Synchronicity
Two caged parrots
mimicking
a false climax
ToneDeaf
In the fading light
the bare trees
whisper
your half thought-out
thoughts
The Last Visit
Growing child-like
& hungry
in her lonely
reindeer eyes
Inflation
Warblers living
on dollar store
crumbs
The Noisy Nude
Painted in gouache
& several variations
of pink
the nude in the picture
giggles
as the art critics
walk by.
Kyle Hemmings has work published in Otoliths, Pure Slush. Potato Soup Journal,and elsewhere He loves 50s sci-fi films and 60s garage bands.
I AM
My Attention
Unconditionally
& just Rest a bit.
As I AM is Attracting
As LOVE draws near.
ENERGY is
FORCE times
DISTANCE,
perhaps as
time draws
nearer this thought
unconditionally.
I AM
Here
Calls Looking at
The Expectations
of LOVE
& just Blessed a bit.
by John Edward Culp
Scripted Sunday Morning
October 30, 2022
After The Storm
Candle light
Dark sky
Silhouettes of trees
Line the view outside
Booming thunder
Flashing light
Replaced by the sound
Of crickets in the night
Dull fire shines bright
A blanket of wet
Coats the surrounding land
It’s calm now
Sleep
riotous fortitude the feet at his command
forcing into rectitude colours flood night time
semblances those flattered tears encapsulating
weary figures of disgrace the flitting fortunes dipped
in honeycombs of perfection’s strangled hand the
beauty fades into day’s long calling subtlety
wrenched & wrecked from epiphany wild dreams
engulfed in sudden falling shards
distilling your virtues controlled antipathy
golden memories recycled & harmony reboiled
in among the snakes of wrath their
seething nightmares claiming in sleep.
Vowels
damn bursts into shards unruly laughter
the destitute rehearse comeuppance for
the gentry whose falling failing capital
lays siege to wailing wallflowers and embrocation
a dalliance with creatures from darkened pools
emitting blood lusts of linguistic deadpan images
throttling gestures rekindling tears of russian literature
& innocence devolving once again the inhumanity
of man his drenched thru bones declared
whittled down in passages a trespass on this
night-time curfew its razor blades screeched against
the vowels laid before his lolling tongue.
These two poems are from Clive Gresswell’s new and as yet unpublished collection SPACES. Clive, 64, suffers from bi-polar but still worked for 30-plus years as a journalist. Eventually though ill-health caught up with him. He is now a well published innovative writer and poet the author of five books of poetry and published in many magazines from BlazeVOX to Tears in the Fence. He has an MA and a BA (First Class) in Creative Writing obtained as a mature student.clivegresswell@gmail.com
FYI: Synchronized Chaos Magazine will hold an in-person event the afternoon of New Year’s Eve in conjunction with the Third Space Gallery in Davis, CA. Exact address and time to be announced.
This event is a concert, art show, and literary reading with the theme of Metamorphosis. What has changed over the past few decades? What can we learn from people of different generations about how to hold onto wisdom from the past while transforming and adapting to a new, and hopefully better, world? So far participants include the Davis High School Activist Club, speakers from Bet Haverim’s Social Justice group, and musicians Joseph Menke, Avery Burke, and the Electric Turtlez.
This event will be a benefit for Sacramento Take Back the Night and the Revolutionary Association of Women in Afghanistan, (which you may support online here) both of which are grassroots and anti-imperialist organizations working for all people to be able to safely participate fully in the cultural lives of their communities. We encourage attendees to donate what they can to support either or both organizations and then come enjoy the show!
Also, Abdullah Al-Mamun announces Bangladesh’s search for high school creative talent.
Welcome, readers, to mid-October’s issue of Synchronized Chaos. This time around we explore the power and pitfalls of contemplation and various ways of understanding our world.
Henry Bladon harnesses insomnia to pose meandering questions about our existence. Similarly, Celeste Alisse’s protagonist ponders life by literally staring at the wall.
Yahia Lababidi relates the psychological insights he gained through his desert journeys. Mesfakus Salahin writes of embracing the mystery and the wildness of nature. Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam highlight our inescapable connection to the broader natural world through images of light, water, and death in their poetic collaboration.
Ubali Ibrahim Hashimu finds his romantic emotions reflected by the beauty of the moonlight. Mahbub writes of a dignified love with an elegant sunset for a backdrop.
R.W. Stephens‘ photography dwarfs human subjects beneath trees and sky. On a more human scale, Kathleen Denizard celebrates the solace she finds in gardening and Channie Greenberg presents lush images of fruits on her kitchen.
Tanvir Islam presents a paean to birds, while the hero of Syed Tabin Ahbab’s science fiction tale harnesses trees to produce oxygen, the bane of robots gone wrong.
Gaurav Ojha opines that the best way to understand ourselves is through mindfully understanding our relationships rather than withdrawing from them, by isolating ourselves in the wilderness or anywhere else. Z.I. Mahmud probes a humanist way of connecting with the natural world along with our own society in his academic piece on Rachel Carson and David Attenborough.
Fernando Sorrentino’s short story takes a humane perspective as well. He humorously dramatizes the effects of rapid privatization of social services, in this case, criminal justice and mental health care, on a honeymooning couple.
Jack Galmitz observes the details of his kitchen as he cooks a fish stew. Maid Corbic presents a thoughtful paean to Prague and to Austria’s cultural heritage. Chimezie Ihekuna continues his countdown to Christmas with two pieces in which lovers and families eagerly await the holiday.
Oona Haskovec wonders about memory through an imagined photo. What might we be doing now, or soon, that will become important in the future? Sherzod Komil Khalil reminds modern city dwellers how foreign their lives and vocabulary would seem to outsiders in his short story.
