I was late to begin leaving for walking, so I checked the time of sunset to make sure I wouldn’t get caught in darkness. It said 6:08 was when the sun set. I had enough time. I turned off the tarot card reader I was listening to and got my boots and such on. A local golf course allowed dog walkers through the winter months. Some people said it was to keep coyotes away and some had the owner as doing this because his mother used to walk the dogs there and it was all to keep part of her memory going. 

The dogs were happy and safe, and socialized well if a bit zealously sometimes, with the others they encountered. I took the left side which was less populated overall, and at that time for half the walk, that half of the golf course, there was nobody. It was one of those moments prolonged where the three of us were content, moving, together, and were where and how we were supposed to be. 

I looked out far and far across the lands and could see an old and sad building, something from maybe the 1970’s and even the most positive soul would be hard-pressed to find something sanguine about. I was glad I was in the next town, even if the people were a little on the snobbish side. It got really quiet, with no wind and I just paused sometimes and admired this remarkable quietude. There was a copse of trees standing above the long and wide white snow, both the ground and trees completely untouched by anything in the world. It reminded me of something. I couldn’t recall what. Then it hit me. It was all there like some old Carlos Castaneda book cover. That led me to thinking of Castaneda. His personal narrative probably hadn’t been true, according to my research, but his writing was beautiful and interesting, and did contain much wisdom. So, it was up to the reader to determine what they thought of it all finally. His immediate group of people didn’t end well. But in another way he had inspired many and perhaps still does. 

I arrived at a little series of small streams. The dogs, a Collie and a Husky, didn’t bother much and stayed close enough. They were both good swimmers but I wouldn’t want them to go too close in the winter months. I stood on some planks and stared at the black water which to the sides looked grey and in other places clear. I liked the sound and to see it travelling. I began to feel better and better. It had been a long cold snow-laden winter but finally there were little signs that it might end one day. 

There was a distant bell I kept hearing then, and also a black squirrel I saw running across the way in the openness before disappearing into a stand of trees. An elderly lady appeared before me with her dog. The three dogs met and played somewhat. 

‘Your dogs are beautiful,’ she mentioned. I told her thanks. ‘My dog is a rescue,’ she continued, ‘and I think they know when they are becoming a rescue.’

‘Good for you,’ I told her, ‘for giving him a home and walks. I might not be out here walking if not for mine, ’cause it easy to make any one excuse not to go out. So I rescue them and they rescue me.’

‘Exactly.’

Then the lady coughed and had a hard time stopping. ‘It’s a cold I’m fighting. But I’ve had it since December.’ That was a few months, I thought to myself, and something, life experience, common sense, maybe some intuition or the manner she coughed in, told me it was pneumonia. 

‘I hope you feel better soon.’

We looked around and the dogs kept playing. ‘I better get going,’ I said. And I glanced back in a bit and consciously sent her any light and good intentions that I could in order to help her with the pneumonia and in life. She seemed like such a good soul. Soon her and her dog disappeared into the part of the path that entered a group of old trees in the other direction. 

I kept on. There was a long stretch and I realized for some reason, alone with my own thoughts, that I had never seen the golf course without snow, in the spring or summer. I thought it must look kind, relaxing, even inspiring for its vibrant verdancy and calm plainness. There was a bit of ice to navigate going up the long hill to our truck, and I went slow and cautiously. The dogs had no trouble at all, full of agility and youth, prowess, and such, that they were. 

Some friendly people passed me and I said hello. It was interesting that they were setting out then because it was beginning to get dark. At the top the canines and I, got into my vehicle. Driving home I thought of the other side of outside, of home. There would be puzzles and books, nice people and the fire. The fire was electric and had no hearth stone, but it was a modern world and that’s just how it went sometimes. I still liked it. 

Inside, I wrote this, careful not to upset the puzzle pieces. Periodically I glanced up to see the darkening sky turn from blue to darker blue and then, black. It was night. It was a day’s end. It was Sunday as a Sunday should be, peaceful and without dilemma. 6:08 EST had come and passed. And that is what I saw, did, and thought, while that winter sun was going down again. 

——

FULL CIRCLE

Once we were an outpost of an empire.

