Alis Volat Propriis 

Wandering the desolate Oregon coast

Salt-swept rocks shrouded in ocean mist

Something flutters in the pines positioned on the cliff-face

And somewhere not too close

A dog barks, ceaseless and urgent

Joined by the cries of plaintive gulls

I always dreamt of shipwrecks

And lamp-lit smugglers’ coves

Of sun-bleached bone

And sand-worn bottles

Their messages long lost at sea

So it is here that I’ll sojourn

Lay down with someone else’s wife

This old body needs its rest

And it’s time we moved on from writing letters

At least for a little while

Sophie, for the sake of Conversation

Alone again in autumn

The leaves drift down from the trees

Dew drops accurately reflect isolation

Newly departed from a passing bus

She’s standing on the roadside

Clad in a plaid jacket and over-sized white headphones

And I could have been hit by it

By the way I’m feeling

If only I could

Catch more than inquisitive looks

From such a pretty face

I’m fumbling in the outfield

From the prettiest face

Tripped and fallen again

Why am I still writing these stupid songs?

A whimsical by-product of delusion

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marin says

marin says,

like what am i supposed to do?

like i’m just

supposed to take it

and they know that

i mean

i’m their waitress

marin says,

they knows this

but they still try to bait me

like they ask me

if i voted for trump

because i’m latina

one of them keeps asking me

what i think about his policies

what am i going to say?

like

i think trump is a sexist, racist ass

but i need your tip money

even though i know the whole group

gives rachel more money

when she waits on them

marin says,

the one in the make america great again hat

he’s always talking about

all the great things trump

has done already for america

like they say to me

even though i’m mexican

i was born here

so i should be cool with the government

kicking the illegals out

i’m not even mexican

i’ve never even been to mexico

marin says,

i want to like tell them all off

show them a map of south america or something

show them what chile looks like

but the little bit of money

that they do give me

i actually use

for like college

for like my rent

it’s just frustrating sometimes

marin says,

the job is all right otherwise

families with loud, messy kids tip well

you get college kids in

people my age

but they just sit around drinking coffee

and playing on their phones

sometimes they forget to leave anything

but i like them

better than the people who come in

on my morning shift

at least we don’t always have to talk politics

marin says

on the days those people don’t come in

it’s pretty okay working

at donnie’s

like i can almost forget that trump

is the president

or like my feet are sore

or that i’ll be smelling like bacon all afternoon

and how when the shift ends

i only have an hour to race over to manhattan

or i’ll be late

for my calculus class

or sometimes my biology 101

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‘Odysseus and the Sirens’ by Waterhouse, 1891

Welcome, readers, to Synchronized Chaos Magazine’s March issue. Bon voyage and grab your hats, this month we’re setting sail and heading off on a journey!

Two of our submissions mention Greek mythology and drama directly (Vijay Nair’s poetry, which celebrates the beauty of love through a comparison to the story of Leda the swan, and Christopher Bernard’s review of the performance of Antigona at San Francisco’s Z Space, retelling the classical tragedy through flamenco dance).

So, in the spirit of the Odyssey, we’re wandering through different ‘islands’ of themes and topics, keeping in mind our loyal and brave Penelopes and Telemachuses who are keeping the candles burning for us at home.

Some places we stop are quite enjoyable, and we can spend a good deal of time on these idylls, as Odysseus spends seven years under the spell of the nymph Calypso.

Carol Smallwood describes the renewal of the world that comes with the American Midwest in an excerpt from her novel In Hubble’s Shadow. 

Stella Pfahler contributes poetry of love and country roads, but a current of danger underlies her thoughtful and precise words. Her speaker envisions her travel companion paralyzed, rendered immortal and forever hers by a lightning strike.  Similarly, Calypso employed magic to trap Odysseus, keeping her lover at her side until he finally awakened and remembered his home and family. Sometimes a place can be wonderful, but not quite home.

Other idylls can simply be draining and unimaginative, such as Doug Hawley’s teaching position in the ironically named small town of Manhattan, Kansas.

Like the coral reef with the enticing Sirens, some places we visit sound lovely at first, but are nothing but dangerous temptations, destructive when fully considered.

J.D. DeHart offers us poetry of disillusionment, where people and situations, including his speakers themselves, aren’t all that he expected of them.

Tony Nightwalker LeTigre’s poetry warns against assuming that our societies have done enough to care for the poor just because we have created some organizations with noble mission statements. Also, he looks at, but ultimately rejects, the allure of a life spent in addiction, which would allow him to temporarily escape harsh realities but leave him less able to create change.

