by Lude Biwa Reeds

As we rode along,
rounding ashihiki hills,
o, Biwa, my soul,
we came upon reedy docks,
where, in flocks, the cranes cried out.

Lude Biwa Reeds is a poet of lowlands and water.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

I’m not a wise man
who lived through the storied past
of this great country.
As I look on its ruins,
I see it, saddened and bruised.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

I knew it would be,
and although I insisted
that I would not look,
I looked upon the city
there lost in a waste of time.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japan.


The New Hong Kong Extradition Bill
          by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei

Five hundred thousand, maybe more, took to the Hong Kong streets.
Perhaps it was a million people in the steamy heat.
Police said that it was less than a quarter of that size,
while China’s wall street news website was closed to “right” its site.
Proposed is a new extradition law that will allow
suspects to be sent to the mainland for a Chinese trial.
But Hong Kong’s people fear the communists who often use
detentions, torture, forced confessions, criminal abuse.
Miss Carrie Lam, flanked by security and justice chiefs,
unwavering, stood firm and said this bill needs to proceed.

Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of China. Carrie Lam is the Chief Executive of Hong Kong.


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 and shake 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’ inevitable; that, o, 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. Arjuna is a major character in the Indian epic Mahabharata.


A Poverty of Spirit
          by B. S. Eliud Acrewe

The give and take of yesteryear in literary crit
is vanishing alongside of the principles of lit.
These days one cannot stomach controversy very much;
it is enough to just ignore. Such works one dare not touch.
Perhaps what’s missing from our present situation is
we lack the stamina to fight, our patience has worn thin.
We lack the knowledge and the energy to move on forth;
we lack the strength to enter in upon the present course.
We lack the willingness to give and keep on giving more;
but we do not lack poverty of spirit. No, we’re poor.

B. S. Eliud Acrewe is a literary critic of English poetry. He is on familiar terms with Wilbur Dee Case and Lew Icarus Bede. He is sometimes referred to as simply “B. S.”.


A Psalm of David
          by W. Israel Ebecud

O, listen to my moaning, Lord, my groaning and my cries.
Give ear, o, hear me, God, my King, among these vile lies.
For You are not a God who’s pleased with wickedness, o, no.
The arrogant can’t stand within your presence, o, my Lord.
I, by your love, can come into your House if I bow down.
Lead me in righteousness. Make your Way straight before me bound.
My enemies are filled with lies, their throats an open grave.
O, banish them for all their sins, but me, o, Master, save.
Let me take refuge in your joy, and be glad in your field.
Protect those who love You. Surround and bless, as with a shield.

W. Israel Ebecud is a poet of Israel. David (c. 1035 BC – 961 BC) was the second king of Israel and author of many of the Psalms, including Psalm 5, from which the above poem has drawn.


Иван Голуноф
          by Alecsei Burdew

Investigative journalist Ivan Golunov,
reporter for a Latvian-based site, was taken off
the Moscow streets and put in prison by the Rus police,
accused of dealing drugs according to authorities.
Meduza said that he was being persecuted for
investigating the corruption found at Russia’s core.
His lawyer said that he was beaten and the drugs a plant,
he could not eat or sleep 24 hours after that.
But Russian media did not accept him taken off;
three Russian papers led with “WE ARE IVAN GOLUNOV”.

Alecsei Burdew is a poet of Russia. The three newspaper headline was “я/мы иван голуноф” I am/We are Ivan Golunov. Meduza is an on-line news site.


Ucsie Lew Beard
          by Wic E. Ruse Blade

He stood stalwart against the wall, his sword drawn forth and out.
O, he was ready to attack, and hoping for a rout.
He had a hard and rugged head upon a bulwark neck.
Tattoos adorned his left-side shoulder next to flexed-up pecs.
He was a stocky, brown-skinned dude with black, short, stand-up hair.
He had a sneer that wouldn’t quit, a haughty, nasty stare.
His arrogance flowed mightily in condescending ooze.
He was a danger to all men, when he was on the loose.
The beard around his mouth was s-c-r-a-g-g-l-y, but neat and trim.
One never knew what might occur, when one bumped in to him.


Bartholomew Roberts, the Pirate (1682-1722)
          by Wic E. Ruse Blade

He didn’t want to be a pirate in the first place, no.
Black Bart rose quickly in the ranks; he put on quite a show.
He was a clever and a brazen man—Bartholomew.
He was a teacher too; he launched careers of a few.
The flags he flew were black with skulls and skeletons in white;
the frigate Onslow was his Royal Fortune—quite a sight.
He was perhaps the most successful pirate of his age,
both tough and cruel, he often was on that blood-thirsty stage.
He died in battle when his throat by grape shot was undone;
his men were mentioned once by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Wic E. Ruse Blade is a swashbuckler.


