Messenger

    Said when to time
                      this moment stand
      I step to stone
                          from the sand

   A challenge met admit to All
          A hill to climb as if to Stall

  But with this honest path I take
  Let Quiet mirror waters make

  In faith I ask   as if Loves Rest
In hopes to hear from Love’s Best

Temple mine    My Sun My Sky

 Warm myself   Breathe in then Sigh

I’m not made to weather  
                              within Earth’s Storm!

As seasons Pass this may Transform.

  Here.     A garden, sun morning Lifts

  Brush Palm to flower  passage Drifts

Empty my Heart   to be Refilled

  Smell the soils   where Life is tilled.

As tears well up   on Letting Go

    These eyes drift                         with feet to slow 
Then glides within from away
       An insect Bird a path to Lay
Through my ether pats the Air
To flutter up a spiral Stair.

Tilts and teeters  Velvet Fan
   Takes a flora near my hand

Face to face,  I fear great Grace
   That all my Baggage may Replace

To Walk the Talk  that I have Lent
  To fill my Sails that once were Spent.

To take attention off of me
    I see its flower as if a Tree.

But its eyes to mine Do not Relent
So with this Bird a message Sent.

      “Imagined or real this time I steal 
             So you can learn again to feel

        But Don’t Look Down
                                Don’t Look Down

        Raise your eyes
                               Reverse your frown

        The tears will come
                                   as they may
        And wet the soils
                                We’re made that way.”

     This sturdy insect, I feel its Strong Legs climb my finger. 
                  It took the Sun                   But did not linger

DROP-KICKING  2020  INTO  HISTORY

                        Starting over.

                        Starting fresh,

                        as if the slate was clean,

                        all baggage safely stowed,

                        no bridges burnt.

                        The meme is a baby,

                        eyes wide with hope,

                        heart filled with confidence and ignorance

                        in equal measure.

                        2020 was a soap opera of catastrophe.

                        Wildfires. Hurricanes,

                        Worldwide pandemic,

                        the U.S. leading in infections and deaths.

                        A president partly impeached.

                        An economy mostly derailed.

                        Election results rejected by the loser.

                        who sicced his lawyers on the courts,

                        and discussed a military coup.

                        Opened prisons instead, for droves of cronies.

                        We would like to leave all traces of 2020 behind.

                        But we bring into 2021 the cause of it all:

                        ourselves.

                        Our society, with its huge rich/poor split.

                        Our tendency to say, “Me first.

                        Too bad about you.”

                        Our leaders, who magnify what is in our hearts.

                        The New Year Baby is young and fresh.

                        But history allows no “do-overs.”

                        We can’t return to “Start.”

                        We pick up where we left off—

                        and perhaps this time choose the right direction

                        before we start walking.

                        We wade through trash of our own making.

                        But we can stride briskly.

                        And no one said we couldn’t whistle.

                        Copyright 12/2020    Patricia Doyne

LET  FREEDOM  RING!

                        Like all voyages,

                        the Titanic took to the sea with an all-hands drill.

                        Picture the captain saying,

                        “These life jackets are for emergencies.

                        This is how you put them on.

                        But, of course, wearing them is optional.

                        Let everyone use their own judgement.

                        In paratrooper training, here’s the enlightened instructor:

                        “When you jump, this is how to open your parachute.

                        But they are cumbersome. 

                        Some say wearing heavy packs is bad for your back.

                        So you are free to wear one or not.”

                        One of the most dreaded diseases is leprosy.

                        A colony of lepers was once quarantined on Molokai.

                        Do you suppose Father Damien told his flock,

                        “Hawaii is a state, now.

                        You all enjoy First Amendment freedoms,

                        such as Freedom of Assembly. 

                        So you don’t have to stay here.

                        Feel free to fly to other islands, or to the mainland;

                        get together with your family and friends;

                        have a wild night at the bar.  Enjoy!”

                        When motorcycle helmets were made mandatory,

                        not all states saw the need.

                        Iowa, for example, felt helmets should be an individual choice.

                        Like covering your mouth when you cough.

                        Or wearing masks during a pandemic.

                        And then there’s the freeway.

