My green country in Monsoon’s lap

Monsoon clouds gather, dark and deep,

Rivers swell, their secrets to keep.

Paddy fields dance in the pouring rain,

Life awakens, free from pain.

Children splash in puddles wide,

Nature’s bounty, a vibrant tide.

In every drop, a story flows,

Bangladesh breathes as the monsoon grows.

Wazed Abdullah is a student in grade nine at Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Love to family

My love to my family,

To my brother, sister, mother.

A piece for my dad too,

My way is a sidewalk.

I honor my father,

I respect my mother.

My brother and sister,

Of course I care.

Abdurrahman, Umida,

He respects me.

With kind words to me,

He tasted honey from his tongue.

Daddy loves me

He caresses and hugs.

what i say will do

What can I say?

My mother is kind,

Every word has magic.

My mother is my only one

The whole world is one piece.

My sister is surprised

My brother is a wrestler.

Inspiration cries to me,

A propeller in my head.

My family is my happiness

My throne in the world.

“Family is the holy place”

The words madhim-ku.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is a teacher of the 8th grade of the 9th general secondary school of Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

RAIN IN MY EYES

The rainbow appeared

behind the lines of rain,

the worries and troubles of stis,

carved verses

where the west burned,

in the braided flower,

we put a wreath.

You can’t see the rainbow

it didn’t rain a little,

in my eyes…!

AUTUMN LOVE IN PRISTINA

We met in the fall,

in the amphitheater you tweet…

the streets of Pristina,

in the cold night,

shoot me like a mountain fairy.

the stars were aligned

that summer evening in your tear,

we were both lost in the untouched oasis

and the lips stopped at the sounds FlokArtë.

Why did we travel, tell me why

in the cold winter and snow,

the beaming sun gave us a gift,

you ray of sunshine lit me siashra.

Why did we run to the meadows, why

in the early spring fragrance of love

we pray to the flowers of the green field,

embraced we felt exotic intoxication.

THE POET’S MUSE

The poet,

They give the words a meadow color

evoke memories in torn maps

does not believe in the miracles of the Mountain Fairies

of the world forgives love!

The poet cooks the word

in the magic of poetry,

in the chain the verses of the verses

stigmatizes renegades

with the measure of memory

in the arboreal fireplace.

Poet, in verse

the storm and the sun in the sun bring,

the figures are planted with love,

under the word

it bakes a world

that you don’t know

fused into crystal…

on the poetic harp you compress it.

The poet dreams

Aphrodite in the light of the lantern,

and he engraves the stalagmites in the cave

in the poetry book

AFTER CENTURIES

After centuries we will get drunk

On the salty altar

we will remember your escape in the spring,

the colors will change,

there will be neither red, nor black, nor green

it will be only blue;

there will be no age, only death

 neither school, nor court, nor work,

the whole thing will be like a game…

there will be sea in overtime

life will develop there in the depths,

ships will sail without gas

my dear

The air will be polluted

and the oxygen will be rarefied,

rain will not fall, nor snow, nor typhoon

there won’t be, everything will be the same

in ruins of centuries,

abandoned houses that people are looking for,

fierce wars will be fought

they will cry: bread, air and palaces

with your absence,

that day will come after a few centuries,

where you and I will eat in glass dishes

and we will knit the verses

on the silk fabric,

they will be fed to the spotted birds

and drunk, that day will come very soon,

my love…

these verses will be: proof of a love.

Lan Qyqalla, graduated from the Faculty of Philology in the branch of Albanian language and literature in Prishtina, from Republika of Kosovo. He is a professor of the Albanian language in the Gymnasium. He has written in many newspapers, portals, Radio, TV, and Magazines in the Albanian language and in English, Romanian, Francophone, Turkish, Arabic, Italian, Greek, Swedish, Hindu,  Spanish, and Korean.

