Wise Words with Bruce Wise

 

‘Oumuamua
          by I. E. Sbace Weruld

‘Oumuamua is the first detected object in
the Solar System from some place beyond this luny bin.
Observed by Robert Weryk, back in 2017,
about the closest it got to the Sun, when first was seen.

In size, it isn’t very big, its colour is dark red,
perhaps part of some exocomet speeding on ahead.
Elongated, it’s tum-bl-ing, and moving forth so fast,
there is no chance that it was in our Solar System cast.

Odds are it’s come from some near star that’s relatively young,
less than 100,000,000 years? as it is on its run.
In fact, it can’t be captured in a solar orbit, so,
the “scout”, this “distant messenger”, must leave this place, and go.

I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Cosmos. Robert Weryk is a Canadian astronomer who first sighted ‘Oumuamua at the Haleakala observatory in Hawaii. It was in the Hawaiian night sky that I most clearly saw Pegasus in the winter. Luny, of or like the moon

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On Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, Second Movement
          by Ewald E. Eisbruc

I am inspired by music from Beethoven’s Ninth,
and in particular, the Second Movement, which
is filled with energy, exciting as the Rhein,
and taken to an extraordinary pitch.
The scherzo is dynamic, from the opening
announcement, brazen and spectacular. Unhitched
D minor triads split. The beat, like Dopamine,
increases heart rate and blood pressure. It goes wild.
The patterns make me spin, so much is happening,
but they’re so wonderful, that I am reconciled
to them, though scattering; they scurry to the nth
degree, like hounds that chase a fox across a field.

Ewald E. Eisbruc is a poet of German music.

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Deutschland
          Uwe Carl Diebes

The headlights of the military vehicles proceed
across the German countryside i’ th’ 1970s.
The war was cold, as hard as ice, and peace was but a deed.
They were so hard to find back then, that is, the levities.
Although I’m sure that they were there, I never found them…once.
It’s sad to say, perhaps it was because I was a dunce.
But there was the occasional moment of magic, and
the hope of greater things to come, to see and understand.
Since then I see them—photo flashes—of those times and sets.
And yet the sad thing was they were so easy to forget.

Uwe Carl Diebes is a poet of Germany, though here part of the first line is drawn from Postancient poet Yiorgos Chouliaras, a contemporary poet from Greece.

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Pavel Sergeevich Aleksandrov
          by Euclidrew Base

He laboured in set theory, metric spaces, and some fields
within topology where he developed broader yields.
He pioneered the study of bicompact spaces and
developed groundwork for a metrization theorem’s land.
He proved, at nineteen, non-denumerable Borel sets
contain a perfect subset, each one of them that one gets.
He worked with Pavel Urysohn until the latter drowned,
while swimming off the coast of Brittany; but what they’d found,
compactness’ definition back in 1923,
would linger longer than they did near Batz-sur-mer…at sea.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of math. Pavel Sergeevich Aleksandrov (1896-1982) worked with Pavel Samuilovich Urysohn (1898-1924), until the latter’s death. When he lived in Russian House at the University of Washington, he remembers an American student “Pasha”, who mocked him, saying, ‘[For all your poetry] why can’t you do better than Shakespeare?’

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On an Eclogue of Calpurnius Siculus
          by Aedile Cwerbus

It is a sunny day. It’s somewhere in the countryside.
Two men take shade within a grove, a place they can abide.
The brothers, Corydon, Oryntes, here in Faunus’ home,
discuss the thoughts upon their minds without a learned tome.
Rejected by the lovely Leuces, Corydon complains
he has a right to be heard in this sacred grove amain.
Besides, he’s recently received a reed pipe of Ladon.
Oryntes now should sing and play suggests rough Corydon.

Oryntes sees, unlikely though it seems, upon a beech
a poem that’s inscribed, that’s out of Corydon’s read/reach.
The poem on the tree, supposedly in Faunus’ script,
declares the rebirth of a brand new age that’s golden tipped,
a time of peace, the restoration of good, ordered laws,
an end to politics that are corrupt and filled with flaws,
a bright, new comet in the sky that presages new hope,
and happiness across the World, a brand new King and Pope.