Looted, used—as colonies tend to be.

Grievances were real. A core of thinkers,

afire with notions of democracy,

set off a revolution. Stars and stripes!

Fight for freedom!  Down with tyrant kings!

Independence gained, this founding crew

invent a fledgling nation, full of hope.

States are sovereign, but united. Three

branches anchor checks and balances.

One makes laws. One handles all the finance.

President’s a leader, not a king.

But don’t forget the peasants, now empowered

to vote for congressmen and presidents.

Created equal, yes, but rabble-rousers

target commoners– unschooled,  like children

who follow blindly men that dangle candy.

Even Senators can be beguiled.

And that’s how this old firebrand gains a foothold.

Hoodwinks voters. Preys upon their fears.

Stokes racial grudges.  Rule by ultra-rich

works best when workers are no more than slaves.

And women? Slaves by gender. Slap them down.

Strip the right to vote, to rule their bodies.

This cartoon clown has seized the highest courts;

bought off lawmakers with threats and bribes;

won a loyal cult, who swallow lies,

who clap and cheer, who’d like to make him king.

He plans to rule an empire.  Will annex

Greenland, Gaza, Panama Canal…

History’s come full-circle. Bites its tail.

The colony that once broke free of England

has now become Old England, Putin-style,

ruled by our own mad George III. What’s more,

a widening chasm cuts off rich from poor.

Can revolution’s smoke be far behind?

 Copyright 3/2025               Patricia Doyne

Asia’s Death

Darkness with the ghosts haunts my room

The place is not allowed to stay any more

The sleeping peel can’t give me sleep in bed

That peel has snatched away Asia’s life

.

Asia, a girl of eight

In her deep sleep was raped and tortured

By her sister’s father in law with the help of family members

Struggling with life for eight days in the hospital

She expired today.

Now the time is spring and the sacred month of Ramadan

When nature spreads its glow by its own

The glory we enjoy in every step

The new leaves are coming out at the place of old falling down

On the roads and fields.

Inspite of all those beautiful sights

I see nothing in this dark world I live

Asias are dying in bed without any claim

In subconscious mind I feel sorry to think

The victims die before the death of the rapist

Like the tigers in the forest they roam about

After eating the flesh of a doe.

In this dark room I switch on the light

But darkness never removes

Something hounds me in my surroundings

That always sag my heart deep into fear.

I ask my country, how are you, dear Bangladesh?

Are the conductors okay to help drive the bus well?

 Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

13  March, 2025.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

Poet Pat Doyne invites writers to enter the Tor House poetry contest. Submissions must be sent via snail mail to the address in the link and postmarked by March 15th.

Poet Eva Petropoulou shares that Our Poetry Association, an international writers’ collective, has opened submissions for its spring contest, with a theme of justice.

Poet and essayist Abigail George, whom we’ve published many times, shares the fundraiser her book’s press has created for her. She’s seeking contributions for office supplies and resources to be able to serve as a speaker and advocate for others who have experienced trauma or deal with mental health issues.

Synchronized Chaos Magazine also encourages you to watch short videos of international authors, artists, and activists interviewed on the Xena World chat show, including several of our contributors.

Poet Annie Finch seeks assistance with training a new app that will identify and teach different forms of poetic scansion. She’s looking for people who know how to do scansion manually to go over the collection of poems in the training set.

Essayist and poet Chimezie Ihekuna seeks a publisher for his children’s story collection Family Time. Family Time! is a series that is aimed at educating, entertaining and inspiring children between the ages of two and seven years of age. It is intended to engage parents, teachers and children with stories that bring a healthy learning relationship among them.

Essayist Jeff Rasley’s new book is out: It’s a story inspired by my own experience of a sophisticated California kid transferring to my grade school in the small town of Goshen, Indiana in 1965. It did not go well, when the new kid challenged the “gang” of kids who thought they were the cool kids who ruled the playground. For most of us, it was a blip in our lives. But one boy never recovered. 

