Only for You

I have broken myself into pieces
Have lost my energy to take a single step  
Only for you -------
Only for you - I'm waiting here under the shade of the large banyan tree till then
Hundred years old that banyan tree, I look through again and again
Still now the green leaves of the old tree soothes the eyes and the body
Still now the birds can find their shelter to sit for rest and spend the nights
I know you do possess the same green shade in your breast
I'm still here breaking myself into pieces to reach the shade of your breast.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11/01//2021


Breaking the Boundary

Breaking the boundary of time we are on this vast ocean
Bubbling on the surface diving and rising in one
The unseen magnetic power
The earth with its all rounds in harmony
Flowing on the tune of love
From millions of the stars to the vast land and the ocean
A wonderful play of light and shade
The feathering birds from one corner of the earth to the other 
A shield of faith, the evergreen tree
Passing through the soft blowing wind, never missing
To the last breath of the earth overcoming time and space 
The sun reflecting on the surface the shadow of us
A promise we had under the moon from beginning to end. 

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11/01//2021


Birth on One Side, Death on the Other

The ostrich imported from Africa in Gazipur Safari Park
Lays eggs regularly 
The nestlings in the incubator make the curator happy, overwhelmed with joy
Who does not like to see the new birth?
On the contrary how it appears to be -----
When Benu Begum, Salim's elder brother's wife is beaten to death
By Abeda Khatun, Salim's wife
On a trifle matter at the time of quarrelling to each other
Only for that Benu threw a tissue paper on the family grave yard
Anger flamed in Abeda
Prompted to strike Benu to death  
How far does it matter that joy over the nestlings of the ostrich in the incubator
When everyday in every sector murdering takes place on a simple matter?  

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
12/01//2021

 
The Tart Fruit

The fruit never tasted before tastes sour 
Taking that peculiar kind of fruit
The peoples' blood is poisoned 
Though the one man power blooms all over
Taste felt in the tongue from that outcome
People succumb to death one after another 
Yet the nation nourishes the tree with too much love and care 
The name of the tree is Autocracy in guise of Democracy 
How sour the fruit indeed!

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
12/01//2021


Vaccination

Today crores of people of the world are looking forward to
When the a dose of vaccine be pushed on
But the forgetful world never thought before of that dire situation
Violating the promise that we kept once
Now the trembling world turns back again with its spring flowers
To stand before each other, sharing the heart's overwhelming joy
Walk through the way in the fresh air singing and loving together
Let's take the vaccine and join the respective field for cultivation
Never forgetting the promise we made for each other

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
13/01//2021

The Human-Centered Solution To All Problems

Problems abound everywhere. Some have retraceable origins while others remain mysterious. Humanity has been plagued by an array of problems-from birth to death-through the ages. It is amazing how man has been able to fashion ways to live with them throughout time. Harboring problems has become the second nature of man!

In some ways, humans have successfully engineered problems, detrimental to their continued existence and, as a consequence, knowingly and unknowingly, challenging Mother Earth-humanity’s habitat. The consequences are enormous. An instance is the human-known diseases. Spanish Flu, malaria, HIV/AIDS, SARS and so on, to the recent COVID-19 virus have spelt in plain sight man’s knowledge towards destruction, self-deliberate or not.

There are problems transcending the understanding of logic. This is an integral part of man’s reasoning designed to tackle problems (of course, known) through a three-dimensional analysis-the physical length, width and height of concerned situations. For example, the issue of malaria in the light of  its height of destruction of human lives, length of time of infliction and magnitude of harm in the lives of people of all ages.  Man was able to eventually come up with a cure via proper medical analysis (logic). The use of penicillin as invented by Alexander Fleming set the pace for subsequent medical remedies to the once-upon-a-time pandemic.