Antelope Field

There are antelope
in the field down
the road. Okay, 
well maybe not
antelope, but nyala
or oryx. & maybe
it’s not a field
but a patch of
garden which in
reality is too small
for the eland &
in reality is not
even a garden but
a window box in
which the cat sits
soaking up the sun. 
& since I don’t have
a window or a cat
it’s quite possible 
that this scene
from the wilds is
nothing more than a
screensaver that
comes on after
I’ve been away from
the PC for at least
three minutes. Which
I haven’t been, I’ve
been sitting here
all the time. So maybe,
just maybe, it all
comes down to
a plasma rectangle
that is framed by
tool- & scroll-bars
but is otherwise
entirely white except
for the two words 
floating at the top.
Field. Antelope.



Putsch

He picked
up whatever 
thoughts
were upper- 
most in 
his mind at 
the time 

ran with them
for a while

& then 
discarded them
as if they were the 
children of 
a past regime.


Nijinski reminisces

Exuberance
is in an eye
much more

beholden
to the magic
of the mo-

ment than to 
the pattern
of the dance.




Inside knowledge

Or:
knowing where
the bodies are
buried. 

Or:
knowing when
the berries are
bodied.


On Journeys

The shape of the journey
has something to do
with color. A small part
but important. The color
has to do with the shape
of those things you are
looking for. Also important,
not so small. The taste lies

on your tongue. Sound is
restricted by allowing one
album to come along with
you. Either earphone music 
or that playlist in your mind
cycling through an endless loop.

Call Me Well Again

I’ve survived another you

saliva infectious 

dreary and shopworn

I tear through the streets wildly 

search for 

someone’s discarded shred of home 

soft sheets 

a fireplace perhaps

light operatic music 

it’s just a fantasy

non-existent

any minute your truck will come barreling through

my thoughts of salvation

I’ll get by on a lower dosage 

of you

We’ll cut it down to three days a week 

I’ll end up stalking you

grip the light post 

to climb the rim of the dumpster 

try to peer in 

your window 

You’re agitated now 

I’m so low I’m a slinking

belly scraping beggar 

no real reason I’m lingering outside 

in thirty-five degrees 

wearing a denim jacket 

you shuffle me to the truck

I’m edging away 

from two failed marriages 

put it all on them 

but it was me me me 

When I’m well again

I’ll come calling

fresh as babies’ skin

holding a tray of Starbucks

While I Wait for my Lover 

The buzz and hum of New York City

fills the air 

I tuck into a restaurant for cover 

small

Italian 

quiet 

The couple at the table next to me

sort through sonogram prints

I feel a pang of jealousy at 

the little fetus forming in this woman’s 

belly

My lover 

late – and certainly not mine alone 

has no interest in children 

For his sake 

I forego this 

I cannot help but stare 

longingly into the abyss of those 

black and whites 

that little heart 

tiny head

this embryo I turn my body 

away from 

for martyrdom 

yet it’s the thing that calls to me

from some primal part of

my makeup 

I’m on the edge now

sacrificing the eggs 

I feel bouncing around 

in my uterus 

for some blind pact 

that later seals the deal

of which we will be much 

happier 

together 

without kids 

While I Wait for my Lover (Cont.)

The woman feels my eyes 

says it’s a boy

smiles uncontrollably 

I worm around in my seat

the couple finally gone

I am left alone

and this is how it will be

as I decided I’ve passed that exit 

many many highways before 

I’ll just wait for my lover to show up 

and order us scotch on the rocks 

for the long pull of loneliness 

has begun to root 

What Will Your Mother Say

When she finds your corpse

with foam bubbling

down your chin

eyes sunk deep 

in your sockets

black spreading around

your lids and mouth

the needle still stuck

frozen

You

in your aloneness

You 

in your dying

As your mother cracks open

lays across you

the spoon now cold

your spirit beats against the window 

pleads

with God

to let you

back in

To see her in a pile 

of grief and longing 

so deep

your soul evaporates

into the pain

What will she tell

your siblings

the school

the bus driver

the crossing guard

it was an accident

always is

Wait for the autopsy

to understand

what went wrong

deep in the gully of absent parenting 

divorce

boyfriend fondlers

What Will Your Mother Say (Cont.)

booze

cigs

marijuana

heroine

here……..

