We begin this issue with an announcement. Bird and Beckett Books in San Francisco is hosting a marathon poetry reading on Indigenous People’s Day, Monday October 14th, to benefit the Middle East Children’s Alliance (https://www.mecaforpeace.org/) which provides humanitarian aid to all children of any race or background in Gaza and the West Bank. For a donation to the Alliance of any amount, you can choose a time and come to Bird and Beckett to read any one poem on stage that day. More information here.

Also, several of our contributors invite reviews of their written works. Please feel welcome to contact us and we will put you in touch with the authors.

Noah Berlatsky has a book of poetry recently published from Ben Yehuda Press called *Not Akhmatova*, which is translations/responses/arguments with the work of Anna Akhmatova, thinking about Jewish diaspora.

Daniel De Culla has a collection, Grandparents Dance, that he hopes to publish, and for which he invites reviews.

Duane Vorhees has a book of poetry titled Between Holocausts and invites pre-publication reviews.

Duane Vorhees also offers expertise on a variety of topics and is happy to have writers contact him and pick his brain! Please reach us at synchchaos@gmail.com and we’ll forward your message to Duane.

From Duane:

I grew up in rural SW Ohio (actually about 20 minutes from JD Vance’s home). I lived in Montreal when Rene Leveque won the provincial governorship and launched a French domination movement.

I spent most of my active professional career teaching for the University of Maryland to US military. dependents, and locals in Korea and Japan. I currently live in Thailand.

My PhD was on Immanuel Velikovsky (as a result I probably am one of the world’s leading experts, though I have not engaged in the field for a long time).

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Now, for this month’s second issue, Located.

Our contributors explore and play with the idea of location, of what it means to be somewhere.

Lorraine Caputo’s verbal postcards serve as windows on South and Central American townscapes.

Brian Barbeito dreamily reflects on a suburban neighborhood where he used to live. Soren Sorensen’s art concerns liminal states and the uncanny: a calm suburban house at night with a vague occult reference, hazy suggestions of sunrises, and an arrangement with a dagger and rose. Robert Fleming reinterprets cows in a multitude of surreal directions. Kylian Cubilla Gomez zooms in for closeups of uncanny or unusual aspects of nature.

Mark Young intermixes text, line, and swathes of color in the artworks he calls ‘geographies.’ Patrick Sweeney crafts little vignettes through his haiku-ish sentence fragments. J.D. Nelson brings us another set of quirky monostich poems, peering into the world with gentle humor and curiosity.

Noah Berlatsky illustrates how art can liberate us from commonplace thinking. Kelly Moyer’s photography renders common objects, even a restroom, intriguing visual and tactile experiences. Grant Guy pays tribute to an artistic faction whose ideas he appreciates as they bring a sense of humor to their speculations on life’s absurdities. Doug Holder describes the visceral experience of listening to Etta James.

AG Davis conveys the psychological weight of dislocation in his poetic piece. Ahmad Al-Khatat’s short story evokes the despair and helplessness of soldiers in wartime who cannot return home. Alexander Kabishev evokes the fear and despair of the blockade of Leningrad in his memoirs, a time when home became unrecognizable.

Christopher Bernard envisions the impact of an imagined disaster tearing at the heart of the American city as Pat Doyne pokes fun at Donald Trump’s recent comments on urban immigrants.

Parichita Saha explores the roles of Greek and Roman mythologies in their respective cultures. Z.I. Mahmud explores how W.B. Yeats’ poem Leda and the Swan relates the themes of the Greek myth to the Ireland of his time, situating the story within his own world. Kahlil Crawford celebrates the power of language to provide shelter and refuge and to convey and inspire thoughts that go even deeper than human culture.

Texas Fontanella ponders whether the answers to life’s ultimate questions are simple or complex and whether we stand a chance of figuring them out.

Maja Milojkovic finds belonging and peace through a very personal faith and sees the inspiration of the Lord in nature. Michael Robinson reflects on the steady and caring hand of the Lord throughout his life as a Christian in two pieces, here and here. Mahmud Dzukogi speaks to the spiritual grounding people receive through faith, compassion, and ethics.

Jacques Fleury reminds religious leaders and adherents of our common humanity before God. He points out that racial marginalization can manifest within church settings as well as in the secular world and must be confronted as part of the practice of faith.

Mesfakus Salahin reminds us that we are all equal at the moment of death. Eva Lianou Petropolou urges readers to hold onto innocence in a harsh world. Daniel De Culla captures a loss-of-innocence moment for a young and naive girl.

Some contributors speak to inclusion and belonging within society. Mykyta Ryzhykh laments the callousness of humanity towards the vulnerable. Nahyean Taronno memorializes the courage of student protesters who recently changed the course of Bangladeshi society. Rakhimjonova Mashhura highlights Uzbekistan’s efforts to include children with disabilities in the national education system.

