by “Lice Brews” Ueda

To the lavender,
the bee quickly darts, and leaves,
with no reluctance.

“Lice Brews” Ueda is a poet of Japan. Here he is thinking of a poem by Bashō: “bōtan-shibe/ fukaku/ wake-izuru/ hachi-no/ nagori/ kana”—a bee departs from/ the deep peony pistols/ so reluctantly.


In Dreamy Reverie
          by E “Blue Screw” Dai

He lay back on the bed, o, as relaxed as he could be.
He turned his head off to the side in dreamy reverie.
Godzilla now was on the loose, and he was coming soon
into a theatre near you beneath a setting moon.
‘O, Lord,’ he cried as he prepared to ready up himself.
He felt unsafe before a monster here upon a shelf.
‘Godzilla, please,’ he tried to say, but he was half asleep,
to terrified to run away, in slumber far too deep.
‘O, Lord,’ he sighed, “I’m but a sacrifice, a lizard’s whim.
How did I end up in this place right here in from of Him?’

E “Blue Screw” Dai is a surreal poet fond of Japan. This week President Trump met with both Prime Minister Abe and the new Emperor Naruhito.


The Honey Bee
          by Li “Sacred Bee” Wu

The honey bee rests on the pumpkin flower’s center orb,
a pollen storm surrounds its form, there at that golden core.
The fuzzy, buzzing creature goes about its business day;
it gathers up the yellow-orange puff; it cannot stay.
Its wings are flitting fast, antenae twitching overhead;
this is its workplace situation; this is not its bed.
Its mission is to gather pollen from the plants it picks,
and forthright goes about its chores, industrious and quick.
It doesn’t have the time to loiter in the daylight, no,
but has to keep its motion up till purple evening’s glow.


Wei Ying-wu
          by Li “Sacred Bee” Wu

He stayed at the Mind-Jewel Monastery for some years,
when he was young, Wei Ying-wu, having gone into arrears.
The An Lu-shan rebellion ravaged China’s splendid realm,
his family in ruins, he himself quite overwhelmed.
But this new journey marked a life of contemplation and
the more reclusive life of poetry’s austere command.
He never left the government; he needed to survive;
but never comfortable there, in service, while alive.
Retiring, he preferred a mountan monastery farm,
or simple place where he could stay away from wars and harm.

Li “Sacred Bee” Wu is a poet of ancient China. Wei Ying-wu (737-792) was a poet of the Tang dynasty. The An Lu-shan Rebellion took place from 755-763.


Tiananmen Square
          by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei

It is the largest public space located on the Earth,
880 by 500 meters is its girth,
located in Beijing, at midpoint Chang’an Avenue,
which is the Street, Eternal Peace, that passes by its view.

Tiananmen Square is the pride of every communist;
it is spectacular on seeing, even in the mist.
The grand flag-raising ceremony is attended by
so many every single day, clear or polluted sky.

The National Museum, east, holds porcelain and jade.
West of the Square, the Great Hall of the People casts its shade.
The center Monument of Heroes stands upright and tall.
Up north, the Tower sits; at south, embalmed, Mao’s in his Hall.

The oldest Chinese record of a solar eclipse seen
took place on June the 4th in 781 BC.
This year on June the 4th in 2019 there will be
peace firm upon this Square, in force, forged for eternity.

Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of China.


The Sydney Op’ra House
          by Walibee Scrude

The Sydney Op’ra House is like a fountain of concrete
that spills in shells above the water, rising white, complete.
Upon Point Bennelong close to the Sydney Harbour Bridge,
it sprawls in parabolic splendor over sailing ships.
Designed by Danish architect Jørn Utzon, who took off,
and was replaced by Peter Hall, who finished th’ inner lofts,
composed of sections of a sphere, the roofs are set upon
a monumental podium, iconic brick-red lawn.
A massive riverboat parked permanently in the port,
which never leaves its mooring for a little bit of sport.

Walibee Scrude is a poet of Australia.


At Mumbai’s CST Station
          by Badri Suwesele

Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Railway
police intend to curb the rampant thievery each day,
by turning off the fans at platforms where the passengers
await their journeys through the night upon the premises.
By switching off the cooling, fewer people will be there.
Who wants to spend the evening sleeping in the sultry air?

The devious, unscrupulous won’t take belongings from
those who doze off if they’re not there in slumber, sleepy-numb.
In six years nearly 60,000 mobile phones were swiped;
but some believe that this adjustment is a lot of hype,
because the station’s very close to those sea breezes that
will reach inside with sweet and pleasant airs beyond the ghat.

Badri Suwecele is a poet intrigued by India.


River of the Dead
          by Alecsei Burdew

Heartsick, I pondered the dark mystery of life.
I wondered, o, poor people, just what do we want?
The sky is clear, and under it there is a slice
for each of us; but endlessly we fight and flaunt
our needless battles. Why? Rus interrupted me,
my reverie. He struck my shoulder, hard and gaunt.
‘What is this place’s name?’ I asked. ‘It’s Valerik,
translated in your language—river of the dead,’
he answered. ‘Chechnya, even now is allergic
to toleration. Our main product is hatred.’

Alecsei Burdew is a poet of Russia. This poem is a take off on a poem by Mikhail Lermontov, the “poet of the Caucasus”.


Bard Bragi Boddason
          by Eric Albu, “Swede”

He was the wise and learnèd poet in Valhalla’s Hall—
bard Bragi frequently regal’d einhérjar, dead and tall.
He’d stand beside the golden throne and sing of heroes’ deeds,
a braggart in the finest sense, among cups of sweet mead.
Here all day long the warriors fight each other constantly,
and he-al from the wounds they got at evening’s restful ease.
He’d sing about their bravery, their acts of valor and
their most remarkable achievements, actions great and grand.
Ninth century bard Bragi Boddason sang moving songs,
so artful Odin brought him to Valhalla for his own.

