Gone if come quick
Gone if come quick
death-bound not leased
life itself shocked
in repeating
energy forms
present in our
sinuous room
trite flesh repaints
too pretended
‘neath up-ends of
convulsants groomed
each night by way
of visitors
their breath not yet
but his here re-
membered to loom
and hang over
wait releasing
its gain of chance
not to happen,
left intending
some next visit
a round to please
with help a bed
soft undressing.
Hard-bound out-takes
Hard-bound out-takes
cherish the score
six cards their worth
can knock to shame
of what gets us
pity at the last
and grieve, forgive
if take, put-back.
But side-steps verve,
hold what hands flood
to up-shot nods
of truce down one
when got back wired
if secret pleads
the case that’s tried
of cards their yield.
Here are some sad ones got nerve
Here are some sad ones got nerve
and with no rules get smart of,
steel a love yet-born-made-fun
to sprawl upon new ground a-
bove the heart’s intent, surface
of dreams their truths tidbits what
un-dead reams if rolled out-live
mem’ries each pleat back their moves
showing in bright dread what we
feed of, maggots on broke scenes
incumbent mind pangs, taking
for sore truths unreasoned and
yet hard-proved while we dance-out
our naked bests empires hold.
Andrew Cyril Macdonald considers the role of inter-subjectivity in poetic encounter. He celebrates the confrontations between self and Other and the challenges that occur in moments of injustice. He is founding editor of Version (9) Magazine, a poetry journal that implicates all things theoretic. You can find his words in such places as Blaze VOX, Experiential-Experimental-Literature, Fevers of the Mind, Lothlorien, Nauseated Drive, Otoliths, Synchronized Chaos, Strukturriss, Unlikely Stories and more. When not writing he is busy caring for seven rescued cats and teaching a next generation of poets.
Horrors at Summer Camp
Candace Meredith
“It’s not a good summer camp without the scary predator lurking in the woods is it?” Janelle said as she used her fingers to crawl spider-like down her sister Daphne’s spine.
“Wait,” she laughed, “like Jason or Freddy…”
“More like lurking in the woods rather than our dreams…”
“Okay, so Jason…”
“Yeah. Like Jason.”
Then a sudden loud scream interrupted their banter.
“Josh!” Daphne wailed.
“What?” He laughed uncontrollably while the girls looked for their flashlights, thankful Josh had his where they could see his face.
Summer camp wasn’t the Yogi Bear resort for teens but a real trip away from home, nestled in the woods, staying in cabins and other nights in tents, and getting a real feel for the great outdoors. Camp City was called Camp Madness by the teens who go there because the whole experience was intense. Rocky owned the camp for the past decade; he built the place for teens who didn’t live much outside of their New York style condos. They weren’t all rich but many were; their parents sent them to camp when they were at their last resort; Rocky welcomed the troubled kids and made sure they learned a little about a hard knock life and a bit about survival. The camp was without electric, cell phone service and flushing toilets; Rocky had a thing for the authentic.
Their day began when the sun was still down and the only running water was the nearby creek. They literally had to collect water and boil it to purify its contents. The girls, Daphne and Janelle, struggled at first but then Janelle got a real thrill at night telling horror stories.
It was the first night Daphne stayed in her sister’s cabin when Janelle entertained the idea of the predator with the chainsaw.
There were at first taps upon the window when Daphne began to stay there. Janelle rolled over in her bunk and snarled, “go away creep.” She knew Josh was always up toying with them. As the taps grew louder still she got out of her bunk to confront him; she opened the cabin door expecting that Josh would leap from the bushes at any minute but instead her piercing scream rang through the camp and Daphne awoke with chills down her spine.
She went out first to console her sister who she fathomed had a nightmare; Janelle used to sleep walk as a child. Daphne’s bare bottoms of her feet touched the grass and moss to find that her sister was not there. The camp lights went on - mere lanterns that sat out the doorway for late night bathroom breaks.
The campers filed out their front doors to find out what Janelle screamed about when Josh approached Daphne.
“What happened?” He said groggily.
“My sister’s scream.” She was familiar with that scream.
Rocky arrived late. He peered into each cabin to find Janelle hopefully somewhere among them.
The camp was a place of strict confinement for troubled youth. But Josh concurred that someone went too far this time around.
When morning broke they formed a search party that spanned the distance of the camp ground. There were bear tracks that were seen pacing the camp.
“Must have drug her away.” A camper said when Daphne began to panic.
“Shut up.” She scolded Ricky who shrugged.
Some of the youth were callous as troubled as they were.
Ricky was one among them who dared to be so bleak and his impatience made Daphne want to scream back at him.
