Poetry from Allison Grayhurst

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Looking In
 
How easy to feel the weight
of choice, mutually
with the burden of circumstance.
Childhood ripens then wilts,
and in your unguarded hands, only
shades of poverty-stricken
summers remain; enormous & unavoidable.
 
What is real is not always the same as
what is eternal, yet those days,
when overabundant with love,
reappear, and strangely, make a difference.
 
You hold a torch, moving urgently through aqueducts
towards icy light. When you reach
the blue loneliness of abstraction, secretly
you are sure
the fullness of truth has rushed away
from you; and that this knowledge
too, is unusable.
 
You flourish beside the lightheaded angels. You carve
in stone, in vain
their god-affirming songs. You stand
outside, alarmed. You disappear.
 
Time hangs in your thoughts like an imaginary lover.
You look in the mirror and see
a great void, a perfect smile . . . and see
there is still so much left
to learn.

 

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Interview with Akinmade Zeal

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Akinmade Zeal

Akinmade Zeal

Synchronized Chaos International Magazine interviews Akinmade Zeal here so that he can describe his inspirations and thoughts in more detail.

Please provide some background on your pieces that would help someone from outside Nigeria understand your two poems.

The first of my poems, Father and Son, as I have said, is a poem that talks about racism and class prejudice in contemporary society. I like to say it is a post modern piece. It is immanent, transcending beyond the Nigerian setting. Nigeria happens to be the microcosm of the macrocosm (the world) in the poem.

It is a dramatic poem. You find the father, a more experienced person in the world, educating his son on the evils in the world. The child comes back from school, battered and with the taste of bile in his mouth. His father eavesdrops and comes over to educate him; tells him he will put him in a better school so he can meet people of his own social class and fit in better. But, his father also was quick to remind him that even at the new school, he would find no peace. ‘Peace cannot romance with men as beast as they are’ unless they crush class, hierarchy, bigotry and so on. That’s the only condition for peace. It depicts the nature of the world generally,  not just Nigeria. It is sheer coincidence that the poet is a Nigerian and sets the poem in a Nigerian context. He is of a more radical perspective, not parochial, nor oblivious of what happens outside his own setting.

The second poem is a rather more complex work. Every line of that poem, A Whim To Lie, is symbolic and saddled with imagery. It cannot make much sense to A South African, it cannot make much sense to A Ghanaian, it cannot make sense even to a Nigerian from the minority Hausa, Ibo, Ijaw groups we have in Nigeria. The poem would only make much sense to A Yoruba (the majority tribe in Nigeria to which Soyinka belonged) person who is well familiar with the pantheons of the Yoruba people. If you study Soyinka to the letter, you find him talking about Ogun, the non benign. Ogun is one of the gods of the Yorubas. To understand that poem, you need understand how these gods work in the Yoruba settings. Ogun is known to be a keeper of sacred oaths, sanity, and the god of iron, and he was so feared that he was said to relish bathing in blood. Ogun is still worshipped here in Nigeria by motorists and cyclists as they see him as the pinnacle of their existence and profession.

A Whim to Lie is also a postmodern work, a social satire about politics and contemporary ills in Nigeria. The Christian God in Revelation 22 says : ‘Behold, I come quickly and my reward is with me to give unto every man according to how his works had been.’ I have placed the traditional Yoruba gods up on a pinnacle to perform that function, judging every African and asking to hear all the ills of the land. I tell the reader that I would have to lie to the gods if they wanted a report on the world’s behavior.  Otherwise, would I have to tell them about the money the politicians bury in Ikoyi building (How shall I tell you our fertile soils?  How shall I tell you Ikoyi spouts legal tenders? These are facades of the truth I lack the temerity to tell)  Acertain politician here in the country who stole money and kept it in Ikoyi, Lagos, Nigeria is the object of my satire there. I reported his behavior to the gods, as our demiurge and arbiter.

Again, I talked about the Big Brother Nigerian reality show here where a certain lady bares her breast live on the T. V.  That’s not something we tolerate in our culture, it’s un-African. I spoke to the gods about that, telling them to not be angry should I lie, for I cannot boast the courage to tell them about her lack of modesty (our damsels bare their breasts for bigger brothers).

It could go on and on. If you understand the Yoruba pantheons, you would unearth the poem sheepishly!

