The Magnetic North Is on the Move
by Eb “Walrus” De Ice
“I don’t care if we suddenly find ourselves in Siberia…We’ll leave Canada…”
—Lights
The Earth’s Magnetic North Pole now is skittering away,
from Canada, and it is moving to Siberia.
O, it is moving at an unusually high speed,
about some fifty-one kilometres per year—indeed.
Magnetic North is moving so fast it is hampering
some navigation, due to its erratic scampering.
Researchers round the World now are panicked—scram-bl-ing
to update global models. GPS is ram-bl-ing.
O, Canada is in a tug-of-war with Russia, but
it’s losing, in the ice-fray, far from Earth’s hysteria.
Eb “Walrus” De Ice is a poet of Canada.
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Earth’s Solar Shield
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
Earth’s inner core solidified half-billion years ago…
or so, perhaps, therefore, since Earth is cooling, though not cold,
when did the inner iron core begin to crystallize
in time to save Earth’s strong magnetic field from cap/size?
Collapse did not occur; in fact, the geodynamo
jump-started, keeping planet Earth’s magnetic lines in tow.
At Liverpool, sharp Richard Bono, looking at some rocks
from Quebec, Canada, suggests that there is something off.
And Peter Driscoll also thinks, in Washington DC,
we need more science work upon Earth’s thermal history.
I. E. Space Weruld is a poet of Earth in a cosmic context.
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Light Signal
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
Across northern skies,
aurora borealis
flies before my eyes.
Ghost Signal
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
I see Priest Saigyo
vanish in the distant mist.
You go and I sigh.
Beside the Marsh
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
Though he renounces
love and joy, the Priest sighs at
deep sorrow’s beauty.
From off asphalt, a seagull
lifts a morsel in spring’s morn.
“Lice Brews” Ueda is a poet of Japan. Priest Saigyo (1118-1190) was a poet of the mid-classical period (1100-1241) of Japanese literature. Although haiku and tanka do not fit perfectly into English, “Lice Brews” Ueda often induges in them anyway. It is a release from rhyme.
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Metroplex Mixtures
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
The beauty of this morning’s sunrise was spectacular,
so many colours thrown together, clean, immaculate.
The gleaming gold, the silver sheen, encased in brilliant blue,
translucent green and ruby-orange in a clear azure.
The sunrise shone above the rooftops, streamed across the sky;
I never had seen such a mixture right before my eyes.
It only was the Metroplex; it only was the Sun;
but iridescence such as this—how could it thus be done?
Dawn’s early light, so blinding bright, I had to close the blinds,
lest I be overwhelmed by wealth and life be undermined.
“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of Texas. He wonders if he ‘s been looking at too many Afremovs.
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China’s Deadly Diplomatic Hostage Taking
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
Yang Hengjun, an Australian dude of Chinese heritage,
in flight from New York to Shanghai, was picked up in Guangzhou.
He was abducted by the Chinese State Security,
that Cerberus of purity, then placed in custody,
as were his wife and his stepdaughter by another group,
another batch of many who are in the black jail pool.
A writer of spy novels, “Fatal” this and “Fatal” that.
Feng Chongyi’s sure he knows the problem of where he is at.
There he can be interrogated, tortured and put down,
confessing fabricated crimes, and left upon his own.
He has become a cog in diplomatic hostages
because of the suspicions close to Huawei’s Meng Wanzhou.
In addition to Yang Hengjun, the Chinese communists have incarcerated several Canadians, Michael Kovrig, Michael Spavor, and Robert Schellenberg, who was hurriedly charged and sentenced to 15 years, perhaps for a possible trumped up charge of drug possession, and on appeal, sentenced to death. Also, Liu Feiyue was given 5 years in prison for his civil rights website, which reported on protests, police abuses and government corruption; while human rights lawyer Wang Quanzhang was given 4 ½ years in prison. Cyber-dissident Huang Qi is also facing a sham trial for a human rights website.
Corruption in the People’s Republic of China
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
The recent secret trial of security chief Zhou,
and sentencing to life imprisonment was largely show.
Convicted of abuse of power and accepting bribes,
he really fit in nicely with the Politburo tribes.
Can anyone believe that China’s leader Xi Jinping
is less corrupt than other party members in the wing?
As Gen’ral Secretary of the Secretariat;
he is official despot of the proletariat,
and since ascendance to the throne, he’s worked to concentrate
his power absolutely in one stately potentate.
Zhou Yongkang was sentenced to life imprisonment for corruption in May 22, 2015, in a secret trial. Does anyone remember? Does anybody care?
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Dharmachakra
by Sri Wele Cebuda
Around the Dharma Wheel spins,
around and round it goes.
It never pauses nor begins,
it simply travels, o.
Though millions fly off from its whirl,
and thousands perish too,
it draws in love from all the World,
the kind, the good and true.
And though some long to stop its turn,
they may as well attempt
to halt the Sun from its great burn
with nothing but contempt.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of India. The Buddha was the one who turned the Dharmachakra.
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A Dedication
by Aedile Cwerbus
To whom do I dare send this little poem, witless, fresh,
I’ve polished off with arid learning, silicon its mesh?
Perhaps Alemi, Yanus’ son, who thought no whit of it,
but had explained the Ages with his thick, Pern-icious Spit.
O, he alone of all the people dares pontificate;
in the Half-Circle Sea Hold he holds a certificate.
So take this po’m for what it’s worth; whatever it may be,
o, Virgin Goddess, Jupiter, it’s worth no more to me.
And let it last for no more than a second, maybe two,
immortal as Cornelius whose Lives were but a few.
Alemi was originally from the Half-Circle Sea Hold. He was the son of Yanus Sea Holder (not Yiannis Chryssomallis, known as Yanni), and was crucial in the rediscovery of the Dolphincraft.