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep searching,” Josh tried to console her.
Rocky initiated a buddy system for going outside the cabins. A night duty was up through the night in the cabin’s office and a missing person report was filed.
A search team was organized outside of the camp after the confines of the camp were thoroughly searched and Janelle was reported as not being there.
Daphne slept in her bunk entirely restless when her folks did not bring her home. They were hippies who were getting stoned and after the meth lab experience Daphne didn’t want to be there; she was being turned over to the custody of Social Services once the camp ended.
The troubled youth mostly came from a troubled home. Rocky gave them a means to escape the life they were given. Boys like Josh and Ricky wanted the city but the camp gave them an alternative focus from the streets.
Nothing out of the usual had ever occurred at the camp.
“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” The officer asked Daphne.
“I heard her scream.”
The idea of her sleep walking did not alarm the officers who were reported for duty and the open case made them restless as a coyote, bear or wolf could be near.
That night without Janelle made Daphne feel restless when the tapping upon the window returned and she sat up in bed; for a cabin that sleeps six it appeared no one else heard the tapping at the window.
“Stupid bird.” Daphne assumed there was a woodpecker behind the pecking on the glass. The tapping continued and was too piercing to ignore and Daphne stepped out of her bed and tried to awaken one of the girls, “do you hear that?”
Tessa shoved her shoulder, “no jerk.” She wasn’t fully awake. Daphne sighed and then she heard her screaming but no one was waking.
Outside the wind whipped her face; the dry air made her feel like she was suffocating. She grasped at the base of her neck as though she had begun choking; she got down to her knees when she heard the breaking of twigs in the brush. She crawled to be back inside the cabin but she became weighted like an anvil, as if she were dragging her entire body through the muck, and she gagged. The air around her began to smell of raw sewage because she hadn’t known the scent of death and decay.
Her sister’s scream continued still and she felt as though she were dying; as if she were being pushed into the dirt; as if the land before her would part and she would cave into the fiery pit called hell; she knew not why but she felt the eyes of a demon cutting through her and into her soul but she could not get the demon out of her.
She choked more, trying to hold back vomit, as the stench of her sister’s rotting corpse permeated the landscape; her sister was all around her then. In the form of something demonic and gruesome. She thirsted for water as if that alone would lessen the intensity of the heat she felt.
This wasn’t Jason. It was something like a demon but this time it wasn’t all a dream; her demise wasn’t of flesh like Freddy; Daphne gasped for a breath but her lungs filled with a fluid - a substance like bile and blood that was curdled.
She didn’t know if the demon had taken her sister; she couldn’t see anything tangible but she felt it all like an all-encompassing evil; the stories in the books gave it no justice.
She felt the skin on her back as it began to tear like knives for claws slit her skin in a smooth and rounded edge as her blood began to seep into the ground that was giving way beneath her body. The look of terror on her face was insurmountable as Josh went to her but she was feigning death as far as he could see when the air around her became more stagnant and she thought he was coming to her possibly in a dream - perhaps all she needed to do was awaken - why couldn’t Josh see her - or what did he see?
Her sister’s screams grew louder like a piercing hum from the reverberation of an old motor like metal on metal. Josh stood before her but as though he was looking through her when he parted his trench coat and from beneath the cloak was a pick ax and Rocky came to him from behind the brush; Daphne wanted to scream like her sister but this time her cries were stifled in blood and vomit. She wanted to call for help - there’s no fucking bear! She thought to herself in a mind that could be her own worst enemy.
Could she awaken? Was it all a dream?
Rocky took the pick ax from Josh and together they turned toward her and stopped as if by command when the force of a demonic entity seemed to enter her.
She began to convulse and her eyes turned to a milky white when everything around her turned to a haze. Through the opaque lens in the complete blackness of night she did not become a voice; the sheer terror of hell’s inferno ablaze in her mind’s eye was the only moment of lucidity.
The beast was the demon, or the hound of hell, she could not know the difference and her blood curdled from her mouth like a cheese in the mix of heat: the stench was putrid and Josh and Rocky were unfazed as they entered the dark night and said they would have their way again- this time the victim would be more alarming.
“Must have been some bear.” Josh said from beside her hospital bed; but that hospital was unlike the others. She could not move from the straps that bound her to the bed and every night before sleep she heard the tapping of nails on the glass pane and the screeching cacophony of her sister screaming was beyond the nightmare. An intense scream that no one around her acknowledged. No one but her seemed to notice and so was the end of peace or life as she knew it. She was in hell.
A Metonymy for life!