As you lay hardened

frothing

a slow last milky tear oozing

She still wants you

she begs 

to glue you 

for a day – just one day

even if it’s your druggy lean against the wall

eyes open to a slit

turtle movements 

slurred speech

if just that…than the hell of this 

to speak of you

now

in your deadness

We begin this issue with an announcement. Bird and Beckett Books in San Francisco is hosting a marathon poetry reading on Indigenous People’s Day, Monday October 14th, to benefit the Middle East Children’s Alliance (https://www.mecaforpeace.org/) which provides humanitarian aid to all children of any race or background in Gaza and the West Bank. For a donation to the Alliance of any amount, you can choose a time and come to Bird and Beckett to read any one poem on stage that day. More information here.

Also, several of our contributors invite reviews of their written works. Please feel welcome to contact us and we will put you in touch with the authors.

Noah Berlatsky has a book of poetry recently published from Ben Yehuda Press called *Not Akhmatova*, which is translations/responses/arguments with the work of Anna Akhmatova, thinking about Jewish diaspora.

Daniel De Culla has a collection, Grandparents Dance, that he hopes to publish, and for which he invites reviews. You’re welcome to email him directly at gallotricolor@yahoo.com for a copy.

Duane Vorhees has a book of poetry titled Between Holocausts and invites pre-publication reviews.

Duane Vorhees also offers expertise on a variety of topics and is happy to have writers contact him and pick his brain! Please reach us at synchchaos@gmail.com and we’ll forward your message to Duane.

From Duane:

I grew up in rural SW Ohio (actually about 20 minutes from JD Vance’s home). I lived in Montreal when Rene Leveque won the provincial governorship and launched a French domination movement.

I spent most of my active professional career teaching for the University of Maryland to US military. dependents, and locals in Korea and Japan. I currently live in Thailand.

My PhD was on Immanuel Velikovsky (as a result I probably am one of the world’s leading experts, though I have not engaged in the field for a long time).

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

Now, for this month’s second issue, Located.

Our contributors explore and play with the idea of location, of what it means to be somewhere.

Lorraine Caputo’s verbal postcards serve as windows on South and Central American townscapes.

Brian Barbeito dreamily reflects on a suburban neighborhood where he used to live. Soren Sorensen’s art concerns liminal states and the uncanny: a calm suburban house at night with a vague occult reference, hazy suggestions of sunrises, and an arrangement with a dagger and rose. Robert Fleming reinterprets cows in a multitude of surreal directions. Kylian Cubilla Gomez zooms in for closeups of uncanny or unusual aspects of nature.

Mark Young intermixes text, line, and swathes of color in the artworks he calls ‘geographies.’ Patrick Sweeney crafts little vignettes through his haiku-ish sentence fragments. J.D. Nelson brings us another set of quirky monostich poems, peering into the world with gentle humor and curiosity.

Noah Berlatsky illustrates how art can liberate us from commonplace thinking. Kelly Moyer’s photography renders common objects, even a restroom, intriguing visual and tactile experiences. Grant Guy pays tribute to an artistic faction whose ideas he appreciates as they bring a sense of humor to their speculations on life’s absurdities. Doug Holder describes the visceral experience of listening to Etta James.

AG Davis conveys the psychological weight of dislocation in his poetic piece. Ahmad Al-Khatat’s short story evokes the despair and helplessness of soldiers in wartime who cannot return home. Alexander Kabishev evokes the fear and despair of the blockade of Leningrad in his memoirs, a time when home became unrecognizable.

Christopher Bernard envisions the impact of an imagined disaster tearing at the heart of the American city as Pat Doyne pokes fun at Donald Trump’s recent comments on urban immigrants.

Parichita Saha explores the roles of Greek and Roman mythologies in their respective cultures. Z.I. Mahmud explores how W.B. Yeats’ poem Leda and the Swan relates the themes of the Greek myth to the Ireland of his time, situating the story within his own world. Kahlil Crawford celebrates the power of language to provide shelter and refuge and to convey and inspire thoughts that go even deeper than human culture. Aminova Oghiloy pays tribute to the culture and scholarly work done in her region of Turtkul, Uzbekistan.

