e e starr

ship + egg = PLANO

      way away




buy/oh

bio
nic
	bio
	me




wheat 1-2

ironed axiom
purr-ce

	droughty




sinking have

mirror ROM. talking room
the breeze, a shuddered NOM

       moore




walter-schick downes

a moon
   amon-raw



bio/graf

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His poem, “to mask a little bird” was nominated for Best of the Net in 2021. Visit http://MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.

Upon Meeting a Boy on the Street, While Carrying the Cremated Remains of My Alice
 

The kid says it, and the bell can’t be unrung, “Your wife’s nothing but a pile of dirt, now.” Was it just the uncorrupted, clear-eyed innocence of a child, or did he mean to be cruel? And could a child, a boy of about eight or nine years old, be so insidious? I try to adjust my thinking, flip the switch from darkness to light, but the old filaments

in my mind snap; glass shatters; synapses misfire. I grab his neck with my right hand, squeeze the small cardboard box with my left and make him—eat—his—words. 



Balancing On the Sharp Edges of Crescent Moons

 

I have a bipolar friend who—now in our late 50s—texts me: “Who am I?”


How do I respond; do I respond?

I tell her she is a dear old friend, a beautiful, talented, and intelligent woman. When in fact, I feel like she is *past tense.* I AM her friend. WAS her friend. She is all but lost to me now. Even herself. 

This is the nature of disease. The dis—ease straddles our world and the next, leaving her to blindly balance on the sharp edges of crescent moons: offering no rounded, no soft places to fall.


 Swimming Through Shadowlands


Deep below the lake’s surface, there sits—intact—a house. A two-story structure of Carpenter Gothic details like elaborate wooden trim bloated to bursting. Its front yard: purple loosestrife. Its inhabitants: alligator gar, bull trout, and pupfish. All glide past languidly: out of window sashes and back inside door frames. It is serene, and it is foreboding. Curtains of algae float gossamer to and fro. Family pictures rest clustered atop credenzas. A chandelier is lit, intermittently, by freshwater electric eels. And near a Victrola, white to the bone, a man and a woman waltz in a floating embrace.



Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois, USA. Published in over 100 literary journals / anthologies (across six of seven continents), he is founding editor of the Webby Award recognized Dribble Drabble Review, as well as a Best Book and American Writing Finalist. 

The Architect of Love

Autumn has me in solitude.
I dance over slaughtered maple leaves and find
A pond of sea salt under sworn season, where
Love plays by water.
My pale pacific is merely occupied by you—
Waves are crafted upon your presence.
Though, tiny heart of mine laughs it over
There mustn’t be any means I am in love,

Or believed so...
Until the ginger in your eyes write Us,
Vivid flames melted the winter, and
Sweet liquor canceled the world.
We always failed a goodbye.

Though, everything perishes one day.
Few seconds pass, and a promising bridge slides.
Midst sunset, horizon lures,
Shall we dance?
Words of phony fill the air with a sure.

Springs of past live eternal only if to be left
A lesson from the cherry-scented tango is all
I bear, and the abandoned cries in red-ed eyes
It is a reprimand for printing a blurry blueprint

Inseo Yang is a novice writer attending Idyllwild Arts Academy at Idyllwild, CA. Though her work has never been published before, she aspires to write a poetry anthology in the near future that inspires others to recognize the value of writing for making changes in the world.

How to be a Published Author

If you want to be a self published author, do not read this. But if you want to earn a traditional publication, please read below. 

You have taken your time to write that thought. You sacrificed a lot-time, energy and money-to ensure you complete that literary task. You were led to put pen on paper those great train thoughts. Finally, you completed the literary task! Congratulations! Next, you possibly &seek other pairs of eyes to review and possibly proofread the piece you have written. Perhaps, you sought the attention &of your best friend, family member or associate to read through, point out the typos and grammatical errors. Eventually, you have the task of proofreading met.

The stage is now set...pitching to 'appropriate' agents and publishers. Having read through their guidelines, you pitch them individually. Some publishers and literary agencies would disclose the timeframe. In other words, some will disclose to you the turnaround period: feedback time. Interestingly, others might to assert to you when you will get to know the status of your submission. In the literary world, there is a saying: 'it is everyone for themselves.' You are all alone to exercise the waiting game. It becomes herculean to wait for that period of time. Patience is needed to cope with the demanding literary industry. As a smart author, you should be looking at working on your next title.