Luminescent sobriquets,
nuances and innuendos,
Oleander dreams,
a morsel of left over words
decoding syntax and semantics!
Taxonomy of hysteria,
transfered epithets,
shifted proxemics
blurring the gap between space and dimension.
Peeping from behind translucent ballads
are hurrine rhymes
trying to carve a niche
within a heartfelt epistle.
Noctilucent clouds on summer skies.
Splurged with meta communication midst graphic metaphors.
Dangling dreams from distant corridors on sordid noons.
table fan,
Ma's flowing hair,
fish bones on aluminium plates,
the smell of egg curry in my fingers.
Baba's sweaty shirt smelling of his toils.
Thamma's broken wooden chair!
Spring evenings
and an ivory reticence
wrapped within an empiricist sheet!
A metonymy for life
climbing down the spiral staircase of remembrance,
wearing a galvanized smile!
Debarati Sen
Bio:
Works in Presidency University Kolkata as a Junior Assistant. Her debut poetry book called 'Blurred Musings' has recently been published. Recipient of the Tagore Award 2022 and the Sylvia Plath Women's Literary Award, Debarati finds emancipation in her poetry! She has also been the winner of the International Poetry Writing competition held by the Elite Book Awards in November 2021. She has also grabbed the third position in the National Poetry Writing Month 2022 contest hosted by the Elite Book Awards. Debarati features in the Council Year Book launched on the occasion of Women's Day 2022 by Literoma in association with the Public Safety and Security Council of Bengal. She has also been declared as an Empalled Author in the International Author's Conclave held by Literoma in December 2021. She is one among the top ten poets of the Women;'s Day poetry contest organised by Delhi Poetry Slam. She has co-authored more than 15 anthologies and is recently compiling her first anthology as a compiler with the Quill House Publishers. Her poems have found shelter in prestigious websites like The Antonym, The Yugen Quest Review, The Kolkata Arts, Lapis Lazuli, The Das Literarisch, to name a few.
Dotting the ‘’I’’ and Crossing the ‘’T’’ of ChrisTmas
‘’Chris, what do you intend to do this season?’’ asked his friend, Tmas.
‘’Well, it’s a season we need each other’’ responded Chris
‘’What do you mean?’’
‘’In life, particularly this season, it takes two to tango’’
‘’Please explain more’’ Tmas said, looking more anxious
‘’look at us. We can join forces to make this holiday worthwhile.’’
‘’How!?’’
‘’We have what it takes to make the celebration a memorable one’’
‘’What’s it, Chris?’’
‘’It’s simply Dotting the ‘I’ and crossing the ‘T’ of Christmas’’
‘’Chris, there you go again! I’m lost in your explanation, right now’’
‘’You see, my name is Chris. Yours is Tmas. Right?’’
‘’Yes’’
‘’If we agree to work this season out together, you would see that the ‘I’ in the name ‘Chris’ and the ‘T’ in the name ‘Tmas’ means a lot’’
‘’So what?’’
‘’The ‘I’ being dotted and the ‘T’ being crossed will bring about you and I to tango’’
‘’Meaning???’’
‘’If we decided to put our names together, we would savor the season’’
‘’I see’’ Tmas responded, having a clue where Christ is driving at.
‘’Chris, my name. Tmas, your name. If we joined our names, it would be ChrisTmas!’’
‘’Wow’’ exclaimed the fascinated Tmas. ‘’It’s interesting to know how the dotting of the ‘I’ of your name and crossing of the ‘T’ of my name can make a befitting ChrisTmas!’’
‘’That’s the spirit!’’ Chris assured. ‘’You see dotting the ‘I’ and crossing the ‘T’ of our names as we practically tango, or should I say, ‘work together?’ will earn us ChrisTmas!’’
‘’That’s thoughtful of you’’, Tmas reasoned. ‘’Let’s get into the business of working together or like you’ve just said, ‘let’s tango’’’
‘’Tmas, that’s what I’ve been saying about Dotting the ‘I’ and Crossing the ‘T’ of ChrisTmas!’’ Chris Concluded.
My motherland!
My country, you are so beautiful,
You are charming,
You are spectacular
There is no equal in beauty,
You are a paradise.
You are the only one in the country.
There is no word for your description,
You are the most unique country.
We love you dearly,
We are faithful to you.
We will introduce your dear name to the world.