On Cohen’s Forcing
          by Euclidrew Base

Back in the 1870s, Cantor hypothesized
an infinite subset could be appropriately sized,
in correspondence, one-to-one, with all the integers
or maybe real numbers, vintage math, yet still unsure.
Gödel showed—1938—it could not be disproved;
and there it stood, set theory’s central problem, stuck, unmoved.
Then by developing a mathematical technique
called forcing, which he used to prove the answer he did seek,
the independence o’ th’ continuum hypothesis;
Paul Cohen showed that it was not decidable as such.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Paul Cohen (1934-2007) was a noted 20th century American mathematician. Georg Cantor (1845-1918) was a German mathematician and Kurt Gödel (1906-1978) was an Austro-American logician.


Counterexample to Euler’s Conjecture on Sums of Like Power
          by Euclidrew Base

What was the shortest research paper that has been produced?
It countered a conjecture that Euler introduced—
that at least n nth powers are required to get a sum
that’s likewise an nth power. It took centuries to come.
And yet it did in 1966, when L. J. Landler with
coworker T. R. Parkin found it really was a myth.
A search upon the CD 6600 found an
example that proved it was not the case. In short, one can.
The smallest instance in which 4 5th powers fill the bill
is listed here succinctly, clearly answering it well:

275 + 845 + 1105 + 1335 = 1445.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of the mathematical realms. Lander, Parkin and Selfridge (1927-2010) themselves made a conjecture about sums of like powers.


Rio de Janeiro
          by Luc Ebrewe Dias

They rise up big and brown and beautiful above the bay,
those huge round hills in golden light within the month of May.
O, may I climb upon their slopes of scrub and bush and grass,
and see below upon the sea the shiny vessels pass.
O, Sugar Loaf, o, Rio, ho, the city shines beyond,
as if God up high in the heavens waved his magic wand.
Brazil, o, open up your treasured sights and smells and sounds.
O, let me walk along your beaches and your lofty mounds.
To be there would be heavenly, to be there would be grand.
Upon your strand, o, let me stand, and watch time’s falling sand.

Luc Ebrewe Dias is a poet of Brazil.


Murray Gell-Mann (1929-2019)
          by Ira “Dweeb” Scule

He was amazing for his leaps of intuition in
his early field, particle state physics, fission-spin.
Disparaging of “solid state”, he’d call it squalid state;
and if he didn’t like something, he’d simply turn away.
He made such bold conjectures, figuring out nature’s sea,
like strangeness, V-A theory, SU(3) and QCD.
He was the man who named the particle we now call quark,
24 hours after Feynman offered the name quack.
He—Murray Gell-Mann—was one of Earth’s great discoverers
who sought the fundamental structure of the Universe.

Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of science. Richard Feynman (1918-1988) was an American physicist known for work in quantum mechanics, the parton model, quantum electrodynamics, and superfluidity. He received a Nobel in 1965, Gell-Mann in 1969.


Ooh La La, LA
          by Cal Wes Ubideer

Loud, flashy, trashy, brash, fast lady of crass craziness,
proud muscle-bound, base bastard of fantastic nastiness,
expressway madness lodged within concrete hysteria,
a myriad decamerons between rest areas:
What lives within your complex, Mondrian-block, fractal shape?
What angels and demonic gangs roam through your magic cape?
What leafy jaracandas, sycamores, figs, pines and oaks,
abound between your open fingered palms and smoking chokes?
What mad pursuits, what struggles to escape, attend each soul
determined to reach heaven’s halls or flee hell’s horrid hole?

Heard melodies are hard, and throbbing—rock, pop, country, rap—
they burst upon the brain like a kaleidoscopic map;
the singers shout out ringing songs, musicians blast their rounds,
the honking cars, the clanking horns, construction’s constant pounds:
fair youths beside the noisy melodies are drawn within
the aural networks of the millions in the whirlwind’s spin;
bold lovers kiss amidst the symphonies of strings and brass,
despairing folk tunes cross the waves of juniper and jazz;
old livers drink the alcohol of lives lived fully flush,
amidst the shrubs on canyon walls and highways in a crush.

Cal Wes Ubideer is a poet of California. There are lots of sides to LA in addition to the thousands of impoverished people living in tents on its streets and in cars.


          by Esca Webuilder

Ad-poca-Lips continues censoring more points of view;
now #YouToo has included Steven Crowder too.
But his is not the only voice that also got the boot:
as Mr. Alsop Hist’ry has, and more…gone down the T-U-B-E.
If You don’t Cow-Tau to the Social Media, You’ll find
Yourself Demon-etized, marginalized, and reASSigned.
G-Mafia, the cyber bullies, censor what they hate;
for some the right to speak out openly is out of date.
They love cry-bullies, zombie-twits, and Social JustUs freaks;
o, anybody who will buy their brand of tyranny.

Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet. The techno-fascists even more recently banned the Natural News Website. Such speech that questions topics, like toxic vaccines, 5G towers, chemotherapy, geoengineering, glyphosate weed-killer chemicals, and anti-cancer foods, apparently is going to be weeded out on big media platforms.