Wise Words with Bruce Wise


 

An “Oddball” Discovered
          by Drew U. A. Eclibse

And now we learn that Jupiter has seventy-nine moons,
among its outer retrograde and inner prograde ones.
Amid the prograde lunar group, one finds the largest four,
where Io, Ganymede, Europa, and Callisto soar,
those Galileo Galilei saw back in 1610,
observing through his telescope, what no eye had then seen.
Twelve more moons were discovered recently by scientists,
eleven of their orbits fitting in with all the rest;
but in the outer retrograde an “oddball” has appeared,
with prograde orbit! though that is not all that makes it weird.
With small diameter that’s less than one kilometre,

it’s on a c-r-a-s-h course cuz it’s traveling with Jupiter.

Drew U. A. Eclibse is a poet of lunar landscapes.

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Lines on Strings and Black Hole Rings
          by I. E. Sbace Weruld

Researchers simulated black holes that were shaped like rings,
that gave rise to connected bulges that are linked to strings.
Eventu’lly these strings became so thin they squeezed out blops
of small black holes, like as tap water breaking into drops.
If these black holes should form a naked singularity,
they’d cause the laws of spacetime-warping relativity
to crack up at a point where gravity is so intense,
outside of an event horizon, infinitely dense.
But if our cosmos harbours five dimensions—maybe more—
such thin black rings would be unstable and not hold their form…
and the weak cosmic censorship hypothesis would be
disproved by such a strange and naked singularity
that would be visible from future null infinity.

I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the universe. In this poem he is thinking of the work of Figueras, Kunesch and Tunyasuvunakool.

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Of Hyperbolical Geometry
          by Euclidrew Base

The Science Absolute of Space—by Janos Bolyai in
the year of 1832—did quietly begin
a revolution, by creating out of naught a new,
and other world. Its influence nearly nil, but true.
His father Farkas sent the work to Gauss in Göttingen,
who, though he recognized his genius, did not praise him then.
In 1848, perusing Lobachevsky’s work
of 1829, he saw he too had seen the curve
of hyperbolical geometry—his world crashed…
He gradu’lly became a recluse and insane, alas.
He died soon after Lobachevsky died in poverty,
another nonEuclidian—left in obscurity.

Euclidrew Base is a poetry of geometrical visions. Though Bolyai and Lobachevsky were unappreciated in their lifetimes, Mr. Base believes those of us following after can remember at least some of those who worked so hard to achieve a greater vision.

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That Scene
          by Ubs Reece Idwal

He gazed in awe up at the jagged, snow-white mountain peaks,
that rose above the smooth blue lake, so beautiful and steep.
He rested on a deep-brown towel on a gray-wood form,
upon his elbows in the sunlight, shimmering and warm.
He stared and stared between the green trees to the distant view.
O, God, it was so beautiful, it hardly could be true.
And yet it was right there—that scene—before his very eyes,
and all encased in soft and pale neverending skies.
He hung out on that flat plat mat, his right leg stretching down,
as if attempting to make sure that he could touch the ground.

Ubs Reece Idwal is a poet of the Pacific Northwest.

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Rat Capital, USA
          by “Bad” Weslie Ecru

Rat capital of USA, which can endure such taints;
Chicago’s number one with 50,000+ complaints.
According to Rent Hop, th’ apartment service searching group,
the leading cities are those with the densest doggy poop.
With 1800+ gripes per 100,000 folks,
Chicago outdoes even DC, Boston and New York.
But maybe this shows only that Chicagoans complain;
perhaps in cities, like San Fran, they’ve lost the will to splain;
for even new-elected mayor London Breed has said
there is more feces on the sidewalks—dog and people spread.

“Bad” Weslie Ecru is a poet of Chicago, cut in the mold of “Bad” Leroy Brown. He thinks that Poetry Magazine, in Chicago, after one century since it was founded by Harriet Monroe, has gone directly against its founder’s original purpose by not allowing different theories of poetic art on its pages and has ossified into one giant lump of doggy doo, and is run by a plague of rats.