However, what happens if logic proves futile in attempt to approach problems that are said to the mysterious? An analogy is the situation of a young individual (X, say).  X is healthy and strong. X diets properly, engages in good exercise routines and does regularly go for medical check-up. X is certified ‘healthy’.  On a weekday, X decides to take the usual rest, having worked for a couple of hours, Sadly, X refuses to wake up! Despite all efforts to revive X the medical way, it is discovered that X has passed! Any proper (logical) explanation to the sudden demise of X? Of course, man’s logic is conspicuously a failure in that case. To some folks, the saying ‘God gives, and God takes’ would be pronounced and ‘Such is life’ would be heralded  by others-all in attempts to console those related to the deceased individual. They simply cannot explain the mystery behind X’s death!

Arguably, man has decided to embrace problems as they come. He is of the belief his advent in the world is faced with problems. Mankind has reasoned, ‘despite attempting to find solutions to lingering (physical) problems, more problems have consequently emerged.’ Humanity seems to realize the more the approaches to curb the ‘levels’ of problems disturbing its existence, the higher the ‘devils’ they pose on its entirety.

What is the way out of the conundrum? Is there a possibly lasting solution to the vicious cycle of problems-the ones that are seen and unseen? Those questions are typically asked by people whose concern for humanity’s plight is paramount. Napoleon Bonaparte once said: ‘Impossible only exist in the dictionary of fools.’ For every problem lies a solution.

The reality of what we have come to embrace exists within the framework of perception. Simply, we see reality or the way things are based on what we are told and that forms our very perception-what would become ‘our reality’. If we chose to change our perception, we change our reality. A change in perception in terms of harmonizing with nature-appreciating the universal elements of water, earth, fire and wind through learning, enhanced by the powers of creativity and imagination is the door-way to finding a benefit-yielding human-centered solution facing all and sundry. 

Through that, the man’s body would be free from being in a ‘dis-ease’ state-obviously obliterating ‘disease’-thereby positioning one to savor the health of creatively bringing to attention the wealth of the learnt-about nature’s harmonization. The imagination, over time, of an egalitarian, utopian and El-Dorado society would be a possible depiction of change in perception (again, in terms of harmonizing with nature through appreciating the universal elements). That’s the human-centered solution to all problems!

Doing the Work 

My therapist thinks being

polite is the same as faith,                  
a habit, worn long enough—

                                                            
like a crate-trained soul—I smile.

This is how we patronize

each other, her and me                       
and God. If I promise to jump

                                                            
at the thunder, He promises

not to burn me from the

ground up. With her, it’s just             
cash. She asks             
if I have any

friends. I say too many has always

been my problem. That’s not                         

the right word. What I mean              
to say is that when I was younger,

                                                            
I never woke up alone, but

I never slept, either. Let me

tell you a joke. What does                  
a gangster cat say? (In an Edward

                                                            
G. Robinson voice) Meow, see,

meow. My daughter and I made

that up together. Maybe you had        
to be there. To put it another way,

if I open my mouth, what do you

think will come out? Dirt daubers     

crawling on my tongue, which           
is another way of saying writer’s

block, the smell of mud, which

is another way of saying death.

But I paw through the nests,               
looking for the sound of my own

voice before I lost the accent,

the mud for my father’s approval.     

When I was a boy, and the sickness   
took her, my mother would howl

late into the night, me lying

in the dark, listening to the animal    

that had gotten in, waiting for it         
to find me and feed. I’m not trying

to complain. Lots of my friends

had much harder lives than I             

until they died. She asks why             
I’m here, and I say I’m buying time.

I’m tired. I’m going to kill myself,

but I can’t today. I have an                

appointment. Give me a decade.        
Help me find the strength, somehow 

to last that long. Not that I’m implying

in any way that it would be your       

fault. She nods, and I’m grateful        
for her so obviously practiced

sincerity; the last thing I need

is to fling a craving on some             

body. Here is a list of ways I’ve

                                                            
tried to die. Water, wind, a bullet’s

kiss, the things of the world

I’ve swallowed. I’ve got so much     

going for me, I can barely stand.        
This is why I don’t own a gun.          

Do you drink or do drugs? She asks.

