Kind people!
Pure nature,
I live in Chamanzar.
In my bright motherland,
I play and laugh.
People are kind
No denials.
He walks with a smile,
He always laughs.
Sparkling eyes,
Kind words.
They are sincere, honest,
Really kind people.
Ilhomova Mohichehra is a student of the 8th “K” grade of the 13th school, Zarafshan city, Navoi region.
Super Typhoon
A few days of warm respite
From a sweet Katherine’s spite
Tonight awaits a King’s roar
Don’t pee so much on my floor
Overgiver
Charity by giving one’s extra is the way
Giving all, there’s a tribulation to pay
Mom’s punishments for me by the bay
Yet I understood not, come what may
Pains, both physical and emotional
Is my generosity nothing special?
I was just following the winds of her sail
Yet, her whips created me a coat of mail
But my daughter learned from my pains
Saw the cruelty of people out for gains
The foolishness of my weak temperament
Learned to distinguish with discernment
Unconditional love, unconditional giver?
Should one weigh the need of a receiver?
But even the Messiah refuses some requests
To be a wise giver, I often fail the test
Though I may be too trusting, blackened burn
Still there would be others giving back in return
From friends and strangers, a hundredfold turn
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
First, here’s an announcement from contributor Frank Blackbourn, who asked us to share in our publication:
I hope this message finds you well. I’m reaching out on behalf of a woman in our community who urgently needs support to avoid eviction. She is a neurodivergent artist and mother who started a small Etsy shop to support her family by selling unique items that promote acceptance for the LGBTQ+ and ADHD communities.
Right now, she faces a critical challenge. Her only means of transportation—a van she relies on for her business and income—broke down, requiring $1,700 in repairs to fix both the suspension and antilock system. Without this van, she can’t attend events, make deliveries, or earn enough income to cover mounting bills. Every day the van sits unrepaired, her financial situation worsens, bringing her closer to eviction.
The impact of this breakdown has been devastating, and she now faces the immediate threat of losing her home if she can’t get back to work soon. By supporting her GoFundMe, you’re helping her cover these essential repairs, restoring her ability to work and allowing her to keep her family safe and housed.
Her GoFundMe link is: https://gofund.me/fec95926
Now, for this month’s issue, the Thin Fabric of Time. Many cultures mark a time to remember ancestors or deceased loved ones this time of year, believing the veil between life and death was thinnest at this time. Modern physics draws on fabric as a metaphor for space and time as fundamental dimensions of the universe.
This issue’s contributors address cultural memory, family heritage, grief, life and death, and the different generations.
Federico Wardal describes a new museum of antique relics that will open up in Egypt.
Jeff Tobin evokes our inextricable human connection to the past and to personal and cultural memory. Terry Trowbridge recollects the strong and competent women of past Saturday morning cartoons while lamenting his own human weaknesses.
John Grey speaks to our human powerlessness in the face of our own natures as well as the external world. Yet, despite this, we can still believe we are the centers of our own universes.
Xavier Womack’s poetry advises a person to heal the generational wound of not loving oneself. Rubina Anis shares her paintings of women of varying ages standing together.
Dilnura Kurolova celebrates the treasure of friendship. Azemina Krehic draws on contradictions as a metaphor for the irrational beauty of romantic love. Mahbub Alam expresses how love can create its own likeness to heaven here on Earth. Stephen Jarrell Williams shares a simple but elegant poem on spiritual and divine love. Closer to Earth, Noah Berlatsky waxes clever about a clumsy but perfect love.
Duane Vorhees presents near-operatic musical and poetic images of sensuality as Eric Mohrman gasps out miniature vignettes of romantic tension.
Janet McCann reviews Chuck Taylor’s new collection Fever, observing not just the sensuality of the work, but the many restrictions and ‘prisons’ in which the mostly male narrators find themselves and what that says about modern masculinity and men in love.
Philip Butera uses an unfinished painting as a metaphor for a fleeting love affair, highlighting the tragedy but also the inevitability of its bittersweet ending. Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker once again sets off on a jet plane after a harsh divorce.
Sabrina Moore reviews Brian Barbeito’s collection Still Some Crazy Summer Wind Coming Through, drawing out themes of nostalgia, grief, and the search for meaning.
