Thank you to Jacques Fleury for responding to our request for readers to offer their expertise to assist writers! He has a variety of published writing which he can refer people to on request and is open to being interviewed on these topics:

-History of Haiti, as an author on the subject & as a Haiti born  American citizen 

-Black/African American History, as a “black” man who grew up in America & as an author on the subject

-Race and Racism, as a Person of Color having survived & thrived despite lived experience of racism & as author on subject

-Mental Health/Illness/Wellness & Recovery, having had lived experience & as an author on the subject

Everyone else, if you have an area of knowledge where you’d be glad to be interviewed to help people who are writing about that topic, please reach out to us at synchchaos@gmail.com.

Also, our contributor Abigail George’s book When Bad Mothers Happen, released January 2024 from European publisher Morten Rand, is available for Synchronized Chaos readers to review. Please let us know if this interests you and her publisher can send review copies (and we can publish reviews!)

It is available on Amazon here, and here is a link to a promo video.

This month, our contributors figure out how to make sense of the universe, piece by piece.

Alan Catlin renders lists and catalogues into a form of poetry, building up objects from their components, like a brick tower or a floral arrangement. J.D. Nelson crafts auditory and visual snapshots that can stand for and evoke an entire scene.

Soren Sorensen contributes mixed media alterations of reality and existential poetry on making sense of the universe. Mars Brocke’s mixed media artwork plays with reality and perception in a nod to Alice in Wonderland. His poetry, also surreal, evokes memories and states of mind. Martha Ellen conveys the psychological changes induced by benzodiapine medicine and the fluidity and vulnerability of the human brain and mind. Mark Young creatively defines concepts through descriptive words that once explained something.

Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam’s collaborative haiku focuses on and thus highlights the value of noticing small and in-between moments.

Saidova Mahzuna outlines methods for learning and teaching vocabulary. Mo’minjonova Diyora highlights the benefits of continuing to read and learn throughout life. Sevinchoy Sanat outlines ways to enhance education through technology as Ibrohimova Durdonaxon outlines different areas to focus on when improving childhood education. However, sometimes the old ways still hold wisdom: Daniel De Culla relates a humorous tale of a modern woman who chooses to go with folk wisdom regarding her health. Gregg Norman presents a poem from the point of view of a character who’s living life to the fullest, with health benefits as incidental.

Noah Berlatsky muses on the identity of Spock and on what makes intriguing literary characters. Jacques Fleury reflects on his personal and cultural identity. Mesfakus Salahin speaks to life, death, and personal accountability, redemption, and the meaning of one individual life. David Sapp relates a tale of responsibility, honor, and mailboxes. Ranjan Sagar reminds us that others’ poor character need not diminish our own. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa addresses the tension between roots and wings, needing to fly free and wanting a stable nest, and reflects on the end of life. Paul Tristram speaks to personal growth, strength, and self-discipline while Sarvinoz Mansurova shares her family’s dreams for her and her own aspirations. Nigora Tursunboyeva’s short story celebrates adventure and finding one’s own way in life.

Gaurav Ojha reflects on how he will take nothing with him when he leaves the earth. Graciela Noemi Villaverde expresses the exquisite anguish of losing someone close to her. Engin Cir speaks to the grief, but also the indignation, of romantic heartbreak. Faleeha Hassan evokes the feeling of anxiety, being exposed and weighed down. Mykyta Ryzhykh conveys alienation, cold, and a halfway state between life and death.

Duane Vorhees speaks to creativity, sensuality, and history, evoking major and minor apocalypses that occur when people cannot or do not adapt to constant change. Taylor Dibbert reflects on how creativity can help him weather, if not avoid, his struggles. Z.I. Mahmud links the expectations of Samuel Beckett’s characters in Waiting for Godot to those of broader Western religious and cultural traditions.

Adam Fieled writes of our twin natures, the balance of masculine and feminine. Z.I. Mahmud examines the family relationships in D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers through a Freudian psychoanalytic lens. Karimova Sarvara Karimovna crafts an elegant and highly personal love poem. Kristy Raines speaks to the joy of a close loving relationship. Aytuvova Khurshida shares a love story that gets interrupted by life, but where the former partners always remember each other. Numonova Khonzodabegim poignantly shares the challenges and risks military families face.