It is a short story, just 25 pages. So it only costs $2.99 for the ebook and $9.99 for the paperback. For some of you, it may evoke nostalgia for a time gone by (like using Juno instead of gmail). For others, it will be historical fiction from a strange time and place.
Check it out at https://www.amazon.com/Came-Parkside-School-Jack-Thriller-Mystery-Romance -ebook/dp/B0DY9TKL6V

Contributor Kelly Moyer has a new book out, Mother Pomegranate and Other Fairy Tales for Grown-Ups. It includes the piece “The Pussy Whip” which she sent to Synchronized Chaos, as well as many other stories. It’s available here.

Contributing poet and Pushcart nominee Kurt Nimmo’s new book Texas and New Mexico: Selected Poems 2015-2025 is out and available here.

Our April 1st issue will be crafted by co-editor Kahlil Crawford. He’s a poet, musician, and essayist who has put together previous issues on Latin Culture and Electronic Music.

In March we will have a presence at the Association of Writing Programs conference in L.A. which will include an offsite reading at Chevalier’s Books on Saturday, March 29th at 6 pm. All are welcome to attend!

So far the lineup for our reading includes Asha Dore, Douglas Cole, Scott Ferry, Linda Michel-Cassidy, Aimee Suzara, Reverie Fey, Ava Homa, Michelle Gonzalez, Terry Tierney, Anisa Rahim, Katrina Byrd, Cindy Rinne, Norma Smith, and Kelliane Parker.

Author Justin Hamm is hosting a FREE online literary event the weekend of AWP, known as StayWP. This will include author talks, informative panels, book launches and networking!

To register, please click here: https://docs.google.com/…/1FAIpQLSe0jqgxfQn…/viewform…

Now, for the first March issue, Oh, the Humanity!

Paul Tristram, like Whitman, sings of himself with easy confidence and exhilaration in life’s experiences. Philip Butera’s poetry speaks to the masks we wear and finding the courage to be authentic. Grzegorz Wroblewski digs deep into our fleshy reality, addressing the “meat” of our existence and our bodies’ undeniable needs. Tojiyeva Muxlisa also looks at our bodies, outlining common gynecological diseases and their treatments.

Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai’s poetry explores human emotion: romantic attraction, loneliness, grief, and confidence. Kendall Snipper speaks to the small and large sensations that bring back memories. Stephen Jarrell Williams looks back at the ‘paradise’ of his hometown in a moment of nostalgia. David Sapp recollects the wildness and local color of his boyhood days.

Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photography captures a sense of whimsy and joy. A cat, Jean-Paul Moyer, partners with poet Kelly Moyer to create splashy, colorful paintings by moving paint around on canvas.

Life meets art in Alan Catlin’s work, as he recollects bits of his past and how he engaged with literary movements and cultural icons. Mark Young evokes moments of change, evolution, and decision in his poetry, as characters grapple with taking stock of themselves. Alaina Hammond’s drama explores the tension and commonalities behind practitioners of different art forms, and how and why they chose their crafts.

Umida Haydaraliyeva expresses the creative joy of an emerging author. Muhabbat Abdurahimova speaks to a poet’s quest for inspiration. Chris Foltopoulos’ guitar plucks out dulcet tones on his experimental music project Arpeggios. Chuck Taylor turns to writing as one of many ways to find solace during fits of insomnia.

Mahbub writes of a dream journey through gardens and his early childhood as Rus Khomutoff’s visual poetry takes us on a dreamlike quest through the beauty and mystery and riddle of our existence. Chuck Kramer’s work comes from a speaker of a certain age reflecting on their life and its meaning, finding purpose through experience teaching young children.

Ilhomova Mohichehra offers up her gratitude to her teacher. Bibikhanifa Jumanazarova poetizes about her mother’s wisdom and gentleness. Ibrahimova Halima Vahobjonovna celebrates the lifelong love and devotion of her mother as Sevinch Abirova contributes a piece of love and appreciation for a younger family member. Mirta Liliana Ramirez points out how she learned and got stronger from her past experiences, even from people who were not kind to her. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa speaks to the power of kindness and friendship, even online friendship across the distance, to affect our lives.

Mesfakus Salahin recollects the joy of young love on a warm evening. Xavier Womack speaks of a crush and the desire for a deep connection with a classmate. Anna Keiko speaks to the joy, strength, and staying power of true love. Jeannette Tiburcio Marquez evokes the joy and sweet surrender of ballroom dance with a romantic partner.