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An Urban Magic Trick
by Seer Ablicadew
I saw one standing on the lawn beside the giant ferns.
He stood upright in bright sunlight, upon the grassy surf.
Beside him doing exercises, there was another man,
found meditating in that scene of green and pale tan.
I barely can recall that setting, many days ago;
but I remember vividly it seemed a circus show.
Was it a magic trick—the meditator in the air—
the strong man holding up a heavy weight without a care?
Though both dudes were in flip-flops, stretching there beneath the birds,
I wondered where they were, and still do now, days afterwards.
Seer Ablicadew is a poet of magic and astrology. One of his favourite writers is the Latin Augustan poet Manilius, the author of Astronomica.
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The Banach-Tarski Magic Trick
by Euclidrew Base
Where there exists a ball within a three-dimension space,
which can be broken up into some finite disjoint sets,
those can be placed together in a slightly diff’rent way
by moving and rotating but without a change in shape;
and the result will be two balls which are identical
to each and to the first, not solid but “symmetrical”.
Those pieces are not finite, but are scatterings of points,
and reconstruction can be done with five or more disjoints.
This is what’s called, in math, the Banach-Tarski Paradox;
you start with one ball, but you end up with two in the box.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Stefan Banach (1892-1945) was a Polish mathematician, who helped create modern functional analysis, and Alfred Tarski (1901-1983) was a Polish logician.
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Holocaust Remembrance Day, January 27, 2019
by Waldeci Erebus
Bright arnica, for the sore throat and mouth, help me to speak,
to say th’ unspeakable, in the Black Forest of the heart,
there in Heidegger’s hut, impart weak, little syl-la-bles.
He dropped into the Seine, the net that then ensnared Celan.
Far from Chernivtsi, Bukowina, at th’ empire’s edge,
Jerusalem upon the Prut, far from the Shoah’s ledge.
His father died from Typhus; his mother was shot in the neck.
The Bug flows on beyond Ukraine, on to the Baltic Sea.
What hope is there in Bucharest, Vienna, or Paree?
there at the beck and call of all eternity—der Schreck.
Waldeci Erebus is a poet of central Europe. Shoah is another term for the Holocaust. Paul Celan (1920-1970) was a German poet. Martin Heidegger (1889-1976) was a German philosopher.
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The YVHHM
by W. Israel Ebecud
The Yad Vashem Museum of the Holocaust sits on
Jerusalem’s Mount of Remembrance called Ha Zikaron.
It was first built and opened back in 1953
with heavy task of documenting Jewish history.
The new museum was designed by Moshe Safdie and
was opened in 2005 upon Israeli land.
The Hall of Names, a synagogue, artistic galleries,
combine with learning centre, and pavilion, in time frieze.
The concrete aqueduct, piazza, and the mevoah,
connected by the steel bridge, here shoulder the Shoah.
W. Israel Ebecud is a poet of Israel.
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The Dam Disaster in Brazil: January 2019
by Luc Ebrewe Dias
The tailings dam collapse near Brumadinho in Brazil
killed hundreds in a massive, red-brown, liquid, mud-sludge spill.
Most of the miners still are missing, bodies can’t be found,
beneath the torrent that tore through the mine and nearby town.
The 13,000,000-cubic-meter slurry spreading strife
was damaging the water quality and wildlife;
a trail of devastation, dead fish washing up down stream,
along with ars’nic, lead, and mercury, a nightmare’s cream.
The level of toxicity was choking river sand
and poisoning surrounding vegetation on the land.
The human and environmental cost of Vale’s wreck
is staggering, beyond the ken of its colossal bleck.
Luc Ebrewe Dias is a poet of Brazil. Israel sent aid and a 130-member rescue team to Brazil to help with rescue efferts.
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I Caught a Glimpse
by Cal Wes Ubideer
I didn’t see him—Jeffers on his tower—like a ghost,
in overly dramatic prance, a grand Whit-manic boast,
with as much spirit as the father of Prince Hamlet’s brain,
collapsing on the California coast, a dodgy Dane,
nor White Cliffs hovering above Matt Arnold’s Dover Beach;
this pause on the Pacific out of Sophoclean reach,
or Aeschylus upon the escalator coming down
to see the continental shelf come crashing underground;
I saw another bloated figure, windier than Troy,
come riding on the foamy waves along with Sigmund Freud.
Cal Wes Ubideer is a poet of California. Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962) was a Modernist American poet.
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The Parking Lot Garage
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
In daylight, it’s as dark as darkest night in thé garage,
the six floor patient parking lot, industrial hodge-podge.
Low cement ceilings interspersed with half-cone glaring lights,
the only place for an escape, the elevator flight.
One hears the jockeying of cars, occasional honk-honks,
the scattered voices, radios, the clicking car-door locks,
the slender, upright, orange posts, thick wire all around,
a single cat palm at the edge, the squealing breaks abound.
There is not hope, but only the desire to get away,
to leave the car-thick, darkened parking lot and reach the day.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation and vehicles. He recently spent a couple of days in the NOLA areola, and some hours in its parking lot garages.
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The Tennos
by Lew Icarus Bede
The tennos is another way of looking at the World,
from all the many other ways one has observed, or learned.
Iambic couplets in heptametres hint balladry,
connecting it to the tradition of folk poetry.
Five couplets keep it short, though those who long to add more lines
can add as many as they like, producting valentines.
The rhymes are optional, for those who like the jan-gle-ing,
the clanging sounds allow for those who’d really rather sing.
And finally, divisions can be done in varied ways
in order to instruct, eluct, offend, or to amaze.
Lew Icarus Bede is a poet and literary critic. The neologism of Beau Lecsi Werd, eluct, suggests expounding, that is, escaping and expanding upon knowledge, belief, etc.
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