Poetry from Joan Beebe

UNIVERSAL ONENESS
When one thinks of the Universe,
It seems to be a vast ocean of time and space.
A nothingness that is an entity having no effect
On we humans living on our own planet Earth.
But as we live our own lives, there is something
Of which we may not be aware.
That is the Oneness that binds we humans together.
Whether we live in different countries and have
Different cultures, still there is an unknown fact
To many of mankind – and that is – the way we think
About ourselves and others.
This is the motivating thoughts that emanate from our minds.
This is the way we perceive others, taking care of ourselves and family,
Interactions with many people and think day to day of our responsibilities.
Man was given that great gift of thought and it is that gift that brings
 a “Universal Oneness.”

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Poetry from Mahbub

 

To Have a Finger In Every Pie

 

It was summer’s rain

You came to me blowing soft wind

I became cold from burning coal

Firing and the body was burning

The world seemed to be hazy

Mind crazy

It is you who came to me

Gift me a life

My eyes got power to see

When you kept your eyes on me

Hold me my body tight

made me soft and mild

my heart to beat high

I was trembling with joy

I saw through the whole world

When you fully started to —-

I saw nothing but the colourful —-

It was you my love, my sense,

That I had a finger in every pie.

 

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Cristina Deptula reviews San Francisco State University’s 2017 Personalized Medicine Conference

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Amy Lynn Santiago’s three-year-old son Nicholas Volker was suddenly, terribly ill. Problems that had started with a fever and an abscess that would not heal now trapped the boy in the hospital for years. He endured multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, dangerous and powerful drugs, and the permanent removal of his colon. Finally, as Nick’s care exceeded the family insurance’s two million dollar lifetime benefits cap, the physicians in his Milwaukee hospital decided to sequence his genome.
Upon discovering that he had two rare genetic diseases, they were able to successfully treat them with a bone marrow transplant. However, Nicholas, now 11, lives with long-term side effects from his ordeal, including PTSD, learning disabilities, social issues from living in near isolation for four years, and a permanent ileostomy.
His parents believe that gene sequencing could have saved him and others from much of what he went through, and advocate for this sort of personalized medicine through their nonprofit One in a Billion Foundation.
Dr. Michael Goldman and the San Francisco State University Department of Biological Sciences also see the promise of personalized genomic medicine, and hosted a one-day conference in South San Francisco June 2nd to highlight developments in the field.

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Poetry from Vijay Nair

 

                         Mouse Eats Cat

He a white mouse

Eats white house-

Cloned in conspiracy

Trump, card a covenant

Put’in, entraped first lady

His vendetta led coventry

 

He in nature a rat its modern,

Spread bubonic plague

He a black death;

Cowboy, his coven are

Lynchpin causing

A lymph node in lynx

Bob cat in burial ceremony

By the lynch mob

 

©Vijay P Nair -2017

 

 

 

 

 

Tony LeTigre reviews Tom Robbins’ Still Life with Woodpecker

GIVE ROMANCE A CHANCE

 

A Belated Appraisal of “Still Life With Woodpecker,” by Tom Robbins

 

“Unwilling to wait for mankind to improve, the outlaw lives as if that day were here.”

—Bernard Mickey Wrangle

 

In 1980, Ronald Reagan became POTUS, MTV turned negative one, & Tom Robbins published Still Life With Woodpecker. Peradventure, your mother was a Tom Robbins fan when you were growing up. You remember his books & their quirky titles — Skinny Legs And All, Jitterbug Perfume — & Uma Thurman as a hitchhiker with prosthetically enlarged thumbs in the film adaptation of Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. You may have borrowed your mom’s copy of Even Cowgirls the novel, on the pretext of reading it, but being an adolescent at the time, all you really did was flip through the pages looking for sex scenes.

 

So, you nearly missed the Tom Robbins express train to cult literary Nirvana. Luckily, in your present life as a grownup in a whole new millennium, you chance upon a rack-size paperback of Still Life With Woodpecker, from a free pile or tiny library, & take it home to read. Suddenly, your mother’s enthusiasm all those years ago comes back, & makes perfect sense. You are soon hooked by this winsome yarn about a wayward modern princess named Leigh-Cheri, on the cusp of adulthood, who breaks away from her punctilious parents for a fateful sojourn on Maui.