That’s a kind of trust exercise

with the world I’m not prepared         
to take, I say. The only thing

I remember about my mother’s smell

is urine. Maybe, if I could’ve

saved her, I could forgive myself       
for still being alive. But forgiveness

is a myth; eventually, you just           

forget to be angry. Let’s not talk       

about me anymore. She says,             
Okay Here’s an exercise. I want you

to write about your trauma.

When that’s done, I want you            

to run as far away from it as you

                                                            
can. And then have a snack or soothe

yourself in some way. I can hear rain

outside as I type this, working on      

its aim. Maybe I’ll order pizza. 

***


 

Some Thoughts on Moonflowers

 

Skitterings in the night, like

            bristly feet and dripping teeth.

            I am not butter, I don’t

            care what the pamphlets say.

            You may not fry anything in me.

 

Magic lacks melatonin, which

is why it hides from the sun.

Ask anyone who knows.

Shadows. Moving lights.

If all the evil could shut

the fuck up that would be

great. I’m trying to die, here.             

 

My head hurt for days because                      

            I couldn’t afford to keep up

            with my meds. Don’t tell me

            it’s about anything other than

            greed.

 

It’s always raining somewhere

            n mi hart. *tap tap*

           

Maybe the mice are putting on a symphony.

Maybe the moonflowers are going for a walk.

Maybe the dust bunnies are thirsty for blood.

 

When I go on meds, I can’t see anything

            inside my head, so I have to write

            to have thoughts.

 

It’s about keeping myself safe because

            the squeaky wheel gets evicted.

 

On a scale of one to ten tell me how

            Capitalism is treating you today.

            The first two don’t count.

 

These nights when I’m waiting to be

            recycled, I think about the warmth

            of your body in my arms

and remember there was a time

                        however brief

            I didn’t feel alone.

haha no take backs.    

***


 

Mary Oliver

 

I’m supposed to tell you a story

to make you forget how sad it is

you’re going to die without having

enjoyed most of your life. Well, okay.

Nature is a good start, like how these

little gray birds roll in the dust on

a path outside my apartment, avoiding

the broken glass, stray cats. They do

it because their bodies make too much

oil, which is good for helping them be

aerodynamic, but not when it’s too much.

This is a metaphor for how adaptations

often overwhelm our lives. But it’s also

about birds, so Mary Oliver can eat it.

But not really, because she’s really good,

if you’re the kind of person who can

afford a garden. I still need a joke, though.

They’re hard, especially in poetry, which

is supposed to be too pretentious to laugh

at itself. Here’s one my daughter is working

on:

Knock knock.

(Who’s there.)

Doorbell repairperson.

(Doorbell repairperson who?)

Ding dong.

She’s still working on it. She’s eight.

Don’t be so fucking judgmental.

***


 

Remember the Lightning and Her Sister Darla

 

Back then, the world existed in 4 minute slices,

radio friendly, and capable of being shined

with the right spit. We never listened to

the words because we trusted the censors, not

realizing they were dying like the rest of us.

Pastries tasted like sugar, and funny colors

didn’t matter in a beverage. This morning,

I dumped out my leftover intentions in

the parking lot so I could recycle the cup. Maybe

a flower was trying to grow from that concrete.

I followed a man to the stairs—give me

the confidence of an old man in shorts

and sandals, black socks worn without irony,

and an overwhelming need to chat with strangers.

I was never that unable to question others’ desire

for my company, and I have mania. Inside,

everything is animal, including my shirt. Every

day, I forget the color of the sky until I sneak

out and ask someone. Most times, they look

from one to the other and shrug. I finally

petitioned to get a screen put up. It flashes “blue

and sometimes gray” from dawn until dusk.

I still ask because I don’t like to believe. Back

then, the sky was always forgetting me. Lightning

asked my name at parties, so it knew who to avoid.

Now, I see it on my morning commute. Ugly

tie and khakis. Sleeveless blouse the wrong

color for its skin. Its sister Darla got married

and divorced a long time ago. She’s back

from the coast, but no one seems to know

which one. Kids and debt. When I catch the last

elevator with the lightning, it’s shaking its head,

shocked at the state of things, like us all.