                        Cop stops you, says,

                        “Do you know how fast you were going?

                        Well, that’s okay: 70 is just a suggestion,

                        not meant to restrict your driving style.

                        Guy like you wants to get on the open road and fly!

                        I understand.

                        But you might want to get your tail-light fixed.”

                        On city streets,  too, just use good sense

                        Say you oversleep, you’re running late.

                        It makes sense to speed up, blow a stop sign or two.

                        Reject the oppression of red lights.

                        Just do what you gotta do.

                        Another thing!  All those gun control fascists?

                        Haven’t they heard about the Second Amendment?

                        You can keep a rifle or a military arsenal—

                        it’s no one else’s business

                        You shouldn’t need a shrink’s permission.

                        If schools aren’t safe from crazy kids,

                        arm teachers. Custodians. Yard duty. The lunch lady.

                        Don’t limit constitutional rights.

                        So, people!

                        Let’s hear it for freedom!

                        No one should be forced to consider commonweal.

                        Force is a tool of repression,

                        an arm of the Socialist State.

                        Ask the kids forced to get kindergarten shots.

                        Did they choose to get stuck with a needle?

                        What’s the deal here?

                        Isn’t this America?

                         Copyright 12/2020    Patricia Doyne

1606—the bubonic plague,

           the Black Death—

           raged unchecked,

  ending life for 25 million people,

            in a world

  without miracle medicine,

          without vaccines,

   closing London theaters

      for fear of contagion.

Yet from this fear

         Came Shakespeare’s

              King Lear,

An aged king driven mad

     By perceived betrayal,

         By loss of power,

    Wandering the heath, 

       Deep in the night,

    Raging at  the storm,

 And ultimately screaming

From the depth of his soul

      “I AM A MAN/

MORE SINNED AGAINST

    THAN SINNING!”

2020—Coronavirus,

       New  plague,

       Killing millions,

Shutting down normalcy

     For fear of contagion,

     And as if an ancient,

         Fictional king

        Has come to life,

 an aged President driven mad

       By perceived betrayal,

           By loss of power,

      Wanders the internet

      Raging at the world,

    Screaming over and over                  And  louder and LOUDER,

  “RIGGED,  A FRAUD

A STOLEN ELECTION,

    I DID NOT LOSE!

    I CAN NOT LOSE!”

    Did Shakespeare know?

Christmas Time! is a collection of short stories that reflects the mood of the season-Christmas-as it affects the lives of people who have its worth appreciated. From children to young adults, it mirrors, in the form of stories, the ordeals people go through to observe the yuletide but the encouragement they get, the courage they summon, the inspiration and the motivation they receive leave footprints of happy endings-celebrating the season in delight.

From one of our regular contributors, based in Lagos, Nigeria.

The collection is available here. 

Excerpt from Christmas Time! 

Introduction

“A Christmas to Remember” tells a story of a certain couple, Frances and Sean, whose over-the-years Christmas celebration routine was cut short by the inability of Ron, Sean long-time friend , to pay back his debt as at the time stipulated. His whereabouts weren’t known and this subsequently brought hopelessness to Sean (though he had some ‘belief’ that something would happen) until the eleventh hour miracle…barely two hours before Christmas-the 25^th day of December. His twin daughters witnessed it!

Chapter two shows the  sudden end  of a relationship that existed between Sandra and Grace when a Skater,  disabled in physique, hit Sandra on their way coming home from the shopping mall, after the purchase of their favorite cloth- The Grant’s Designer’s Blouse. This was seven days to Christmas. Grace’s sudden departure from Sandra’s life paved way for James, the skater, whose life experienced a meaning…seven days to Christmas. It continued afterwards…

Chapter Three’s “I Love Christmas” portrays the boy-in-a-man figure in Mr. Ted whose ‘boy-child’ manner was inspired by the statement his five-year-old son, Grant, made, ‘I Love Christmas’.  The way Mr. Ted and his wife celebrated Christmas as their son had fun with his peers, was a scene to behold!

