730- Jesus Lizard Jesus Wept Jesus’ Son Judas Hole Judas Tree Jesus H Christ Attorney at Law Judas Priest Judas Door Jesus Saves Jesus Christ Foretopman Jesus Christ and Jerry Cruncher Resurrection Man at Large Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus Camp Jesus of Montreal Judas Kiss 732- 100 word review challenge to Howie Good’s Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems. Imagine word salads made of image clusters leaking from holes in a canvas by Dali. And one by Cocteau. With a side of Bacon. Or shotgun art made by someone like Burroughs at ten paces with a pump action, shooting five-gallon paint cans, resulting impact something like forensic evidence. Like blood splatters. With a side of fileted Pollock. Like Dada at the MAMA. I mean the MOMA. Opening night Patrons of the arts dancing a Lobster Quadrille to a Resurrection Jazz Band. Dressed in top hats with pink boas and Robante gowns. That’s a Stick Figure Opera: 100 words exactly. 733- The Eggplant That Ate Chicago or The Ham Sandwich That Killed Mama Cass. Attack of the Killer Tomatoes or It Came from Schenectady. The Grilled Cheese Sandwich with the Profile of Jesus Christ or The Block That God Forgot. The Thigh Bone Connected to the Hip Bone or Zen Bones, Zen Bones. 734- Exploding Trees Frost Quakes Arctic Sea Smoke Fog Freeze 109 below Climate Change Weather events or rock groups 740- “When I make a film, it is a sleep. I am dreaming.” “Realism in unreality is a constant pitfall.” “He or she exists only if introduced with events in a dream.” “I have always liked the no man’s land of twilight.” “What are you trying to say? I was trying to say what I said.” Jean Cocteau, “On Orpheus 743- Memory is what happens next. “a memory is nothing/nothing is a memory.” Bernadette Mayer. “Just because something has never happened before doesn’t mean it can’t happen again.” (unknown) (Sports Center? ESPN?) “I seem to remember my future works although I don’t even know what they will be.” V. Nabokov, The Gift. “Shove a slogan down the throat enough times I becomes an acquired taste.” Jenny Xie. “I confess I don’t believe in time.” V.N. “an image of the dead or the fingernail/ of a new born child.” John Berryman 748- You don’t know Jack(s) Jack(ie) Kennedy Jack(ie) Robinson Jack(ie) Jensen Jack Shit (e) Jack Off Jack Rabbit Jack Tar Jack Johnson Jack Spicer Jack beanstalk Jack Kerouac Jack Giant Killer Jack(son) Polloc Jack(b) Nimble Jack (b) Quick Jack Dempsey Jack Micheline Jack (a) Lope
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Azemina Krehic
Image
YOUR FACE
In the evening,
in the restless garden of this body,
your fingers pluck the young flowerbeds,
which under those messengers of light
like fireflies lit up.
I trembled and whispered:
The brightest star in the night sky,
I longed for the darkness just so I could
saw your bright face!
The starry sky is the greatest mystery,
and you, Sirius, are my love verse
sent by God.
Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia.
Winner of several international awards for poetry, including:
Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.
„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020.
Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021.
„Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022.
She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.
Poetry from Henry Bladon
The Sweet Smell of Chaos The frantic fizzle-frazzle fanatic, pounding the sidewalk proposing splintered logic and energised by hypertrophic rhythm. Pulsating patterns propound a maelstrom mindset, a confused calibration housed in a chocolate-stained cabinet. The metallic clang from a spoonful of sympathy is mixed in a sunlit side room. Sudden alchemy from a cobalt portal. The succulent sound of ozone. The taste of psychic salvation. Someone crunches on a red apple and starts to cough. Dark Matter There was a hippy unreality in my dream. I was in an online echo chamber where thoughts queued for attention and words were bending into a black hole. The background was populated with pixelated memories of the 90s rave scene and pieces of leftover pizza. There was anxiety when conversational voids appeared in a debate concerning early climate change warnings. The galactic rulers filled the space with free streaming particles and announced that cosmic microwaves would be available in all new-build cosmic houses. In the corner of a park, a man was standing on a box and yelling into a broken megaphone, asking: if we can’t see it, does dark matter really matter?