J.K. Durick speaks to the harsh realities of aging and death and hunger, which can be eased, but not completely erased, by modern culture. J.J. Campbell’s poetry addresses aging and resignation while Dildora Toshtemirova reflects on the loss of a close friend or lover. Nosirova Gavhar’s short story combines two great human passions: love and grief.

Paul Callus and Christina Chin collaborate on a wide-ranging haiku collection evoking home, place, and time. Stephen Jarrell Williams captures many of summer’s varied moods in his haiku. Steven Croft watches a Civil War reenactment through the eyes of a modern veteran. Brooks Lindberg speaks to what we remember and what we forget, of grasping happiness despite reality. Rustamjonova Nodira celebrates the perseverance of Uzbekistan’s founders, leaders, and people, as Nuraini Mohammed Usman urges her society to carry out collective housecleaning and purge old enmities.

Murodova Sitora urges teachers to continue to learn and develop their skills and be accorded the respect and resources in order to do so. Abduraximova Muyassarxon relates how a dedicated teacher helped her regain her confidence. Rukshona Qiyomova outlines the many responsibilities of a teacher and the value of the teaching profession. Sevinch Saidova reflects on the value of education for personal development. Sushant Kumar highlights the need for teachers to serve as role models as well as impart intellectual information.

Majidova Sevinch pays tribute to the many dimensions of a mother’s love and care. Sobirjonova Rayhona offers a tribute to her sister’s care and friendship. Ilhomova Mohichehra takes joy in her friends and her lovely homeland of Uzbekistan.

Brian Barbeito revels in the easy intimacy of the conversation on a summer hike. Salokhiddinova Mohichehra examines the structure and function of nature close to home, the human kidney. Isabel Gomez de Diego contributes visual poetry of everyday life: dinner with family, a visit with a grandson, a tree in the yard. Kylian Cubilla Gomez takes closeup peeks at backyard chickens.

Sayani Mukherjee recollects a quiet morning outdoors under the blue sky, smelling the scent of trees with her child. Maja Milojkovic yearns for and finds reminders of her lover in every aspect of nature. Intizor Samandarova evokes the sky’s expansive emptiness in her poetry as Don Bormon poetizes about the vast variety of clouds.

However, nature is not always calm: researcher Les Beley speaks to the ecological impact of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Mahbub Alam describes the recent flash floods in parts of Bangladesh and the loss of life and property.

Farida Botayeva reflects on how quickly our circumstances and emotions can change. Ziyoda Murodilova considers how she will persevere in her life despite unpredictable feelings.

Finally, Christopher Bernard presents an old-style lyrical recipe for preparing hope in the kitchen.

A skilled pedagogue and his image

Among all professions, the teaching profession has a special and important social importance. After all, the teacher is the architect of the maturity of the heart of the young generation, the person who educates and educates the youth. Today, he teaches the youth the laws of society, social life, and the development of thinking, prepares the youth for work, and helps them master the secrets of the profession. they say. This responsibility requires the teacher to be a master of his profession. A skilled pedagogue is a highly cultured specialist who is a skilled master of his profession, has a deep knowledge of his subject, and has mastered the methodology of education and training.

Pedagogical skills teach teachers pedagogical creativity, pedagogical technique, speech culture, thinking, organization and implementation of educational work of the pedagogue. It provides information about the system of pedagogical activities that develop their profession. In order for the pedagogical activities of teachers to be effective the system of necessary skills: knowledge, ability to understand the child, observation, speech skills, organization, ability to see the future, ability to divide attention, correctly assess the situation, handle all kinds of conflicts that may arise timely elimination, making students interested in learning.

A teacher who does not understand the essence of the pedagogical process and does not respect the child will not have an opinion that ensures the effectiveness of education and human maturity. Pedagogical skill – “Teachers’ qualities such as childishness, humanity, kindness and knowledge, ingenuity, creativity, ability is a defining characteristic, and it is an activity that provides teachers with the opportunity to reach a high level in their educational activities and to constantly improve their professional skills. He is perfect in his subject who knows, has pedagogical and methodical training,

It is manifested in the professional activity of every teacher who conducts practical activities in order to find ways to teach, educate and develop students.

During the formation of the teaching profession, it is pedagogical skills improve. He conducts educational activities with students with various psychological characteristics. Faces various conflicts. This, in turn, forces him to constantly create, to find and skillfully apply various means and methods of education. Thus, to become the owner of pedagogical skills, the teacher is himself he should know the educational subject based on the requirements of the time, have pedagogical and psychological knowledge, and should have humanity, curiosity and self-sacrifice.