Eric Albu, “Swede,” as he is known to his most intimate acquaintances, is a poet of Sweden and Norse mythology. Bard Bragi Boddason was the first skaldic poet known. Snorri Sturlison (1179-1241) was a distinguished Icelandic poet and historian who quoted many of Bragi Boddason’s lines in his own work.


Atle Selberg
          by Euclidrew Base

A. Selberg was an analytic number theorist,
who proved all lattices are arithmetic, they exist.
He also worked with Fourier spectral theory’s vibes and norms,
while his trace formula came to from automorphic forms.
He too developed what’s now called the Selberg Integral,
a generalization of the beta functional.
Techniques of his include mollification, sieves, and more,
such as the Rankin-Selberg method in L-Function morphs.
He laboured long and hard upon Riemann’s Hypothesis,
and gave a simpler proof of the prime number theorem’s guess.


Linear Programming
          by Euclidrew Base

As linear programming is a method to obtain
the best outcome, in an attentive, systematic chain,
a mathematical technique for maximizing or
to minimize a multi-variable function store.
It grew out of the need for planning out expenses and
returns, so as to moderate costs by the high command.
The first to work on it were Leonid Kantorovich,
T. C. Koopmans, and, Frank L. Hitchcock. George B. Dantzig,
in US Airforce work, developed, inter alia,
the simplex algorithm, businesses can utilize.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics and mathematicians. Atle Selberg (1917-2007) was a Norwegian-American mathematician. Leonid Kantorovich (1912-1986), Tjalling Koopmans (1910-1985), Frank Hitchcock (1875-1957), and George Dantzig (1914-2005) were important developers of linear programming.


…Or the Newish Railway Station in Rome
          by Luwese Becardi
“What is our praise or pride/ But to imagine excellence, and try to make it?”
              —Richard Wilbur

Like neatly stacked train cars, the Termini,
named for the Diocletian thermal baths,
a magnet for the traveling many,
is terminal for varied trips and paths.
It is the hub for subway, train, and bus,
a symbol of the emphasis on speed,
upon Piazza Cinquecento, thus,
a central transport and kinetic need.
The large glass windows rise up to the roof
that flows and follows ancient ruined wall
from the 6th century BC, the proof
the past impinges on the ticket hall,
this paean to F. Marinetti dazed—
designed by A. Mazzoni’s racing mind,
subjected to B. Mussolini’s crazed
desire for schedules, tables, off on time,
that cantilevered swoop of reinforced
concrete, above the street, braced high, of course.

Luwese Becardi is a poet of Italy. This is a Staffordian sonnet, named it after American poet William Stafford (1914-1999), whose poem Traveling Through the Dark is its prototype.


The Deutschen Welle’s Freedom of Speech Award
          by Caud Sewer Bile

She, Anabel Hernández, lives outside of Mexico;
unlike the 43 dead in Iguala, Guerrero,
the students that she wrote her last book on before she left,
exiled from the Earth, she did not want to be bereft.
In Mexico she couldn’t stay and still remain aloof;
the vest her government gave her was only bulletproof.
And so she fled, unlike one hundred murdered journalists,
who died this decade, truth and justice joined in funerals.
For twenty years she had reported on corruption’s ranks;
her Freedom Speech Award, in Germany, gave heartfelt thanks.

Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of journalism and news reportage.


Lost in the Shadows of the Night
          by Ibewa del Sucre

I long to be lost in the shadows of the night
in blackest dark, embraced by the impersonal,
beyond the end of Cape Horn, touched by moonlight,
let loose from all reality, immersed in all,
at one with the oppression of eternity,
a lover of the brutal and the virtual;
for that is where for ages hence my heart will be.
For in that way I’ll be prepared for after life,
millenia of bullying and cruelty;
the horror of infinity unloosed will fly
and ride upon the undulating billows right
into the ecstasy of everending flight.

Ibewa del Sucre is a poet of Argentina, whose favourite 20th century sonneteer is Jorge Luis Borges (1899-1986).


          by Red Was Iceblue

The painting QWERTY is by Robert Cottingham.
It is an oil on canvas of 2004,
a section of Postmodern flotsam and jetsam.
The picture’s view is looking down into the core
of a typewriter on a bright orange background,
which lies along the picture’s left and top sides more.
It contrasts with the black, blue, white, and silver bound
together in the platen, spools, typebars and keys
in such a crisp and striking way it does astound.
It is amazing how an artifact can please,
so placed with such precision, and how lighting can
produce a clarity one wishes would not cease.


Duffy Sheridan’s On a Clear Day
          by Red Was Iceblue

She stands against the wind in tan hat, long blue skirt,
and a white, lacy blouse. With left hand she defends
her hat, and with her right, she’s steadied and immert
upon the gray and weather-beaten, wooden fence.
Here is a classic beauty far removed from Greece;
near fragile, yellow flowers, gold, without pretense,
beneath white clouds, beside an endless azure sea.
You can see for forever on a clear day; look
at Duffy Sheridan’s breathtaking painting. She,
revealing ideality in the re-al, cool,
a woman gazing off, is holding in the cur-
rent, like the rock in water spray, a lovely coup.

Red Was Iceblue is a poet of Modern, Postmodern, and New Millennial painting. Robert Cottingham is a contemporary American photorealist. Duffy Sheridan likewise is a contemporary painter. The bilding format (12 x 12, ababcbcdcdad) is a verbal snapshot.