Welcome to the experimental semi-monthly issue of Synchronized Chaos.
First of all, we stand with the people affected by the ongoing crisis in Ukraine, as well as in Myanmar, Afghanistan, Yemen, Syria, and everywhere else people are placed in harm’s way.
We encourage the readers and writers who enjoy our publication to write letters of support to be included in care packages to be delivered to refugees around the world by the nonprofit New Beginnings. Click here to write a letter online (anonymously if you wish) that will support and encourage a refugee family in their new home.
Also, PEN America campaigns on behalf of writers facing persecution for their nonviolent work. Click here to read and sign online petitions for different writers at risk. Also, the organization Free Women Writers is looking for volunteer editors for pieces they are collecting and publishing from women and girls in Afghanistan.
All are welcome to attend the Hayward Lit Hop, a multi-venue literary reading at 3pm Saturday April 30th, coinciding with and continuing after Hayward’s first youth poet laureate award ceremony. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work.
Also please join us for the Audible Browsing Experience in Philadelphia March 24th at 6pm at Head House Books (our Association of Writing Programs (AWP) offsite event).
This month we reflect on our place within the larger forces that shape the world around us, but also our willingness to live as if our personal thoughts and creativity matter.
J.K. Durick writes of the tedium of suffering: war, death, disease, and taxes. Caleb Burphy laments injustice in the criminal legal system.
Doug Jacquier contributes travel vignettes focused on social and legal norms and the aftermath of transgressions.
J.J. Campbell observes the inevitability of various forms of everyday death and decay. Keith Hoerner conjures up images of remnants of people and places, probing the psychological effects of loss.
Ivan Jenson sends us humorous poems of star-studded dreams and downgraded expectations.
Aviva Derenowski references the pressure of too much familiarity, too much hardening of perspectives, that she found in her home country of Israel.
Lynn White reflects on what, and who, we choose to keep and toss aside, while Michael Lee Johnson explores aspects of the bittersweet life of a poet. Inseo Yang reflects upon the demise of an autumnal love.
Chimezie Ihekuna offers up advice for those who seek to become published authors. Santiago Burdon contributes a wry vignette about rendering one’s actual journey towards creative writing craft into actionable advice for teens. J.D. Nelson mixes up syllables into a technical concoction.
Jelvin S. Gibson rages at corruption and social injustice yet sings the praises of sunsets and poetic love. Mahbub also finds love in the gentle beauty of nature as well as in romance. His work acknowledges our human vulnerability and need to make the most of each moment.
John Culp experiences love as a pleasant distraction, something that makes each day smoother, while Aminanta Talawally captures the humble thoughts of a young woman whose first crush has inspired her to put her pen to paper.
Diah Youlo declares love for Black women, honoring their strength and courage and nurturing compassion. George S.K. Boakai, writing under the pen name ‘Compoze’, encourages us to embrace and express our feelings.
Jelvin S. Gibson shares a story of life change through faith, recovery from addiction. Michael Robinson’s work also touches on spiritual themes of salvation and redemption, and Arsi Rauf relates his reverent quest for the Almighty. Maid Corbic relates a fable of small-town justice, where even the darkest villain is not beyond redemption.
DETECTIVES RABSQL IN FOREST ACTION
The trail shows the events of two characters, a rabbit and a squirrel, loyally trying to open up to all that is happening around them because they do not like injustice.
The owl's nest is ruined and he assigns them them the task of finding out who the culprit is. Through the fog, they go find the culprit, with a lot of effort and happiness.
The wolf who is a villain likes to have everything and to sneak up in the middle of the dark when everyone is sleeping to take valuables and settle them somewhere far away so that no one sees them.
But the truth cannot be escaped, so with a little luck everything is revealed. It is really joyful that the villain on the quay realizing his mistakes, apologizes for everything and gives back what he stole. And on the quay, everyone is happy for the rest of their lives.