Notes on the Confederacy’s Next to Last Battle in Georgia

I leave US Highway 17, take the quiet oak-lined county road that divides subdivisions along the Ogeechee River to the entrance of Fort McAllister where history folds back on itself today, wormholes two dates —

December 13, 1864, Fort McAllister falls,

December 9, 2023, the Final Battle of Fort McAllister.

Beyond the portal of the Visitors Center the Yankee encampment has the symmetry of a movie set, tents geometrically spaced as if soldiers were required to measure their separation before raising them.  An officer’s wide wall tent in the center, twice the size of others, has two flags guarding the entrance.  A former Army soldier, I almost say “Permission to enter” before a bluecoat in slouch hat walks out, introducing himself as a colonel.  He tells me he is frying sweet potatoes for breakfast, the smoke and sizzle of his iron skillet over the fire in front of his tent rises to join smoke from other campfires in the late morning’s winter bite of cold wind.  He tells me his Union flag has 34 stars and the other’s a gold Irish regiment flag, a Celtic harp visible in its hanging folds.

The night before I searched the web for Civil War era facts —

In 1859, the year construction of The First African Baptist Church of Savannah was completed, an auction of 400 slaves occurred in Savannah, one of the largest in US history.

After Fort Sumter was attacked, President Lincoln called forth 75,000 soldiers to put down the rebellion.

Some young boys who volunteered wrote the number 18 on paper they stuffed in a shoe so they could say they “were over 18” honestly [a folksy tidbit in Smithsonian].

Elderly Confederate veterans were paraded before cheering crowds during the 1939 ‘Gone with the Wind’ movie premier festivities in Atlanta.

He falls out of character quickly, the drumbeat of battle still hours away, says he’s been a reenactor since retiring from the Army in 2014.  I ask the obvious question for me, “Afghanistan and/or Iraq?”  Like me he was in both wars.  He, a retired Lieutenant Colonel, tells me of going home with the body of one of his soldiers, taking him home to his hometown, at the end of their Afghanistan tour.  I tell him it somehow seems worst when soldiers die with only days left.  He looks at me and doesn’t disagree, but behind his eyes are other deaths he will forever consider.

I think of another Civil War fact, from American Battlefield Trust: Military Losses in American Wars —

Civil War —————————————————————————————— 620,000

Iraq-Afghanistan – 7,000

I tell him I would wish him battle-luck, but, except for those of one Yankee grandmother, all my relatives fought for the South. He salutes.  I flash a wave and walk the grassy lane to the Fort.

Two Rebel soldiers stand before a period plantation house outside the fort’s high earthen walls.  Rifles long and bayoneted, one says to an audience of mostly children that his cap is called a “‘kepi’ based off French headgear.”  His brown-coated chest crossed by straps, holding, as he points to them, “cartridge box,” “haversack,” “canteen.”  His so far quiet fellow, much older, with the same coat and gear but sloppy-brimmed cowboy hat and black pullover-strap sneakers, asks the kids, “Has any of you’s heard a Rebel Yell?”  After they shake their heads no, he lets out a high-pitched yelp that morphs into a guttural bark.  Younger kids laugh and scurry.  He asks if anyone can match him?  Some older boys try, and, as if planned, a cannon’s earsplitting boom sounds from the fort as a shock to everyone, the children dissolving in squeals and laughter.

I walk inside the dim house where women sit around a spinning wheel in period dresses, glazed by light from the crackling fireplace.  One rises to greet me, “Hello, visitor.”  She tells me this is the officers’ barracks, bunk beds lining the walls.  She says enlisted soldiers will sleep outside on the ground.  I think back to sleeping on a cot in the winter woods of Fort Stewart, only a few miles from here, the cold from the ground making my cot feel like a wet towel I can never get comfortable lying on, and that some conditions for soldiers have hardly improved.  I also think that to a soldier these women must truly seem lovely.