Inspired, awestruck, Corydon then praises Faunus’ words.
Their loveliness is like the beauty of the singing birds.
Oryntes then suggests the poem be set to music and
disseminated via fine Meliboeus the man.
Perhaps, instead, the presage of the message could suggest
new horrors that will come to Earth, when Nero makes his nest;
and emperors and leaders, though required time to time,
are rarely likely to produce the good or the sublime.

 

Epigram on an Epigram
          by Aedile Cwerbus

Within a tomb Licinus lies; of marble it is made;
while Cato lies in none and Pompey’s in a small one laid;
and Varro of Atax attacks the edges of no tarn.
Do we believe that there are gods? Do we believe there aren’t?

Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of ancient Roma. Calpurnius Siculus and Varro of Atax were poets of ancient Rome.

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A Vision Over Italy
          by Buceli da Werse

I saw him resting at the top of the long winding stair,
like Dante, an Italian outside in the open air.
He leaned upon the curving railing, smooth and steel gray.
The large white clouds above him traveling upon their way—
across the sky…
                           His robe was gray and clung close to his form.
He gazed off to the right, his brown skin wrinkled, tight and warm.
I wondered what he saw up there at heaven’s pearly gate.
Where was he going to that he could take the time to wait?
I longed to be up there with him among those cloudy skies,
but I was still down on the earth attempting to be wise.

Buceli da Werse is a poet of the Italian Renaissance, and a fan of those visions of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, and others.

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Udaipur
          by Badri Suwecele

Udaipur sits in western India in Rajasthan,
the City of the Lakes, found by the Sisodia clan,
Udai Singh II, who brought his capital from Chittorgarh,
right after it had been besieged by horrible Akbar.
One enters through the Tripolia, triple arching gate,
the Palace Complex on the east bank of Pichola Lake.
The palaces are interlinked with zigzag corridors
once made to order so to keep all foes without its doors,
the Pearl Palace, Peacock Courtyard, and the Heart’s Delight,
and more, so charming and enchanting in and out of sight.

Badri Suwecele is a poet of the landscape of India.

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A Study in Sino Sturdiness
          by Li “Web Crease” Du

The app Xuexi Guangguo, Alibaba’s latest hit,
translates to English, “study to make China strong”, and it’s
a play upon the theme, applying Xi Jinping’s grand thoughts,
so millions will be able to know what they yet did not.
For knowing Chairman Xi’s thoughts is important to Chinese,
as it has been for knowing Chairman Mao’s thoughts, if you please.
For it’s too easy not to be politic’lly correct;
one dare not misinterpret words or thoughts their Leader said.
For only those of true devotion, like the children, will
come know their Leader when he comes to meet them at his Will.

Li “Web Crease” Du is a poet of New Millennial China.

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Another Citing of Gog in Magog
          by Esca Webuilder
          “What Moloch bashed their skulls and ate their brains?”
          —Seer Ablicudew, after Allen Ginsberg

PC Police are on patrol; they’re censoring again;
the latest “Violator” is “vile” Ancient Origins.
The mummies and the skeletons are too much to observe;
so Google’s censoring those whom they promised once to serve.
But when you get that kind of power over people’s lives,
you must do everything you can to keep them in their hives.
Neanderthals no longer can be naked, Google says,
nor can Thor be bare-chested, or exposed in any way.
We must disguise the shocking past, the truths that it reveals;
and Tutankhamun has to vanish too, so Google feels.

Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet. “Gog”, i. e., Google, is one of the many progeny of Moloch, Magog is his land.