The wait is over...the feedback is about to be given, primarily via email or postal mail. 'Dear john, thanks for your submission. We have read your submission with great interest. While we find your piece very fascinating, we regret to announce to you we cannot take your submission at this time. We wish you the best in your writing endeavor..' You feel depressed, afterwards.

Never mind! Your literary journey has just started! It is at this point you dwell on the 'never give up' psyche if you want to proceed at this point. It is at this point you begin to do a research on publishers and agents who specialize on your genre online, horn your skills, attend several writing conferences, book fairs and other literary events to meet with people, get connections and establish relationships (mentorship).

Then, by listening to and reading the stories of authors who made it, you will understand rejection is part of your literary journey. & Luckily, you get a literary recognition, be it a publisher or an agent who would be willing to take on your submission. Congratulations! The wait is worth it. The contract is presented to you for perusal, after receiving a Letter of Intent. You are satisfied with the terms of the contract through the 'green light' of an Intellectual Property Attorney, you sign the contract. Your piece now has a literary home!

It takes time to become successful. A personal instance: I started writing in 2006. Having faced several rejections from publishers and agents for years, it took me eight years to publish my first book! During those waiting periods, I was writing other books, attending book fairs, getting to meet authors like me and researching online authors who made it: what they went through.

Being a published author is not an easy feat. It takes patience, resilience, persistence, connection (and some element of luck) to become that person whose name would be penned in print, electronic, audio and other formats and remember this: Discouragement is a part of success! 

DETECTIVES RABSQL IN FOREST ACTION

The trail shows the events of two characters, a rabbit and a squirrel, loyally trying to open up to all that is happening around them because they do not like injustice. 

The owl's nest is ruined and he assigns them them the task of finding out who the culprit is. Through the fog, they go find the culprit, with a lot of effort and happiness. 

The wolf who is a villain likes to have everything and to sneak up in the middle of the dark when everyone is sleeping to take valuables and settle them somewhere far away so that no one sees them. 

But the truth cannot be escaped, so with a little luck everything is revealed. It is really joyful that the villain on the quay realizing his mistakes, apologizes for everything and gives back what he stole. And on the quay, everyone is happy for the rest of their lives.

In a forest next to a strong waterfall where squirrels were often curious, one stood out in particular. She always wore a colorful suit on, not fur like the others, and she wore it proudly. She solved all the problems that happened in that forest and was often a judge for the final outcomes of the villains. She was always ready to help everyone in need, especially because after years of research, she decided to open her own space and thus employ another animal next to her as a collaborator. Her name was Charlotte.

She believed that she was a special person who gave the world the most beautiful colors, but that her talent could not have survived if she had been best friends with a rabbit named Michael. The two of them were really great personalities and they often gave their best to help everyone even when they were not on duty. 
All sorts of people came to their detective office and invested money in them. They often did not want to charge for their services, and they were rewarded for their work. On the walls, one could really see an enormous number of plaques praising their efforts. One case they fondly remember, and it kind of read like this.

An owl nicknamed Shadow entered their office. She was so upset because her nest had been destroyed by a wolf in the surrounding forest where she lived. She cried that she was supposed to bring her children to a party, and now they didn't even have a home. She wanted justice as soon as possible, but also to finally put an end to that thief who often stole other shelters in that place, but also unfortunately killed chickens and ate eggs from other hen mothers.

What intrigued our detectives in particular was that they had never met such a person in the past, because they were sure that they had finally solved all the things around them. They may have declared that the end was certain, but they insisted that the problem would not arise again. And everyone was shocked when they find out about this news, because it is impossible to hide something in that place. By spreading information from each other, our villain began to be paranoid for sure, because he thought maybe now he had the advantage and they'd never catch him. And that gave him confidence because he is now popular. With his gray fur and big eyes, with a little bigger stomach and with a spoon and a knife in his hand he was ready to take everything under his wing.

Our brave squirrel and rabbit were preparing for this, both mentally and physically. They knew who they were dealing with. This wolf had caused problems before, but they didn't know how to react. Since they were little they'd wanted to save the environment, victory, justice and reconciliation. They wanted a place for their children, for the whole world. They put on their leather coats which Master Randy had sewed for them a few years ago before he retired.

They carried with them all the necessary things, as always; in his pocket he had a laser with which many animals were lured and successfully caught in trouble, a lamp to illuminate all the villains who were insolent to the environment. And a few tiny spy glasses, mirrors and more little things. And they set out on a journey when everyone was asleep, somewhere in the late hours, a journey of no return.

