*** ant learns to be small *** the flower says goodbye in humility but no one knows the language of flowers even autumn remains indifferent *** the wind scratches the petals the weather body plunges into silence *** I can't wait for winter it's starting to snow and I'm in a stupor I still can't forget you *** bodies in graves leaves underfoot crunch *** we sold our asses on the dark web every night because nightingales no longer accompany us with baby lullabies money stolen from one's own body is like coal from mines need broke people in half people broke the need in half crowds of bawlers who forbade me to fuck in the ass with homosexual boys and swallow their sperm cannot imagine how many lovers' sperm they lick from their wives' lips love has broken us all we all broke love *** The dead do not choose who to come to in dreams Shaggy blood cannot freeze on the rusty body of snow Night of the concrete taste Breaking silence The bird sings a song The song ruins the bird *** cemetery puddle I'm drowning in the grass like an embryo in a mother's belly rain falls on the cemetery again you are falling into the cemetery again *** metal spikes of your kiss the tattered leaves of my madness I went crazy for the love of your winter your snowy red palms make me sad the distances between the letters of your name bring despair the darkness in the night pupils is not capable of choice love or die suffer or be humus unfinished concentration camps skulls are silent the failed noses of love sniffle in the language of flowers I'm looking for black rope for a bouquet of flowers flowers strangled by the throat are not able to live without a cemetery *** The sky ends with the grass dying The dying sun turns to cold glass Whose blood will flow from the wounds of the earth at the last moment? Angels will come down at the most difficult moment The walls are red like a throat will open up before them Triangles of fear will explode and will warm cold fingers in vain *** Wet hands like branches dangling in the cold wind Aching hands like corpses dangling in the cold wind Dead hands dangle in the cold wind The raven screams at the pink moon and the moon turns red Foliage lying on the ground asks for a drink The walls of the night shrink to the size of a grave Flowers grow Flowers grow in the cemetery *** The game of life is very strange The game of life is very funny People are real gods Humans are gods of death No one has risen again Silence draws a hungry icon
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Philip Butera
Cottony Clouds The winds of winter push cottony clouds before the moon in the dark of night. I remain, missing more pieces than I can gather. The air is numbing cold and my shadow has disappeared into frozen snowdrifts. January is an unforgiving month, like a lover in distress who sacrifices reality for a dream. There are always doubts about whether great love equals great pain. There are always doubts. I am nostalgic and yearning for the warmth of an afternoon sun. I long for summer I long for July, lovely July when I was whole and your smile danced around me. I remember the heat and I remember the crisp white sheets. I was that lover who sought but never saw.
Poetry from Elmaya Jabbarova
What's Going On Every traveler's journey is over He turned back, Spring came, Frustration is over. The fragrance of the narcissus came, What happens if you come too! In every space there is a you You are the only one in my dream. Justice "Magic Wand" Him to me, me to him What happens if you meet! The words of this love, Love of lovers, Do not write in books, Let it live in hearts, What happens if you know this! O God, hear me The color of my rose face fades! Slowly the joy goes, The heart is filled with sadness, What happens if you have mercy! Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is poet, writer, reciter, translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.
Synchronized Chaos April 2024: Change of Seasons
We are hosting our Metamorphosis gathering again! This is a chance for people to share music, art, and writing and to dialogue across different generations (hence the name, the concept of ideas morphing and changing over the years). This event is also a benefit for the grassroots Afghan women-led group RAWA, which is organized by women in Afghanistan who are currently supporting educational and income generation and literacy projects in their home county as well as assisting earthquake survivors. (We don’t charge or process the cash, you are free to donate online on your own and then attend!)
This will be Saturday April 6th, 2-4 pm in the fellowship hall of Davis Lutheran Church at 317 East 8th Street in Davis, California. It’s a nonreligious event open to all, the church has graciously allowed us to use the meeting room. You may sign up here on Eventbrite.
Also, we encourage everyone in the California area to attend the third annual Hayward Lit Hop on Saturday, April 27th. This is a public festival with different readings from different groups throughout downtown Hayward coinciding with Hayward’s choosing a new adult poet laureate, culminating in an afterparty at Hayward’s Odd Fellows Lounge. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work at the 2024 Lit Hop.
This month, for April’s first issue, we’re reflecting on the change of seasons. We’re moving from winter to spring, or summer to fall in the Southern hemisphere. Much of the other work here deals with changes in moods, situations, stages of life, or with cultures and societies in times of change.
