Hello, I wanted to share an idea with you: heat recovery from a fireplace.

When one heats a house, an apartment, or any living space with a fire in a fireplace or stove, heat is emitted and radiates around it, warming the room where the fire is located.

The idea I am presenting is that by recovering the hot air from the combustion in pipes, this hot air, then circulated through a system of pipes around the living space and out of the room, can carry the heat. This heat, radiating from the pipes themselves, will spread around them and be able to heat the entire space, or at least a portion of it, beyond the room where the initial fire was located.

Several applications of this idea are possible. First, it is important to avoid capturing combustion fumes and catch only the hot air. This can be achieved by carefully positioning the hot air intakes and using a filter, for example. Next, the heating system’s circulation pipes must be made of a suitable material, such as a heat-conducting metal like lightweight aluminum, to maximize the system’s performance. Finally, the hot air, being naturally mobile, must be directed either to a cooler outside outlet or, potentially, to a storage system, as properly conditioned hot air is known to retain heat well.

In the installation of these two, hot air outlet and storage systems, I believe a small turbine, either propeller-driven or powered by a dynamo, could be installed. With the right equipment, this could generate a small amount of domestic electricity. In the case of a domestic dwelling, having a stock of hot air will easily serve, if installed for this purpose, to heat water for the inhabitants’ use.

Thus, by recovering heat in the truest sense of the word, we can save firewood, firstly to improve our living conditions, and secondly, we can see it as a potential source of responsible electricity and hot water!

We could easily imagine this system on the scale of an entire building, or even a group of houses…

You’ll probably need to be a bit handy or a “DIYer” to install such a network of pipes, but I think it’s within reach of many people around the world.

And having already seen it installed at a friend’s house who followed my advice, I can guarantee you it’s remarkably efficient!

nature
it accelerates when awakened with its drive and mystery
of the vibe devoted to the sources
of the bloom
childhood memories have never grasped
how comprehensive are the terms
the scents
fully gathered in the calls
praising the magnitude of the colors scents
and the shapes of nature
it attracts with its majestic ductility
eternally

to the Word

to the Word the land is married
and shows the fruit of otherhood
of the only “I”

encrypted by the poetic transcendence
the divine in the Eden’s mirror
awakened the memory

of the real woman’s face

the possessed Phidias’s eye
braided the admiration plait towards her
nature girded between her hips

Marathon

you are perusing the old books
incessantly
nagged by the multitude
of relentless suggestions
searching for the shape of being
not melting away in the stream
of disordered impressions
you notice the stem of chaos
in resisting thoughts
you have dived into the net
of exquisite terms
dangling questions
looking back
you cannot surpass what’s native
the identicality is forever gone
you have found your Ithaca
even though it does not bring
the Ulisess’s voice

verba*

dancing the words
in the Babel tower with virality peak

Logos sprinkled with opulence
touched with symbolic kisses

in a slice of fresh baked bread
recalled with taste

between the banks of Styx
ignited by doubt

regardless of the season weaved
lushly in its forms

a poetic word is the only necros
for the quietus of mine

verba* – latin for “words”

Beauty

The yearning for the secret beauty
wandering the enlightened road,
is something of an eternal question.

Viewing things from newer and newer
perspective, which is its reflection

full of harmony.

Experiencing the phenomena of much bigger importance
than just some fleeting sensations
so as to touch the ecstasy.

The truer it is, the closer to eternity.

Jakub Sajkowski (1985) – Polish poet and translator, author of five poetry volumes. He translated poems to and from English, and also from Russian, Mandarin Chinese, Ukrainian and Belarussian. Translated to Slovenian and English.

The home, I wanted to build

You were the lesson I never wanted to learn,  

A dream I never wanted to wake up from,  

A ladder I never wanted to climb,  

A passing cloud I never wanted to wave at,  

A sunset I never wanted to drown with,  

A road I never wanted to look back on,  

A heartache I never wanted to endure.

Yet,

You were the home I wanted to build,  

The starry sky I wanted to gaze at all night,  

Clay I wanted to mold,  

The dawn I never wanted to miss,  

The spring where I wanted to plant flowers,  

The port I wanted to reach,  

The cage I never wanted to leave.

Write short mail to them about this

Fiza Amir is a fourth-year medical student based in Pakistan, currently serving as the Vice President of her university’s Writing Society. She has worked as an Editorial Associate and contributing author for her university’s upcoming student-run magazine. Her recent short story, “The Child Bride’s Doll,” was published in The Wise Owl.

A Living Canvas

It just occurred to me,

Life is a living canvas.

Paint your colourful emotions

Brilliantly!

Hermits And Answers

I quit taking the Medication

because it was stifling

the fantastic explosions 

inside my head.

