Monthly Archives: December 2017
Christopher Bernard’s Amor I Kaos: Fifth Installment
Christopher Bernard’s Amor i Kaos: Fifth installment
I see the following:
The interior of a west coast café, with seismic support beams making a graceful right-angled triangle in the middle of the room.
Numerous café chairs, a dozen tables of various shapes and sizes, most of them occupied by leisurely eating and chatting lunchers (most are in couples, with a few small groups, and several loners seriously addressing their plates; there is a common table with several loners exaggeratedly ignoring each other behind their open lap tops); two iron railings lead up to the café’s glass door through a wall of glass looking out onto the street.
Passing cars, a truck, bus, males and females bustling, pacing, stalking by at businesslike gaits (mostly adults, a few adolescents, no children), two small, abandoned-looking trees across the street, the entrance to a parking garage with a sign flashing in red (“CAR COMING”), a cat sleeping on a backpack near the curb (no sign of the owner), three, no four, pigeons pecking in the gutter a few feet from the sleeping cat, the entrance to a 7-11, the aggressively hip windows of a Banana Republic, two narrow green doors in a wall, shut except for one that seems invitingly ajar, several open laptops, three smartphones being swiped or tapped by anxious-looking teenagers, three ballpoint pens held by two students and a tourist (the pen in my hand is the fourth), a V-neck sweater and two turtlenecks, two white quilt parkas, a business suit holding a briefcase in swift passage across the view, shadowy reflections across the street, sun, clouds, sky (just barely visible if I stretch forward and look up).
I smell: coffee, cloves, cinnamon, pastry custard, bread.
I feel: the press of corduroy against my legs. The squeeze of a vest against my torso. The rub against my wrist of my new watchband.
Story from Joan Beebe
The Christmas Magic of Santa’s House
I had a dream so real. It seemed I was walking along a snowy path where the rays of the sun made the snow glisten like a precious jewel. In the distance, I saw a gingerbread- like cottage with Christmas trees in the front and side of the cottage. The snow sat on the green branches in a beautiful array making it a delight to one’s eyes.
As I approached the cottage, I could see very busy elves running here and running there with toys and mysterious packages in their arms. Then the door opened and Santa himself beckoned me to come in. Once inside, the glow of Christmas was evident all through the house. There were several decorated Christmas trees in the spacious and beautiful living room. Some new and old toys were placed on the mantle of the large brick fireplace, including a small wooden painted train, several troll figures, a baby doll in a little bed, miniature tea sets and a small iron red firetruck with a fireman at the wheel and a dog sitting proudly there
Though this charming cottage had the look and feel of times gone by, when Santa opened the door to the kitchen, I was amazed to see a very modern one. In this large kitchen were several refrigerators, a freezer and two modern stoves. A table sat in the middle of the kitchen upon which there were baking dishes, cookie sheets and some pots and pans. Santa introduced me to Mrs. Santa Claus and she welcomed me with a beautiful smile, then handed me a fancy decorated Christmas cookie. The kitchen was painted a soft white but all the appliances were almost a ruby red. It was a busy place as elves were helping Mrs. Claus to bake dozens and dozens of Christmas cookies, cakes and pies. In one corner, elves were decorating cookies, in another more elves were frosting the cakes with red and white frosting trimmed with green ivy around the edge of those cakes. Other elves were rolling out pie crusts to await the filling of apple, blueberry, pumpkin and mince.
I was getting pretty tired after that cold walk in the snow so Mrs. Claus urged me to lie down and rest a while. When I did, I fell fast asleep. I woke up after some time and realized I was in my own bed but not all was a dream because it was Christmas morning and I knew breakfast would be waiting for me. But first down the stairs I rushed to see if presents were left under our beautiful Christmas tree with the scent of pine drifting in the air. Many brightly wrapped packages were there in colors of green, red and gold. Santa had left me a shiny sled, a new pair of ice skates, and a pretty doll dressed in an 1880’s style ball gown with flowers in her raven black hair.
My dream made me happy but Christmas morning was even better, not just because of presents but a feeling of calm and peacefulness. I would like to believe that most people had joy in their hearts with love and a wish that peace and good will be given to all mankind.
Poetry from Allison Grayhurst, set to music by Diane Barbarash
Musical collaboration between poet Allison Grayhurst, whom we’ve published several times in Synch Chaos, and musician Diane Barbarash.
Animal Sanctuary
© 2017 Allison Grayhurst (lyrics) and Diane Barbarash (music vocals and arrangement)
he turns his hawk head to view
the shells of turtles streaking
the still-shroud of water in tanks
as blue as sky
he lifts a leg and talons tensed
pivots to defend
against an enclosing shadow
with whitish eyes and an impossible urge to fly
he hops along his man-made perch
toward the cages where squirrels leap from metal to wood
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
spring, he will never experience again
nor know the scent of a pent-up life
released like sunflowers blooming or the feel of the moon
colder but more comforting
than being touched
with whitish eyes and an impossible urge to fly
he hops along his man-made perch
toward the cages where squirrels leap from metal to wood
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
bridge
he is without time or tribe
and like fire
he haunts
by just
being
with whitish eyes and an impossible urge to fly
he hops along his man-made perch
toward the cages where squirrels leap from metal to wood
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
scattering like leaves in unpredictable flurry
scattering like leaves
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
——————————
go explore your new world
look at the bright side
you figured out long
before the death bed
that god doesn’t give
two shits about you
that dread you feel
is actually freedom
the exact moment
where you have the
opportunity to shit
out all you were
brainwashed with
as a child
and go explore
your new world
with two experienced
but released eyes
or continue
to suffer
for a cause that
has become an
embarrassing
display of
zombies and
rich assholes
Poetry from Aremu Adams Adebisi
A Love Poem:
When we are in love, we do not whisper,
we do not talk too much, we forget poetry
easily and all it represents in imageries.
We watch an elocutionist stutter in utter
shock. We see a bird sitting on an olive tree
look beyond the grove, look beyond the road,
far into the sea and we stare into the sea
and find deserts in waters. No sea waves
slapping at the shore, no boats, no sailors,
no mullet smoked on a wood oven, no child
building a sand-castle. We wonder why this is
only to see a rice field blighted with diseases,
a child in Maiduguri whorled in shackles
because he is found at the European shore,
running away from war, away from shadows.
Why, Beloved, say I do not love you as you want
but I have sworn upon my mother’s frets
that I do. For what better way I will say you
remind me of poems unwritten, books I wish
to leaf through unopened and words
at their silence? What better way to say
each time I think of your bed, I am gripped by
the hands of a little boy with eyes plucked
out by scavengers? Let the sun set and I will
smoothen your back with musk and saffron,
grab your waist, send chills down your spine.
But I see them still, eating into my sleep,
seated in my eyes— young boys from Aleppo,
old men in Afghanistan spared by bullets.
I love you, Beloved— Amen. Till death do us part.
Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope
Rosetta by Stephen Patterson
Rosetta by Stephen Patterson is a must have for the sci-fi fan. Tom Palermo is a maintenance tech who is sent to Providence to retrieve Rosetta, an ancient Martian language. Only problem is, there is no translation known. With a mix of humans, meta-humans, A.I.’s and others, Rosetta is action packed from beginning to end. I absolutely loved it and hope it will be made into a movie. With Christmas just around the corner, this would be an excellent gift. Enjoy!!