The Snow Transforms
by Eb “Walrus” De Ice
The snow transforms the ordinary scene,
in this specific case, our side-yard view.
O’er all, the shining sun casts forth a sheen
beneath a sky that flies out bright and blue.
All plants are blanketed with frothy white:
the laurels, alders, cedars, and the firs.
The blobs of snow on boughs and branches bal-
ance precariously in gleaming light.
Each rhododendron blossom, in winter’s
cold blight, looks like a little bouncing ball.
The bare, old-growth limbs of the maple tree,
extending almost to the powder downed,
encased in ice and snow, are glistening,
their curves of gnarled arcs not quite touching ground.
Eb “Walrus” De Ice is a poet of the cold. An intimate of poets, like Wes Caribu Deel and Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis. The form of this poem is what Wilbur Dee Case calls “an American sonnet, with a rhymes scheme of ababcdecdefgfg.”
by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
The Master of Five Willows lived in Jiangxi near Mount Lu.
Mulberry-Bramble was his village, Lake Poyang his view.
A man of few words, and re-ti-r-ing by nature, he
did not desire fame or money, only books to read.
Whenever he found certain books, he would forget his meals.
Though he could not afford wine always, it was his ideal.
He drank to his content, but when too drunk, he’d leave at once.
The walls around his house did not protect from wind or sun.
His clothes though frayed, he would not bow to fill his bowl of rice.
He was content with writing, for that was his way of life.
by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
Li Hongzhi notes, we tourists flock to see
the Everlasting Mountain, North Mount Heng,
and ancient monastery, in Shanxi,
in hopes of reaching It, by visiting.
Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of ancient China. Tao Yuanming (365?-427) was a Chinese poet of the Six Dynasties period, predominantly during the Eastern Jin dynasty. Li Hongzhi is a contemporary spiritual leader, and founder of Falun Dafa.
by Arcideb Usewel
The Crystal soon will be the highest sky bridge in the World,
a horizontal building that’s across four buildings hurled.
The slightly curved skyscrapers replicate a sail boat
that hearkens back to Chongqing’s past and trading fleet afloat.
The man behind the spanned design is Moshe Safdie, who
created the tall Singapore Marina Bay Sands too.
Within the glass conservatory bridge will be a deck,
which rises up 250 meters when erect.
Infinity pool, restaurants, and skywalk will be there,
apartments, stores and offices all high up in the air.
Arcideb Usewel is a poet of architecture. In 2018, China built 88 skyscrapers; in second place was the USA with 13.
by Walibee Scrude
He is a blast of rhyme and colour beautifuller than
most Xanadus, like Afremov, that tall Australian man,
pied piper of the World, from India to Italy,
a swirling cocktail, scintillating, whirling glittering,
an amber haired Apollo with his wanderlust desires,
Clive James, without the measure, in his opalescent fires,
a windswept David on the plains of windy, indie Troy,
a Scotsman on a hot run or an Anglo-Saxon boy,
kaleidoscopic and dynamic in atomic Sun,
an Aussie on the lovepath of a wild Romantic run,
a New Millennial with a few acrobatic tricks,
that avid traveler upon a scarlet road of bricks.
Walibee Scrude is a poet of Australia.
by Badri Suwecele
In Neemuch, Madhya Pradesh, farmers’ opium crops are
incurring losses due to parrots eating on their farms.
The opium-addicted parrots feed on poppy plants,
reducing farm productions, leaving them with lower stats.
Uneven rain is hurting crops, but now the parrot plague
has turned into a nuisance that the farmers cant assuage.
To make them go away, they’ve tried loud-speakers cranked up high;
but that has failed as the parrots fly about the sky.
Fire-crackers too can’t keep the parrots from the poppy pods.
Since government can’t help, the farmers could pray to the gods,
like Balarama, god of agriculture, with his plow,
for strength to get them through what they are going through right now.
Badri Suwecele is a poet of India. Madhya Pradesh, the “central province” is sometimes referred to as “the heart of India.”
by Sri Wele Cebuda
Across the north the Himalayas stretch;
below the rich and fertile Ganges flows;
Rajasthan Desert burns in the northwest;
and in the south are hills and old plateaus
that date back to ancient Gondwanaland.