Salihu Muhammad Ebba reminds us of the ubiquity of disease and biological predators and our shared human biological vulnerability. Raquel Barbeito brings a tender eye to her drawings of cats and people, crafting images with colors and lines softly fading into each other.

Many writers find their spiritual and emotional home with another person, or wish to do so. Jasna Gugic expresses the beauty of close, yet wordless, intimacy. Fadwa Attia celebrates the deep and steady love she has found with her partner. Mahbub Alam also speaks of a tender, intimate love. Faleeha Hassan expresses each of the ways in which a close relationship affects and inspires her life. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai contributes delightful rhyming romantic sonnets.

J.J. Campbell speaks to the years-long pain of lost love. Nosirova Gavhar shares a tragic tale where a man recovers from his injuries, yet loses the love of his life. Graciela Noemi Villaverde reflects on the emptiness of her home as she grieves a loved one. Otteri Selvakumar shares his hopes for an honest conversation between lovers to clear the air.

David Sapp reflects on his connection to his father across generations through their shared boyhood collections. Lidia Popa reflects on the memory of those ancients who have died and been lost to history. Isabel Gomez de Diego highlights the smallness of humans, mere children amid the size of nature and culture.

O’tkir Mulikboyev speaks to the depth and breadth of cultural and natural history in the voice of a river flowing to the sea. Sayani Mukherjee muses on rivers, and other natural phenomena, as reminders of impermanence. Utso Bhattacharyya celebrates the wisdom of ecologically sustainable development, including drawing hydroelectric power from moving water.

Jerome Berglund captures and celebrates moments and the flow of time in his mixed media art. Duane Vorhees speaks of physical intimacy, aging, and love and art in his poetry.

Elmaya Jabbarova compares human emotion to the rainbow, asserting that a wide range of feelings are natural. Sandy Rochelle urges us not to fear suffering, but to learn as much as we can by all of our life experiences.

Taylor Dibbert reflects on a past relationship with hard-won wisdom. Tuliyeva Sarvinoz walks away from an unequal relationship and finds true love. She also celebrates the moral vision and courage in Said Ahmad’s novel Silence.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa illustrates the pain of social rejection and abuse, yet reminds us that every season passes, like the night back into day. Dr. Jernail S. Anand offers up wisdom for various stages of life. Ilhomova Mohichehra speculates on life’s mysteries while watching the rain and asserts that on a future sunny day, she will choose to be happy. Idris Sheikh conveys the strength of hope through a poem about seeds. Thaalith Abubakar Gimba affirms his hope for the future despite others’ cynicism.

SEEKING GOD’S KINGDOM ON EARTH
A Psalm-inspired prayer for leaving the earthly world for God’s Kingdom: “My heart is set on heaven, my soul long to fly, to leave this earthly world, and touch the sky, I yearn for God’s Kingdom,...What does it mean to seek God’s Kingdom, To follow His Holy Son Jesus? This is the life I’m prepared to seek and leave behind confusion, chaos, and hate. My joy, hope, or contentment. I have this hope and I have a future.” “As I grow in the Spirit of God, I experience joy, hope and contentment. I find continued joy, compassion and hope because the scriptures say that God has plans to give me a hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11 I have this hope and I have a future in Christ Jesus.
Prayer: Hear my plea my Heavenly Father, I kneel and bow my head in obedience, to live a life that is filling my mind, heart, and soul. I contemplate about a life you have given me since childhood. These memories give me solace. I give you praise and thanksgiving for I have Salvation and Redemption. 

MERCY AND SALVATION

My soul rests beside the waters of your heart. It’s stillness which brings me contentment and faith. I have not lacked the faith You placed within me since childhood. It was a time of prayer and reflection to watch the candle of your presence on the altar. I have prayed to You and praised You for decades. It’s with profound humility I kneel at the altar of lights, remembering many times that I sought to be close to Your Heavenly Kingdom, Your Kingdom
has fulfilled all my needs and wants. I seek nothing more than your Holy son Jesus Christ to reside with my soul. Prayer: My Father, Creator of all that is good, please accept my prayer that I may continue in Your Being for it is Your grace that gives me a sense of presence of your love for me.

SEEKING GOD’S KINGDOM ON EARTH
A Psalm-inspired prayer for leaving the earthly world for God’s Kingdom: “My heart is set on heaven, my soul long to fly, to leave this earthly world, and touch the sky, I yearn for God’s Kingdom,...What does it mean to seek God’s Kingdom, To follow His Holy Son Jesus? This is the life I’m prepared to seek and leave behind confusion, chaos, and hate. My joy, hope, or contentment. I have this hope and I have a future.” “As I grow in the Spirit of God, I experience joy, hope and contentment. I find continued joy, compassion and hope because the scriptures say that God has plans to give me a hope and a future.
Jeremiah 29:11 I have this hope and I have a future in Christ Jesus.
Prayer: Hear my plea my Heavenly Father, I kneel and bow my head in obedience, to live a life that is filling my mind, heart, and soul. I contemplate about a life you have given me since childhood. These memories give me solace. I give you praise and thanksgiving for I have Salvation and Redemption.