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Octave
          by Luc Ebrewe Dias
          “Tupi or not Tupi”
              —Oswald de Andrade

Like a gargantuan monstrosity,
it gobbles foreign cultures up, and then
digests them, often with ferocity
and crudeness, this grand cannibal of men,
Brazil, that turns into a brilliant beast,
as strange and colorful as Carnival,
exotic, gross, a veritable feast,
a jumbled jungle joining Mardi Gras.

 

O’er Sao Paulo
          by Luc Ebrewe Dias

In every direction one looks, up in the skies
of azure, white, and yellow, are enormous clouds.
Below, the gold, gray, white and beige skyscrapers rise
up by 12,000,000 people, incredible crowds.
Above, like pterodactyls, helicopters fly
o’er Sao Paulo, South America’s loudest sau-
na, sounding like tyrannosaur din, screeching nigh
when the whole city’s streets are all struck in gridlock.
Ten percent of Brazil dwells here, in traffic, dry,
in high apartments, in cars, in block after block
beneath the solar disk in haze, an egg God fries,
its radiance in circles glowing round the clock.

Luc Ebrewe Dias is a poet of Brazil.

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The Race
by Bruc Diesel Awe

The race is long and hard. You’ve got to give your very best.
You have to keep on going, but you need to take a rest.
You have to give your all, like racing drivers at Le Mans,
the Grand Prix of efficiency, endurance, set in France.
Here sporty and reliable cars are the focused thing.
One must be good and true. There is no hocus-pocusing.
Avoiding damage is important, and one must be fast.
One has to manage loss…to make the list…one has to last.
One needs pit stops, but also to get the hell out of there.
One has to press on to the very end. One has to care.

Bruc Diesel Awe is a poet of vehicles.

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Ozimand: a Qasida
          by “Scribe” El Uwade

He was the ruler of an antique land,
the Pharaoh Rameses the Second. Grand,
stone temples crossed his kingdom of the sand,
like that at Abu Simbel, now o’erspanned
by th’ Aswan High Dam’s watery command,
or Hypostyle Hall at Karnak. These stand
as monuments, with others, to the hand
that led a nation to the world he scanned.
Such was the empire that his subjects spanned:
it went from Upper Egypt to the strand
along the Delta of the Nile and fanned
up to Kadesh, where with twice ten thousand
he faced the Hittites, twice as many manned.
And afterwards, that bloody act’s demand,
the first peace treaty in the world was planned.

“Scribe” El Uwade is a poet of Egypt.

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The Killing Does Not Cease
          by Crise de Abu Wel

I wish that even now you knew the things that make for peace.
Today they are hid from your eyes. The killing does not cease.
In Egypt, Gaza, Israel, the West Bank, Lebanon,
Arabia, and Syria, Iraq, and on and on.
Your enemies surround you, hem you in on every side;
and they will cast a bank about you that is high and wide.
You and your children—they will dash you, dash you to the ground,
and they will not leave any stone, not one, they won’t throw down;
because you did not know the time your visitation was.
You did not know what all your violence and hatred does.

Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Good Father.

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At the Beginning of Civilization
          by Eweseçü Birdal

Çatalhöyük, a Chalcolithic settlement
in southern Anatolia, id est, Turkey,
6000 to 7000, an estimate
of its number of citizens, flourished circa
7000 to 6000 BC. The town
had mud-brick houses with plaster interiors,
all grouped together. To get in people went down
through holes in their ceilings; there were no paths or streets.
Their art included red aurochs, stags, vultures; brown
clay figurines of lionesses or ladies;
in paint, men hunting or with phalluses erect.
Their food included almonds, barley, peas, and wheat;
they also ate pistachios and harvested
wild fruit from the nearby hills where they still hunted,
though at that time they had domesticated sheep.

Eweseçü Birdal is a poet of Turkey.