David Topper honors his artist father’s memory by making observations about his life from his last painting. Christopher Bernard contributes a more ambiguous tribute to both Queen Elizabeth and to the earth in the time of climate change.
Ridwanullah Solahudeen acknowledges that the gifts of nature and the divine come and go, in our unpredictable world. Md. Tanvir Hossain reminds us that even our own actions are to some extent out of our control, while Faroq Faisal writes of human frailty and mortality.
Chloe Schoenfeld illustrates the senselessness of real-life violence through the metaphor of mangled dramatic productions.
In her other two poetic collaborations, with James Young and Kimberly Kuchar, Christina Chin draws upon fall, death, and Halloween imagery, again reminding us of our inevitable journeys to the grave.
Babatimehin Asiwaju’s poem relates the psychological distress of a lonely man who has barely survived great trauma. Mobarak Saed’s piece is of a trapped soul’s quest for escape.
James Whitehead’s intellectual poems probe mortality, innocence, and the development of a person’s character.
J.J. Campbell returns with a mixture of psychological determination and resignation, while Adepoju Timileyin writes of prophecy and destiny, concepts which may sound exciting, but also convey a lack of control and choice over one’s own life.
Sayani Mukherjee’s piece regales us with its bold life force, triumphant over misunderstanding and ignorance. J.D. DeHart’s speakers declare their own intellectual identity in the face of the obvious and subtle dangers of everyday life, including the pressure to conform. J.K. Durick also writes of social contracts and conformity, of self-expression through traditional and sanctioned channels.
Md. Nurujjamman’s detective tale shows a crime solved by one brave, conscientious and observant person. Richard LeDue shares his personal dreams of transformation, of building a better world.
John Culp sends up Dickinsonian odes to laying fear to rest, while Patricia Walsh urges us not to overlook the power misfits and introverts have, whether for good or ill.
Sayani Mukherjee, in a second piece, takes solace in her poetry and in the passage of time.
Aisha MLabo shares her artistic inspiration and aspirations, while Jaylan Salah celebrates the eccentric genius of loner and film director Jim Jarmusch.
Jim Meirose’s writing takes an unusual approach, with a surrealist reflection on the pope fish, while Peter Cherches renders up writing prompts as “not quite stories.”
Alan Catlin gives poems of discovery: found poems from book titles and postcards. But also pieces of minimalism and loss, of the power and cruelty of cultural and aesthetic erasure.
Robert Fleming creates “mathematical” renditions of human relationships and Queen music, while Kenny Johannson presents a stained and typed manifesto as a work of art.
We hope the diverse artworks in this issue will inspire you to contemplate and create as well.
SOLACE OF MOONLIGHT
To be kissed by the moonlight
Is such a glowing grace
To be caressed by stars
Is such a life
Draped In darkened blue
Dancing from mercury to Venus
What an honest dance.
To be found by the light of the moon
And loved under a blackened sky
Let the sun forget about me
It never heard me crying
Not today.
As there is something so special
about the moonlight
Like it was made just for me
Because no matter how bad things go
I have the moon as my company.
Neighborly
This is a neighborhood of gardens
garage sales and lawn art and, of
course, slogans, like “black lives
matter” and the ones that bring
together a set of slogans covering
all the bases, black lives again and
something about women’s rights,
immigrants, and gay rights, and they
remind us that love is love. Now
there are an endless supply of flags
some U.S. but mostly Ukrainian. We
live the times and capture the mood,
flowers of various shades and sizes
and now since it’s primaries time we
set up lawn signs endorsing one or
another of the candidates, Becca
seems to carry one street and Molly
another. We divide up along liberal
lines, signs, slogans and flowers, and
people sitting in lawn chairs trying so
hard to sell off things they no longer
have a use for and a few cars pull up
looking for a bargain. This neighbor-
hood has never been much of a bargain
basement but an easy spender of words.
In Line
Perhaps it’s instinct, perhaps it’s one of those cultural things
That grow up with us, become part of us through training and
Discipline, something passed on, parent to child generation to
Generation. We all know the rules, what we must do, and what
We must not do if we want to belong, fit in, like everyone else
Around us. We gather and quickly learn our place. This is what
Lining up is all about. It’s time passing, it’s standing and waiting
For something, the something we must believe comes next. This
Is how we belong, become members of the group, the group in
Line for the next show at the movie theater, in line waiting to
Check into our flight, in line for the cruise ship, in line for just
About anything we see as an objective, and they have the ability
Thwart our desire or need. They depend on our instinct and on
Our willingness to go along and be part of a group lined up in
Order, first come, first served. This keeps everything so civilized,
No crashing, no pushing and shoving, no demanding attention,
None of those things. Now we are in line, and we wait. We might
Complain but never too loudly. We were trained to do this and
Half of our lives will be used up this way.
Airport Waiting
Standard advice says arrive two hours before
Your flight, but in a small airport
The advice seems ironic.
Here we are two hours early
And now we wait
Collect in surprising numbers
Sit together by the assigned gate
And wait
Are we being set up?
Set up for a mass shooting?
Can’t we picture the gunman going by
The TSA oddly enough still armed.
The news will say something about our group
Husbands and wives, parents and children
Friends and relatives
All there
Following the standard advice
Two hours early, so why not become big news
We listened so carefully
And so here we are
Sitting ducks wanting anything beyond
This two hour wait
Two hours we’ll never get back!
J. K. Durick is a retired writing teacher and online writing tutor. His recent poems have appeared in Third Wednesday, Black Coffee Review, Literary Yard, Sparks of Calliope, Synchronized Chaos, Madswirl, Journal of Expressive Writing, Lightwood, and Highland Park Poetry.