Back outside in the daylight I find a seat on a low, mock powder keg, against the faux-coquina side wall of the house, facing the yellow hazard tape closing off the area of imminent battle.  Some families picnic on blankets in the intervening space, some have set up folding camp chairs along the tape.  Children are running everywhere.  A Girl Scout troop marches together loosely to a space near the now taped off footbridge entrance to the fort where a Confederate soldier and a ranger speak to them.  “Sherman’s troops have been sighted by scouts and are close by and a battle is imminent.  The Fort is preparing now.” I pull out the pocket New Testament I carried in the Army to read during periods of waiting.  Looking down, I see a toad sitting in the shadow between barrel and wall make a few hops as I rock my seat slightly.   I read in Hebrews, “In the time of David, and of Samuel, and of the prophets: Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in fight, turned to flight the armies of foreign invaders.”

I imagine a rebel officer sitting here last night, unable to sleep while knowing Sherman is coming with his demon’s desire to give Savannah the same fiery fate Atlanta has suffered.  Watching a toad hop around in moonlight,

he mouths a prayer —

Almighty God, whose Providence watcheth over all things, in Thine infinite wisdom and power, so overrule events, and so dispose the hearts of all, that this fight may end in defeat and rout of the Yankees and lead to the honor and welfare of our Confederate States.  Glory to Thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Rat-a-tat-tat of a drum about 300 yards away where the Union soldiers are now leaving camp with rifles slung over shoulders in a two-by-two file, heading for a track where they disappear into the woods to the west of Fort McAllister.

Another cannon fires from the fort.  The sun now lighting the western side of the oaks lining the river, makes shadows along the river’s bank.  The fort was never taken by bombardment from the river despite Union attempts by wooden gunships and ironclads during the years of the war.  Now Sherman, needing to move materiel over the Ogeechee, carried by Federal ships waiting offshore, to assist in taking Savannah, sends 4,000 troops commanded by Brigadier General Hazen to take the fort by land.  In the growing exchange of rifle-fire between fort and woods, smoke rises in the woods to give away clumps of Union soldiers.  Things settle again briefly.  Then, sustained cannon fire.  One of the cannons is visible through a valley in the earthen wall, its rebel artillery crew loading, firing, reloading.  Then, another pause.  After some time, an eager boy lining the hazard tape with his father asks, “How many minutes?!”

More rifle volleys come from the woods, and Union soldiers appear between woods and fort making a rough line.  There is a raised soldiers’ chant from the woods then sustained combined yell as Union soldiers race across the open ground and into the moat, through its pickets.  Much gunfire and yelling as additional Union forces run across the open ground, surge into the fort.

I imagine thoughts of a confederate soldier inside the fort as the fighting becomes hand to hand:

A tremor of exhaustion rifles like the wind along our line, and we know our bodies are more than our bodies.  They are the only things holding back the end of our world.

Finally, the yells in the fort cease and a park ranger walks the footbridge over the moat from the fort.  She tells us Fort McAllister has surrendered and invites anyone who wants to enter the fort.  After the crowd makes its way in, the reenactors standing idle now, the ranger says she wants to thank Georgia Department of Natural Resources, the City of Richmond Hill, and all the reenactors.  She tells us the last act of resistance in the fort was by Captain Clinch, CSA, who drew his sword and challenged Captain Grimes of the Union Army, who insisted his fellows allow him to accept the challenge.  When Captain Clinch gained the upper hand by landing a cutting blow to Captain Grimes’ head, Captain Clinch was bayoneted “five or six times” by Yankee soldiers.  However, Captain Clinch would survive, she said, and was visited at his sick bed by Captain Grimes who returned Captain Clinch’s sword to him.  This story somehow believable in a war where men touted valor and honor so highly.

During the waning days of 1861, President Abraham Lincoln signed a Congressionally approved bill creating “Medals of Honor.”  The government presented 1,523 Medals of Honor to recipients during the Civil War, more than in any subsequent war.

After Fort McAllister’s fall, Confederate General William Joseph Hardee rejected Sherman’s demand to surrender Savannah, but this was just a bluff to buy time to recall his troops from their trenches and move them across the Savannah River into South Carolina.  By abandoning Savannah, General Hardee saved it from the destruction Atlanta suffered.  With no shots fired, Sherman’s troops entered the city of Savannah at the invitation of its mayor, and on December 21st, 1864, General Sherman sent a telegram to President Lincoln:

I beg to present you a Christmas gift of the city of Savannah, with one hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition, also about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton.

Four months after the fall of Fort McAllister, on April 9th, 1865, Robert E. Lee surrendered his Army to General Grant at Appomattox, Virginia.  Lee rode away accepting and returning the salute of the Union officers present.