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Those of a Land-locked Land
          by Sawceeb Dureli

It is a land-locked land of hate—Afghanistan—
a place of fatal plays and acts—for centuries.
The mountains rise up to the skies, rock-red and tan,
a barren topos at the world’s top—bare of trees
and human kindness. Ask the British, Soviets,
and the Americans. Hell, ask the Afghanis.
It was the base for Al-qaeda, and is base yet.
So many have come: Persian, Greek, and Bactrian,
the Parthian, the Yueh-chi, and down they swept
from Central Asia, Kushan, and Arabian…
(To which fierce group does it not owe some kind of debt?)
the Turk, the Mongol, Mogul, Pushtan Ahmed Khan…
Through what hell hasn’t Aryana gone…goes on?

Sawceeb Dureli is a poet of Afghanistan.

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Krishna’s Advice to Arjuna
          by Sri Wele Cebuda

How has dejection come to you—this juncture in your life?
This is not fit for noble persons having to face strife.
It is disgraceful, and it does not lead to heaven’s loft.
Do not become a coward, it becomes none. Shake it off.
Get up for battle, shake it off—this base faint-heartedness.
O, son of Prithā, do not yield to unmanliness.

You grieve for those who are not worthy, yet speak wisdom’s words,
but wise ones neither grieve for dead souls, nor for living sirs.
There never was a time when you or I did not exist,
nor shall we cease to be; in future times we shall persist.
The soul acquires childhood, youth and maturity;
but this should not delude the wise, nor death’s futurity.

The contacts of the senses yield pleasure, peace and pain;
and they are transitory feelings, so they won’t remain;
but spirit’s said to be unchanging, not explainable,
immovable, primeval, and incomprehensible.
Death’s certain for all bodies born, and birth for each who dies.
Do not lament th’ inevitabl’; for that, no, is not wise.

All beings are unmanifest before birth, after death.
They manifest themselves but when the being’s taking breath.
Some look at spirit as a wonder, they’re in awe of it,
while others think it has no meaning and does not exist.
In either case it seems that few know what the spirit is.
Is it eternal, indestructible or simply fizz?

O, only fortune’s warriors have an opportunity
for righteous war, that open door to heaven’s purity.

Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of India.

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Singapore Health System Breached
          by Lee Du “Crab” Siew

The island state of Singapore in 2017
had topped the UN cyber nations with security;
but just last month its SingHealth patients had their data robbed;
more than a million records were ripped off; SingHealth was fobbed.

Among affected people was the leader Lee Hsien Loong,
repeatedly attacked, and targetted by perps unknown.
The CSA confirmed that this was not the work of gangs,
but rather state-run actors for this intricate campaign.

There aren’t that many nations that could be involved with this;
but going digital puts many agencies at risk.
Last year the NUS and NTU had been attacked.
It seems that many entities are being hit and hacked.

Lee Du “Crab” Siew is a poet of Singapore. CSA is the Cyber Security Agency of Singapore. NUS is National University of Singapore and NTU is Nanyang Technological University. Cyber warfare is one of the serious issues of our time.

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The Seated Chinese Man
          by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li

I saw the seated Chinese man positioned on a mat,
attempting to attain divine love right where he was at.
His knees were bent, his legs were folded in celestial peace.
It looked like he was striving for a heavenly release.
I saw his third eye opening unto the universe.
It looked like he was gazing on eternity’s vast curves.
He longed to reach yuan man, at full strength, o, man yuan,
forbearance, truth, compassion, daring man, ah, Mandarin.
Upon the wings of time he was excited to assent.
O, he was moving to s-p-i-r-i-t-u-a-l enlightenment.

Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of Chinese painting, letters and calligraphy.

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The New Age
          by Li “Web Crease” Du

Sharp Chinese engineers have managed to create a gas
of hydrogen three times as hot as is the solar mass.
They took deuterium and tritium and placed it in
the Tokamak reactor, o, and took it for a spin.
They added energy and heated th’ ion plasma slush
to temp’ratures up past one-fifty-million Celsius.
Magnetic fields kept it from the silver-torus sides
for more than one-and-one-half-minute, bronco-busting ride.
The coils and electric flow caused fusion to occur
and there beneath surreal skies, the new age got a spur.

Li “Web Crease” Du is a poet of China. This is a refer

 

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