MARY
Mary had a little lamb.
It gave her indigestion.
And everywhere that Mary went
she had to use the restroom
LEPIDOPTOURISTS
Folding these my genitals into the soft privacy of the parched cocoon. Careful, Lust! Do not disturb that gentle dust. Lightly, precisely, park your eternal lips against my forever mouth, fasten firmly in place. Yes! Twin thoraces fixed just so! to allow free articulation of limbs in the moon's easy breeze, And, now, our skins unzip along spines, splurge toward the distant vacuum beyond the edge of the sheet, until your wings purple lurid under the lunar fluorescence iron themselves indistinguishable into mine (soft-yellowed).
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh. More leaves in someone's unremembered book. All, the rest, is settled. Only our eyes bulge up, multifaceted and questing, from the petrified flatland. Until mourning dawn shakes again the pin loose and fossils rewake.
WHAT YOU WILL
You intruded my soul--
the whirlwind
amidst my feathers,
the typhoon
among my waters--
Some might call it love and, some, religion
but I’m satisfied to call it passion.
And then our thread despoiled,
the balloon
discovered fetters,
our garden
became our desert.
Wild/still. Static/ecstatic. Push/and/pull.
Anarchy/enchained. -- Call it what you will.
HERBERT’S REVELATIONS
Ancient George Herbert
--an only poet
known for piety--
when he was dying
was able to put
out another tome,
TEMPLE: SACRED POEMS
AND (it said) PRIVATE
EJACULATIONS!!
Oh, what a volume!
--The hypocrisy
of pious clergy
and their secret sins!
Exposé I sought.
But this was not that.
Just more holy din.
Honest George Herbert,
patient preacher-poet,
proved his piety
even when dying.
AMANUENSIS CUNNILINGUS
My tongue is your servant
you keep at your desk
to dictate to fingers
the words from my mind
in praise of your beauty,
in praise of your worth.
If only my body
consisted of tongues.
My tongue is your serpent
you keep for your cleft,
whose electric tingle
wiggles and entwines,
for love and in duty,
and promotes this verse.
If only my body
were made out of tongues.
Joshua Martin is a Philadelphia based writer and filmmaker, who currently works in a library. He is a member of C22, an experimental writing collective. He is the author most recently of the books O! fragmented glories (Argotist Ebooks), Prismatic Fissures (C22 Press), and peeping sardine fumes (RANGER Press). He has had numerous pieces published in various journals. You can find links to his published work at joshuamartinwriting.blogspot.com
THE DUNES
will see it differently: not a bird,
but violet is an invasive species
she can’t fly
i think if i palm the pulse of the waves long enough,
they will erode the hard parts of me
crunch iceplants between my canine teeth
and dig my toes into the sand,
the tide rises and falls
and with it shifts my surety
tugs a fistful of my tangled hair,
wretched with saltwater and iceplant- flower perfumed
sand leaks into every crevice of my body: it permeates the motion
the waves of my brain
current pulls back from the shore
baring naked the beach
she is stripped loveless
droplets of judgment collect on my lashes and sting my eyes
an invasive species
nested high up in the dunes, i bury my naked body among the sand and limestone
you’ll never find me.
First, here’s an announcement from contributor Frank Blackbourn, who asked us to share in our publication:
I hope this message finds you well. I’m reaching out on behalf of a woman in our community who urgently needs support to avoid eviction. She is a neurodivergent artist and mother who started a small Etsy shop to support her family by selling unique items that promote acceptance for the LGBTQ+ and ADHD communities.
Right now, she faces a critical challenge. Her only means of transportation—a van she relies on for her business and income—broke down, requiring $1,700 in repairs to fix both the suspension and antilock system. Without this van, she can’t attend events, make deliveries, or earn enough income to cover mounting bills. Every day the van sits unrepaired, her financial situation worsens, bringing her closer to eviction.
The impact of this breakdown has been devastating, and she now faces the immediate threat of losing her home if she can’t get back to work soon. By supporting her GoFundMe, you’re helping her cover these essential repairs, restoring her ability to work and allowing her to keep her family safe and housed.
Now, for this month’s issue, the Thin Fabric of Time. Many cultures mark a time to remember ancestors or deceased loved ones this time of year, believing the veil between life and death was thinnest at this time. Modern physics draws on fabric as a metaphor for space and time as fundamental dimensions of the universe.
This issue’s contributors address cultural memory, family heritage, grief, life and death, and the different generations.
Federico Wardal describes a new museum of antique relics that will open up in Egypt.