Raised on a rice and catfish farm in eastern Arkansas, CL Bledsoe is the author of thirty books, including his newest poetry collection, The Bottle Episode, and his latest novel The Saviors. Bledsoe co-writes the humor blog How to Even, with Michael Gushue: https://medium.com/@howtoeven Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his daughter.

Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK
MOK - Cooked With You & Radio Maxx 105.1 FM

MOK is simple abbreviation or acronym for the Maxx Orange Kitchen is the charitable initiative made possible by kind courtesy leadership and management of the Orange Broadcasting Brand - OBB, thus Radio Maxx 105.1 FM in Takoradi at the heart of the Western Region, Ghana.(West Africa). According to authentic information available, it’s been fifteen (15) solid years of making this event worthy course to the young masses as a means of continuously feeding the less-privileged kids on the street of Takoradi in the south-western part of Ghana. 

Factually, before making this out-door program successful there’s often Audio-Promo, Live Presenter Mention (LPM) and Announcement to the general public on Radio Maxx 105.1 FM to ensure donations of food items of all kinds such as bags of rice, chicken, soft drinks, canned or tin products, bottled as well as sachet mineral water and other edibles which go through cooking process then sharing to street kids in the city of Takoradi, Western Region, Ghana. It certain, some comes from the sister city of Sekondi and its environs to participate as well. 

MOK 2022 took place on the street of Liberation Road, close to Market Circle which is under re-construction in Takoradi. In the early hours of Easter Monday, 18th April,2022 - chairs, tables, canopy and public address sound system to ensure music playing as well as live monitoring of on-air programs by the organized media company, Radio Maxx 105.1 FM became available at the street-venue of MOK. There’s loading and off-loading of food items donated by some cherished listeners of Radio Maxx 105.1 FM, precisely from the station’s premises located at Essikafo-Ambentem No.2, close to Bethel Methodist Church in Takoradi, Western Region of Ghana.(West Africa). 

It’s comely to catch glimpse of key voluntary support by the members of Mike Foundation as a youth-dominated Non-Governmental Organization (NGO) through their respectable cooperation to ensure success of the Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK 2022. Certainly, some volunteers were chosen through directive and decision of the radio station’s CEO, Sir Maxwell Okyere Ahenkorah, an expatriate of the United States of America.

MOK 2022 experienced unusual down-pour, thus intermittent drizzles and heavy rainy moments. Well, regardless of the boisterous nature of windy conditions, it didn’t change the general atmosphere or it never stopped the event or attendees of both young and old folks to enjoy delicious cooked rice, stew and chicken as well fried fishes, meats and soft drinks served on the street blocked with barricades i.e.(Liberation Road) in Takoradi, Western Region of Ghana, West Africa. Interestingly, although the main purpose of Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK is to feed kids of all walks of live on the street. It’s realized many adults couldn’t cope with the fact that only kids had to fill their bellies on such a festive season of Easter to their satisfactory merit. 

Hahaha, LOL! -  Hunger is there for old too! As I over-heard one woman say that emphatically to my ready-to-hear ears. Well, with respect to the target, it’s meant to feed over Five Thousand (5000) street kids in the Sekondi/Takoradi metropolis, Western Region of Ghana, West Africa. On mind visual recollection and reflection, when boisterous winds set-in it’s all hands on deck to hold canopies firm on ground to ensure stability and non-disastrous atmosphere as electrical equipments also needy safety to avoid accidental occurrence of fire out-break at the scene.

MOK 2022, had the following industrious leaders and staff-body of Radio Maxx 105.1 FM playing vital roles at the out-door venue on Liberation Road in Takoradi, Ghana. Indeed, the mastermind CEO as well the Boss, Sir Maxwell Okyere Ahenkorah, being quite instrumental in bringing the cooked rice, stew, fried chicken, fishes, meats and take-away packs to the street-venue. Better-still, he also did very well during collection of donation and compilation of the donor’s and sponsors details as well as particulars. Also, he being part of the packing of food items at his office and other rooms of the radio station is quite memorable and shows the quality of a leader, leading by example in terms of event organizing. 

