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Syndic Literary Journal


Written and Narrated by Chris Giovacchini


In the store window

The image is not the one

In my mind,

            Somewhat of a vintage,

            Of once younger wine,


Of more worth perhaps,

After some years in the cellar,

            Wiser, after worrying over

            Chart tables in subtle ruddy



Stiffened from labor, trying hard,

Shoveling gravel in

Other people’s yards,

            Inevitably came the wear and tear,

            Wind burns made the face mature,


Glinting into salt spray’s seasoning, and

Running on Red Bull, eventually takes it’s toll,

            The countenance in that

            Reflection, couldn’t relent,

            For the physical endeavor,

            Posture is slightly bent,


Woe, for the uneasy marking of twine,

And sounding of sentient depths

            Reflected there too,

            As are journeys afar,

            Exotic bazaars,


The weathered look, winks, 

Managing a slight smile,

            A little surprised always,

            Of the wear on the tires


Being Autumn

Written & Narrated by Chris Giovacchini


being autumn


observing the process,

losing control, no control of,

only the illusion of,


in the cloudy mirror, the image takes

a moment to register,    gray muzzle,

chlorophyll vanishing to fall colors,


the pliable venation crisp,

avenue of inevitable atrophy,

senile skin,


at the window, a witness watches, 

tired leaf surrendered, floats

to its biological destiny,


all-knowing,    receding,

ahead, on top,    forgotten,


cast to be a photo on a grandchild’s bookshelf,

at the helm of some Zen moment, of some adventure,


focus fading, cataract blur, metamorphosis, then to now,

inner cowboy resigned,    his rope is falling short,

he lights a Cheroot, bravely,


in refreshing the faded plastic flowers at the headstone,

we remember the stories and exploits of the smiling sepia

tone face depicted there, the laugh, clever thoughts,

outlook, their being and doing, loving and laughing,


maybe the afterlife, like this life, depends,

as Egyptian conjecture supposed, on being

remembered well,    and not forgotten









Compiled/Published by LeRoy Chatfield
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