Kristy Raines’ poetry explores both interpersonal romantic love and human compassion for the world. Peter Cherches’ short stories probe how much we owe each other as fellow inhabitants of the planet, how far we will go for each other. Graciela Noemi Villaverde expresses her hopes and dreams for international peace among humanity, and Eva Petropoulou does the same for the sake of the world’s children. She also pays tribute to her deceased father.

Dr. Adnan Ali Gujjar offers up a poetic tribute to the grace and mentorship of poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou and her advocacy for peace and global justice. Dr. Jernail Anand’s essay argues for the value of art and literature for a fully developed and moral society.

Nozima Gofurova shares about an inspiring visit to one of Uzbekistan’s national centers for the visual and performing arts. Poet and magazine editor Maja Milojkovic interviews one of Serbia’s greatest living poets, Dr. Maja Herman Sekulik, on her writing journey and the need for artists to teach ethics and culture to the next generation.

Saidqulova Nozima sings of her Uzbek homeland as Munisa Azimova celebrates her Uzbek heritage and homeland in tender verse. Still others focus on the nation’s many accomplished writers. Sevinch Shukurova illustrates how the genre of poetry allowed Uzbek writer Alexander Faynberg to concisely and directly express his message. Nilufar Anvarova sends up a poem on the creative legacy of Uzbek writer and statesman Erkin Vahidov. Odina Azamqulova highlights the contributions of writer and translator Ozod Sharafiddinov to Uzbekistan’s literary heritage.

Nosirova Surayyo offers up suggestions for becoming fluent speaking in a second language. Maftuna Bozorova encourages readers to learn about other cultures through learning foreign languages. Abduraximova Farida Khomiljon examines various methods for teaching English as a second language.

Noelia Cerna, in her new poetry collection Las Piedrecitas, as reviewed by Cristina Deptula, endures great loss, abuse, and racism. She finds the strength to stand firm in her own worth as a woman and a Central American immigrant in the United States, claiming her culture and her identity.

Poet and magazine editor Maja Milojkovic interviews poet and peace activist Eva Petropoulou Lianou about the power of our shared global poetic heritage to connect us.

Nafosat Nomozova draws connections among art, life, and the universal language of mathematics.

Lazzatoy Shukurillayeva translates a poem by historical Uzbek writer Alisher Navoi that considers the vagaries of fate. Duane Vorhees speaks with a gentle humor to both intimacy and mortality. J.K. Durick’s work comments on transience: money, moments in time, even our health will pass. Kurt Nimmo addresses forms of living death in his work alongside actual mortality: being stuck in a dead-end job, being addicted, having one’s life’s work erased.

Mykyta Ryzhykh crafts a somber, deathly world. Jacques Fleury’s protagonist drowns himself in a quest for oblivion after his mental illness drives his family away, missing some potential positive news after his passing. Alex S. Johnson’s short story character decides against suicide when he encounters “spirits” who wish they had had more time on Earth.

Paul Durand’s piece explores how Andy Warhol transcended his ordinary, vulnerable humanity through art and fame. Taylor Dibbert finds a kind of strange and transcendent solace in the fact that great authors have written about the kinds of travel mishaps he experiences.

Maftuna Rustamova reflects on life lessons from growing up poor. Joseph C. Ogbonna describes the small and large privations of life in poverty in Nigeria. J.J. Campbell speaks to his memories, life, struggles, and inevitable death. Denis Emorine’s excerpt from his upcoming novel Broken Identities addresses the long shadow of the Holocaust in the cultural and personal memories of academics and writers.

Pat Doyne lambasts Donald Trump’s plan to take over and gentrify the Gaza Strip by displacing its impoverished residents. Bill Tope’s short story traces how casual prejudice and homophobia can lead to violence. Abeera Mirza’s poetry tells the tale of how a young wife escapes domestic violence. Bill Tope and Doug Hawley’s collaborative story also presents hope as a wife bravely confronts her husband about his behavior and he chooses accountability and sobriety.