J.D. Nelson’s haiku evokes intriguing and disorienting seasonal transitions, while Jacques Fleury offers up an impressionistic reflection on a sunrise and the liminal state of consciousness between sleeping and waking. Hurliman Almuratova contributes a poetic piece about spring’s eventual return as Sayani Mukherjee glories in radiant poppies, Don Bormon listens to the symphony of natural sounds around him and Maja Milojkovic revels in the scents, colors, and renewal of spring. Annie Johnson exudes about diaphanous dawn, moonlight, and newborn creation in her poetry.
Mesfakus Salahin sees love all over the natural world around him. Kristy Raines speaks of a steady love where people know the depth of their connection even without using words. John Edward Culp writes of the tender growth of a relationship where there is trust. Davronbekova Sevinch speaks to the need to preserve integrity and trust. Graciela Noemi Villaverde writes of a gentle and silent love among the larks and lilacs. Inobat Karimova describes how her girls’ agricultural science club at school reflects the respect of her society for women, nurturing, the land, and life. Tammy Higgins’ photography concerns intersections of human culture and nature where nature remains present and vibrant.
Amirova Niginabonu’s work speaks to the cycles of nature and the ways of the mind as Michael Robinson reflects on loss and resurrection during the church season of Lent.
Dildora Toshtemirova writes of celebrating her birthday after the loss of her parents. Sevinch Raxmanova illustrates coming of age amidst the loss of her parents and grandparents. Nosirova Gavhar’s piece focuses in on a single date to represent her grief at the loss of her mother.
Music pulls Taylor Dibbert back to thoughts of a marriage that ended, as Bill Tope describes an unconditional love that begins awkwardly but becomes very real until the title character’s death. Uzbekoyim’s poem reflects the pain of deeply caring for someone who does not return the care. Daniel De Culla comments on the vulnerability of women and children and the precarity of family life.
Surayyo Usmonova’s poetic story intermingles love, loss, and sorrow as J.J. Campbell speaks to longing and forbidden desires and Prasana Kumar conveys the pain of silence and words left unsaid. Sabina Rasulova writes of dreams dashed with reality and the absence of loved ones. John Sweet wonders what life is worth in a harsh and alienating world.
Mykyta Ryzhykh evokes the “silent emptiness” of alienation and modern warfare and Bill Tope dramatizes the toll of war and military and political oppression on civilian families and children. Azemina Krehic mourns the losses of so many mothers and the violence against women in Bosnia. Christopher Bernard highlights the folly of cycles of conflict and revenge in the Middle East. Mahbub Alam also expresses his hope that Gaza will find the peace he sees in nature. Linda Gunther reviews Ruta Sepetys’ WWII refugee survival story Salt to the Sea, exploring character development and internal and external conflict. In Nahyean Taronno’s detective story, while justice triumphs at the end, deception and violence seem a continual threat. Laylo Bakhtiyorova dramatizes the intensity of emotional pain, but reminds us that it will pass.
Muheez Ohamilekan gently encourages caution before being swept up in uncontrollable experiences as Maurizio Brancaleoni compares the uncertain journey of life to a train trip with an unstated destination.
Mark Young’s postwoman poems allude to life’s surprise gifts: one never knows what might arrive in the mail. Alan Catlin’s found poems repurpose other famous modern works in a fresh and surprising way, like Polaroids from the lives of artists.
Christina Chin, Shane Coppage, Marjorie Pezzoli and Jerome Berglund send up a group of concrete collaborative haiku that play with words and language.
Eddie Heaton crafts impressionistic takes on relationships and words and literature through long voyages of the mind. Goran Tomic alludes to a different kind of voyage through his collages of vintage images of flowers and clothes and buildings, illustrating city life in the time of the flaneurs.
Sevinch Tolquinova celebrates the value of reading and learning from books. James Whitehead illuminates the honest empathy of Richard Vargas’ poetry collection leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel.
Brian Barbeito crafts a long series of character sketches and vignettes, while Noah Berlatsky’s humorous piece speculates on what sort of poet he wants to become. Ifora Olimjonova compares introverts to extroverts and suggests that many people are somewhat in the middle.
