harmony in the midst of an orderly universe . . . earth's chaos invisible from outer space Christina Chin / M. R. Defibaugh lonely night how long this cold winter river train leaving for home Christina Chin / M. R. Defibaugh boarding the same train . . . different destinations a cluster of felled branches in the olive’s shade Christina Chin / M. R. Defibaugh a few strands of hair caught on her lips golden field season her sequined gown blows them away Christina Chin / M. R. Defibaugh uneasy night the whining horse in a haunted barn the old nag telling his fate Christina Chin / M. R. Defibaugh
Poetry from Jack Galmitz
BUFFALO MEMORIES Steve was energy. No denying it. There it is in the photograph taken in his backyard; the mouth is tense as speaking consonants without vowels is his arms are sharp and his torso turns to attend or demonstrate stilled now by the shutter's click. There is motion blurring tending to the barbecue he is charged as a downed wire in a down pour. His guests sip Genesee beers gripped by the necks and chat of texts and signs and the many things.
Photos from K.J. Hannah Greenberg
Synchronized Chaos Mid-June 2022: Bittersweet Reflections
Welcome, all, to June’s second issue of Synchronized Chaos. This month’s contributors take a step back, contemplating our world and our lives. Many show thought and care, aware of the loss and grief around us, and even the more celebratory or humorous pieces draw upon our fragility for inspiration.
Mark Blickley and Miss Unity’s ekphrastic work shows the vulnerability of a silent performer who must gesticulate for her living.
Multimedia work from Jeff Crouch, Soumailia Zoungrana, and Diana Magallón also involves performance, a dancer giving a very athletic performance in old-time gritty black and white, as if she’s a legend fading with time. Stephen Crowe sketches out a scene at a dying California lake.
John M. Brantingham’s novel excerpt deals with the passage of time. Its main character is an old man facing death, unsure how or when to share that news with his grandson.
Tess Tyler presents a lovely scene of outdoor family life in Northern California that turns into a lament for murdered children, while J.K Durick comments on gun violence and rising gas prices and Lewis LaCook’s surrealist poems probe death, intimacy, and wildfires.
Ahmed Aminu and Yahuza Abdulkadir mourn political corruption, violence, and social injustice, as does Mahbub, in a collection otherwise devoted to time-stopping moments of connection and beauty.
Candace Meredith’s short story brings the poetry of a fairytale to the real-life drama of drug addiction and recovery. Amos Momo Ngunbu’s piece also highlights the social influences we can have on each other, for good or ill.
Chimezie Ihekuna reflects on how social shame inspired him to falsify his report card as a child, and how his deed was discovered. Fatihah Quadri also remembers childhood vignettes entertainment from a friendly neighbor who has since passed.
Benyeakeh Miapeh contributes elegant, figurative verse about grief, while Ayiyi Joel reflects on the touch of a lost love.
Stephen House describes memories of the past and of lost causes. Steve Brisendine’s poems set in America’s heartland explore what we remember, what happened and what didn’t.
Robert Ragan’s piece skirts the fine line between describing the anger stage of grief and the way love can turn to possessiveness and hate.
J.J. Campbell’s poetic speakers are misanthropes on the edge of society who still crave some type of human companionship, although by sexually objectifying women of color.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan also writes poems of middle age, but with heavy helpings of humor tossed in with the laments.
Mehreen Ahmed’s pieces convey sanctity and privacy, while Michael Robinson reflects on the comfort he finds in Christ.
John Culp’s work illuminates the physical sense of elation. Ojo Olumide Emmanuel’s poems can serve as expression of his feelings, but can also seek lives of their own, independent of his will.
This month includes visual art as well: striking photographs of signage from Hannah Greenberg and graffiti-style work from Texas Fontanella.
Thank you for reading June’s issue of Synchronized Chaos.