Poetry from Jonathan Butcher
Relatively Relative In those gardens, tucked away from the city, one of the main attractions when visiting you; the affluence that laced this air with distorted tendrils, a world away from my usual backdrop, and somewhat strangely more exciting. After we left that council funded attempt at tranquility, we crossed the tree lined roads, that living room now just a fragmented memory, brandy snaps and whiskey in decorated glasses, your grin just slightly terrifying, overseeing everything. Those stairs to steep for comfort, complimenting the vertigo that was often caused by your presence, which left us all way too early, your wisdom expanded over three decades, only spoken in half drunk conversation, your echo only ever intended to be a memory. No Chance of Rest Together we gather, encapsulated in this web, that hangs heavy with grit smeared rain drops between broken branches of yew, still not ripe enough yet to carve into arrows. This snare trap of time, with inheritance we never wished to accept. Our recreation once again cut short; only the higher echelons have parks that remain open all evening. We retain strength in thimble sized vails, the same tasks repeating like decreasing circles in puddles of oil. The same days, weeks and hours shuffled like wine-stained playing cards. This handed down grind, which somehow evolved into gratefulness, embraced with broken arms, which we still manage to retain a grip on for long enough, and to eventually suggest a change. Failed Excuse It doesn't seem so quaint and fine, once it's crawling across your doorstep, interfering with the breakfast tables; residing in cupboards and meterboxes, rifling through handbags and trouser pockets. Eyes, however, suddenly begin to remove their glaze, once fabrics and prescriptions beguin to burn at the edges and crumble at the slightest touch. The excuses now run painfully thin, like water pouring through crumbling dam cracks. And now they claim protest, but only with trepidation, a spare hour amongst hypocrisy, that still fails to convince them. they now stir tea in broken cups, "it will soon pass", they all promise. The Same Plan In this equal space, the clash of church bells and car speakers, screams and barks entwined like daisy chains around the neck of this city, Washing hung with decomposing pegs, casting secrets over ancient brick walls smudged with soot like ash stained tables, steam from gutters creating a convenient fog. The buildings scraped empty and regenerated, a crude taxidermy, as cracks widen within windows, telephone wires like buntin, decorated with flags of this disposition. Another promised plan, a plaster over gangrenous wounds, dangles mid-air but never reaches the ground; our mouths remain open, but it never passes our throat. - Jonathan Butcher has had poetry appear in various publications including The Morning Star, Popshot, Picaroon Poetry, The Transnational, Cajun Mutt Press, Mad Swirl, and others. His fourth chapbook 'Turpentine' was published by Alien Buddha Press.
Poetry from Elmaya Jabbarova
Let’s save our world
Our Lord, who created the world,
He gave us the world as gift,
Let’s rise by living and creating,
The world that only shines light on our lives.
The world is entrusted to us,
It is necessary to share in every pain,
Choosing the good and the bad,
It is necessary to give a correct assessment.
In everyone’s actions and work,
You must have justice and conscience,
Standing guard of the Motherland
You should be a general and a soldier.
However, as more and more scientists,
Innovations are fake and unknown,
Oppressors rule in every corner,
The black spot on his forehead is not removed.
Don’t burn the forests,
Smoke and fog are everywhere,
You feel lack of oxygen and it’s hard to breath,
Because of this, life expectancy is reduced.
Do not use low-quality gasoline,
Do not release carbon monoxide,
Many types of gases are poisonous,
You can’t count the toxins in the air.
An ecological crisis is at the door,
War in every country
They fired shells pollute the air,
Even if they pray every day, in repentance.
Toxins are very harmful to mother,
This also affects the baby,
If parents live a healthy life,
The world will be paradise for every child.
Let’s not see every sin in someone else,
Let’s look at ourselves and understand,
Let’s not weave a spider’s web in the air,
Let’s rebuke the sinner in time.
Let’s go together hand in hand,
Let’s have hope and faith in the future,
Let’s save the world together
Let’s call people to courage.
Elmaya Jabbarova – was born in Azerbaijan. She is a 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 July 2023: Roots and Wings
This month’s submissions focus on Roots and Wings. Roots, in the sense of what grounds us, and Wings, in the sense of what liberates or inspires us to fly.
S.C. Flynn writes of memory and love and the places where we find sanctuary. Zara Miller‘s main character remembers her grandfather’s garden and her Eastern European heritage and connection to the land.
Philip Chijoke Abonyi brings a sense of tenderness for the human condition to his description of love and fear.
Azemina Krehic’s speaker loses herself in grief, forever burying herself with the past. Emina Delilovic-Kevric reflects on autumn as a beautiful season that is also a time of natural loss and decay.
Channie Greenberg’s alpine vista photographs include scenes of places where she spent time with her grandparents.