In a forest next to a strong waterfall where squirrels were often curious, one stood out in particular. She always wore a colorful suit on, not fur like the others, and she wore it proudly. She solved all the problems that happened in that forest and was often a judge for the final outcomes of the villains. She was always ready to help everyone in need, especially because after years of research, she decided to open her own space and thus employ another animal next to her as a collaborator. Her name was Charlotte.
She believed that she was a special person who gave the world the most beautiful colors, but that her talent could not have survived if she had been best friends with a rabbit named Michael. The two of them were really great personalities and they often gave their best to help everyone even when they were not on duty.
All sorts of people came to their detective office and invested money in them. They often did not want to charge for their services, and they were rewarded for their work. On the walls, one could really see an enormous number of plaques praising their efforts. One case they fondly remember, and it kind of read like this.
An owl nicknamed Shadow entered their office. She was so upset because her nest had been destroyed by a wolf in the surrounding forest where she lived. She cried that she was supposed to bring her children to a party, and now they didn't even have a home. She wanted justice as soon as possible, but also to finally put an end to that thief who often stole other shelters in that place, but also unfortunately killed chickens and ate eggs from other hen mothers.
What intrigued our detectives in particular was that they had never met such a person in the past, because they were sure that they had finally solved all the things around them. They may have declared that the end was certain, but they insisted that the problem would not arise again. And everyone was shocked when they find out about this news, because it is impossible to hide something in that place. By spreading information from each other, our villain began to be paranoid for sure, because he thought maybe now he had the advantage and they'd never catch him. And that gave him confidence because he is now popular. With his gray fur and big eyes, with a little bigger stomach and with a spoon and a knife in his hand he was ready to take everything under his wing.
Our brave squirrel and rabbit were preparing for this, both mentally and physically. They knew who they were dealing with. This wolf had caused problems before, but they didn't know how to react. Since they were little they'd wanted to save the environment, victory, justice and reconciliation. They wanted a place for their children, for the whole world. They put on their leather coats which Master Randy had sewed for them a few years ago before he retired.
They carried with them all the necessary things, as always; in his pocket he had a laser with which many animals were lured and successfully caught in trouble, a lamp to illuminate all the villains who were insolent to the environment. And a few tiny spy glasses, mirrors and more little things. And they set out on a journey when everyone was asleep, somewhere in the late hours, a journey of no return.
Knowing that they were in a difficult place, they wanted to hug for the last time. Because, after all, the wolf was ready to take both of them down. They were risking both their lives for the sake of the people. They parted reluctantly with tears in their eyes and set out on a new path, a path of history and glory. They prepared in a radical way, with a parade of songs of their own that they have created in their heads. Knowing that the world is now under their feet and that they are on a great challenge, they slowly looked for our villain.
They wandered for several hours through the streets without a goal, looking for any clear sign or symbol that led them to their final destination. The wolf's place was very villainous, where he stole all possible things from other animals without any shame. He was of the opinion that everything that was unscathed was his to take and that he would go further, into some new battles without a goal. He heard, as well as others. And he came from the middle of Russia, to the cold parts of us here in America to rule that area and to plant in everyone's head who is now the boss in the woods.
After a long time, our searchers for the villain came to an important trail, which was fresh. That encouraged them to keep looking for a goal, gave them hope that they were not left without a trace. And just when they thought that everything was fine and they finally had a reason to rejoice in something, the damn rain came and temporarily stopped them near the tree canopy, where they quickly got ready to rest due to extreme fatigue. A rest that may have been dangerous, but the squirrel and rabbit heroes trusted their instincts and decided it was best to take a temporary break.
With this news, they came back to the office the next day, where the owl was asleep from waiting for at least some results (she demanded that it be investigated immediately). Maybe that's was enough for the first night, which was turbulent and very much built on flimsy evidence, a little rain and the smell of a bakery that lured people nearby where they ate something after a lot of searching.