Out into ocean, sea, and bay it sticks
the vast, peninsular and Hindu hand
with Muslims, Christians, Buddhists, Jains, and Sikhs,
all densely-packed together—one belly—
that is filled up with cities, sites galore:
Ahmadabad, Mumbai, Chennai, Delhi,
Hyderabad, Kolkata, Bangalore;
one-third the size, is this sub-continent,
with thrice the people, of America.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of India. The most populated state of India is Uttar Pradesh. With a population of 199,000,000 in 2011, it by itself is more populated than almost all the nations on the planet.
by Saudi Becrewel
Detained in 2017, Walid Fataihi sits,
no charges and without a trial, in a prison cell.
Back then, the Harvard-trained physician, taken to a room,
was slapped, blindfolded, stripped to underwear (Fruit of the Loom?).
Bound to a chair, he then was S/H/O/C/K/E/D with e-lec-tri-ci-ty,
and tortured, so he has explained to one soul visiting.
Some others have come out with twisted neck or harsh abuse;
but only since they’re dead; detaining them has little use.
When asked about the torture, Saudi spokemen answered thus:
“We take ill treatment of defendants—very serious.”
But now Walid Fataihi indicated to his wife
he lives in fear, in total fear, he’s worried for his life.
In the Desert
by Saudi Becrewel
Nowhere is there release from battle strain;
fatigue, like sand, is everywhere one’s bussed.
The unrelenting heat does not refrain,
nor does the sand, the dry and grainy dust.
A palm tree or a truck is all to change
the emptiness of scenery and set.
One understands the camel in this place.
To make one’s grub from scrub is not so strange;
but nothing that one does helps one forget,
and one can see it well on every face.
Here distances are measured not in miles,
but days; success is never posited.
One dare not trust, not ever, in the smiles;
for they are quickly gone, soon lost or dead.
Around one, on the left, off to the right,
ahead, and also just behind, is sand.
It does not quit, but ever blasts, attacks.
It does not matter if it’s day or night.
In light or dark, it follows the command
to ever fight, to penetrate and tax.
And it has many allies at its side
beside the cannons, armored cars and tanks.
It has the mind that calls up foolish pride,
and weakness of the body, bloody thanks.
It’s more sinister than flying planes
that drop their bombs on targets on the ground.
What chance do such raids have? Aerial assaults
can target anybody; but what gains
can they expect or rate? Sand brings all down,
because it cannot stop. There is no halt.
Along with wind, there is the emptiness
that enters each and every person’s mind;
and in the desert there is loneliness.
One’s startled at all that one comes to find.
At times one feels like one’s a rat in rocks;
and skin is not enough protection from
the heat which beats incessantly on one.
It comes with constant sand. It’s in one’s socks
and soul, grating. It is in one’s ear drum.
The sun shines on, an odd automaton.
And, as if that was not enough to fight,
there is the lack of water too. One can
not live without it? And there is the blight
of flies and snakes and stinging scorpions.
Saudi Becrewel is a poet of the Arabian Peninsula.
The Egyptian Activist
by “Scribe” El Uwade
He was a quiet engineer of hope,
who had a dream the Arab spring was real;
and it was all that he could do to cope
in his repressive state. It made him feel
compassion for those treated brutally.
Savvy, he would use social media
for good. He was committed totally,
as if a free encyclopedia.
But soon police got wind of who he was.
They threatened him with sodomy and stick.
They beat his head and neck and back, because
they were a vicious group, each one a prick.
He lied to them to get them off his back;
then published their results upon the web.
“Scribe” El Uwade is a poet of Egypt. Across the globe free speech is under assault.
by Dewi Laser Cube
Encoraged by his father, Swiss by birth,
to work in mathematics and speak French,
Paul Adrienne Maurice Dirac found earth
imperfect, but discovered he could wrench
some value out approximately from
his engineering studies at Bristol.
To go on solo walks, to speak seldom;
he paid a cost for these things; yet, its toll
was access to the subatomic world
that roiled within his soul. The electron,
he felt mathematic’lly, when it was hurled,
might show a short-lived particle, a positron,
dumbfounding all, until discovered by
Carl Anderson in a cloud-chambered sky.