There are now rumbling 

bass strings playing 

when I leopard-stalk 

down the street.

Manic gives the colours 

deeper understanding,

and patterns run the surface 

of almost everything.

Top hats were constructed 

for moods not occasion.

Audio hallucinations 

soundtrack abstract days…

and the shadows 

have minds of their own.

I stopped talking 

to that woman 

for no good reason,

it troubles her enough to frown…

she just reminds me 

of how I used to be,

and I’m far too much 

the fractured gentleman 

to explain.

I’m really not trying 

to annoy you,

merely get around you,

but your questions 

are blocking the way.

I’m not allowed 

to say that anymore…

there is nothing more offensive 

than the truth,

except maybe lies 

told with obvious insincerity. 

Hermits have all the answers,

but are coded 

to keep them to themselves…

some call that selfishness,

whilst I see only wisdom there.

Pastel Pockets Of Warmth

Deep inside her pastel pockets of warmth

I relax into foetal position,

rocking to and fro

contentedly,

rainbow coloured

and teardrop-shaped.

Nerve ends a-tingling and a-buzzing

a soft, humming symphony

of delicate hibernation.

Safe from the purple and black fray,

invasive thoughts and memories

kept in check

by her careful heartstring pulling.

Soul thumb sucking sighs, 

regressing back to neutral, 

a stripping away and cleansing

of the day-to-day unnecessaries.

Life’s batteries on full charge,

mind and action of limb on subtle standby.

I win another soft victory

with each precious moment not tampered with.

My water levels rise again

as to the universal buoyancy I reconnect

to suckle slowly at the nipples core

of an energy which lies

under the curtain hem of understanding.

A Rusty Butterfly

I saw this little butterfly the other day, 

it was so beautiful 

that I just had to stop and watch it 

until it flittered out of view.

It was a kind of powdery white, 

only not a thin, fragile sort,

but a thick, healthy kind, 

and it had rust coloured wings.

I’m serious,

I’ve never seen anything quite like it, 

it was perfectly white (almost too perfect) 

until halfway along the wings 

(that’s right, about there, yeah) 

and then it was a lovely orange, 

rusty colour… 

it was indeed magnificent.

I never thought rust was beautiful before, 

but the next time I see some 

I’m going to stop and venture a look,

and damn it, 

I might well discover something special.

And all because of that little butterfly 

which danced along the grassy verge 

of a busy city street, 

while everyone else refused,

or was too busy, 

to acknowledge its existence, except me.

That Then Led To This Now

A thousand feather-tips

tickling my Soul’s edges, silly.

Contentedness 

almost like drunkenness,

in from the cold 

and stamping my feet

enthusiastically 

upon the welcome

doormat of home.

An appetite fit for a King

and a Head and Heart

filled with a love

almost to the point of bursting.

Taxidermy Bride

In the cobwebbed shadows

of his long hallway

he sat nervously waiting

upon the partially broken

bottom 3^rd stair step.

A whistling excitement 

stirred up the dusty leaves

of his delicate, ornate mind.

As he peered downwards

at the Taxidermist’s card

beheld betwixt 

his porcelain slender fingers.

And read quietly to himself

‘Your parcel will be

delivered both promptly

and exactly at one and a half

minutes after 6 o’clock

of the evening’.

He gulped down wonder

and smiled deeply

with his eyes only.

As the grandfather clock

not quite 4ft away

struck the 6^th hour

and he heard the grind 

and clatter of his garden gate

yawning open in the distance.

He rose shakily,

and walked towards 

the front door,

each footfall a step further

away from Bachelor.

Rise!

When the self-proclaimed opposition idiot-grin

blindly in falsely supposed victories.

Nothing has your ‘Back’

except either the ‘Rock’ or ‘Hard Place’.

The cowardly gossips cluck

together with whip-cracking tongues.

And the morning’s become 

a solitary obstacle course

of both ‘Mountains’ and ‘Molehills’

to traverse and overcome.

Find Strength in your own Tenacity,

focus ‘Long View/Big Picture’

at the treacherous path ahead.

To Earn and Learn from those Battle Scars

you’ve got to bleed some.

There’s no permanent ruin

in ‘Mistakes Made’, ‘Temporary Failures’

and ‘Wrong Decisions Taken’.

They are merely a Platform 

to receive ‘Lessons Learnt’

and Shine your way through ‘Thick and Thin’.

It’s your Soul’s Determination, Fight 

and Uniqueness that those herds of sheep

are upset and intimidated by…

Ignore their petty, mocking bleats of envy,

Spring your Confident Step and Walk to Win.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer. He yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet.