Texas Fontanella ponders whether the answers to life’s ultimate questions are simple or complex and whether we stand a chance of figuring them out.

Maja Milojkovic finds belonging and peace through a very personal faith and sees the inspiration of the Lord in nature. Michael Robinson reflects on the steady and caring hand of the Lord throughout his life as a Christian in two pieces, here and here. Mahmud Dzukogi speaks to the spiritual grounding people receive through faith, compassion, and ethics.

Jacques Fleury reminds religious leaders and adherents of our common humanity before God. He points out that racial marginalization can manifest within church settings as well as in the secular world and must be confronted as part of the practice of faith.

Mesfakus Salahin reminds us that we are all equal at the moment of death. Eva Lianou Petropoulou urges readers to hold onto innocence in a harsh world. Daniel De Culla captures a loss-of-innocence moment for a young and naive girl.

Some contributors speak to inclusion and belonging within society. Mykyta Ryzhykh laments the callousness of humanity towards the vulnerable. Nahyean Taronno memorializes the courage of student protesters who recently changed the course of Bangladeshi society. Rakhimjonova Mashhura highlights Uzbekistan’s efforts to include children with disabilities in the national education system.

Salihu Muhammad Ebba reminds us of the ubiquity of disease and biological predators and our shared human biological vulnerability. Raquel Barbeito brings a tender eye to her drawings of cats and people, crafting images with colors and lines softly fading into each other.

Many writers find their spiritual and emotional home with another person, or wish to do so. Jasna Gugic expresses the beauty of close, yet wordless, intimacy. Fadwa Attia celebrates the deep and steady love she has found with her partner. Mahbub Alam also speaks of a tender, intimate love. Faleeha Hassan expresses each of the ways in which a close relationship affects and inspires her life. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai contributes delightful rhyming romantic sonnets. Dilnura Kurolova highlights the value of close friendship.

J.J. Campbell speaks to the years-long pain of lost love. Nosirova Gavhar shares a tragic tale where a man recovers from his injuries, yet loses the love of his life. Graciela Noemi Villaverde reflects on the emptiness of her home as she grieves a loved one. Otteri Selvakumar shares his hopes for an honest conversation between lovers to clear the air.

David Sapp reflects on his connection to his father across generations through their shared boyhood collections. Lidia Popa reflects on the memory of those ancients who have died and been lost to history. Isabel Gomez de Diego highlights the smallness of humans, mere children amid the size of nature and culture.

O’tkir Mulikboyev speaks to the depth and breadth of cultural and natural history in the voice of a river flowing to the sea. Sayani Mukherjee muses on rivers, and other natural phenomena, as reminders of impermanence. Utso Bhattacharyya celebrates the wisdom of ecologically sustainable development, including drawing hydroelectric power from moving water.

Jerome Berglund captures and celebrates moments and the flow of time in his mixed media art. Duane Vorhees speaks of physical intimacy, aging, and love and art in his poetry.

Elmaya Jabbarova compares human emotion to the rainbow, asserting that a wide range of feelings are natural. Sandy Rochelle urges us not to fear suffering, but to learn as much as we can by all of our life experiences.

Taylor Dibbert reflects on a past relationship with hard-won wisdom. Tuliyeva Sarvinoz walks away from an unequal relationship and finds true love. She also celebrates the moral vision and courage in Said Ahmad’s novel Silence.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa illustrates the pain of social rejection and abuse, yet reminds us that every season passes, like the night back into day. Dr. Jernail S. Anand offers up wisdom for various stages of life. Ilhomova Mohichehra speculates on life’s mysteries while watching the rain and asserts that on a future sunny day, she will choose to be happy. Idris Sheikh conveys the strength of hope through a poem about seeds. Thaalith Abubakar Gimba affirms his hope for the future despite others’ cynicism.