Poetry from Mahbub
Standing on the Bridge Standing on the bridge I look straight around the bending structure of the world To the end my eyes can't enter any more -going out of sight The mind steps there where the unseen lies I know all my loving dreams lurking there How wonderful reflection of the water! Brings out the unknown beauty and charm Right time to start the journey to the horizon The sky and the land kiss between The soothing light dancing with the colorful birds Suddenly the waterman sings out touching the heart "O ki Garial Bhai!" Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 12/06//2022 In This Hot Summer In this hot summer I turn back here again and again Under the large banyan tree Drink the cool fresh tube-well water And remove my fatigue By your hand made spicy lemon tea without sugar I walk through the green isle Emerge the oxygen of the body Sitting on the mound How wonderful the sunset reflecting on the river! In the hot summer morning I walk out to the lovely open field Observe the new light softening the earth Awakening with the chirping lovely birds Calling me back to the fondling childhood days In the hot summer night O disturbing sleep Keeping hands on the forehead Brood over the days passed And the days on to the rise. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 12/06//2022 Facing the Reality Nowadays we can't cry to see the death of our brothers and sisters Everyday every time it becomes natural - occurring death It stops our cry to see the misery of others Nowadays our heart can't respond like the past for love or sympathy Sympathy or empathy - Roles on the outer face of the body Humanity or the group of the humanity All lie in the hole No sign of light to remove the black spots on the corner of the eyes Every day it increases the line of the hungry children The deaths on the roads, on the waters, in the sky or by shooting, throwing missiles Adding the large amount of daily starving people Around us facing the new change to solve `Globalization' -the word I believe the reality How can I disbelieve my eyes, dear?! Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 13/06//2022 Love Breath What I do everything for you Your simple words of love Simply touches my heart I reach my goal - like the boat floating on water Your simple words of love Knock at the door I enter your room lying by you Charmed to what you say and hug I take my breath and lose myself in the world Where only you and I live. Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh 13/06//2022
Poetry from Fatihah Quadri
Playground Back then, we use to see a woman at the window, Who made sounds with her mouth to arouse our laughter; Our milk teeth cracking their surfaces like tiles on metals. Then we would jump closer again and again, a-thirsting another sound. We back-walked, and laughed at the window woman. You would say to me “Run, run!, she is sounding again” You and I laughed, legged footprints on the sand; Like old copies of a testament that unfreezes memories; Of fragile days, of clay-soaked Kanjami, of toy catapults, of the dark! At dinner time, Flashes of the window woman mirrors in our cornflakes plates. Longing stumbles through the threshold of our hearts like a flapping toucan. We swam in a pool of imagination that everything began to wear her sound, But we relocated. Today, we miss the playground, The window woman who breaded us with sounds that still echoes. We held each other, ran to the playground, Up the valley, we looked up to the window. But sadly, nothing sounded.
Fatihah Quadri is a poet, creative writer, and a literary critic. She is a member of HCAF (Hilltop creative arts foundation), Nibstears poetry cave, B.G.T( Black girl’s tales) and a member of Al faheedah press, University of ibadan. Fatihah is a Nigerian.
Poetry from Stephen Crowe
The Salton Sea It’s said the Salton Sea is a drainage pond for the vast Imperial Valley- Breadbasket of the nation And just when I think I’ve seen it all… an old man in a tomato red tuxedo water skis passed a flock of pelicans. I go for a walk The water is receding from the beach like a shy girl in a disco tech. The lake will be dead in another 50 years White sand beaches are littered with the bodies of dead green fish. They remind me of dollar bills scattered in the snow Sea gulls pick at the bleached bones of a cat The hotels are empty and the palm trees have died eons ago. I thought I saw the skeleton of a dinosaur in the trash heap behind the Howard Johnson’s. Someone’s opened a fire hydrant and it’s pissing precious water down the road. The ancient body of a Winnebago sits in the lot across from a deli its tires are flat and someone’s spray painted “Earth First!” in blue paint across the back of the motor home. I think it was used in a movie once. Not far is a tavern Two bills get you a glass of cheap bourbon Not far is a peer A pile of bacon grease lies on the walk to the water the fat’s coated with blowflies Watch your step. My dogs investigate the dumpsters behind the Chinese restaurant. Somewhere out here there’s supposed to be a wildlife refuge. Captain Caveman just rode by on a Schwinn bicycle-- The sun falls behind the atomic mts. Good luck, good-bye from the Salton Sea