Jeffrey Spahr-Summers speaks to a society in transition with his poems on the latent cultural and racial tension in South Africa. Z.I. Mahmud writes of the power and limits of words and memory in Toni Morrison’s Beloved, and how the novel’s characters reclaim their flesh and history.
Thaalith Gimba offers up a dramatic poem of self-assertion, as John Grey crafts muscular poems on human needs and physical existence. Qurbonova Gulsanam extols the power of dedication and self-efficacy in working towards a goal as Donoxon Ibodullayeva reflects on the potential for developing Uzbek youth leadership through school and after-school organizations. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa’s childlike poems trace and celebrate our creative journeys through life. Dildora Toshtemirova urges readers to join her in living their dreams as Stephen Jarrell Williams speculates on whether he can bring his into reality.
Duane Vorhees’ poems of the gods and the ancients situate personal and cultural history within geological and natural timescales.
Bahramova Ifora Sunnatillayevna outlines the research of historical astronomer Mirzo Ulug’bek as Amirjonov Og’abek describes the ancient Islamic architecture of Samarkand. Wazed Abdullah commemorates the independence and pride of Bangladesh. Akhrorova Sarvinoz illuminates the historical and cultural value of cities in Uzbekistan, Rasulberdi Ashiraliyev highlights the Uzbek heritage of jurisprudence and the rule of law, Mirzo Ulugbek outlines types and structures of Uzbek businesses, and Xushroy Abdunazarova speaks to the history and beauty of the Uzbek language.
Gulsevar Xojamova encourages educators of Uzbek youth to draw on the nation’s cultural heritage in their lessons. Irodaxon Ziyoyeva discusses how to combine modern and traditional educational methods in the classroom, Shoshura Husaynova explores how to teach English with idiom and cultural context, Muhammadamin Xojamov addresses methods of mathematics instruction, Tolipova Zebuniso Ulug’bekovna draws on modern psychology and learning style theory in her recommendations for children’s education in Uzbekistan, Gulbahor Ergasheva discusses online learning technology, and Gulsevar Xojamova speaks to the role of information technology in modern Uzbek schools.
Makhfiratkhon Abdurakhmonova and Abdullayeva Dilkhumor Abdukarimovna discuss strategies for effective early childhood education while Azi Umurzoqova highlights the importance of preschool education to her Uzbek homeland.
Uzbek writer Ruxzara Adiliqizi’s poetry carries a delicate mixture of love and patriotism. Boqijonova Madinabonu relates a story of the hard work and dedication of a mother, while Abdullayeva Feruza urges respect for parents and acknowledgement of their care. Farzona Koshimova writes of the importance of manners and respect for elders while Dilnurabonu Vayisova dreams of traveling the world with her mom.
We hope that this issue will deepen your heart and awaken your curiosity as you travel with us. Bon voyage!
Poetry from Amirova Niginabonu
Cloud and sun In the vast bosom of the sky, Tinctures "blessed youth". I'm tired of watching Light is a generous sun. To share my love It was the sun's turn. Unceasing cloud, Share the tears. So the sun changed, Thanks to the cloud. My service is over I also give my light. The sun is tied around his waist, ready for service Cloud's tears, Dice turn into light. A house by the river A lonely house on the bank of the river, Who was watching and waiting for? Tevarak is surrounded by green trees, How many days were crowded or lonely? Not one guest, one thousand and one people. Thankful refuge for all. The passenger does not separate, does not choose at all. It is a sin not to open the door. The fury of winter, the day of the Koran, A boat companion tied to a tree. He is destined to be rewarded, The sad, sad look of the loved ones. Mind The skin of the mind, the universe decorates, Don't worry about your behavior. The tariff you are told is a description, A flower will please your heart. We are higher than the mountain that will raise your glory, Your services are an example to many. Enthusiasm is always a friend of the mind. Be familiar with the truth. Law of life The ice that conquered the peaks of the mountains, It slowly melts from the sun. Rushing through the grass They are sick when they look up. Life gives by walking the path, There will be those who are offended. This is the law of life from time immemorial, Everything would be great then Ship white ship with white sails, Suzar in the sea wave. The sails flutter, The horn is at the height of the wind. Heading towards the horizon, The goal is goodness. Accompanying people Let's reach the goal. A tiny white ship, There is a lot of power in him. Believe in his power, Your intentions are answered. Rainbow In the middle of the day, It rained suddenly. Nature's wonderful, He performed a miracle. The garden faded away, From the rustling sound. Insects are amazed, From this rustling sound. The rain has stopped, The sun is in its place. The sky suddenly cleared, He looked beautiful. Seven kinds of rainbow Samo smiles across the sky. I love you Unfortunately, Ming does not know. Rainbow from my youth, I love the shine. A drop of water in the sun, I know you will be punished.