Jeff Tobin evokes our inextricable human connection to the past and to personal and cultural memory. Terry Trowbridge recollects the strong and competent women of past Saturday morning cartoons while lamenting his own human weaknesses.
John Grey speaks to our human powerlessness in the face of our own natures as well as the external world. Yet, despite this, we can still believe we are the centers of our own universes.
Xavier Womack’s poetry advises a person to heal the generational wound of not loving oneself. Rubina Anis shares her paintings of women of varying ages standing together.
Dilnura Kurolova celebrates the treasure of friendship. Azemina Krehic draws on contradictions as a metaphor for the irrational beauty of romantic love. Mahbub Alam expresses how love can create its own likeness to heaven here on Earth. Stephen Jarrell Williams shares a simple but elegant poem on spiritual and divine love. Closer to Earth, Noah Berlatsky waxes clever about a clumsy but perfect love.
Duane Vorhees presents near-operatic musical and poetic images of sensuality as Eric Mohrman gasps out miniature vignettes of romantic tension.
Janet McCann reviews Chuck Taylor’s new collection Fever, observing not just the sensuality of the work, but the many restrictions and ‘prisons’ in which the mostly male narrators find themselves and what that says about modern masculinity and men in love.
Philip Butera uses an unfinished painting as a metaphor for a fleeting love affair, highlighting the tragedy but also the inevitability of its bittersweet ending. Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker once again sets off on a jet plane after a harsh divorce.
Ozodbek Narzullayev reflects on a passing school year with nostalgia and wishes to stay in touch with classmates. Sevinch Shukurova outlines various types of sentence construction. Z.I. Mahmud churns Indian and Anglo-Saxon cultural iconography together in a cauldron of speculative fiction that ends in effusive praise of Shakespeare.
Maftuna Yusupboyeva celebrates the literary contributions of Karakalpak Uzbek poet Berdak and his place within Uzbek folk and working people’s culture. Marjonabonu Xushvaqtova rejoices in her love for books and reading. Aymatova Aziza celebrates the cultural treasures found within libraries.
Yolgoshova Sevinch offers her love and praise for her native Uzbekistan as she would to her parents.
Marvelous Monday expresses a cultural group’s proud resilience despite poverty and injustice. Komron Mirza laments social and moral decline around him, yet resolves that the world is not yet ending. Rasheed Olayemi Nojeem laments corruption in his country’s judicial system while Jake Cosmos Aller decries the cultural ugliness of hate and authoritarianism. Christopher Bernard highlights the difficulty of choosing among political leaders with imperfect agendas and ideas.
Faleeha Hassan’s short story highlights the strength of a couple keeping their dignity under grinding poverty. Howard Debs’ poem comments on the reality of food service and on those who see the work as a game or a photo-op.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand reminds us that poets and cultural creators are as human as the rest of us, and urges people to be strong yet flexible, like water.
Giulia Mozzati-Zacco captures the scattered thoughts of a young woman nearing her death.
Mark Young conveys moments when the surreal enters our ordinary physical world. Maurizio Brancaleoni highlights humorous moments of life surrounding Halloween/Day of the Dead.
Patrick Sweeney proffers glimpses of the world and culture through sentence fragments. Texas Fontanella plays with words and syntax to craft prose. Saad Ali pairs original haiku with lesser-known historical paintings.
Later, Texas Fontanella plays with verbiage and syntax through disjointed text messages. J.D. Nelson highlights tiny bits of urban and wild life during fall. Rachel Bianca Barbeito crafts tender portraits of gentle puppies.
Turgunov Jonpolat outlines his volunteer work in climate ecology, made possible through an international educational collaboration. Muhammadjonova Farangizbegim Ma’mirjan discusses technology and gamification as ways to effectively teach the natural sciences, including ecology. Anna Keiko writes of psychological and ecological dreamtime and awakenings and the need to protect the environment.
Sayani Mukherjee recollects a languid and happy day in a small country village. Wazed Abdullah praises the steady presence of the stars. Maxliyo Axmatova reflects on the warmth, growth, and renewal brought by the sun.
Ahmad Al-Khatat speaks to the memories that live on in the minds of exiles from war, even on bright calm sunny days. Azemina Krehic reflects on the human cost of war and other violence to Bosnian women and girls.
Maja Milojkovic shares her hopes for peace among the world’s nations and peoples. Eva Petropoulou Lianou speaks to our universal human desire and need for love and mercy. Mesfakus Salahin describes the spiritual and human unity made possible through universal love.