 

“Who knows how to make love stay?” That’s the question asked early on & woven through the novel. We are invited to ponder the fleeting & elusive quality of love, why we can’t hold on to the first rush of connection & stay in love, forever. At the core of Still Life With Woodpecker is a love story, irreverently told by the inimitable Tom Robbins, comprising equal parts oldfashioned storybook romance, Greco-Shakespearean tragedy, Lady & the Tramp, & Bonnie & Clyde. This love story begins & ends with a bang, literally, in the form of dynamite. It dispenses with sentiment, skips over courtship, & cuts to the chase. If you’re a reader of warped sensibility who usually spurns romance, given what it signifies as a modern literary genre, here is an alternative romance that may suit your taste.

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Poetry from JD DeHart

The Nose
First appeared at Apocrypha and Abstraction.
They say the nose knows, but that is just a not-too-clever play on words in my case. The last memory I have as a full person is the feeling of the steering wheel slipping out of my hands, that moment when touch ceased and then the spinning sound of metal and magic.
I no longer pay attention to sounds.
I was either a banker or was looking for work, I am no longer sure. I remember stuffing money into envelopes. Perhaps I was a very organized criminal.
All I know is that, upon waking, the smells were too intense to manage. I could smell the kindly nurse and her floral perfume, the bathroom down the hall that needed to be cleaned (badly), and the gelatin being stirred in the cafeteria.
I am slowly learning to manage my senses.
When the raspy voice in the bed next to me asked his doctor how long he had, I sniffed out his very life and told him, with accuracy, “About two more hours.” Everyone smelled stunned when it turned out to be true.
The day I finally get out of here, it is not going to be easy. I am no longer a set of eyes or hands, just a nose. Does any love noses? How does a nose become a productive member of society? I may not even be able to walk around.
Perhaps I can become a consultant in a cosmetics store (if the odors are not too overwhelming), or a fortune-teller, sniffing out the longevity of my clientele. I would make a great chef, as I now have refined tastes by virtue of my olfactory system.
Perhaps I will fold up and go away with the rest of what used to be this body, an appendage without a home and, worse yet, with no one to wipe me when I get runny.

Poetry from Ryan Flanagan

6.7

 

NOT ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE!, he yelled,

standing up

and shaking all over like Elvis

his family gathered around the dinner table

doing their best to ignore him

as he grabbed a broom

from the hall closet

and ran around jiggling all the light fixtures

on the ceiling.

 

When it was over

he sat back down to

dinner.

 

Passing the dinner rolls,

a perfect gentleman.

 

The threat of aftershocks

ever present.


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Poetry from J.K. Durick

 

                  Tipping Point
There’s that moment, we’ve all lived it,
felt it, survived it, the moment when
everything slips, slides, even cascades
away from us, beyond our control, we
become watchers, witnesses without
a role to play, but to hang on and pray
if we can remember prayers for just
moments like this, chaos theory plays
out, the butterfly we watched last fall,
the monarch we watched set things in
motion, and now once again we get to
watch, witness as everything slips away,
history, when we live it, amuses itself
with the irony of it all, we read the past
and pick out these moments and know
the future will read our present and draw
time lines, our tipping points, our tripping
points, like this one when everything begins
to slip, slide, cascade away, the Niagara river
going by, heading for the Falls, and here we
are midstream, knee deep, waist deep, and
here we are, hanging on, watching it all go by.
 

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Poetry from Theophilus Adeyinka

Try Smile

                     When you labor from dusk to dawn

                     Sleeping only for some hours till morn,

                     When you watch your hands tremble from cramp

                     And cold sweat makes your cloth damp,

                    When a trace of grin darkens your face

                     And in gloom blues you seek solace,

                     When you watch vain results pile:

                     Still from within, try a smile.

 

                     When for a thousand life pays a buck

                     And you feel nothing seems to work,

                     When you lie on the brink of desperation

                     Seeking your way through strong meditation,

                     With closed eyes, yet seeking, all you can find

                     And thousand thoughts flood your pale mind,

                     As fickle fortune ease you where you lie,

                     Invictus you are, when you smile.