Amirova Niginabonu was born in the village of Ibrahimota ,Nurabad district , Samarkand Region .The 8 th – grade student of the Samarkand Specialized Art Boarding School has published a book of poetry entitled ʼʼ Kaldirgochʼʼ His creative works were published in the youth magazine ʼʼ Samarkand Mishoirasiʼʼ
Essay from Gulsanam Qurbonova
MY MOTIVATIONS IN LIFE
Successful people always think positively. They always enjoy life no matter what. They are good at almost everything. It’s always nice to talk to them because they’re always smiling and friendly. Such people poison others with their happiness. Successful people believe in themselves and their success. They never feel bad that “I can’t succeed” because they make every effort to learn everything in advance. However, even if something fails, they, unlike those who are harmed, ask themselves, “How did this happen and what should I do?” They ask the question and look for ways to get a positive result. Successful people are not afraid of responsibility. They take responsibility for the decisions they make, even if they are difficult for others or risky. When you’re successful, you immediately have haters around you. Ignore them, don’t let criticism, pressure, emotional attacks make you weak. Build up your confidence and use your armor of confidence for good!!
What is the role of energy in our life? Why do I rarely take people close to me? There are different categories of people around us and we have to establish a relationship with them. I have been working on my spirituality and personal development for years and I want to share my findings with you! I avoid 3 categories of people very quickly, I don’t even read their messages: 1) He complains about his life, shares his pain with everyone, blames everyone and makes himself the victim 2) Interferes in the life of others, discusses and gossips about it; 3) Those who do not understand you, who only think they are right and give unsolicited advice. These 3 categories of people eat your energy. After you talk to a person who constantly complains about his life, makes himself miserable, blames everyone, his energy and aura of dirt will transfer to you. You feel powerless, unable to do anything. Those who interfere in other people’s lives and look for dirt under their fingernails can even make you sick. Gossip, discussions, finding fault with someone will darken your heart, and being too busy with things that have nothing to do with you is nothing more than wasting your energy. For example, I don’t care who is married, divorced or at war with someone. Those who always blame you, who do not understand even if you explain a million times, who look for dirt under their fingernails, are the biggest enemies of your energy. By the time you explain to them and justify yourself, you will be exhausted and nervous. Because he does not understand, does not want to understand. Because he himself is so negative, he thinks of others as well. I will forever block those who have bad suspicions about me, I will never talk to them. Because if you don’t do a thousand good deeds, he will suspect evil. Allah also said: “I am in the suspicions of my servant about me.” Whatever you suspect about people, he will show you. I rarely have close relationships with people. I do not allow negative energy to influence others. I don’t listen to anyone on personal matters, I don’t give advice. Because I don’t know the situation completely, and someone’s problems and pains definitely affect me. That’s why I stay away. Don’t let someone else’s dirty aura affect your beautiful life, don’t waste your valuable time discussing the lives of worthless people.
When you bring yourself to zero, that’s when positive energy flows into you. Zero is the strongest number and state in the world. The number, which represents nothingness, emptiness and nothingness, is a very powerful number. God created man innocent. At first he was zero to sin. That’s when he was the strongest. For example, you talk about your problems, let’s say you have 10-15 problems. You don’t have a car, your health is bad, you are unhappy with your family, and so on. Is it possible to erase these when you write them down on a piece of paper? Of course it is possible. But what can’t you turn off? Zero! You can’t erase an absence from a sheet.
QURBONOVA GULSANAM was born on April 16, 2006 in Dehkhanabad district of Kashkadarya region. She is currently a grade 10 student at school number 68 in Dehkhanabad district and is proud of the regional German language. She has also achieved many results in sports, table tennis, chess, checkers.