And J.J. Campbell’s pieces reflect loss and longing, disillusionment and rejection – normal feelings after an encounter crashing your flimsy boat against the rough rocks of the island of the Sirens.

Great dangers can threaten us, as the giant Cyclops menaced Odysseus and his men. But, as he did, we can sometimes escape through our cunning, resilience and wit.

In the review of the American Conservatory Theater’s production of Ursula Raini Sarma’s dramatic adaptation of Khaled Hosseini’s novel A Thousand Splendid Suns by yours truly, we see two women trapped in a violent, restrictive situation who ultimately overcome through courage, endurance and family love.

Returning poet Michael Robinson evokes the images of family and sensual love that allow him to navigate and survive youth under the constant threat of random, senseless violence.

Other times, the dangers prove too powerful for us, especially when they arise out of our own natures and our own pasts. Mike Zone’s short sci fi/fantasy/horror story Life-Hack presents a woman tracked down at long last and tormented by the son she abandoned. She likely wished she could have escaped to the Land of the Lotus-Eaters, where, like Odysseus’ crew, she could have lost her memory and identity.

Sometimes we encounter circumstances that change who we are, that cause us to reinterpret ourselves, as enchantress Circe changes Odysseus’ men into pigs.

Federico Wardal invents a character for the stage that allows him to express the nuances of his craft while playing classical and modern dramatic characters, as well as speak up for human rights through theater of his own making. Interestingly, he specifically credits the ancient Greeks with the majority of his inspiration and the basis for his style.

Joan Beebe reminds adults that we can still enjoy the breaks from reality and the world-expanding and enhancing effects of imagination.

Sometimes, we get in trouble because we are too bold and we overstep the bounds people have set to protect us. Wind god Aeolus tries to help Odysseus by capturing all the air currents that might set his ship off course into a bag, but when he is nearly home, the crew opens the bag in search of treasure, unleashing all the bad winds.

Dan Morey’s story illustrates the drama his elderly Mom creates in Rome when she attempts to evade the Swiss guards protecting the Vatican so she can make an unscheduled visit to a garden. However, he is more fortunate than Odysseus and, through humor and gentleness, he is able to defuse the situation.

Nancy Schluntz’ poetry conveys an environmental message in its talk of earthquakes and cataclysms, warning us to live sustainably within the natural world. As when Odysseus’ men disregard the admonitions of the sun god Helios and eat his cattle, incurring his wrath and their destruction, sometimes we should heed warnings.

Sometimes, we are blessed to find those who come to the aid of lost travelers. The Phaeacians finally help Odysseus find his way home, following the ancient code of hospitality.

Mahbub, a poet from Bangladesh, encourages compassion for the world’s Syrian refugees in a set of poetry that also celebrates faith, family, community and romantic love.

Donal Mahoney contributes an essay about his Irish parents, in time for St. Patrick’s Day. Ironically, he remembers that he himself is the child of illegal immigrants, headed to the USA for safety and better economic opportunities.

In Elizabeth Hughes’ monthly Book Periscope column, we follow the journey of Thomas Montasser’s protagonist, who finds a welcoming home in a small town bookstore in A Very Special Year. And the life story of Anlor Davin, who, as she relates in her memoir Being Seen, leaves her provincial French homeland and journeys across the US, finally finding home in Zen meditation and accepting her uniqueness. And, finally, we uncover the secrets hidden in a lovely beach resort in Mary Kay Andrews’ The Weekenders. 

Wishing you all safe travels, friendly winds and a gentle landing as you read. Enjoy!

Life-Hack

By Mike Zone
Eileen obsessively eyed the diner’s entrance. When she couldn’t glue her eyes on the unmoving door, she kept an ear open for the “ding” of a bell and his soft melodious voice (which in reality was really quite squeaky) to signal either a fanciful reprieve or a return to purgatory.
Maybe their pending marriage could work. After a month, there might even be the chance for actual love to grow between them. Depending on the nature of it all that is, she even wondered if he was real and not a figment of desperate imagination or even a nightmare fever getting ready to claim her.
She was sick of her feet hurting, the touches of gray beginning to streak through her copper red hair, and the small belly starting to develop. When would her tits begin to sag? Would they be as bad as the bags underneath her eyes? The result from lack of sleep wrought from anxiety born of cut hours and declining tips.
Most of all though, she was sick of the smug looking old men at table nine, who grinned and nodded at each other; knowing they had, had her in her prime; she was young, desperate and in need of quick cash.

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