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Poetry from Tony Nightwalker LeTigre

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mother nature is the best squatter
she doesn’t ask permission
she doesn’t fill out any paperwork
she doesn’t care about regulations
all she does it tap tap tap gently at the windows
so softly that you in all your busy human hurry may not notice
if there is no answer, after a time,
she lets herself in
she fills your empty corners with webs
she sends a green tendril in, like a quiet poem, through the window crack
she comes in & sets up shop
soon it will be a secret garden again
like it was before
she makes herself at home
like the once & future queen
she is

Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope

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Exit Lives by Jamel Gross
BV323 front cover
Exit Lives is a short horror story about a couple who plan to go on a trip after the husband’s grandparents died. The man’s grandparents told him stories that were so horrible he went to a doctor and was prescribed anti-psychotic meds to handle the delusions. On their way to the airport they meet someone who stops to help after their tire goes flat, and that person also tells them horrible stories. This book is a fast read and a must read for fans of the genre of horror. I highly recommend it.

Poetry from J.J. Campbell

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———————————————————————————-
up against the roof
 
sometimes on these
nights where i can
hear the rain pounding
up against the roof
 
i lay in bed alone
and wish to die
 
i know it’s not likely
but a boy can dream
 
though, i have no
interest in seeing
my funeral
 
i don’t want to start
off my death with
yet another
disappointment

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Photography from Jim Zola

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These four photos include what I call the Georgia O’Keeffe Tree (a tree directly outside of the O’Keeffe Musuem in Santa Fe, NM) — a broken Christmas ornament, branches reflected in water, and an installation art piece made up of donated ladders.

Jim Zola has worked in a warehouse, as a security guard, in a bookstore, as a teacher for Deaf children, as a toy designer for Fisher Price, and currently as a children’s librarian. Published in many journals through the years, his publications include a chapbook — The One Hundred Bones of Weather (Blue Pitcher Press) — and a full length poetry collection — What Glorious Possibilities (Aldrich Press). He currently lives in Greensboro, NC.

Poetry from Akinmade Abayomi Zeal

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A Whim to Lie!

Ogun, hear my plea,
I have a whim to lie.
Oh, Venerated one!
You boast a largeese of oceans
Yet choose to bath in pools of blood.

Ogun oooooooooooooooo!
The mighty man of valour,
Custodian of the sacred oath,
Keeper of sanity.
The mighty king of Ire.
He boasts a chubby wardrobe,
Yet, swagger down the street in fonds.
Ogun,the dreaded one!
It is you I humbly worship.
Who dare dab his palm on your sword in dare?
I pay my homage to you,
So, do not put me in  turmoils for my whim.
I would lie when I come.

Ogun, tilt your most potent ear towards me,
Hear the sins I cannot mention.
Hear the truth that plagues my heart :
Bitter than galls.

How shall I mention our fertile soils to you?
How shall I tell you Ikoyi spouts legal tenders?
I cannot! Let me hold my peace!
I will hedge when I come.

Oh, Sango!
Mighty man in battle.
Do not roust your venom for my sake,
For I will lie when I return!
I would tell my sanctimonious lies!

Give me your words,Sango.
Vow to spear me for my holy lies.
Let Ogun alone be privy to this,
Vow to spear me should I tell the goings on:
Our maidens Are barters for bandits!

Obatala ooooooooooooo!
The dexterous god,
Maker of lifeless beings,
Do not admonish my lies.
They are nothing but holy lies.

Oh, ‘Yeye Osun,
Sengese Olohun Iyo, ‘
Foremost river goddess,
Custodian of virgins,
Queen of queens,
Purveyor of sumptuous fishes.
It is you alone I greet.
‘Iba’ for your majesty!

Foremost mother,
The truth in my heart will inundate you,
So, steel yourself for my lies!
To tell you our damsels bare their breasts for Bigger Brothers is more than I can say to you.
They have thrown the pride of motherhood to dogs.
These are facades of the truths I lack the temerity to tell.

Venerated gods,
You who set us forth:
On the darker part of the world,
On the hinterlands of the West,
On the hottest parts of the soil,
Forgive our trespasses
Though we err our trespassers!

It is the evil one,
The lone one,
Esu Elegbara,
The Evil one who feeds himself in a labyrinth-
Where the roads tangle.

‘Esulaalu Ogirioko’
The evil one who incites pandemonium in time of bliss.
Esu the hostile one,
The cursed soul.
He helps to make cases where there are none!

Esu Elegbara,please,do not hypnotize me!
I beg you with your mealies,
I place your palmwine in the labyrinth for you!

You have never known Esulalu
The damned soul.
The one who cries passionately than the bereaved.
The bereaved whimpers in silence,
Esu exacerbated his problem for him,
Weeps blood to inflate his worries.

Blame our evils on Esu!
It is he who brought evil to our holy hearts,
Made us profane.
He came to our sacristy and polluted our monks.
Ha,Esu Elegbara, I know you well,
I dare not incur your venom.
I know you,  Esu!
The dreaded evil known as Latopa.

Venerated gods, I plead you forgive our evil,
Cast Esu to your furnace for us.
I would tell these lies when I come to report how the world fares!

A. A. Zeal, 2017.

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