“Your Christmas View” is a play depicting how the long-held ‘tradition’ (yearly hosting of the event-twenty four hours before Christmas and whose venues were held at their various apartments) of meeting of Yates and friends not only ensured the proper view of Christmas to readers or listeners but enabled he and his wife, Michelle, to be in the ‘business’ of putting to proper perspective the view of Christmas in the life of their twelve –year-old daughter, Jasmine using what we recorded the last time  the event was hosted- ‘Your Christmas View Hosted by Yates’.

The feel of sensuality in the stories harmonizing with their “messaging” undertones, and the unveiling of the article: “Christmas: Recognizing its true worth” birth…Christmas Time!

Merry Christmas!

Christmas – A Time of Love and Remembrance

The star is shining over a small wooden stable.

We wonder so we stop and look inside.

There lies a small baby lying on a bed of straw,

And we see Mary and Joseph watching this new little one sleeping

while shepherds gather to praise and adore this baby whose life will eventually bring crowds of people turning to our Father in Heaven.

Three Kings arrive and they bring gifts. 

The beautiful star in the sky which kept moving to bring the Kings to adore the baby lying on the straw.

Some day in the future this little one will suffer and die on a Cross for all people then and now.

The Lord watches over us and at Christmas we

Remember this baby and we are thankful as we celebrate this happy and beautiful day of Remembrance.

Mulled cider has been a mainstay of December celebrations for centuries. This month, Synchronized Chaos is full of ‘mulled’ thoughts, reflections percolated over time and infused with spice and creativity.

Some writers ruminate for a time on a certain topic, considering its various angles and implications.

J.K. Durick takes longer peeks at aspects of life: a classical music performance, geese flying overhead, and stereotypical novel characters in exotic settings. Meanwhile, Alan Catlin aggregates thoughts in poetic form on Shakespeare, Shelley, angels, and various other myths and cultural icons.

J.D. Nelson experiments with words, running fragments and concepts together so that an internal rhythm emerges, perhaps even approaching a kind of sense.

Mike Zone sends in a story that’s an extended meditation on animality, physicality, instinct and existence. Christopher Bernard considers growth of human community as well as vegetables and fruits in a garden. This is a piece from his upcoming poetry collection The Socialist’s Garden of Verses, out early next year from Regent Press.

Other contributors explore our psyches and emotions.

Some of these write of our often fluid relationship to time.

Some bring up nostalgia, such as Doug Hawley, who buys an album from an American rock band that has fallen into obscurity.

French novelist Denis Emorine presents an intellectual figure inexorably drawn out of his life into his past in his short story, translated by Michael Steffen. J.J. Campbell’s characters also find themselves caught up in their pasts or futures, unless pulled back to the present.

Nigerian writer Chimezie Ihekuna’s speaker finds her calling in love and marriage, yet Ihekuna’s second piece reminds us that no state of being lasts forever.

Romance shows up in a few pieces. John Culp writes of the often calming effect of love, how a happy romance can smooth the edges of existence. Syrian poet Moustafa Dandoush acknowledges a mysterious, yet undeniable attraction and revels in the exquisite intricacies of emotional connection.

Bangladeshi poet Mahbub gives us pieces of anticipation, where lovers look forward to time with each other and children approach their smiling parents. Yet some of Mahbub’s speakers seek relief from violence and trauma alongside life’s joys.

Ghanaian poet Ike Boateng contributes pieces that sing of holiday joy and the many local names in his region. Yet his first piece comments on a complex national election.

Coco Kiju presents the many unanswered questions of heartbreak, as her speaker wonders if her former partner ever remembers her.

A few writers reflect on larger issues. Patricia Doyne bids a darkly humorous farewell to President Trump through verse, and Spanish mixed media artist Daniel DeCulla satirizes the cruelties of modern society through an imagined gossip fest where marine creatures ride in on plastic to share a meal and observations on the ‘land dwellers.’

In her monthly Book Periscope column, Elizabeth Hughes reviews books with a definite mission: S.G. Jack’s The Only Book a Kid Needs to Read about the Coronavirus Ever, and Paula Hayes’ What If? The first title educated children about biology, health, and safety, and the second urges peace and compassion through an unusual character who speaks up for those values.