The drunken heroes thought that they had to work harder to solve the owl's mystery and that they would find the culprit, even though only one person was suspected, the wolf. He was the only one who ate other animals.
Police even started calling for dodo forest birds. Eighteen o'clock came the next day and everyone stayed in the houses under lockdown. The sky brightened, the evidence hid under the darkness of the general window, and the heroes had nothing left to do but continue on their way, even though they did not know where they were going. They asked the citizens of the animal town where they'd last seen the wolf and where. And no one had the answer to these questions, because the last time he came in a dream, so that no one could hear.
At the place where they stood for the last time, they said something in silence, whispering, until they heard some banging. Running through the bushes and through the forest full of burdock and moss, in the gloomy dark, they came to one house. They smashed that door, which had not been reinforced with steel, and found the wolf preparing to continue knocking down everything he wanted. And it was so strange to see him in the day! Justice was served.
The wolf was brought to the center of the city so that all the animals could find out what kind of villain was in their area, but also to sing a couple of songs to him because no matter what, they loved him. Growing up, they knew he'd been left to fend for himself. The happiest of all outcomes would be that he admitted he'd made a mistake and apologized to everyone and swore to the public that he'd be a better man and that others supported him to the maximum.
And as if from a fairy tale, our villain wolf started to give back to everyone what he stole. This caused tears and great applause, because they knew that anyone who does bad things can change overnight only if he has the will. And he thought, and still thinks, that stealing was in vain. He was given the opportunity to share with all the living things everything he dreamed of, in harmony and unity.
And our heroes were finally able to retire and realize that life is beautiful. The animals taught that peace and harmony is the goal of everything. They had mutual happiness and satisfaction at the end of everything, because the world is wonderful when great love reigns in it. This has been talked about and talked about, but the most beautiful thing is that this story is still passed down for generations, as rivals can be good friends and colleagues in this forest paradise, which brings gentleness and peace of mind.
Maid Corbic
Maid Corbic is from Tuzla, 22 years old. In his spare time he writes poetry that is repeatedly praised as well as rewarded. He also selflessly helps others around him, and he is moderator of the World Literature Forum WLFPH (World Literature Forum Peace and Humanity) for humanity and peace in the world in Bhutan. He is also the editor of the First Virtual Art portal led by Dijana Uherek Stevanovic, and the selector of the competition at a page of the same name that aims to bring together all poets around the world. Many works have also been published in anthologies and journals (Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Bosnia and Herzegovina, San Salvador, United Kingdom, Indonesia, India, Croatia, Serbia, etc.) as well as printed copies of the anthology of poems “Sea in the palm of your hand“, Stories from Isolation”, “Kosovo Peony” and others.
The Architect of Love
Autumn has me in solitude.
I dance over slaughtered maple leaves and find
A pond of sea salt under sworn season, where
Love plays by water.
My pale pacific is merely occupied by you—
Waves are crafted upon your presence.
Though, tiny heart of mine laughs it over
There mustn’t be any means I am in love,
Or believed so...
Until the ginger in your eyes write Us,
Vivid flames melted the winter, and
Sweet liquor canceled the world.
We always failed a goodbye.
Though, everything perishes one day.
Few seconds pass, and a promising bridge slides.
Midst sunset, horizon lures,
Shall we dance?
Words of phony fill the air with a sure.
Springs of past live eternal only if to be left
A lesson from the cherry-scented tango is all
I bear, and the abandoned cries in red-ed eyes
It is a reprimand for printing a blurry blueprint
Inseo Yang is a novice writer attending Idyllwild Arts Academy at Idyllwild, CA. Though her work has never been published before, she aspires to write a poetry anthology in the near future that inspires others to recognize the value of writing for making changes in the world.
e e starr
ship + egg = PLANO
way away
buy/oh
bio
nic
bio
me
wheat 1-2
ironed axiom
purr-ce
droughty
sinking have
mirror ROM. talking room
the breeze, a shuddered NOM
moore
walter-schick downes
a moon
amon-raw
bio/graf
J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His poem, “to mask a little bird” was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Visit http://MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.