Ozodbek Narzullayev reflects on a passing school year with nostalgia and wishes to stay in touch with classmates. Sevinch Shukurova outlines various types of sentence construction. Z.I. Mahmud churns Indian and Anglo-Saxon cultural iconography together in a cauldron of speculative fiction that ends in effusive praise of Shakespeare.
Dennis J. Bernstein and Jeffrey Spahr-Summers collaborate on artwork surrounding themes of chance and gambling. Sarang Bhand, Marjorie Pezzoli, and Christina Chin present group collections of haiku and renga, three different takes on several themes.
Maftuna Yusupboyeva celebrates the literary contributions of Karakalpak Uzbek poet Berdak and his place within Uzbek folk and working people’s culture. Marjonabonu Xushvaqtova rejoices in her love for books and reading. Aymatova Aziza celebrates the cultural treasures found within libraries.
Yolgoshova Sevinch offers her love and praise for her native Uzbekistan as she would to her parents.
Marvelous Monday expresses a cultural group’s proud resilience despite poverty and injustice. Komron Mirza laments social and moral decline around him, yet resolves that the world is not yet ending. Rasheed Olayemi Nojeem laments corruption in his country’s judicial system while Jake Cosmos Aller decries the cultural ugliness of hate and authoritarianism. Christopher Bernard highlights the difficulty of choosing among political leaders with imperfect agendas and ideas.
Faleeha Hassan’s short story highlights the strength of a couple keeping their dignity under grinding poverty. Howard Debs’ poem comments on the reality of food service and on those who see the work as a game or a photo-op.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand reminds us that poets and cultural creators are as human as the rest of us, and urges people to be strong yet flexible, like water.
Doug Hawley relates his participation in a medical study on his capacity for balance. Cristina Deptula reviews Jennifer Lang’s new memoir Landed: a yogi’s memoir in pieces and poses, highlighting the quest for personal identity and space at the heart of the book.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa speaks to aging and learning from life as time passes. J.J. Campbell does the same, in his gruff and hardcore manner.
Giulia Mozzati-Zacco captures the scattered thoughts of a young woman nearing her death.
Mark Young conveys moments when the surreal enters our ordinary physical world. Maurizio Brancaleoni highlights humorous moments of life surrounding Halloween/Day of the Dead.
Patrick Sweeney proffers glimpses of the world and culture through sentence fragments. Texas Fontanella plays with words and syntax to craft prose. Saad Ali pairs original haiku with lesser-known historical paintings.
Later, Texas Fontanella plays with verbiage and syntax through disjointed text messages. J.D. Nelson highlights tiny bits of urban and wild life during fall. Rachel Bianca Barbeito crafts tender portraits of gentle puppies.
Turgunov Jonpolat outlines his volunteer work in climate ecology, made possible through an international educational collaboration. Muhammadjonova Farangizbegim Ma’mirjan discusses technology and gamification as ways to effectively teach the natural sciences, including ecology. Anna Keiko writes of psychological and ecological dreamtime and awakenings and the need to protect the environment.
Sayani Mukherjee recollects a languid and happy day in a small country village. Wazed Abdullah praises the steady presence of the stars. Maxliyo Axmatova reflects on the warmth, growth, and renewal brought by the sun.
Ahmad Al-Khatat speaks to the memories that live on in the minds of exiles from war, even on bright calm sunny days. Azemina Krehic reflects on the human cost of war and other violence to Bosnian women and girls.
Maja Milojkovic shares her hopes for peace among the world’s nations and peoples. Eva Petropoulou Lianou speaks to our universal human desire and need for love and mercy. Mesfakus Salahin describes the spiritual and human unity made possible through universal love.
Abigail George grieves over the loss of life in Palestine. Iduoze Abdulhafiz’ prose evokes the human trauma unfolding in Gaza. Jacques Fleury reviews Duane Vorhees’ poetry collection Between Holocausts, which grapples with that vast historical trauma. Daniel De Culla laments the grotesque tragedy of war on this Day of the Dead. Alexander Kabishev evokes the gross devastation of war through a tale of the death of a zoo elephant in Leningrad. Nuraini Mohammad Usman uses onomatopoeia to render digestion into poetry while urging world peace: making dinner, not war.