Irma Kurti poetically expresses her grief over losing her father. Ergasheva Mukhlisa reminds us of the critical importance of good parenting and Mekhrangiz Kibriyeva reflects on the love we receive from our parents.
Wazed Abdullah honors his two older sisters for their love and friendship.
Mahbub Alam meditates on his evergreen love that perseveres through life’s uncertain circumstances.
Adiba Pardaboyeva praises poet Muhammad Yusuf, a literary icon in her native Uzbekistan, while Valijonova Bakhtiyar celebrates the writing of Abdullah Qadiri. Z.I. Mahmud analyzes the themes of Oliver Goldsmith’s novel The Vicar of Wakefield, about a man of faith who maintains his gentleness and virtue throughout various trials.
Ziyoda Khikmatillaeva describes the many benefits of music appreciation as part of young children’s education and Jack Galmitz relates how someone used music to share hope during wartime.
Noah Berlatsky interprets various old books on a shelf through surreal poetry, while Simon Christiansen sends up a luminous tale of intrepid learning and curiosity. Graciela Noemi Villaverde radiates her joy on the physical and spiritual mysteries of life. Don Bormon nods to the power of imagination to grant access to the world of birds.
Tim Frank probes our personal and societal subconscious, littered with fragments of dreams and current events while Daniel De Culla’s photographs depict small Spanish towns with earthy realism.
Wolfgang Wright crafts a tale of a country childhood with sinister undertones beneath the seemingly normal family vibe.
George Gad Economou illuminates the attraction and repulsion writers feel towards alcoholism, which, like any addiction, can “ground” us in a negative sense. In a similar vein, Chimezie Ihekuna’s story explores how infatuation and obsession with intimate relationships can also wreck our lives, with a tale of a couple rushing into marriage to mask the pain of past trauma.
Czarina Datiles explores the contours of hopefully healthier young love in her gentle and wistful poetry, while John Culp elucidates an elemental romance between water and air.
Chuck Taylor contrasts the illusory love crafted nightly in a strip club with the authentic connection with his elderly mother in a residential motel.
J.J. Campbell’s pieces discuss the role of luck and expectations in our lives. Kim Farleigh explores the knife-edge tension of travel in a war zone while Susie Gharib’s pieces simply ask for a bit more kindness in our world. Maja Milojkovic advocates spiritual detachment, humility, wisdom, and compassion towards all the world’s creatures.
Christopher Bernard claims that an unbalanced exaltation of personal liberty above all other social values underlies both neoliberalism and progressivism and paradoxically leads to increasing restrictions on freedom, extreme inequalities of wealth and power, and a sense of loss of control by voters and citizens over the political order as a whole.
David Kopaska-Merkel finds himself talking to his refrigerator in a world permeated by technology. Bill Tope finds love in a surrealist space world where everything is backwards, while Jim Meirose’s even more surreal take on office life blurs the boundaries between sound and meaning. Mark Young presents sentences finished with elegant grammar and unusual offbeat meaning, while Nathan Anderson dispenses with grammar altogether and invents his own syntax for a visual and aural orchestration.
Mykyta Ryzhykh scatters thoughts into the fragments left after the massive destruction of war. Grant Guy evokes the early days of PC communication with his concrete poems.
Diyora Umarkulova reflects on her experiences learning spoken and written English as a second language, while Rosiyeva Banoxon shares her hopes and dreams for her life. Makhfiratkhon Abdurakhmonova celebrates girls and encourages people to value them and their dreams.
Frank Modica writes of various kinds of journeys: literal travel on bikes and airplanes and metaphorical navigate of memory, life, and death. Sterling Warner’s poems enjoin you in movement: pirouettes with seagulls and wagon rides with children and the slow drift of fog.
Fizza Abbas writes of language learning, cinema, and childhood school memories with awe and exuberance. Elmaya Jabbarova waxes poetic about youth: energy, creativity and love while Mesfakus Salahin’s speaker hopes for a happy reunion in the future.
Finally, Sayani Mukherjee celebrates the varied colors and sights of summer.
Poetry from Noah Berlatsky
Bookshelf i. Lady’s gallic unmentionable longing. The death. ii. Bohemian Superman. Malapert tunnel. Superintelligent dessert. iiii. Living in Bosch solutions no codpiece. iv. Palimpsest of cats. Chateau feet horror. v. Selected God. Alphabetical love. vi. Concrete geisha unearthing lunch on mars.