Never Take A Mime's Word For It
I was invited by an acquaintance I've known for years to speak on the subject of becoming a writer to her High School Creative Writing honors class. I had two books published at the time and I assumed she thought I must know a thing or two about the process. Let me give you the lowdown. I don't have the slightest idea what it takes to be a writer or being a creative writer. But she and her husband were a couple my former wife and I had spent a great amount of time with when I was married. Somehow I felt a bit obligated to help out.
I accepted the invitation but found out she wanted me to give my lecture the next day. I had no idea of what I was going to say to the class.
The morning raced in as though it was running late for an appointment. I became stressed over what to wear. Jeans with a white shirt, no tie and my favorite tan blazer was the choice. The outfit I thought gave me the appearance of a distinguished yet bohemian author.
Then I reprimanded myself for being self-conscious about my appearance for a bunch of high school students.
I greeted the class of unenthusiastic faces with a spirited introduction of who I was. Which did little to affect the mood of the honors class. After my short bio I pulled out some of my books for the honors students, who seemed quite eager to get their hands on them. I had brought more than enough to gift the entire class of fourteen.
I began my presentation with a question, hoping it would cause the students to participate. A method of capturing their interest I learned from a Marketing Strategies class I took in College.
"Who here intends to pursue a career as a writer or author?" Four hands popped up.
"That's great. Now allow me to share with you what I believe it takes to be a successful writer. To be perfectly up front, I don't have the slightest inclination about the do's and don'ts of being a writer.
I however do believe if you want to be an accomplished writer, you've got to be a good liar. I'm not talking about slight embellishment, I'm saying you've got to be able to shovel bullshit by the truckload. And the real trick is you've got to spread it so the reader can't smell it. If they get the slightest whiff of bullshit you're done."
"Wait a second. So you're saying a good writer must be deceptive and dishonest?"
The bookworm girl in front with thick glasses asks.
"When in the Hell did you hear me say that? Do you believe lying is a deceptive or dishonest act? Do you know who Diogenes was? He was an ancient Greek philosopher whose writings were destroyed. He lived in a barrel with his scraggly dog in Corinth, homeless and destitute. It's said he searched with a lantern both night and day throughout the city, looking to find an honest man. The result was that no such person existed. We all have our own concept of what is considered to be honest. Lying is a common and necessary practice that in some instances has a positive purpose. It's most likely the reason Diogenes is considered the father of cynicism. "
"Now what you're saying is that being a liar and deceitful is actually a virtuous practice?" "When did you hear me say that? You're misinterpreting my point because of your inability to consider there could possibly be another school of thought pertaining to the subject.
Tell me, are you an honest person? Are you always truthful? It's impossible to answer yes to those questions. What an incredible contradiction it is that we're given rules and regulations to obey, preached to us by others that know their rules are impossible to follow. It's a study in mental masturbation.
You mentioned virtue, meaning ethical, moral, or honorable I think? These are all characteristics we must have to be considered ethical human beings. Actually everyone and I mean everyone, is under the impression they've been granted dispensation from following such rules. Yet they expect others to conduct themselves in accordance with the commandment. Are you familiar with the idiom 'Honesty is the best policy?' Tell me for whom? Who does this best policy of honesty benefit? Is it the one divulging their version of what they believe their truth to be? Or is it the one being told what they must determine as honesty, by their understanding of what the word means ? Everyone has their own definition of honesty. If you sincerely believe you are honest, virtuous, truthful and moral, then you most likely believe in the ridiculous concept of unconditional love.
What I'm attempting to put across to you is that you've gotta create a story that is interesting and filled with emotion, causing the reader to connect with the world and characters you've created. Make them bleed with anticipation while turning the page. You've got to grab the reader by their pubic hairs and keep their attention."