Hongri Yuan’s poems, translated by Manu Mangattu, create a vision of pre-human, mythic divine beauty and order. Jack Galmitz, by contrast, crafts vignettes of domestic disorder, yet his speakers can find serendipitous joy in unusual places.

Michael Brownstein writes of new life: daybreak and a new grandchild.

Along the same lines, Ian Copestick writes about his human frailty: injury and addiction. Still, in his work we see him discover his life’s purpose and source of meaning, creative writing.

We hope you enjoy mulling over the muddle of words and thoughts in this issue and we wish you a beautiful, redemptive and joyous holiday season.

Four Poems

By Chinese Poet Yuan Hongri

Translated by Manu Mangattu

The Coast of Time

In the pink and white golden words

Of the day outside the garden of gods

Is the hometown of thy soul.

Far before the world was born

The prehistoric giants in gold

Engraved the epic of times to be born

To tell thee, from outer skies the city of the giant

Will once again come to the coast of time.

1.17.2015

时间的海岸

粉红色  白色  金色的词语

来自天外的诸神的花园

那儿是你灵魂的故乡

这世界还没有诞生之前

史前的巨人在黄金之上

镌刻一部未来的史诗

告诉你天外的巨人之城

将再次来到时间的海岸

 2015.1.17

The Prehistoric Giants

I live in the very eyes of the stone

I am the light of the light,

The core of the universe.

Out of water and fire I emerge

Yes, churning water, turning fire.

There was a time, in black and white, when

The space of the galaxy was resplendent with colours.

The world is a book of dreams

The city of the future is above the clouds.

The prehistoric giants thence I saw

They are solemn as mountains

Living in the city of gold, transparent in body,

Synchronous with the sun and the moon and the stars.

1.7.2015

史前的巨人

我在石头的眼睛里居住

我是光之光  宇宙的中心

我幻化出水与火 

于是有了时间  黑与白

五光十色的太空之星系

世界是一本梦幻之书

未来之城在云朵之上

我看到史前的巨人

他们庄严如山岳

居住在黄金之城

透明的身体  旋转日月星辰

 2015.1.7

The Temple of the Gods

Original words –

A picture of the heart and the spirit

A breeze blowing through the silent music

That which grows in the palm of your hand

The sun, the moon and the stars singing in form

God’s bosom, the ups and downs of the earth

The river is fragrant sweet nectar of life.

Original words are stars in the night sky

Shining bright and light upon the soul.

Plaiting along the bridge of light

Can arrive at the Temple of the Gods.

 01.02.2015

诸神的殿堂

最初的词语

是心与灵的图画

是微风拂过寂静的乐曲

是万物在手掌上生长

是日月星辰在身体里呤唱

那起伏的大地是诸神的胸膛

河流芳香是生命的琼浆

最初的词语是夜空的繁星

无不闪烁灵魂之光

沿着光芒编织的桥梁

可以抵达诸神的殿堂

2015.1.2

Golden and Transparent

When the dainty of dawn lights up your body

You shall see the golden country in stone.

The Giant is walking in the sky  

His hand holds aloft a Diamond City.

In the garden outside the sky

The other one robed in transparent gold;

He’s smiling at you.

And behind him, is a huge palace.

 03.15.2015

金色透明

当黎明之光在你体内醒来

你看到了石头里的黄金之国

巨人在天空行走  手托一座钻石之城

你看到了那天外的花园

那另一个你  金色透明

他在向你微笑

身后是一座巨大的皇宫

 2015.3.15

Bio: Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet’s Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Acumen, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization.

About the Translator

Manu Mangattu is an English professor, poet, editor, director and rank-holder. He has published 7 books, 73 research articles and 36 conference papers apart from 14 edited volumes with ISBN. He serves as chief editor/editor for various international journals. He has done UGC funded projects and a SWAYAM-MOOC course (Rs 15 lakhs). Besides translations from Chinese and Sanskrit, he writes poetry in English as well as in Indian languages. He was named “Comrade to Poetry China” in 2016. A visiting faculty at various universities and a quintessential bohemian-vagabond, he conducts poetry readings, workshops and lectures when inspired. After an apprenticeship in Shakespeare under Dr. Stephen Greenblatt, he currently guides 23 research scholars and mentors NET English aspirants.