Seven Untitled Monostichs



patter onus peach I’d name dust


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opine, etheric soursphinx! I AM


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at dusk what if pirate einkorn?


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of suns set forth o allied orgone axis


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please neatly bee star lamb anchor


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limping ice cold velveeta beet sprite


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dumpty erstwhile now not whey


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bio/graf

J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

Dan’s Box								

In nineteen thirty-something, between the Depression and World War II, Dad built a small box, not big enough to call a chest or locker, from scraps of pine board, nailed together and screwed down with unnecessarily heavy hinges. He carved his name, Dan, into the lid, added a lock, and kept it under his bed to secure a few dollars and his precious boyhood possessions from his little brothers, Stanton and Wayne. 

Dan was also my first name, but never truly belonged to me. Dan of Daniel David, two strong Old Testament origins, Daniel of the lions’ den and David, the sensitive king of Israel and Judah. I was called David, Davy, or Dave unless I was “daddy’s little helper” that day on the Jet Quality Cleaners delivery route in which case I was often called Danny by those who assumed I was a diminutive version of my father. I was Davy when I was little as all the kids watched Davy and Goliath, a creepy Christian Sunday morning claymation. (There was no beheading of Goliath as he was Davy’s dog.) 

And on Saturday mornings there was Davy Jones from The Monkees TV show. I looked a bit like the very cute Davy Jones and the name Davy Jones made me think of Davy Jones’ Locker and pirates. Dad’s box looked as if it belonged to a swashbuckler who sailed the seven seas. In junior high school, I wanted girlfriends to call me Dave as it was much cooler for the brief time I was moderately and marginally popular. And to this day Dave is selected by those who don’t know me very well, attempting to be immediately chummy. I don’t correct anyone – unlike my acquaintances Robert (Bob) and Charles (Chuck).

When Dad didn’t need the box anymore as now he was a grownup with a bank account, safety deposit box, and a wall safe in the bedroom, he gave it to me to put my things in. It was empty. I hoped it wasn’t, but filled with his things, the things that were important to him. I filled it with my own boyhood treasure, the beginning of accumulating possessions. 

Three arrowheads, one broken at the point, one crudely tooled, and one perfect, all found by Dad, not me in newly plowed fields after a rain. Five prehistoric shark teeth I found, not Dad, or so I liked to recollect, on the beach at Venice, Florida. It was more likely that Dad bought these along with shells and sand dollars in a cheap gift shop. A pair of gold, wire-rimmed spectacles which once belonged to a great grandparent, but no one told me which. A few walking liberty silver dollars – pure silver, Dad said. 

A tiny pouch filled with gold ore Dad brought back from one of his trips to Colorado. At the time he was trying one of several new business flops, in this case selling plots of land for a new subdivision west of Pueblo. Two two-dollar bills because Thomas Jefferson was my favorite president in third grade. A note from a girl claiming she liked me – also from third grade.

Several inconsequential Army lapel insignia misplaced from uniforms at the dry cleaners. Later I wondered if any of these belonged to young men who were killed in Vietnam as I started my collection in the mid-1960s. Dad’s Ohio National Guard marksmanship badge which resembled a German Iron Cross a little too much, a decoration found around the necks of Nazis. One jumbo marble shooter, cracked, and five equally chipped cat eyes from the playground at Elmwood Elementary (I wasn’t very successful at marbles.) 

A skeleton key to a door of which I had no knowledge. Maybe it was Grandma and Grandpa’s extra key, but they wouldn’t need it as they left their doors unlocked knowing no one would want to rob their old farmhouse. And when they did rarely lock the door, they hung the key from a nail on a post on the porch where anyone could easily find it. Coins and brightly colored bills from the Bahamas from when Mom and Dad travelled there for a dry cleaners’ convention. A Saint Christopher’s medal from catechism, maybe First Communion, which I never wore because of how my enthusiastically evangelical protestant grandmother talked about Catholics. 

One pocketknife with a broken blade and one mini penknife meant for a key chain. And a fountain pen that, depending upon how it was tilted, the ink revealed the woman depicted on the side as either clothed or naked. All of this was locked up with a combination lock, the combination frequently lost or forgotten. And I often needed to ask Dad to open it as I could never get the turn-left-and-turn-right-past-the-last-number just right. I am not sure what became of Dan’s box. Despite filling my it, the box remained more Dan and Dad than Davy, Dave, or David.



David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the
southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawings titled Drawing Nirvana.

Jerome Berglund has worked as everything from dishwasher to paralegal, night watchman to assembler of heart valves. Many haiku, haiga and haibun he’s written have been exhibited or are forthcoming online and in print, most recently in bottle rockets, Frogpond, Kingfisher, and Presence. His first full-length collections of poetry Bathtub Poems and Funny Pages were just released by Setu and Meat For Tea press, and a mixed media chapbook showcasing his fine art photography is available now from Yavanika.