Knowing that they were in a difficult place, they wanted to hug for the last time. Because, after all, the wolf was ready to take both of them down. They were risking both their lives for the sake of the people. They parted reluctantly with tears in their eyes and set out on a new path, a path of history and glory. They prepared in a radical way, with a parade of songs of their own that they have created in their heads. Knowing that the world is now under their feet and that they are on a great challenge, they slowly looked for our villain. 

They wandered for several hours through the streets without a goal, looking for any clear sign or symbol that led them to their final destination. The wolf's place was very villainous, where he stole all possible things from other animals without any shame. He was of the opinion that everything that was unscathed was his to take and that he would go further, into some new battles without a goal. He heard, as well as others. And he came from the middle of Russia, to the cold parts of us here in America to rule that area and to plant in everyone's head who is now the boss in the woods. 

After a long time, our searchers for the villain came to an important trail, which was fresh. That encouraged them to keep looking for a goal, gave them hope that they were not left without a trace. And just when they thought that everything was fine and they finally had a reason to rejoice in something, the damn rain came and temporarily stopped them near the tree canopy, where they quickly got ready to rest due to extreme fatigue. A rest that may have been dangerous, but the squirrel and rabbit heroes trusted their instincts and decided it was best to take a temporary break.

With this news, they came back to the office the next day, where the owl was asleep from waiting for at least some results (she demanded that it be investigated immediately). Maybe that's was enough for the first night, which was turbulent and very much built on flimsy evidence, a little rain and the smell of a bakery that lured people nearby where they ate something after a lot of searching.
 
The drunken heroes thought that they had to work harder to solve the owl's mystery and that they would find the culprit, even though only one person was suspected, the wolf. He was the only one who ate other animals.

Police even started calling for dodo forest birds. Eighteen o'clock came the next day and everyone stayed in the houses under lockdown. The sky brightened, the evidence hid under the darkness of the general window, and the heroes had nothing left to do but continue on their way, even though they did not know where they were going. They asked the citizens of the animal town where they'd last seen the wolf and where. And no one had the answer to these questions, because the last time he came in a dream, so that no one could hear.

At the place where they stood for the last time, they said something in silence, whispering, until they heard some banging. Running through the bushes and through the forest full of burdock and moss, in the gloomy dark, they came to one house. They smashed that door, which had not been reinforced with steel, and found the wolf preparing to continue knocking down everything he wanted. And it was so strange to see him in the day! Justice was served. 

The wolf was brought to the center of the city so that all the animals could find out what kind of villain was in their area, but also to sing a couple of songs to him because no matter what, they loved him. Growing up, they knew he'd been left to fend for himself. The happiest of all outcomes would be that he admitted he'd made a mistake and apologized to everyone and swore to the public that he'd be a better man and that others supported him to the maximum.

And as if from a fairy tale, our villain wolf started to give back to everyone what he stole. This caused tears and great applause, because they knew that anyone who does bad things can change overnight only if he has the will. And he thought, and still thinks, that stealing was in vain. He was given the opportunity to share with all the living things everything he dreamed of, in harmony and unity.

And our heroes were finally able to retire and realize that life is beautiful. The animals taught that peace and harmony is the goal of everything. They had mutual happiness and satisfaction at the end of everything, because the world is wonderful when great love reigns in it. This has been talked about and talked about, but the most beautiful thing is that this story is still passed down for generations, as rivals can be good friends and colleagues in this forest paradise, which brings gentleness and peace of mind.

Maid Corbic is from Tuzla, 22 years old. In his spare time he writes poetry that is repeatedly praised as well as rewarded. He also selflessly helps others around him, and he is moderator of the World Literature Forum WLFPH (World Literature Forum Peace and Humanity) for humanity and peace in the world in Bhutan. He is also the editor of the First Virtual Art portal led by Dijana Uherek Stevanovic, and the selector of the competition at a page of the same name that aims to bring together all poets around the world. Many works have also been published in anthologies and journals (Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Bosnia and Herzegovina, San Salvador, United Kingdom, Indonesia, India, Croatia, Serbia, etc.) as well as printed copies of the anthology of poems “Sea in the palm of your hand“, Stories from Isolation”, “Kosovo Peony” and others.