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Adjusting the Car Radio
          by Cadwel E. Bruise

There is a certain slant of light on April afternoons,
oppressing like the heaviness of heaved Cathedral tunes,
that hurts like Heaven, when it gives us neither key nor car,
and we’re barred by internal differentials where we are.
Though none may reach it, no, not any, sealed with despair,
the kingly static is erratic screeling through the air.
When it appears, the landscape listens, shadows hold their breath.
When it departs, the distance scrams the light escaping death.
But we have come across the centuries to find these points
that lubricate our engines and our heady hood anoints.

Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England. The opening line recalls Emily Dickinson.

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Folsom College Blues
          by “Weird” Ace Blues

Perhaps you’ve seen his face before—that smug, fat-lipped green smirk—
upon your upright monitor—Pepe the frog—the jerk.
Although he’s dead; Matt Furie killed him off in 2012;
he keeps on popping up and hopping on the Village Vale.
He’s recently been sighted with some other poster views,
inaugurating worries, angst and Folsom College blues.
Is he a species bigot who has crossed the scarlet line?
Is he a spouting ribbeter who mocks PC divine?
Whatever is the case, as many of you are aware,
officials at the school are treating this with special care.
They’ve called the cops, and caused a campus sweeping to occur;
they will combat that cartoon terrorist, one can be sure.

“Weird” Ace Blues is a poet of the offbeat. His favourite baseball team is the Reds, his favourite fruits are the oranges, his favourite plant pathologies are the yellows, his favourite poltical party is the greens, and his favourite music is the blues, though he has also been caught listening to the Purples. Folsom College is in California.

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The Craven Little Toaster
          by Carb Deliseuwe

What has the greatest influence on air pollution—toast?
A study from the U of T says it could be the most!
Most dangerous are toasters, which send toxic particles
into the air the moment they start burning articles,
like bread—the staff of life—on which humanity depends.
Burnt toast’s the worst, worse than when scented candle smoke ascends.
House cleaners, sprays, air purifiers—these all are bad too—
and cooking, as in frying or in roasting, will pollute.
These house smoke-makers do expose inhabitants to more
pollution than an intersection with its cars galore?

Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food. U of T, this time, is the University of Texas @ Austin. These days he likes toasted frozen waffles with whip cream and fruit, or fat free syrup for breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

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The Texas Capitol
          by Arcideb Usewel

The Capitol in Austin, Texas, is constructed with
Hill Country limestone and red granite, giving it its pith.
To pay $3,000,000, Texas paid in public land
to get this Renaissance Revival building as was planned.
When it had been completed, Texans partied for a week.
Atop the dome the goddess Liberty stands sixteen feet.
This Capitol is taller than the US Capitol,
and all the others of the other capitols as well.
But as for its not keeping secrets, being prone to fire,
or being haunted by old ghosts, could BS get much higher?

Arcideb Usewel is a poet of architecture.

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The Extra
          by Cawb Edius Reel

He only was an extra in the moving picture scene,
but he was mesmerizing, an engrossing mixturing,
a fascinating presence on the movie screen. His stance
was bold and open, strong and sure. One saw that at a glance.
And yet he was uncredited. Nobody knew his name.
He was not one of those whom fate had destined to find fame.
He had no speaking part. No one would hear his robust voice.
Upon completion of his role, nobody would rejoice.
And so he was left all alone just standing there—a guy,
some light and shadows, brownish-red, a flicker in the eye.

Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of the movies.

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The Mystery, Strength of a Youthful Mind
          by Erisbawdle Cue
          “It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.”
              —Wallace Stevens, The Well Dressed Man With a Beard

The skies high overhead are dark and gray.
I am reminded of another day,
when I was younger, maybe I had seen
some captain—was it my imagining?
some lovely woman—was she Japanese?
Why was it I felt melancholy?) Sneeze…
(The mystery, strength of a youthful mind—
who knows what in the future one will find?
Somehow beneath the ordinary flow
there runs another current on the go,
The child may perceive it, but it must
be the adult who kindles it untrussed.
This perceptivity upon the wind,
like Pegasus, flies past our wondering.

Erisbawdle Cue is a poet who sometimes doesn’t have a clue.

 

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