Seven days after Lee’s Surrender, Union General James A. Wilson would besiege Columbus, Georgia, defended by Confederates commanded by General Howell Cobb, and lay waste to much of the city (as yet unaware of Lee’s surrender, Wilson would say after the war that had he known of it, he would not have visited such devastation on Columbus) — effectively the last battle of the Civil War.

That war-torn, hollowed out South an eon ago of 160 years now.

In growing shadows of late afternoon, I walk with families of excited and talkative children back through the portal of the Visitors Center, back into our United States of America.

Steven Croft lives on a barrier island off the coast of Georgia.  His latest chapbook is At Home with the Dreamlike Earth (The Poetry Box, 2023).  His work has appeared in Willawaw Journal, San Pedro River Review, So It Goes, Synchronized Chaos, and other places, and has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net.

The Contender

& so, eventually,

come back or make

a comeback. Such

area contained within

that (missing) space.

Comeback means

trying to get back

to where you were

& hope you make it.

Come back implies

you never left there.

Blink

A participle of

movement. The

running man. Snap-

shot open to

interpretation. Statement

given, vision

attached. Nothing

in it. Wait for. Wait for

the man to pass

by. Ask. Why? State-

ment means nothing.

Formulaic

Look, she said, I

know you’ve got

all these fancy ideas

about structure &

trochees & the

lengths of breaths

but they’re all

far too complex

for me to compre-

hend. My way

is simpler. Go

down to the

beach to do

your writing &

put in a line

break every time

a beautiful body

passes by.

from a past life

Rain, finally, after months of dry. Bucketing down. So dark I turn the lights on at 1.30 p.m. only to have them go out five minutes later as the power goes off. Thunder & lightning, directly overhead, only nanoseconds between flash & crash, not even enough time to say one thousand one. I sit in the open area beneath the house, some meters back but not far enough to escape the rain which sweeps in everywhere. I do not care. The gutters flood. Through a blurring curtain falling off the roof I watch the water start to lap over the edges of the pool. Ten minutes ago it was several centimeters lower down. The cat cowers under another chair. The turtles of the Woolwash Lagoon will be hurrying to lay their eggs. At the first sign of rain . . . Branches break off trees. There are no birds.

The storm moves away. The birds return. The power takes another twenty minutes.

Meanwhile, in the Ozarks

Metal brackets, 18 carat

white gold men’s wedding

ring, no glitch. Advanced

technology, the image

printed directly onto can-

vas, rounded & beveled,

art deco style. Any euphem-

ism for describing queer

people. A real all rounder.

A Promise

In the bosom of a colorful flower garden, young lovers were looking at each other with bright eyes and excited hearts, the girl:
- May I ask you something?
- Yes, of course.
- Can we have our wedding on my birthday?
- Why on this particular day? There are still ten months to the birthday.
- I want you to play the piano for me on our wedding day. It would be the biggest gift for me on my birthday. It would be a double celebration.
- Say so. Okay. I promise. Of course, I will play the most beautiful tune for you.
Time passed and the wedding day came. Candles were lit, the wedding hall was beautifully decorated, while the son-in-law was sitting in the middle playing the piano, a quiet tune was playing. He kept his promise. But a mournful song dedicated to the bride who recently died of illness was playing in the empty wedding hall…

Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «KayvaKishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.

Uzbekistan

My country is always
My dear Uzbekistan.
This girl is rich in beauty,
Narcissus in my garden.

The so-called Uzbekistan
I was born in a beautiful place.
By and by
I pulled out the rock.

Have fun these days,
Flowers open every day.
Birds flying far away,
Happy girls.

Play and laugh at home
Sneak away.
Push your period,
You build the future.

The country is burning for you,
Both parents.
always burning for you
Sweating and burning.

For the value of such a country,
Enough dear friends.
Such a country from the world,
You will never find.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is a student of the 8th grade of the 9th general secondary school of Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

the intricacies

of a dying art

 – a stave church

marks the end 

of Viking age 

Paul Callus (Malta) / Christina Chin (Malaysia) 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

after school

where we play catch

— church fields

resound with laughter

and chiming of bells

Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

amusement park

wide-eyed children trace the path

of the Ferris wheel

the manager gives

a free joy ride
Paul Callus (Malta) / Christina Chin (Malaysia)

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

taking over 

an abandoned garden

purslane and birds

I watch mother fry 

the tasty weed

Paul Callus (Malta) / Christina Chin (Malaysia)