I lived in the Land of Honey for forty years.
Why was I there?
Because people treated each other like family, nobody heard me. They pushed their finger where it hurt and said: "It's good. You'll love it; hold back a little and see how good it is." I held on for forty years.
During that restraint, I learned to shout when it hurt, cry when it bothered me, interfere with what did not concern me, and rejoice when someone was kind.

When someone was kind to me, I fell in love. I thought he was special because he saw the good in me, the supporter, the compassionate, and the generous. That spark didn't last. After a while, he remembered that I was not what he needed, not someone he loved. I moved him to the pile of those who left me without saying goodbye.

I left Israel. I left the despair in my hope of finding a man to start a family. I left those who told me at length what was wrong with me. I went without saying goodbye.

What's wrong with me? I could write an encyclopedia about what's wrong with me? I'm still crying and screaming and sobbing and shedding tears over everything wrong in my world. I'm sick of it.

I'm tired of seeing what's wrong with me and the world. I'm tired of begging people to love me and give me a chance.

Give me a chance! Do you give peace a chance? No. Stability has no chance because it's not painful, unfamiliar, or honest.

Why waste time on reasons. It's all a matter of feeling. Today it's exciting like this; tomorrow, it's exciting like that. People think I attack them, attacking Israel, threatening what they love. So why do I think I'm talking and no one hears me?

I love the language, people, the sea, and the land. I love the Israelis and Palestinians. I love the vaccinated and the unvaccinated.

Still, out of love, I can't stay so close. That's why I left after staying in Israel for forty years.

I can't stay so close because it burns my soul, my sanity, my logic,  my perspective.

There's no perspective in Israel. Everything burns. All or nothing, war or peace, together or separately, love or war. Two or nothing.

I'm in favor of two.
So who are the two? You and me? God and I? Mom and I? My husband and I? My children and I? Me and me?

Me and me? What is it? Who is it? Who is alive, and what is the echo? My echo magnifies me and shows me what I can do. I could do that in Israel. See where the echo is? Where are the options? Where is the edge that I can stretch?
The edge that I can stretch for good.
That's where I'll go.

Author's bio

Aviva Derenowski lives within walking distance from Silver Lake Park and the Hudson River. She enjoys watching ducks floating and seagulls soaring. She self-published three books, including Talking to my mother - 99 anecdotes in 2018. In 2021 she edited the anthology Celebrating Our Mothers. God is her senior partner.

Welcome to March’s issue of Synchronized Chaos! This month’s theme is in honor of the first Lit Hop in the city of Hayward, just east of San Francisco.

All are welcome to attend this multi-venue literary reading on Saturday April 30th, coinciding with Hayward’s first youth poet laureate award ceremony. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work.

Also please join us for the Audible Browsing Experience in Philadelphia March 24th at Head House Books.

Due to the huge size of this and last month’s issue, Synchronized Chaos will experiment with going biweekly this spring. We’ll put out issues on the 15th and the last day of each month to make the issues more manageable while still showcasing all of the thought-provoking work we receive.

Also, we acknowledge the heavy state of the world right now and stand with those around the globe who need our support. We encourage you to donate copies of your books to organizations serving refugees or perform in benefit readings or contribute how else you can to those affected by war. Project Smile, founded by two teen brothers, accepts handmade and handwritten cards of encouragement as well as gently used books of all sorts. Information on them and how to donate here.

Also, here are some Ukrainian cultural and literary publications if you wish to support them with contributions.

Odessit Club

VSESVIT (Ukrainian word for ‘the entire universe’)

Now, for this issue. Many pieces reference transformation, or the need for it. Writers and artists contemplate hopes, dreams, and aspirations, creative and healing leaps forward into the future.

Mahbub renders the beauty of memory and contemplation in lush, calming pastoral poems while Benyeakeh Miapeh speaks of a gentle connection with nature. Tranquil lakeside scenes pull E.J. Evans into curiosity about worlds beyond his own, whether the lives of other species or children’s futures.

Lori Minor turns to nature for brief, mayfly-like haikus observing her feelings. Abdulrazaq Salihu links his family’s migration to ecological dispersal and evolution while Michael Hough and Christina Chin’s collaborative work explores the love and curiosity caterpillars may feel watching their companions metamorphose to butterflies.

Chimezie Ihekuna’s screenplay collection showcases individuals who encounter grace at change points within their very diverse lives. Mamta Verma reflects on how much she would have missed in life without her lover’s presence. Michael Robinson gives thanks for his physical and spiritual redemption while John Culp, despite his human vulnerability, greets the forward movement of history with optimism.