Carl Anderson, born in 1905
in New York, New York, went to Cal Tech Land
for B.S., Ph.D., and for his life,
under the tutelage of Millikan.
An unexpected particle’s track shone
in his cloud chamber, showed something unknown
about the same mass as an electron.
This new-found thing he called a positron,
and thereby validated Paul Durac,
who’d only postulated such a path
within the confines of his cloudy math.
So, science travels down its cryptic tracks.
For Blackett and Occhialini’s fames,
no bell rang out to countenance their names.
Dewi Laser Cube is a poet of particle physics. British mathematician Paul Dirac (1902-1984) won the Nobel Prize for Physics at the age of 31. Carl Anderson (1905-1991) was an American physicist who won the Nobel Prize in Physics for his discovery of the positron, and with Seth Neddermeyer (1907-1988), later discovered the muon. Patrick Blackett (1897-1974) was a British physicist, who won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1948, and was known for his work on paleomagnetism, cloud chambers, and cosmic rays. Giuseppe Occhialini (1907-1993) was an Italian physicist who contributed to the discovery of the pion.
John von Neumann
by Euclidrew Base
Hungarian mathematician John von Neumann was
a moving force of synergy, a universalist.
Among the Modernists, right at the top of Truth’s crack troops,
he, young, solved David Hilbert’s 5th Problem for compact groups.
He proved the Mean Ergodic Theorem and provided for
a mathematical network for quantum theory’s core.
He proved game theory’s Minimax with vim and intellect
and wrote with Oskar Morgenstern game theory’s classic text.
He worked with rings of operators, shock waves, lattices,
hydrodynamics, astrophysics, and autómata,
computer tech, atomic energy, weather control.
The dude was one great powerhouse, a forcefield on a roll.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Hungarian mathematician John von Neumann (1903-1957) was a indefatigable worker in the sciences.
Jeffrey Preston Jorgenson
by Brad Lee Suciew
Born in New Mexico as Jeffrey Preston Jorgenson;
Jeff Bezos went to Houston, Texas; he was fairly young.
His parents had divorced, he changed his name, he went to school,
a Princeton grad in engineering and computers too.
In 1994 he founded Amazon.com,
an online bookstore, which sold more things, as it went along.
His store is now the World’s largest online company,
which sells and buys most anything it gets its hands upon.
He bought WaPo, but would not pay for sleazy pictures aired.
that Mr. Pecker seemed to have, Jeff’s girlfriend had shared.
Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of business. The classic headline from the New York Post was “BEZOS EXPOSES PECKER”. David Jay Pecker is chairman and CEO of National Enquirer.
The Dragon Flies
by Esca Webuilder
“He shot Smaug with the Black Arrow.”
Employees in the Google company have recently
investigated whether Google’s launching censoring,
particularly Dragonfly for Chinese communists
to keep the Chinese far away from any hateful list,
that might include religion, human rights, democracy,
or peaceful protests that might lead to total anarchy.
It seems they are, that Google is, still working on the plan;
though it’s all hush-hush, and they don’t want to tell anyone.
They lie to say they are not doing what they say they aren’t;
a company once good is now one of deceitful arts.
Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet. Bard Euceweles is an acquaintance of Bard the Bowman, Lord of Dale, from Tolkien’s The Hobbit.
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
Across the universe it flies
while dragging its long tail behind,
like Draco in the midnight skies—
dark energy so hard to find.
It moves within a deep black hole,
beyond the farthest scene or known,
a mystery, opaque, yet whole,
where the event horizon’s shown.
This Dragon spreads its wings out wide
and breathes its firey breath at all.
There is no safety from its flight
nor pleasant place t’ eschew its squall.
Its bright scales glitter in the light,
and with the flick of leg or claw,
it blows the night apart in stride.
It is a universal law.
No phoenix rising from its pyre,
no cygnus crossing to the south,
could ever match the freezing fire
that emanates from out its mouth.
The fragile age of agile life,
the cosmic super nova blasts,
all fall beneath its mighty strife.
Against its power nothing lasts.
I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of cosmic significances.