“One clear moment, one of trance
One missed step, one perfect dance
One missed shot, one and only chance
Life is all…but one fleeting glance.”
― Sanober Khan

First of all, our friend and collaborator Rui Carvalho has announced the opening of our Nature Writing Contest for 2022. This is an invitation to submit poems and short stories related to trees, water, and nature conservation between now and the March 2023 deadline. More information and submission instructions here!

Also, our co-editor Kahlil Crawford and I are announcing once more our Latin culture-themed issue, which will be October’s first issue. Submissions for this are welcome up through the end of September. Kahlil was inspired by the works of Fernando Sorrentino, who sent in a set of stories, one of which is published in this issue. Lorraine Caputo will write the editorial letter for that issue.

Finally, we continue to encourage you to support assistance and education, including literacy classes, for Afghan people in need through RAWA (The Revolutionary Association of Women in Afghanistan). They are looking for people to translate articles from Persian/Pashto into English and to translate the English and Pashto articles on their site into a variety of other languages.

This month at Synchronized Chaos we acknowledge the fragility of life and the passing of time.

Robert Stephens relates a tale of a father’s yearly visits to his daughter’s grave that take on increasing poignance as he approaches the end of his own life. Santiago Burdon’s story of a father and daughter celebrating a teenage milestone turns bittersweet at the end.

Mark Young contributes poems of vagary and translucence, speakers who don’t see everything, who have trouble finding their way. Faroq Faisal also explores mystery and the limits of our conscious knowledge.

Damon Hubbs evokes ecology and cosmology in his inventive take on nursery rhymes.

J.J. Campbell speaks to memories and change, what can evolve with time and what stays stuck.

Ian Copestick probes whose lives we value, what type of justice is appropriate for various forms of cruelty.

Fernando Sorrentino writes of a life upended, and ultimately enriched, by a mysterious visitor. Pathik Mitra writes of intercultural connections made through unusual ways wile traveling. Farjan Mushfiqul Amin relates a clever anecdote between two friends recalling history.

Some aspects of our world are uncertain and threatening, on smaller and larger scales.

Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam’s poetic collaboration, like Sayani Mukherjee’s first poem, speaks to the violence endemic in nature and human society and the fragility and uncertainty of life. Muhammad Sinan relates the precarity of the oil industry while Hannah Aipoh highlights the injustice of subtle sexism embedded within our cultures. Mahbub Alam illustrates the effects of inflation on already struggling people.

Film critic Jaylan Salah traces how director Baz Luhrmann portrays artists who only tenuously fit into society. Robert Stephens’ poem relates the pain of unrequited and temporary love. Petro C.K. metaphorically represents the often imperfect fit between what we say and what we mean through poems that make use of language that is somewhat auto-generated yet sounds official and informative.

Yet, we can have the choice of how to respond to a challenging world, even though it will outlive us.

Gaurav Ojha meditates on how the knowledge of our inevitable deaths can bring a rare preciousness to life. Gabriel T. Saah and Fayzullayeva Sevara urge us to make the most of life because it is impermanent.

Akinmade Abayomi Zeal speaks stridently on living to the fullest and avoiding traps that derail one’s life. Syed Tabin Ahbab tells the tale of brave hunters who stood up to defend their village.

Uchechukwu Onyedikam sends in gentle poems of spiritual search, humility, and gratitude. Raafia Shaheen encourages self care practices to get through a difficult time. Md. Nurujjaman relates a tale of someone who simply hops aboard a bullock cart, riding wherever the driver and cows lead them.

With a similar spirit of gentleness, Chapaina Wabganj sends us a photo of a peaceful sunset, with a solitary boatful of people dwarfed by the scene. Sayani Mukherjee’s second poem evokes the soft comfort of autumn twilight and the change of seasons. Kaiser Mahmud praises the natural beauty of his Bangladeshi homeland while Mokhlesur Rahman describes the luscious fruit and economically important agriculture of the region.

Ubali Ibrahim Hashimu’s love poem draws on a rich heritage of metaphors while Chimezie Ihekuna’s poetic speaker revels in the anticipation of the holidays and an impending marriage. Tanvir Islam writes of a patient and kind romantic love.