Ivan Pozzoni evokes the dark history among the beauty of his home Italian island. Alan Catlin describes varying levels of grief underlying a peaceful and beautiful place. Tuyet Van Do laments the human tragedies caused by recent hurricanes in the southeastern U.S.
Anindya Paul harshly evokes the loss of innocence in his poetry. Rukhshona Toxirova outlines ways for physicians to show compassion for patients at a tender age.
Isabel Gomez de Diego crafts images of childhood: a visit to a maritime park, a family photo with a young brother, dressing up for Halloween. Kylian Cubilla Gomez presents photographic scenes of nurturance: squash cultivated in a garden, children’s toys, Russian nesting dolls.
Stephen House grieves over and remembers his deceased mother. Graciela Noemi Villaverde grieves for the loss of her mother’s gentle spirit. Lan Qyqualla draws on a variety of ancient Western myths to lament the loss of his wife.
Nurullayeva Mashhura’s tragic tale of a neglected grandmother reminds us to care for our elders. Rahmiddinova Mushtariy offers praise for the nurturance and teaching of her father. Ilhomova Mohichehra comes to realize how much she values and respects her father as she grows more mature.
Michael Robinson recollects the loving fatherhood he has found from God in a piece describing his Christian salvation and personal journey from wanting to die to having a fresh new life.
Fhen M. crafts a vignette on a comfortable porch, a liminal space between the interior and exterior, inspired by change and transition.
Brian Barbeito speaks to the poetic and mystical meanings he finds embedded in each season, with wisdom in autumn and winter.
Chloe Schoenfeld captures the aftermath of a festive event, the small chaos after the elegance. Seasons change and time passes for us all, and no “mountaintop experience” can last forever.
Jacques Fleury shares wisdom from a teen dying of cancer to motivate us to live with passion and joy. Mashhura Ahmadjonova reflects on the whirlwind passage of time.
Mykyta Ryzhykh depicts a ghostly ship where all the mariners have turned skeletal, forgotten even by history. David Sapp also comments on our mortality and how others will eventually lose our memories in the swirling fog of time.
Before that happens, please take some time to savor this issue of Synchronized Chaos and honor each of the contributors by letting their voices be heard.
Village A lonely cottage by the river wall The sun scooped daisy under my beige wall A pointed facade a long overturn over there To mend and bask the town Meadows As I lay dipping in the river I hear cascades over my rimmed lens A lovely blossom it was, it lied open dust The moonbeamed sun is lowly now To hung the home grown lilies The blue painted carpenter singed a choir A thousand lullabyed biddings For the village was aglow in the pure love.
Lost
Grass or hair
Very close
Sickle-covered hands
Cut by the clouds of the decks
Sailors’ souls or sailors’ corpses
In the ocean of time
In the ocean of the soul
A void stirred by the storm
A void moved by the wind
Catch me
Raw are matches
Keep me warm
Hands are broken
Anchors melted into cotton candy.
Sails soak up the screams and become heavy as metal
No one remembers but the seagulls
Death by ship
A ship that tasted death
No one knows where the corpses go
Ice beneath the feet of slipping death
Cast-iron milk of tastes and sunken eyes of noses
Nobody knows how to compose a proper serenade
Nobody knows how to die with rhyme
Nobody writes dead poetry
Nobody writes poetry for dead people
Nobody knows how to write and read
Strange seagulls look everywhere with their beaks
EURIDIQUE COME BACK ONE DAY!
(dedication to my late wife)
Eurydice, come back one day,
that my song for you does not stop
prayer to Hades touches ancient crystals,
my muse invades Diana’s verse,
I will not turn my head back
that I am not Orfe.
Eurydice, take the fairies’ journey,
come to visit and don’t stop there to see
the children have grown up. Teuta walks
your traces in Grammar,
Fly like birds in flight,
Lali stays calm like a meteor pillar,
cold winter has fallen on me
I have snow everywhere on my head.
Eurydice, I wrote you a letter,
in which paradise do you rest,
sorry i didn’t have an address
and started the journey without a visa,
no passport, no goodbye
and how do we wish this year?!
The Sun’s Tears
I do not trust
the sun’s
tears
and Lora’s
love
I do not trust
theweight
ofher word
or the longing
I have for her.