✍ Shakhzoda Kodirova
Good and rewarding work
For many years, a small stream flowing from the side of the river made Cain's heart ache. Because once upon a time, clean and clear water flowed from this ditch, people used it to quench their thirst and rejuvenate their gardens. No one would throw garbage in the ditch, and whoever saw the dumped garbage would clean it immediately. Unfortunately, by this time there was no "trace" left of the clear water in the ditch. The younger generation did not listen to the words of their old ancestors, but instead of reducing the waste in the ditch, contributed to its increase. Despite the fact that he was over 80 years old, Mahmud himself was the head and wanted to do a hashar to clean the river, so he called young teenagers, strong men from house to house, and asked for help from the neighborhood. Unfortunately, many did not have the patience to clean the river, which was full of garbage. And it didn't work either.
Finally, Grandpa Mahmud thoughtfully went to his old companions. Gathering them together, he got everyone’s opinion on the matter. The old men agreed and decided to clean the river themselves. Not many people know how good it is to clean a ditch, and those who do know do so without breaking the bank. Is there no one willing to clean this small ditch that has been flowing for years ?! If they need to irrigate their gardens, they are ready immediately. but to clean up ... Well, let's clean up as much as we can, said Mahmud looking at his comrades angrily. So the old men got to work. Ketmon in hand, belt at waist. Seeing this zeal in the elders, some honest people came and joined them. Some were embarrassed and apologized to Mahmud.
The neighborhood gathered the workers again, this time they were full of enthusiasm. Volunteers also came and began to join. The work is "hot". Neighboring women were busy cooking for the hard-working hashers. Thanks to 3 days of hard work, the river was completely free of waste. Grandpa Mahmud joined the ranks of veterans for his efforts to clean the river. When he addressed the villagers, he said, "The most important thing, you know, is that you and I have a great reward. Cleaning the canal is the best and most rewarding thing to do".
Flower garden 🌸
I went to Gulzor today,
I saw a lot of flowers.
They were more beautiful than each other,
And the smell was fragrant.
It charms person
The fragrance of every flower.
It attracts, when you smell it.
I really like,
These fragrant beautiful flowers.
It lifts your spirits,
Friends, look at this.
Rose, basil, tulip
Colors are red, green
I sweat from them,
I make many bouquets.
✍ Shakhzoda Kodirova
The world 🌎
What a world it is,
Both transient and deceptive.
What a world this is,
After all.
No man can live in this world,
For a thousand years.
No one can remain in such a world,
Eternally.
So my friends,
Let's do a lot of good.
Let us not be deceived by The way of Satan.
Let us not sink into sin.
Without thinking of the Hereafter.
Let us do good as much
As we can.
We know that in this world,
Tests are not rare.
We will defeat them,
If we have a little patience.
The world, the world is the end,
Never complain friends.
Do not despair and torment yourself
And let's do good !!!
✍️Shakhzoda Kodirova
Shakhzoda Kodirova is 15 year-old aspiring poet from Navoi, Uzbekistan. From a young age she was fond of literature age of seven she began to read books and study oriental literature. Her poems and stories have been published many magazines and newspepers, including Uzbekistan and Germany.
On Wednesday 15th June, 2022 around 5pm the drizzles of rain which commenced with seemingly no intentions to cause havoc in the suburban community where I grew up turned disastrous deluge outlook in the Amanful West. Slowly by surely, in the 6pm hour unpaved paths started engulfing drops of rain which later affected pavement portions of the area. It’s crystal clear visibility, refrigeration repair shop, kebab selling structure ,seamstress as well tailor shops, provision shops, backyard garden, building hardware shop, pharmacy, mini bars, hospital and various houses within parts of Amanful locality had become like a lagoon or river as a result of such torrential rain. Initially, whilst writing some new songs on paper there’s bit writer’s block so I paused and reached out of the parental room which is having some stubborn disturbing bed-bugs… Oh, gosh, ouch!
They pinch like unseen pins in the living room chairs and the carpet. Among other things, many fell into gutters and holes they couldn’t see due to such massive flood situation which affected cars on the roads here on Amanful West suburban community in Takoradi. Although floods have been taking place more often in the Western Region of Ghana in the wet season, this time around it exceeded previous years of such rainy magnitude. Based on research done, Southern Ghana records two rainy seasons; major season from April to July and minor from September to November. It’s evident that the rate of this recent Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD supersedes the happenings which have taken place over a decade. Of course, when I was trying to rescue some items moving away from the house, it’s seen that height or level of flood was around my neck. Thus, it’s capable to cause drawn or death even as it’s seen some birds such as fowls, hens and ducks died because there’s no shelter for them in such a typical flood zone.
