. our enterprise carries out the process of extraction, exploration, processing of underground and surface resources. In particular, the quality of gold castings with a sample of “999, 9”, which has become an Uzbek brand that we produce, deserves special recognition. I am Turakulova Ozoda and I am now 28 years old. I’ve been with NMMC for 10 years now and I’m very proud of it. Congratulations to NMMC on its 65th anniversary. I wish you the first place in the world in gold mining, as well as good luck, big victories.