"Santiago I think your choice of words aren't suited for a teenage audience. Please keep it PG "
" You're right, what the hell is wrong with me. I apologize class. I had my doubts about smoking that roach on my way here this morning."
A burst of laughter from the students filled the classroom.
I felt a little embarrassed sharing that information. Sometimes words slip off of my Teflon tongue before my brain has a chance to evaluate their implications.
"Please Santiago don't refer to drug use or use any more profanity."
"Of course Mrs. Pillion My sincere apologies. Now where was I?"
"You were smoking dope on your way here this morning." A voice from the back of the class shouts.
Again a chorus of laughter sings out this time including me.
"Okay traviesos help me out here. You're going to get me busted. Now I've been told there are no new ideas. Accepting that fact to be true, it's necessary to dress your story in different clothes. Give it a new look, a different voice, a new name. Introduce it as if the plot has never been on a date before. However, it doesn't necessarily mean it's still a virgin."
"Is there any other questionable advice you have for someone wanting to be a writer?" Mrs. Pillion asks.
"Yes, as matter of fact I do.
I'd like to leave you with a few suggestions you may want to consider.
1.Make sure you have a mirror available so you can watch yourself starve to death.
2. Write about what it is you know.
3.Just because it happened to you doesn't make it interesting.
4. Fuck what other people say.
5. Don't criticize your work. There's plenty of assholes in the world that will do it for you.
6. When you feel uninspired remember: It could be worse, it could be raining.
7. Love what you do and you'll never work a day in your life.
And lastly: Never take a Mime's word for it."
" Santiago please! That's enough for today. Thank you for your insightful information."
I could barely hear her over the thunderous applause from the students and also giving me a standing ovation. I was a hit.
A couple of weeks later talking with my former wife, she mentioned the consequence of my lecture to the Creative Writing class.
" Did you know Allison was suspended for two weeks by the School Board because parents complained about her allowing you to give your books to the students. They were upset and quite angry pointing out your stories were disturbing, pornographic and obscene. Definitely not proper reading material for High School students. They were considering having you charged with contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
"So what, you're saying is they didn't like my books?"
"What is wrong with you? You burnt yourself out on too many drugs. Did you understand anything I said? Oh ya, there was even a story about your lecture in the local newspaper."
" So they did like my stories! I knew it."
" Santiago, you're a real piece of work."
Faith Saves
My soul sought to find God.
Salvation was in God's hands.
Deliverance was God’s wishes.
Sitting in the chapel praying.
A heart full of grief praying.
Loneliness turned into tears.
Praying for heaven to come
Seeking peace in my life.
Always seeking to belong.
In moments of despair tears came,
Praying for heaven to come to me.
Always praying for heaven to come.
Soar with Me
Heaven is a place with my heart.
A renewed awareness of each beat.
Listening to the sounds of light.
Soar with me to a place of beauty.
Leaving a trail of stars to heaven.
Follow each star as it lights the sky.
Soar with each breath you take.
Behold each star as your own.
Touch Heaven in your dreams.
Night Stars
Night stars glow in the skies of Vermont.
Stars upon stars as the moon watches me.
Light my path home to heaven to God.
A shooting star leaves a trail to heaven.
Harmony to a place where love exists.
A soul finding Jesus among the stars.
A life of hardship and despair forgotten.
It was grace that saved me from the pain.
A night that my soul was full of light.
Today's Breakfast
-------------------------------------------
Today's Breakfast
is yesterday's lunch
And Dinner was
"Keep the coffee Hot!"
I'm alone in the night
Until I close my Eyes
Until the lure of Love
& my Hands touch
the sky
to adjust the stars a nudge
Everything I do Happens next
& I'm happy to the moment.
I lift my New Memories
of the freshly Brewed pleasure
Abandon my past
this savory moment
Kiss time
and Let go