In relation to one-on-one interaction as vox-pop, some of the neighbors’ or folks revealed that the Interchange project taking place on Principal Street of Takoradi at the Kwame Nkrumah round-about has also been the major cause of such disastrous deluge in the area. Indeed, due to the block of water-flow in the huge gutter, aside it’s hard to have appropriate or proper tunnel to ensure movement of rain-water. Another cause as fact is bad drainage system and sanitation because some indecent folks put garbage in gutters causing chokes at the long-run.
Aside, improper architecture planning of the suburb in terms of settlements has various effects whenever it rains cats and dogs. According to some elders of the community where the flood i.e. (deluge) took-place. It used to be lagoon about a century ago so your guess is as good as mine. Terribly, it’s about 5 hours of non-stop down-pour and those of us using ground-floor facilities were adversely affected as some experienced sleeplessness due to flood invasion. Indeed, some of the spoiled and missing items include the following: television sets, laptops, electric fans, study desks, sound speakers, bed mattress, pillows, shoes, bags, hall tables, chairs, clothes just to mention but a few. It’s quite obvious the rate of disaster cause by such deluge made folks clean almost every part of houses, especially as witnessed at the Amanful West for days. Heaps of rubbish and other broken items seen on the aftermath were refrigerators, television sets, electric irons, stoves and others.
Surprisingly, on 18th, 19th and 20th June, 2022 those who have traveled and returned to see such mess done by the deluge, they’re still cleaning and putting their items in order. Another point to note in this Arti-Blog at the time of completion it became crystal clear as video recorded in the midst of torrential rains and the deluge had been sent to the Member of Parliament for Takoradi Constituency as well being the Western Regional Minister, Honourable Dr. Kwabena Okyere Darko Mensah to ensure possible assistance to the folks affected. However, there’s no rapid response to aid the Amanful West community. Well, his verbal statement to help construct another pavement path on the other side of the flood zone has not been done, thus over seven years since making promise to the electorate of Amanful West in Takoradi, Ghana. It’s obvious, some political leaders in Ghana are often concerned about making their families rich whilst majority of the citizens suffer in times like this due to poverty. Factually, as a leader people look up to you in terms of honoring words you voice-out or state in ensuring fulfillment.
It’s so unfortunate and sad, even the Assemblyman of this Amanful West by name Nana Baiden has not even come to visit or see the rate of damage caused so as to find long-lasting solution to this bane. Even my private message to him about meeting-up to share communal development related ideas with him never yielded positive result. Well, are people elected to leadership positions in Ghana worthy to be called Honourable if they’re not honouring the words of promise to the masses? Indeed, this Amanful West has got lots of issues and problems with the youth in relation to reckless living and such disastrous deluge has compounded it environment bitterly. Obviously, solutions of fund support can only come from the outside world like USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Germany and other great nations. Its estimated $3500 is needed to assist the rate of damage caused in the Amanful West suburban community so as to ensure our lives turn around in goodness.
Kindly, make use of the attached pictures as proofs or evidences with regard to this Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD in order to bring about support. Thank You.
Ike Boat writes from Takoradi in the Western Region of Ghana, West Africa.
Synchronized Chaos International Magazine – SCIM Regular Contributor
"The End Again"
(Trilogy)
"Depopulated"
Desolate the land of cities
buildings like decapitated statues
streets covered in chucks of ruin
slump shouldered we wandered for months
finding the rims of the far mountains
forests covering where we hid
our quiet settlement
of the depopulated
survivors thankful and now unhurried
accepting weak walls and roofs of tree
rain and ponds and a lake of sweet water
faraway from the sea full of past pollutants
our children now no longer afraid
they play and sing and we listen
trying to forget the long ago explosions
my wife tenderly touching
scars on my back
loving me at night
darkness still
memories of the dying
and what we could have done.
"The Wind"
My brothers often visit
trying to give me a constant of cheer
telling me where they've been
and what they've seen
assuring me the sea recovering
stench of death disappearing
schools of fish returning
without sores that never heal
my brothers have found and married
young wives with unblistered skin
boats rebuilt and sails tall in the wind
many new islands blossoming
some seeing a gondola balloon
with people waving above the clouds
wind cleansing past the horizon
world freeing flowers again.
"Just Like the Old Days"
The old man walked into our new village
claiming nothing changes
men fighting again
over land and women and beliefs
shaking his head with tears
beard matted like his hair
prepare yourselves he warned
they've repaired their guns
bullets reclaimed from the ruins
helmets and knives and brass knuckles
with a maniac in charge
speaking smooth words dripping with poison
promising the power of hell
in his back pocket
the old man laughed and spit
looking at my wife and kids and peaceful land
you should tell the others
chaos is coming again
returning with twisted faces
eyeing every direction
where you dream and live
but this time
maybe you will pray
a little more and mean it.
