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Musician and Mother of Stephen Spielberg Everyone was so pleased when Leah Adler walked to each table greeting each guest like a guest in her home. She expressed an interest in her guests, in what they were doing. The food was excellent, but it wasn’t for the food that we went to the Milky Way. It wasn’t because it was an excellent place to get a kosher dairy meal. It was to see Leah Adler again, the mother of Stephen Spielberg. Yes, there was always a vain hope that we might get to meet her famous son, but the character of the place was distinctly her. The music that played was her playing in her younger years. But it showed her talent and her choices. Quiet, so that we could talk while eating. Not a typical place for a business lunch. Others who were eating there were also learning Jewish texts, having a romantic lunch, some regulars just sitting and eating, but everyone was so pleased when Leah Adler walked to each table greeting each guest like a guest in her home. She expressed an interest in her guests, in what they were doing. Yes, it was her place. On the way to the washroom, one saw posters for her children’s films, a sign of a mother luxuriating in the accomplishments of her children. She was short with white hair reminding me of my mother in her later years. She walked slowly and the last time I saw her, an attendant accompanied her. Always smiling, she sat at our table, and spoke to us. I had given her a copy of one of my son-in-law, Adam Stotland’s CDs the previous time I was there and she remembered and told me that she enjoyed it. Just what I expected, like the friend she was. With all her guests and friends, I will miss her. Condolences to her four children and the entire family. I can imagine how much they too will miss her. Baruch Dayan Haemet George Farkas

Congratulations to Manan Agarwal on his graduation from the Center for Management Studies, Jain University with a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism and Mass Communication this June. Manan volunteers with ArtsKeeper in our Computer department. He is an experienced SEO specialist. He helps generate and grow organic traffic through keyword optimization and targeted content. Manan is passionate about emerging technology, the environment, and cool sci-fi stories.

Canadian singer-songwriter, poet, and novelist His work explored religion, politics, isolation, depression, sexuality, loss, death, and romantic relationships. Cohen pursued a career as a poet and novelist during the 1950s and early 1960s, and did not begin a music career until 1967 at the age of 33. Last night, my phone kept on buzzing to tell me that Leonard Cohen died. I was not a good friend of Leonard’s and I don’t even remember where I met him, but it was either at some event arranged by Louis Dudek or Irving Layton. I was a student at McGill University at the time and writing some of the poetry that was published in my book, At the Foot of Sinai. I think it was Louis who wanted me to meet Leonard, whose poems were published as Let Us Compare Mythologies (1956), the first book in the McGill Poetry Series. My book was published as the first book in the Hillel Poetry Series. Leonard was an excellent poet but was disappointed that he could never meet expenses, living as a poet, even after the success of the Spice-Box of Earth (1961), and his novel, The Favorite Game (1963). He was to move to the United States to become a folk singer-songwriter. That was a much more lucrative career. I followed his career and loved his successes and was even (mistakenly, I believe) introduced to some of his fans in the UK as a friend of Leonard Cohen’s. I loved his songs and imagined myself as another “bird on a wire, a drunk in a midnight choir.” As it was written, “We have lost one of music's most revered and prolific visionaries.” We have also lost a great poet and inspiration. And we wish only good to his family, his friends and fans. May they remember him for good and may his poems and songs live forever. Baruch Dayan Haemet 8-11-2016 by George Farkas

Mind to Mind how sublime touching thoughts like raindrops falling through a cloud in time no beginning, no end we bear gifts in this our destiny our strings so finely tuned in an eternity with no beginning without end © L. G. Rogers Jan. 19, 2023

I’m always in a state of wonder about what drives people, real and fictional. Why do they do what they do, often against their better judgment? Speculating on motivation is what gives me the juice to write. I find the possibilities of short-form writing of all kinds infinitely interesting. My latest obsession is the ten-minute play. What an exciting medium to work in. Its challenges sometimes drive me nuts, but I’m okay with that. Here’s a list of my books to date: ● A Run on Hose, a short story collection ● Key in Lock, another short story collection ● The River Throws a Tantrum, a children’s picture chapbook, illustrated by Sarah-Joy Goode ● Shy, an anthology of essays and poetry, edited by Naomi K. Lewis and me ● At This Juncture, a collection of fictional letters ● Waiting, an anthology of essays, edited by Julie Sedivy and me My short stories, essays, flash fiction, and ten-minute plays have appeared in magazines and journals in print and online. I’m not sure what the difference is between a journal and a magazine. Maybe it’s a napkin/serviette thing, a distinction between indistinguishably. In recent years my plays have found audiences in festivals and staged readings in the United States and Canada. One of my plays, “A Memoir of Jackson,” can be purchased for production through the ArtAge catalog. My thanks to the ArtAge Senior Theater Resource Center for making my play available internationally. My other passion is editing. I have worked both in-house and freelance. For years I have edited short stories, essays, novels, creative non-fiction books, academic and professional articles, and corporate documents. For some years I curtailed my editing practice to concentrate on writing. But I enjoy writing and editing in equal measure and am now happily taking on more editing contracts again.

two tidal lovers a sea of exclamations a pounding of waves ----- below the surface it's so sweet resting down here in your soul's ocean ----- mid shadows of fire there among the leaping flames your image dances ----- powerful her tides strong the waves which cast about we entwined lovers ----- two sad lovers cursed their most powerful desires cannot defeat fate ----- i cannot be one my helmet and my rifle as true as my pen ----- kissing your closed eyes telling you secrets with touches smiling at your smile • Donovan Baldwin

Trees black against the blue of night Making dim much needed starlight Fumbling to find the well hewn path Leading to our camp Without a lamp of any sort Guided only by earth’s polar pull Me and my pack of scared girls Scramble through briarwood A snarl rises through the gloom Followed by awful hissing So close to our legs, Raccoons Fighting for territory Our pace quickens, nearly to a run Cracking sticks and punctures to skin Ripping open tent flaps Falling into safety

if only she dared at least show her naked heart... dance her words for him ----- slow dancing at dawn neither day nor we are dressed... nor is there music ----- Her sudden stillness Punctuated by one sigh In encircling arms She sinks sated and replete A long awaited release #tanka ------- poet writes on her whispering words to soft skin with tender kisses ----- poetry whispers in rays of sunlight passing breeze every word your name ----- For some, love is not only an internal desire for the happiness of the other. For these people, its physical manifestations and expressions are natural, normal, and, for some, even necessary. Some cannot imagine love without lust, or vice versa. Some people cannot imagine being these people, but they exist. ----- she unraveled as he tenderly took each strand... wove her a poem ----- upon her garden kisses like a sudden rain... storms rose up inside ----- fingers whispering touching messages of love... felt rather than heard ----- came to her garden waking all her butterflies... into thrilling flight ----- what could i write of if i had never found you... surely not of love ----- look upon my words find yourself loved within them... wanted and desired ----- i reach in darkness just to touch you a moment... reassure myself ----- forget the mirror see yourself as i see you... hear how i say your name ----- she feared her darkness until he showed her the path which led to his light ----- delightful dining a moveable feast indeed... she could not stay still ----- By Donovan Baldwin

to please her poet comes prepared to misbehave undressed for success • Donovan Baldwin