Poetry from Eddie Heaton
light and bitter sunday lunchtime with my father in the cemetery wind striking stone beating conflict bearing down scratched on a head marking the days four poems prowl as i fly into deeds that bought me up for change to bring me into line to put me in these lines the imagery awakes and in this mist of time this son of york moves effortlessly ‘mongst the pines a slicing of anxiety that lies most pale in the moonlight witness the nervous prayer vistas that were there for us a very useful sunset once more cut adrift lover-to-be – begin sex and secularity show boats in the drink adolescent agitprop revisited a really low shuck scuttle across the backs of daunting zebras leap or they’ll come for you get down on the blanket then harsh noise too dark once i was a walking erection entitlement personified lewd passions break neck runaway class runaway signs sonic experiments ranging from riffs exclude ecstasy include instances you know she whispered you do know gentle then gentlemen we are subjects of the author of his latest and the world won’t end oh delighting one after all you will after all you’ve seen full-lotus on the mantelpiece a technique to be admired move on to more familiar hypnosis twist yourself into a tree incendiary personal collections consisting of salacious clips behaviour can be useful a fortune on the pools north carolina is drowning and she is a million years old in his pocket lies your breathing modern psychology fries wavemakers made off with my waking red brick telephone lines yes sir she does have two kidneys racists are usually thick the meat grinder has read your note but you are not excused a hundred-thousand potbellies can’t be wrong and personal chemistry can only take you so far this blend of surreal chicanery is remaining weaving opening pieces and having to make do so cease your fashionable scuttling i also find that quite contrived we held we necked as first rains hit the carriage we decoded the typology and oh what fun we had live streaming the event simplify and exemplify or you will be disturbed try to exercise begin to form softness sink into self-defence only partly consume yourself more profit for the shucksters out ways means way out sullen leaps from the parapet my stares have been changed and both are rather weary now coffee brews with queer desires following which and taking it on take what you want and get it to shore farewell yearning cobra cats that ridge their backs time to find the dreamlike frame mind abiding buttered cool blue-tiled pools and pixled fools furnish them with everything be unconscious mind i said call it out then mother-hen and this is what that feels like it creeps into you backwards with its bug eyes on your feet on a tight leash fold and unfold as the woodland comes to life in surroundings i wave she waving must run rice cake wars once factories made sure still jolly reader really bad got bored rather than wait the creature stirred who would have thought of virgin lands with ringing crystals so debauched who then is watching this unprecedented growth through a soft lens reach for a cigarette vodka this world has become a dark world murdering catamites behind a white picket fence what is on offer we bring you plate ransom note thought circuits bathed in flaming gravy simple weird moments in a deep bass slot fine dimly wondered march acoustics sirloin beef broils there bypassing breath this infernal whooping through my mucus has transformed the cold machinery of war break out the psalms and trance-like simul- ations before the god of winds caresses your last breath counting your sleeps in a sound-proofed chamber recycling waste for a jollier death my knees have turned against me and now they’re spreading so there’s little else left here for me to do oh damn your dreams fish don’t want air and many more besides a little bit of ghostly’s gone astray go check for mail and mow the lawn and throw your groceries in the bin this must we see it cannot be it flows through graduated forms a stasis tube containing light a play with something different new concerns providing stranger personal effects aesthetic coffins ripened love buds please dear uncle am i then the one am i a shade of energy pulsating in and out of love of time not out of hate of signs but talk of peace that mimics all the body’s core and fights what should have made a difference and yet appears in more and more degrading revelations force fed into my conscious mind it’s what is endlessly desired discover walks and roots in forestation that renew then take up huge amounts of time – the moments must so easily slip by be still and concentrate as best you can with myra hindley on your knee a flash of bottled radishes pressed uo against your spine that so inflames the rash that your humanity decries irrational darkening dream status a sinistere mouths and my glass eye rolls left arm draped in a short space stake gibbet and cross and repent base pernicious and degrading fire and sword from lip to ear crystallised into a creed prenatal memory cognition black fire town once there was a red hot poker now there’s only central heating shadow travellers offend a sort of rising for a few like-minded friends and what is left is postmarked quarantine daisy gristle welts green gnomes here lie and their chunks anastasia was disposed of lady chatterley's a broken tuba now her topical mouth is a gift shop but it’s closed whose contraption am i strapped upon the master-key is in their hands and i believe they watch my dreams through apertures extending into space Eddie Heaton studied innovative and experimental poetry under the tutelage of post-modern poet and educator Keith Jebb, achieving a first-class honours degree. He also won the 2021 Carcanet Award for Creative Writing. His work has been extensively published in a number of prestigious literary journals.