The Drawer of Forgetfulness
I locked you up
in the drawer of forgetfulness
as the crystalline water under the earth
and the crumpled writing on the gray sheet
proof of the time spent in the studio
I saw you
in the labyrinths of the faculty
where the Alphabet’s raytwinkles
your voice can be heard in each class room
in the workbook you
are piling up the memory years.
Lora
We wander through time
like snakes in the bushes
Lora and I
in the ecstasy of the painting
I gave her Mona Lisa’s smile
I drank water from Lora’s bosom
and I lost myself in adolescent dreams,
I gave Lora a life
I gave the sky a kiss
the sun seemed to be silent
and left a free way to darkness
the rainbow lightens my way
fiery I take the stars to the bosom
I hug the sun
to feel its tenderness.
Lora is silent
and she silently speaks
in her blonde hair
I touch the love
embers in the lap
white frost
he left traces
Lora is asleep
with the fiery stars
tickling her lips
in the corrugated crown
the sounds of silence
I put her crown
and I read under her eyelids
the novel I will write
Lora with her bosom as virgin snow
lures the Talmudists’ years
Lora crystalline meteor.
WHAT TO WISH YOU TONIGHT
I am drunken with craving
of cords of your voice
I seek the canary of love
in the labyrinths of the soul
the morning messenger is not heard
nor he knits the sounds cardigan of Monastery
you, the lost one in the waves of forgetfulness.
I glaze the pictures in the museum
I doze in present time
the verb love
I conjugate in first person
Because you loved me
I track in mirative form
the time passed in lucidity
what to wish you tonight as you forgot me.
Ah, with the sweetness of the vowels
Quivered even my lake
we, like two canaries in the mountains
loosing trails in canon
me, you and the voice
tonight brings me back to nostalgia.
---------------------------------------------------------------------- flutter and here comes the old timer a blackout drunk in the city that never sleeps has stories for days about hookers, heroin and whatever happens to flutter into his mind i egg him on from time to time, especially when he calls oprah the anti-christ how many black women have fucked you over? i stopped counting in the late fall of 1979 like a lost dog, he wears those puppy eyes like a scolded child ok, let's go to the bar he lights up a smile we get to the bar and ask for two old fashioneds and a shot of everclear the bartender asks are you two celebrating or looking to die the old timer mumbles under his breath what is the fucking difference i pat him on the back, reassuringly tell him there isn't any --------------------------------------------------------------------- imagine the fame watching the news recently has me rethinking all those dreams when i was a kid and i wanted to kill my father i sip on a whiskey and imagine the fame love letters on the wall of a prison cell, cracking jokes of course i try not to think who is claiming me as their bitch swimming in a river of apathy that never ends whatever greatness ever touched me has withered away by now a walking corpse a poem edited beyond belief even the shotgun in the corner has lost interest i think of my bed as a tomb and one day, i won't be jesus actually get to enjoy a few more hours of sleep ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- any sense of depravity a slow song as she rests her aching head on what is left of your soul it was never supposed to be this hard all the mistakes bad luck dressed as a devil in a three piece suit two dreamers left alone to suffer stretch a dollar past any sense of depravity this is what happens when the drunks realize a bon jovi song is never something to aspire to can't afford the good drugs anymore this is why you never burn any bridges with the homeless you never know ------------------------------------------------------------------------ when the holidays roll around embrace the madness like tomorrow is the hooker with a heart of gold some fantasy made up in a tarantino movie i suppose the nights get bleaker when the holidays roll around suicide is this tempting seductress showing just the right amount of leg she will give you a taste and you'll be fighting the urge the rest of your life i see the tombstones of my friends lucky fucks that made it out but who knows maybe some damsel in distress stumbles into my life i win a lottery or a ten team parlay and suddenly, sunshine is something more than just cancer waiting to happen ------------------------------------------------------------------------ something fondly sometimes i believe my death will solve everything and soon enough i will be forgotten my ego tries to make a point that the poems will last longer than any of us and there will surely be a woman or two that cries or remembers something fondly the realist in me laughs knows none of this matters or will come true the ashes will be spread into a flower bed where the dogs will piss every morning that part always makes me laugh fitting i always pictured my ashes being flushed down a toilet in a cocaine rage but pissed on isn't that far off hopefully the flowers will look good J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Yellow Mama, The Rye Whiskey Review and Mad Swirl. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.