More-so, next to give a worthy mention is the General Manager of Radio Maxx 105.1 FM, popularly known as Mantse, a church leader Reverend Alexander Nii Sackey, host of early morning devotional program dubbed Maxx Morning Bells - MMB. Indeed, this man has been so committed to the Orange Broadcasting Brand - OBB since its early years as well as movement from different geographical locations within its catchment areas of Takoradi and beyond. 

To be precise, he helped to convey soft drinks, bottled and sachet water from the station’s premises to the street-venue, aside breaking of ice blocks to freeze the drinks in the refrigerators meant for the Maxx Orange Kitchen (MOK 2022). Amongst other things, he also supervised the happenings and made reasonable decisions in the absence of the CEO Sir Maxwell Okyere Ahenkorah, when the going got tough on the street-venue of event. The on-air presenter of the mid-morning show Maxx Metro Mix (MMM) as well marketing executive, Sir Harold Ewusi also contributed well to and fro in relation to the needed items and other equipments at the station’s premises and street-venue. The likes of DJ Asabir, DJ Mike G and Ebo Smith were also solid to ensure music playing and sound technical assistance on the street-venue. Of course, it’s scene of all hands on deck so Ayatullah Abass (Kendrick) on-air presenter of Maxx Over-Drive (MOD) fame also did well as he later went to do presentation on the radio. 

Some female staff were seen round including Bettina Sweetie Doie, as she also did well with the serving, loading and off-loading of food items, alongside the technician Sir Sylvester and Angel…… It’s obvious Sir Philip Ampofo, who’s hosted me and promoted Synchronized Chaos Magazine a couple of times as Anchor of the Joy 99.7 FM - Super Morning Show (SMS) also contributed directly and indirectly to bring about ultimate success of the Maxx Orange Kitchen (MOK 2022). 

Also, not forgetting Sir Henry Aggrey (MC Clenzy), and Mr.Gabi Ampiah of Sunday Evening Gospel Train, they all did brilliantly well behind the scenes as well as ensuring LPM of the donations made possible by audience of the Orange Broadcasting Brand - OBB, Radio Maxx 105.1 FM (Magic Music Station - MMS). Notwithstanding, some members of staff were not present at the street-venue of the event but they also contributed effectively to this year’s Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK.

MOK 2022 had contribution of items and donation of cash from the following companies and benevolent individuals: Akroma Plaza Hotel, TICO, Raybow International Hotel, Ghana Water Company Limited, Jomra Electricals, One King Mineral Water, Philnock Enterprise, Voltic Cool Pack, Agwils Enterprise (Inchaban), 1st Gate Supermarket (Kojokrom), Elok Jewelry, Nana Yaw Pinto, Eagle Nest, National Investment Bank - NIB, Zenith Bank, First Samuel Enterprise, Red Run Pizza, Sally’s Akwaaba Boutique, Mr. Godfred Teledzi, Miss Chima Obi, Aniyak Guest House, NPP Loyals, Ghana Police Service, Sekondi-Takoradi Metropolitan Assembly - STMA, Maa Anita (EcoBank) and all anonymous donors. 

However, not forgetting generous heart of another VIP media figure, Mr.Kwame Adu-Mantey - CEO of Focus 1 Media, he also donated tremendously to support such a worthy course of Maxx Orange Kitchen (MOK 2022).

Well, as a writer of this Arti-Blog what I also did was new English audio-promo for the Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK as part of on-air publicity apart from the creative poetic piece which stated MOK in the last stanza, dubbed Two Decades Of Orange Enjoyment #2DOE. It’s a means to promote the MOK 2022 as well s 20th Anniversary Celebration slated to take-place on 5th November, 2022. Better-still, physically I also assisted during loading and off-loading of donor’s products t the station’s premises and street-venue of MOK respectively. More-so, airing of the processes and procedures to donate on Sunday Evening program Gospel Train as a Guest-Panelist, thus it’s also effective to the glory of God and humanity. Nevertheless, the rains which occurred might have associated with divinity as a means of our Creator’s showers of blessings upon us being conscious generous care-givers in the society of poverty-stricken people.