Abigail George grieves over the loss of life in Palestine. Iduoze Abdulhafiz’ prose evokes the human trauma unfolding in Gaza. Jacques Fleury reviews Duane Vorhees’ poetry collection Between Holocausts, which grapples with that vast historical trauma. Daniel De Culla laments the grotesque tragedy of war on this Day of the Dead. Alexander Kabishev evokes the gross devastation of war through a tale of the death of a zoo elephant in Leningrad. Nuraini Mohammad Usman uses onomatopoeia to render digestion into poetry while urging world peace: making dinner, not war.
Ivan Pozzoni evokes the dark history among the beauty of his home Italian island. Alan Catlin describes varying levels of grief underlying a peaceful and beautiful place. Tuyet Van Do laments the human tragedies caused by recent hurricanes in the southeastern U.S.
Anindya Paul harshly evokes the loss of innocence in his poetry. Rukhshona Toxirova outlines ways for physicians to show compassion for patients at a tender age.
Isabel Gomez de Diego crafts images of childhood: a visit to a maritime park, a family photo with a young brother, dressing up for Halloween. Kylian Cubilla Gomez presents photographic scenes of nurturance: squash cultivated in a garden, children’s toys, Russian nesting dolls.
Stephen House grieves over and remembers his deceased mother. Graciela Noemi Villaverde grieves for the loss of her mother’s gentle spirit. Lan Qyqualla draws on a variety of ancient Western myths to lament the loss of his wife.
Nurullayeva Mashhura’s tragic tale of a neglected grandmother reminds us to care for our elders. Rahmiddinova Mushtariy offers praise for the nurturance and teaching of her father. Ilhomova Mohichehra comes to realize how much she values and respects her father as she grows more mature.
Michael Robinson recollects the loving fatherhood he has found from God in a piece describing his Christian salvation and personal journey from wanting to die to having a fresh new life.
Fhen M. crafts a vignette on a comfortable porch, a liminal space between the interior and exterior, inspired by change and transition.
Brian Barbeito speaks to the poetic and mystical meanings he finds embedded in each season, with wisdom in autumn and winter.
Chloe Schoenfeld captures the aftermath of a festive event, the small chaos after the elegance. Seasons change and time passes for us all, and no “mountaintop experience” can last forever.
Jacques Fleury shares wisdom from a teen dying of cancer to motivate us to live with passion and joy. Mashhura Ahmadjonova reflects on the whirlwind passage of time.
Mykyta Ryzhykh depicts a ghostly ship where all the mariners have turned skeletal, forgotten even by history. David Sapp also comments on our mortality and how others will eventually lose our memories in the swirling fog of time.
Before that happens, please take some time to savor this issue of Synchronized Chaos and honor each of the contributors by letting their voices be heard.
Rahmiddinova Mushtariy Ravshan’s daughter was born on March 1, 2011 in Gulistan district of Syrdarya region. Now she is a student of the 8th grade. Mushtariy is interested in reading poetry, reading books and drawing. She appeared on television in kindergarten at the age of 3 and is still appearing on television. Participated in the Bilimdon competition. She took the 2nd place in English in the 2nd grade. Participates in many contests and projects. In the future, she will become a dentist. She is preparing for admission. Her dream is to make everyone proud of Mushtariy. She also participated in many anthologies and webinars.
the brush barely touches the canvas, and other narratives become possibilities.
Naked and obedient,
you are borrowed like fine art exhibited from gallery to gallery.
Gran Sasso, Italy, became a fist to the chest
as the clouds turned dark,
the heavy rains started, while your scent lingered
on the sheets and in my thoughts.
Fine glass
is never used to secure.
It is to be admired, handled, and then put away.
If dropped, by chance or purpose,
a momentary visual experience
is created
before the chards are swept into a heap
and then discarded.
You were cold and self-absorbed
when you hurried out the door.
I leaned back on the bedroom chair
tapped the tips of my fingers together
and eventually closed my eyes.
Excuses were a credit I believed I deserved.
Yet I understood
how optimism
usually morphs into a sad smile.
You are an illusionist
and your carefully crafted illusion
makes the truth
an uncertainty that chimes
silently and deadly.
Your note
had no inhibitions.
It stood there propped against an empty wine glass.
Your handwriting was graceful, stylish, and to the point.
“Forever was never on my mind.”
Philip received his Master of Arts in Psychology from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver, Canada. He has published five poetry books, three novels and two plays. He has a column in the quarterly magazine Per Niente. He enjoys all things artistic.