Ivan S. Fiske seems to choose, or at least find, happiness by reflecting on his ancestors’ escape from slavery, although depression seems always nearly at hand. James T. Whitehead questions whether people can change. Can we overcome our addictions, can we “grow” ourselves like topiary plants, by means of willpower, therapy, or contemplation?

Mario Loprete preserves his clothing from Covid-19 quarantine into concrete, representing our being trapped and held back by the disease while also serving as an act of hope, creating artifacts that will outlast us and represent us far into the future.

Jake Sheff references and quotes thinkers from centuries past while mulling over autumn wind, cheese, rivers and human nature in grassy Oregon. Tareq Samin honors the diverse expressions of human lives and cultures throughout history. As in Sheff’s and Culp’s work, all people, regardless of race or social status, exist as part of a greater whole.

Karol Nielsen contributes postcard vignettes from her world travels, while Pathik Mitra comments on world inequality in a powerful piece, reflecting on individual lives within a global framework.

Stark Hunter presents a panoply of dreams and nightmares, enveloping his family history within his subconscious. Gabriel T. Saah compares his dreams to his children, beautiful creatures pulling him into the future with their beauty. Jean Eureka celebrates the beauty of future dreams while staying aware of the nightmare of potential ecological destruction, while Elbov Kulmonov honors both his dreams, whether realistic or not, and his connection to his native Uzbekistan.

Yusuf Salisu Muhammad laments violence, poverty and corruption in his native Nigeria while also celebrating a special woman in his life, while Ahmad Al-Khatat mourns a generation of young people displaced or killed in wars. Amos Momo Ngunbu portrays the ugliness and dehumanization of slavery and its legacy in cultural memory. Adamu Yahuza Abdullahi elegizes losses to war and violence through the eyes of a young man whose grief lingers while he’s alone with sunlight and nature.

Ananta Kumar Singh ponders the way love gone bad can cause people to take leave of reality. Chukwuma Eke Pacella grieves over a lost father in a poignant poem on divorce from a child’s point of view while Jelvin Gibson evokes the deep sorrow of child abandonment and the strength of survivors of that plight. Raafia Shaheen comments on how domestic violence disfigures people and relationships. Depicting the angry stage of grief on a personal level, Moustafa Dandoush’s piece from a scorned lover urges the past partner to begone forever.

Alan Catlin shares his personal, yet culturally infused, memories, illustrating how the cultural subconscious seeps into his own. Pesach Rotem humorously compares his own ordinary life, and the everyday apple, to high culture and pop culture images. While he may never become a “mean ol’ daddy,” he has taken a worthy journey.

Debarati Sen draws upon the imagery of nature and time to convey how she regrets being so far away from a lover. Oona Haskovec infuses her depression into toast, turning a piece on preparing food into a meditation on existential grief while Aloysius S. Harmon renders psychological anguish into visceral sensory images. Steven Jarrell Williams and Emmanuel G.G. Yamba affirm the dignity and rightful place of sorrow in our lives, whether over one’s own condition or the state of the world. Tears deserve to be acknowledged as much as laughter and intellectual eloquence.

Tali Cohen Shabtai asserts her desire to be heard, for her words or her silence, and of understanding and re-constituting a fragmented identity.

Mark Young fragments words and phrases, lines and shapes, into a symphony of color, while Nathan Anderson shreds words into syllables that he repeats and plays with on the page. Patricia Doyne mocks the ignorance of world leaders with a satirical piece on the “gazpacho police,” illustrating what happens when language and ideas break down in the public sphere. Christopher Bernard pokes fun at overwrought Parisian intellectuals in his piece, satirizing the stultifying effects of too much knowledge while Doyne finds humor in its lack.

Hongri Yuan’s poetry, translated from Mandarin by Yuanbing Zhang, brings us back to the idealism of the first submissions mentioned, recollecting a timeless and glorious metaphysical state for humanity. Mehreen Ahmed’s short story also addresses the human condition, evoking the tension between creature and creator, the natural and the artificial. Nahid Gul also explores creation, but in a more positive vein with a parable about a young writer discovering her confidence.

As we can see, many people from a wide variety of backgrounds have all found their voice in this issue. We hope that this issue will build your confidence and encourage your own creative efforts.