As Maxx Orange Kitchen - MOK is annual charitable event to kids on the street, and then you’re welcome to partner with us via Call or WhatsApp the following Numbers:   +233207174878, +233243445144, and +233243734791

Thanks for taking time to read.

Name: Ike Boat
Email: ikeboatofficial@gmail.com 
Call/WhatsApp: +233 267117700, +233 552477676 
Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/ikeboatofficial1 
Country: Ghana, West Africa.

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.

Welcome, readers, to Synchronized Chaos’ second April issue, To Know We’re Alive. This issue explores ‘signs of life’ of many kinds, creative and emotional and intellectual as well as physical.

Michael Robinson relates his faith journey and in honor of this weekend’s Easter celebration of resurrection and new life. John Culp asserts his spiritual wellness and his choice to stand with what’s good. Stephen Jarrell Williams shares gentle odes to love, writing, and the next

John Thomas Allen leads us through a semi-urban nocturnal trek amid the cicadas and beer cans and metallic moonlight. Dan Raphael ponders existence and observation from a distance in a variety of domestic and ordinary settings.

Mahbub discusses lively characters: birds in flight, soccer player Diego Maradona, people of the world embracing in peace. He pleads for people to come together in harmony and also to show special care for those in need, such as the frail and lonely elderly.

Denis Emorine celebrates the rich heritage of Russian culture and urges us not to equate all of it with Putin’s contemporary aggression. Chimezie Ihekuna celebrates the dedication and honor of a soldier who has chosen to put service to their country above their own desires.

J.J. Campbell brings us our monthly theme, mentioning how pain is often a medical clue that a person is still with us. His work explores heartbreak, disillusionment, and the vague unease of watching news of a distant war.

Howie Good sends up vignettes of trauma observed from a distance, of how the passage of time, space, and culture renders inhumanity mundane. Brian Fugett renders trauma half a world away into a symphonic metaphor, pondering what it means to bee the audience to events that kill children.

Gabriel T. Saah paints a pastel photo of a gentle village beachside love, along with the drama of driving in the rain. Santiago Burdon also depicts love, at nighttime, in a hypnotic sentence replete with moonlight, street lamps, and scented magnolia blossoms.

Yusuf Salisu Muhammad celebrates his love for his mother in a piece full of visceral images: food, the home, and his body. Gerald Onyebuchi renders love through Biblical psalm imagery, adding a historical, cultural, and spiritual dimension to his romantic yearnings.

Please enjoy and find comfort and inspiration in this month’s issue.

Rebirth of a Soul 

Life had been empty when my faith was lacking. 
Years of seeking something that was empty within. 
Faith came to me earlier this season of Jesus’s death.

Daily praying to be saved from a world which held nothing. 
Listening to the gospels there was no recognition of death. 
Yet, death had me in a vice on me daily without ceasing. 

My emptiness repeated each year and tears continued to flow. 
Kneeling at the altar alone and crying alone praying for a life.
Finding that empty place within me without salvation coming.

Meaning meant life was a vacuum of suffering and pain. 
Jesus hanging with nails in his hands had meaning for me. 
It was a day in which a quietness blanketed me the first time. 

Walking with a wooden cross on his shoulders alone. 
It had meaning to walk to his death to suffer with meaning
Sitting there in an empty church alone changed that day.

Instead, it was an understanding of what death meant,
There was no flashing of lights or angels singing. 
It was a recognition that my life meant something. 

My life was given to me by God’s love for me to live. 
Somehow it all meant something to me that he died. 
Not for my sins but rather to save me from emptiness. 
God had given me my life and my life had meaning.