His novel “Crazy Like Emotion” is published by Close To The Bone. Short story collection “Kicking Back Drunk ‘Round The Candletree Graves”, and full-length poetry collections “It Is Big And It Is Clever”, “South Wales Outlaw”, “The Gutter Symposium”, “The Dark Side Of British Poetry” and “Uncivil Disobedience Is My Forte” are all published by Hunsbury Press.

Trash Tossing: Put Litter in Its Place

In Honor of World Environment Day

By Jacques Fleury

[From Fleury’s book: Chain Letter To America: The One Thing You Can Do To End Racism: 

A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism]

Ah, this place called Earth…. Stop for a minute. Look around you. Try to see your earthly surroundings as if through the eyes of a fascinated child. Bask in the majesty of the Great Smoky Mountains or stimulate and overwhelm your senses with the geologic colors and magnitude of the Grand Canyon; the lush splendor of a giant redwood; a 150 feet tall tulip, an ash, a sycamore or a weeping willow. Stop for a minute on your way to work and behold the morning sun rising over the lofty landscape; its light feeding the plants through photosynthesis and at dusk be still and behold the full moon. Stop for a minute and think before you throw that empty plastic bottle in the river, on the city streets and sidewalks or in the public park; thus disparaging our environment.

     There are a number of things in this world that aggravates me, but none as pesky and infuriating as careless, indifferent and insolent litterers. Yes, you know who you are; the ones leaving your Dunkin Donuts cups behind on mail boxes, subways and park benches or tossing their plastic beverage bottles audaciously on city streets in spite of the presence of onlookers. Perhaps it’s because we live in a world where people are becoming increasingly rude and inconsiderate.

     During my formative years growing up partly in Haiti, I received a social and familial education unlike the education I received in my catholic school in Port-au-Prince. My family and even my extended community of family friends and neighbors contributed to my upbringing. Proper manners were an integral part of my life on the island. My mother—Marie Evelyne—was an advent figure in my learning of proper manners and etiquette and one such behavioral
teachings were to always “pick up after yourself” and to leave a place as clean as you found it.

In Haiti, even the very poor adhere to a strict code of what is considered to be socially acceptable behavior. Hence once in America, I continued this tradition of being conscious in how I conduct myself in a public setting and one such conduct is not tossing my rubbish on public property.

Now some may scowl reading this upon perceiving it as some type of a harangue about how they should conduct themselves but it’s not meant to be. I hope to express the frustrations most likely felt by fellow pedestrians who too are probably fed up with straddling litter on the city streets.

     “America, we’ve got a problem,” declares some state legislatures in an internet article titled “Toxic torpedoes.” Apparently there has been an influx of truckers tossing bottles full of their urine out the window, littering our countryside. This further exemplifies the problem with people—who for esoteric reasons disregard the environment in which they live through blatant effrontery in disposing of their debris on public property.

     “Littering is a mindset problem…We need to make it socially unacceptable to throw rubbish on the streets, “asserts an anonymous person in a letter to the editor in Design Week titled “It’ll take more than graphics to beat the litter problem.” He goes on to say, “Offenders must appreciate the link between dropping litter and the cost of cleaning it up and realize that litter is never thrown ‘away’—it’s just moved elsewhere.” This problem permeates apparently in other parts of the world, a number of people are ostensibly and collectively non-socially conscious when it comes to how they treat the environment. In Berlin, talking trash cans will soon thank
people for not littering.

     Another article in “The Science Teacher” promulgates that, “A 100-fold upsurge in human produced plastic garbage in the ocean is altering habitats in the marine environment.” This is based on a new study titled “Environmental Accumulation of Plastic Expedition” (SEAPLEX), conducted by a graduate researcher at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography at UC San Diego.

Apparently, in an area known as the “Great Garbage Patch”, the journal “Biology Letters” evinces that plastic shards in the surrounding area have risen 100 times over the last 40 years
causing detrimental shifts in the natural habitats of marine animals in particular.

Let’s face it. The world is an ever-evolving place. Now with the continuous dawning of the technological age, more and more “stuff” will continue to surface for us to dispose of. Now, I am cognizant of the possibility that not all of us were taught proper social behavior or etiquette, or if you were, you have forsaken your social manners and public etiquette over the years, but the cliché “It’s never too late to learn” or in some cases “re-learn” social formalities rings true in this
instance.

So Stop for a minute, look around and find a trash receptacle and keep the earth green and clean.

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Spirit of Change Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.–

A letter to the life – Tagore 

You were there every time 

When the court inside was dark 

You ignited it with the feathers of delight 

That awakened my weary soul. 

I am not alone,and why should i refuse the light? 

That creates every minuscule thought

And transmutes through every single artery and vein  

Where everything assembles in nothingness

And nothingness turns into a whole.

Where there I sip the divine nectar,

Yes, an undeniable character in life’s theatre,

And the mundane life lives in once again,

Gleaming gorgeous over the distant horizon.