Mesfakus Salahin takes an innocent joy in nature and expresses his determination to move forward, even with a broken heart. Charles Upshaw, the Man of Legend, also writes of perseverance and confidence, especially for altruistic and noble goals.

Object Poem #5/nursery rhyme series

Dainty Dish

out of my deep fluted lungs fly four     
& twenty blackbirds/like a pop-          
out birthday cake nobody                      
w(ants)/one for sorrow, two                  
for mirth, three for… /all                  
the noses pecked
unseemly 
in the
flour

garden where pockets of rye upend   
sixpence of root vegetables             
gamey m(eats)/the odds & ends               
collecting to yoke a                       
crusted sheet over          
an ortolan                          
for the king’s
pye nest
flap.
 

Object Poem #6/nursery rhyme series 

Pail

You you youououou
      ououou
                 ououo
          u
                   ou
                o
                   u
          O
             are no wet cooper, hole-sprung 
the dark fish rock bite of lichen/air collapsing between metal-hooped ribs/
lung-sprung echo/
no muscle oaken to stave the leviathan drip/I take on 
white pebbles in death’s aquarium 
                     but for a moment I nursed the grinning look in your eye, Jack
Jill, before I 
fell 
too/tumbling  
down the fungal crown of the well/no rickety windlass will set the bones/
no vinegar & brown paper will mend the holes/
     just water   water   water fetched to sink/I look 
up spring-trapped to no reflection. 
 

and before them asks the peat harvester


The days are wet and acidic. Outstretched, the flaming orange-red tendril of the sundew plant snares a Scottish midge. The bog sustains its landscape as I cut turf—peat to burn and iron ore to make swords and cauldrons, shields. The crusted land weeps hacked bone. Tablet-woven braids of sphagnum moss drift between land and water. 

On the horizon, across the tarn, bird-stuffed clouds are borne on a northerly wind. I shovel and tusker, unlayering the earth’s buttery black core. Soft, pulpy trees buckle out of the peat maw. A wet nest of swamp roots pull and tug at the ball of my heel. I billhook and brick and dry neat walls of landscaped flesh on banks of heather. The bog glows like the plumage of luminous owls. With each peat brick it wispily exhales the miasma of rewetted rituals. 

in the bog body
barley, linseed and knotweed 
written for the gods. 
 

thin cushion between rock and air

Abroche/a biological structure making 
cements out of carbon
springtails nymphalids dipluran poised & sprung like wind horses

the invisible dream architecture of soil animals/mineral particles spidered into pores & passag-es/tiny clumps of hibernaculum are building blocks for bigger labyrinths/beaver dams/wasps nests/rhizosphere the plant’s external gut. 

At night/Swedenborg pushes nails into the dirt 
& hops across the lawn with head cocked like a bird
listening for the inner order of the world, the biotremology of how matter relates to spirit 

as immortal jellyfish reorganize themselves into new kingdoms.
 

the goldilocks zone

O! dive
{{{{{ doun
{{{{{{{{{{ dreepin 

guillemot, manx shearwater
into the boundary between mixed & stratified water/scrapefoot 
the intersection of shoaling clupeids

margins change through the column/inner 
edges of tidal fronts unmoored/0.99 AV-1.7 AV/
zombie ice vagrant

dive
///// doun
////////// dreepin         

the dinosaur bridge spans the meltwater
whaur bears hunt porridge under a stagnant lid. 

A Short Writing on Mango Prone Chapainawabganj from Mokhlesur Rahman


The Mango Capital of Bangladesh

Chapainawabganj is located in the north-western part of Bangladesh. It was formerly a sub division of Malda district. Everyone knows about Chapainawabganj by the name of Mango capital. I live at Tiktampur in Chapainawabganj. At presen, it is a part of Rajshahi division. It has five upazilas which are Chapainawabganj Sadar,Shibganj,Gomastapur, Nachol and Bholahat. Now, Chapainawabganj is the main Mango growing region in varitics Mango like Fazle, Langda, Himsagar, Khirsa, Ashina, Bombai, Amropali, Laksmanbhog, Gopalbhog etc. All of them, Khirsa is the best for it's unthinkable taste in Bangladesh. In summar, Mango is the main product that develops the economy of my home district. Chapainawabganj is full of Mango tress. Everyone can see the Mango trees here and there. Every people of Chapainawabganj supplies Mango for every region in Bangladesh. As a result, on June 12,2022-The West zone of Bangladesh Railway launched a special train of mango from Chapainawabganj to Dhaka.1800000 people are living in Chapainawabganj. The interesting thing is everyone wants to get the tasteful mango. So, I am proud of my home district which is the capital of Bangladesh.

