Almighty
Written by Arsi Rauf

Almighty, Almighty, Almighty
All praises for Thee,
Who did search,
In high mountains,
And boundless sea,
He got Thee.
In each star dwells
A newer world,
Sun and the moon
Show your majesty
Often, when I look around
Though can't be seen
Everytime very close You are found
That you hear a tiniest whispered sound
So
Whenever I did search I got Thee
O! Almighty.

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗,
 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗/
𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑, 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍/

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗,
𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚜𝚞𝚗-𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎  𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚏  𝙰𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊/
𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎,  𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝/

𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗,
𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚖𝚋𝚘𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑/
𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎!

𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗,
𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚠a𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑, 
𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝,
𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛/

𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗,
𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚞𝚙, 
𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎, 
𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑/
𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗!

©® 𝘽𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝘿𝙞𝙖𝙝 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙤 2022

settle in for a long ride
 
a sunny cold day
 
the day before the
first day of winter
 
the day before the
holiday blues settle
in for a long ride
 
now as i grow older
i know that ride will
get as close to death
as possible at times
 
you learn not to fear it
 
enjoy the tension
 
the pensive delight
of closing the circle
 
the only thing that
is truly guaranteed
---------------------------------------------------------
still with her mask on
 
listening to a conversation
in the waiting room while
staring at this beautiful
black woman
 
wondering what she
looks like naked
 
of course, my imagination
does that but still with her
mask on
 
you know, safety first
and all
-----------------------------------------------------
having never learned the lessons
 
the relentless agony
of the end of life
 
holding on for
a few moments
 
the last laugh
 
the last kiss
 
the last nibble
of glory
 
having never learned
the lessons of all those
wise fucks that came
before
 
the urgency of now
is fleeting
 
taking advantage of
every second is nearly
impossible in this world
 
where you are bombarded
with an endless onslaught
of shit
 
disposable,
as is everything
---------------------------------------------------------
anxiety and dread
 
just enough snow
to fill the old ladies
with anxiety and
dread
 
i'm the asshole that
wishes for enough
to make driving
an adventure
 
such is life
 
no one is ever
really happy
-------------------------------------------------------
that whiff of death
 
i remember cutting
through the woods
on this old trail
 
i remember learning
to ride a bicycle and
suddenly taking
advantage of that
freedom
 
i remember finding
this old trash bag
one day in the
woods
 
it smelled
 
my friend and i told
his father about it
 
he went over with
us to open it up
 
a dead dog
 
that whiff of death
still sits in the front
of my brain all these
years later
 
i know one thing
though
 
it made life on the
farm pretty easy
 
my nose could smell
a surprise long before
my eyes could be
shocked

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last quarter century, most recently at The Black Shamrock, Terror House Magazine, Cajun Mutt Press, Beatnik Cowboy and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

One-percenter 

Let me decide 
for myself
if success is as empty
as they say 
and I will let you know 
if dating a Swedish model 
in the French Riviera 
is vapid and will 
rapidly lead to 
my soul's decay 
and when my 
pretty bank teller 
sees my current balance 
and her pupils start dilating 
don't tell me this 
won't feel like 
a spiritual awakening 
because I have been 
chasing that star-studded 
gold-leafed, sugar-coated 
gift-wrapped, jackpot
since I was old enough 
to watch 
the Beverly Hillbillies 
on TV 
so don't you even try 
to stop me from 
sipping on some
good ol' Texas tea


Lonesome Dove 

I don't share 
my life with 
one particular 
person in the 
traditional sense 
instead I have built 
an amazingly effective 
invisible fence 
that keeps my dogged 
pride from running away 
from this private property 
and possibly getting run over
and once in a great while 
I let in the unexpected 
visitor who happens
to be in the area
and just thought
they'd stop on by
and we have 
cookies and coffee 
and when they leave 
I wave goodbye 
as their car 
pulls out of the drive 
while holding my
caged heart 
yet it somehow 
escapes like 
a parakeet 
into the skies
and that's when 
I remember that 
time flies 


Spring Cleaning 

I still saved
everything you 
gave me 
and I have 
stored all that 
nothingness 
in an empty room 
in the attic of 
my consciousness 
next to undeveloped 
negatives of what 
could have been 
positive 
if only you 
could have lived up
to the hype 
of being 
what I wanted 
so much 
but can now 
live without 
I guess 
that is what 
dandruff and dust
is all about 



Hook Up 

It's official 
this whole 
thing is superficial 
and based solely 
on mutual distraction 
from emotional depth 
or even worse
spiritual meaning 
because sometimes 
it's fun to downgrade 
expectations and indulge 
in soft-core 
consensual conversation 
consisting of 
nonintellectual innuendo 
and zero love 
so tomorrow 
don't even wait 
for my text
instead when you 
think of me
just whisper the word
"next"




The Big Comeback 

I was
once beautiful 
respected far and wide 
the toast of the town 
considered the next big thing 
expected to stay on top
traveled first class 
pursued by women and the press 
mentioned in the tabloids 
paid handsomely 
young as roses in bloom 
whispered about in certain circles 
the life of parties uptown and down
loved to the moon and back 
dressed in Versace 
with both parents alive and proud 
now I'm 
living in a modest home 
walking like a zombie at a local Mall 
disappearing into a crowd
learning old friends have become somebody
driving while listening to 80s music 
lost in fantasy at the pharmacy 
a has-been who would-be if could-be 
and yet just offered a major new contract 
given a new lease on hope
checking with a lawyer if this is 
too-good-to-be-true 
assured this is a legitimate opportunity 
pinching myself to make sure it isn't just a dream 
not even worried if this time it will or will not last 
just ready to once again kick fame and fortune's ass 

Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and popular contemporary poet. His artwork was featured in Art in America, Art News, and Interview Magazine and has sold at auction at Christie’s. Ivan was commissioned by Absolut Vodka to make a painting titled Absolut Jenson for the brand’s national ad campaign. His Absolut paintings are in the collection of the Spirit Museum, the museum of spirits in Stockholm, Sweden.  
Jenson’s painting of the “Marlboro Man” was collected by the Philip Morris corporation. Ivan was commissioned to paint the final portrait of the late Malcolm Forbes.  Ivan has written two novels, Dead Artist and Seeing Soriah, both of which illustrate the creative and often dramatic lives of artists. Jenson’s poetry is widely published (with over 600 poems published in the US, UK and Europe) in a variety of literary media. A book of Ivan Jenson’s poetry was recently published by Hen House Press titled Media Child and Other Poems, which can be acquired on Amazon. Two novels by Ivan Jenson entitled, Marketing Mia and Erotic Rights have been published hardcover. His website is: http://www.ivanjenson.com

Ivan Jenson’s thriller “The Murderess” is now available hardcover and as an eBook on Amazon.  Ivan Jenson’s new thriller, “The Widow” will be released in March 2022.

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.

Sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you

sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you, 
I wouldn't know those soft touches 
That i felt through the spring of your clutches
I wouldn't run a mile 
Just to see your beautiful smile  
I wouldn't know that warmth
That I felt in your arms
I wouldn't know the heaven of bliss 
That I found in your tender kiss 
I wouldn't know the taste of the care 
That I found in the blossom of your air 
sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you


_								-Mamta Verma