 

                     Against the fierceness of a million raging storms,

                     And the cataclysm raining down to burn,

                     Against the future that seem very bleak,

                     And the fiascos making your bones creak,

                     As the moon reflects in perfect radiance

                     Against the damp night in sweet defiance,

                     The bitterness that engulf you like bile

                     Can you courageously fight, with a smile.

 

                     For I know a smile can:

                     With the fury of ten thousand swords

                     Pierce through the marrow of mocking words;

                     With the warm Aura of the sun

                     Draw you positive people for your sun

                     With the attractiveness of a maiden

                     Get you prompt help for a farthing;

                     Cause you to sing while tackling the thing

                     And do what you thought you couldn’t.

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Poetry from Vandita Dharni

1. Unrequited Love

Lonely teardrops flow through my eyes,

dampening my aching heart

that beats only for you beloved

as we are drifted apart.

A restless thought gnaws at my mind_

When will our restless souls meet?

 

The trepidation of uncertainty

numbs my senses.

As I feel a kiss of your breath,

a rapturous joy envelops me

drowning me in a tumultuous ocean,

flowing through my being.

 

My feelings are tearing me apart

like the waves that treacherously depart

from the bed of the sifting sands.

Haunting thoughts of you that lie deep within

linger on unabatedly.

I ponder, I brood, I moan.

 

A warm silence palpitates and sweeps

through the flickering, aromatic candlelight.

I pause to wonder_

Could you be thinking of me too?

The magical moments of our love enshrined, revisited.

The passion of our love unrequited.

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Synchronized Chaos June 2017: Connect The Dots

Welcome to June’s issue of Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

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This issue illustrates that to a point we can choose how to interpret the world around us. As with a children’s connect-the-dots picture, the facts of life may to some extent be established, but we have some say over the connections and conclusions we draw from them.

Poet Vijay Nair draws once more upon classical Greek mythology, with a homage to the story of Pygmalion and Galatea, where a man creates and falls in love with a statue of an idealized female figure. In the same way, we all create and embrace our own ideals, as we come up with our own concepts of what is beautiful and important to focus on in life.

Some of this month’s writers are sincere in their appreciation for the world. Joan Beebe’s poetry celebrates birds in flight, stars in the nighttime sky, and the world after sunset, with a wish for humans to act with care towards each other in light of so much natural beauty. Mimi Mathis honors veterans from World War II in a piece inspired by oral history interviews she conducted.

Their genuine words contrast with the cynicism inherent in Michael Marrotti’s short story lampooning an over-the-top writers’ workshop and J.J. Campbell’s more serious poetry that provides small snapshots of people with broken lives.

Mahbub’s poetry selections this month remind us of life’s impermanence. We aren’t going to be here forever, and neither are our loved ones, so we may as well choose to make the most of the time that we do have.

Elizabeth Hughes, in her monthly Book Periscope review column, shows us the writing of a woman who has done that. Darrah Perez, an author and performance artist from the Wind River Native reservation in Wyoming, has given us three collections of poetry and prose that describe her journey through life as she overcame addiction and other obstacles to be able to impart wisdom to others.

Elizabeth Hughes also reviews Joe Klingler’s new suspense novel Tune Up, about the young female San Francisco police detective Kandy and her older Inuit partner Qiqig’s work on a homicide that intersects with the story of Mylin, a talented violinist. Crime solving inevitably involves ‘connecting the dots.’

J.D. DeHart offers up thoughts in the form of little vignettes reminiscent of paintings, slices of life from unusual angles. We see calm strength through a gorilla keeper’s eyes, opened minds as a family comes to full understanding of their mother’s life and stature, self-critique as a person realizes that archetypes of people in distress speak more to his own need to rescue than to those others, pity for those whose human foibles are recorded electronically for posterity – and children, once grown, who take control and begin creating their own stories, shaping their own mythologies independent of the fairy tales of previous generations.

We hope that this issue helps empower you to develop and act upon a worldview that energizes and inspires you.

connect_the_dots

an interdisciplinary art, literary, science, cultural, and travel journal