Poetry from Tanvir Islam

MY TRUE LOVE


I have a feeling
          That I can't comprehend.
In my deepest thoughts you are
          More than just a friend.

I wouldn't want to
          Rush us now
As love we explore,
          But there's a growing love inside
That we just can't ignore

I love the time we
          Spend together. 
We are comfortable and free.
          I think of you when we are
Alone. I think of you and me.

We have shared 
          Secrets to uncover. There's more
To life. We will both discover.
          I love   you always.

I'll love   you when you're dumb,
 I'll love   you when you're smart,
I'll love   you any way you are,
Right from the start.

I'll love   you if you're tall,
I'll love   you if you're short,
I'll love   you if you're pretty  ,
Or just an ugly dork.

I'll love   you if you're toothless,
 I'll love   you if you're blind,
Anything that's wrong with you,
To me you'll be fine.

My heart is opening up now,
Unlike it used to do.
I see the pain that's in your heart  ,
And sometimes I feel it too,

I'll love   you tomorrow  ,
I'll love   you today  ,
I'll love   you forever  ,
And forever always    .....

A Story from Syed Tabin Ahbab


Once upon a time there was a different world where terrible animals and people lived together. But the animals were so bad .The animals killed people and destroyed their pets and crops. There were some animal hunters to protect people from them. They always protect people from these animals. The most famous hunters were Oad Robin and Sams. They did their work goodly .But people didn’t paid their salary because they thought Robin and Sams were maniac. So they’re so poor .They lived in a small hut.
The richest man at that time was king Junior .He had a wonderful palace. But there was nobody in this Palace because the most dangerous animal the Lion Back Dragon attacked there every year. In his Palace, no more could enter than his daughter and a servant and some soldiers. So King Junior hired Robin and Sams. After a dangerous war they killed the Lion Back Dragon. The King paid them  the money by which Oad Robin and Sams built a house .They lived there a happy life .

Poetry from Md. Nurujjaman 

A Bullock Cart


I was walking down the street, 
Suddenly - 
I saw a bullock cart, 
Which was passing in front of me.

 Then I asked the bullock driver, 
"Can I get in your cart?"
The Bullock driver replied,
"Absolutely, get up."

Then the bullock cart started moving with me- 
The cow goes in the direction
The driver tells to go it. 

Nice, I like it very much. 

After some distance I got down,
As well as -
I politely bid them farewell.

A Funny Story 
Farjan Mushfiqul Amin

There were two friends. One good and one bad. A bad friend would always write and pass on the sight of a good friend. This is how it went until Bhaiba. The bad friend said to the good friend, "You go in first and then tell me what they ask and what you answer.""Okay," said the good friend. Good friend went in first. The authorities first asked the question, "In what year did the Liberation War take place?"  The good friend replied, "It was supposed to be in 1952, but it was in 1971."  The authority asked the second question, "Tell a freedom fighter's name?"  The good friend replied, "There are many, who shall I name?"  The authority asked the third question, "Comment on the share market."  "That's a matter of research," replied the good friend.  This time the good friend came out. The authorities called the bad friend this time.  The good friend said to the bad friend, “There is no time, just listen to the answers." In answer to the first question you will say, "It was supposed to be in 1952 but it happened in 1971."  In answer to the second question, you will say, "There are many, who should I name?"  In answer to the third question you say, "It is a matter of research."  Now the bad friend went in. The first question the authority asked was, "What year were you born?"  "Supposed to be in 1952, happened in 1971." replied the bad friend.  The authority asked the second question, "What is your father's name?"  The bad friend replied, "There are many, who should I name?"  The authority asked the third question, "Are you crazy?" The bad friend replied, "That's a matter of research."