DK Jammin’ turns to his faith for moments of grace and solace in ordinary life despite a complex and sometimes harsh world. Sara Hunt Florez recalls the constant passage of time and encourages us to make the most of what we have, even in small moments with those around us. Ma Yongbo speaks to shifting reality and impermanence, human limitations and death, and the immortality he finds through creativity.

Isabella Gomez de Diego’s photos reflect the simple joys of nature, family, home, children, and faith. Maja Milojkovic offers simple kindness to a ladybug, releasing the insect to fly and dream freely outside. Lidia Popa reaches deep inside her mind to find inner personal peace.

Sayani Mukherjee revels in the small pleasures of a spring tea party. Rasulova Rukhshona celebrates Central Asian spring Nowruz New Year with a poem about loving grandparents, flowers and birds.

Brian Barbeito’s prose piece evokes his youth and personal creative awakening. Mushtariy Tolanboyeva expresses the lament of an impatient tree who wanted to blossom, but bloomed too early before winter finished.

Daniel De Culla’s piece illuminates his love for all of the planet’s life and recognizes that each species’ existence is inter-related. Adaboyev Maqsad’s essay suggests pathways towards ecological sustainability, elucidating economic and legal means of addressing environmental issues.

Murodjon Asomidinov also discusses economics and global justice, calling for empowering the youth of the world through financial literacy education.

Z.I. Mahmud’s essay explores feminist Indian writer Amar Jiban’s writing about the struggles of older single and widowed women and the need for all women to have education as a pathway to independence and financial security. Nurmatova Aziza relates the tale of a young woman who bucks traditional gender expectations by traveling to the city for an advanced degree.

We hope that this issue will be a source of empowerment, commiseration, and merriment at the many facets of our shared humanity and our shared connection with the rest of Earth’s life.

*************

Tea

Teapots and adorable napkins
The child's soul knows no bounds
It clasps a little a lithe wards dream
A homesickness that grows in your soul
A pungent tea flavoured gift that i picked up
A flower of moth eaten daisies I charm in thee
Bottled and boat necked gifts that churn my soul
A homely affair a stage show for faint hearted
I like to knit sweaters in lulled voice
What if my voice reached you today? 
I will scramble and do the dishes the art of 
Domestic choices still I landed on my fairy tales
I daresay I will write on my behalf 
As poetry becomes a stagecraft for skin and home. 

Girls picking flowers

Makes bouquets

The guys are also gathered

“Ko’pkari” plays the game

Both mountains and gardens 

It is bluish in color 

Swallows are coming

Everyone knows that.

This is the most wonderful holiday

Nowruz, my dears,

Ancient, traditional

Everyone will appreciate it.

Grandmother, grandfather

They always pray

Peace and health

They put it in their eyes

Rasulova Rukhshona Vahobjon’s daughter was born on October 16, 2008 in Rishton district of Fergana region. In 2015, she started studying in the 1st grade of school 34 in this district. Currently, she is a 9th grade student of this school. Rukhshona Rasulova is interested in participating in various competitions, writing poems and stories, and reading many books.

She regularly participates in school and district competitions and takes pride of place. Also she participates in many online contests and earned international certificates. She is a member of various creative teams and the 2024 “Ufq ilmi” 1st place winner.

As a young artist she has unlimited goals in her heart. Her biggest dream is to become a “young reader”.

Rukhshona Rasulova’s poems were published in the book “Youth of Uzbekistan” published by Justfiction publishing house, and in one of the most prestigious British magazines “Raven Cage” and “Kenya Time” in Thailand. And she has been included in various anthologies covering artists across the Republic. 

Saidqulova Nozima To`lqin daughter

                                  Republic Uzbekistan

                   Kashkadarya region Karshi centre

               Karshi Engeneering-Economist Institute

                           Sanoat faculty 3-rd student.

Motherland

To praise the motherland,

My highest wish, my family dream.

In your corners that filled my heart,

My feelings are awakened, in your dreams.

I live to praise your name,

I saw my mother in you.

Be full of love,

I saw my father in you

Courage and strength.

Exalt your name,

It’s a confession.

If I wave your flag,

To another country.

Heard your description,

                  Greatness heard.

Let him wonder surprised,

My heart is white.

Dream rush,

My motherland is mine.