by “Wired Clues” Abe

The water jet hits
the grass of the new-mown lawn.
The small toadlet leaps.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a haiku writer.


Reality Postcard
          by “Lice Brews” Ueda

Tropical sunset,
rose, maroon, and violet,
under a moon’s smile,
a silent, still cicada
beneath palm trees near the pool.

“Lice Brews” Ueda is a poet of Japanese forms, in this case, a tanka.


A View of Bangkok
          by Daw Buricselee

It is a place where tears dry fast—Bangkok—Krung Thep—
It’s not a place one would expect to find sweet peace
or love. Food stalls, skyscrapers, traffic jams, young pep,
perhaps, where motorbikes or taxis never cease,
white, yellow, pink, etcetera… But peace, or love,
along Chao Phraya River? Stress, yes, or sex, please,
and even or’nge-robed Buddhists, blue-jeaned guys, and tough
muay Thai boxers, overlooking Lumphini Park,
tart cocktails in high-rises, sprawling, climbing up
above flushed-shiny-neon-shrine flash in the dark.
On Sukhumvid, you better watch your pants, your step,
lest you fall down, flesh wounds, lest you become a mark.


At the Great Stupa in Nakhon Pathom
          by Daw Buricselee

To the Pagoda of the Holy Relics came
the poet chanting words: ‘May true religion live
forever; for it’s not the poet who needs fame.
He needs the Buddha’s help to give and to forgive,
to gain strength in attainment of enlightenment.
He needs his book of words to be affirmative,
preserving to the end of time and firmament,
the presence of your humble servant—Sunthorn Phu,
belonging to the King of the White Elephant,
a loyal subject ever to King Rama II,
here at Phra Pathom chedi’s shining orange flame,
as far as any love can go and still be true.’

Daw Buricselee is a poet of Thailand. According to Mastercard’s annual global destination cities (2018), the most visited cities in the World are 1) Bangkok, 2) London, 3) Paris, 4) Dubai, 5) Singapore, 6) New York City, 7) Kuala Lumpur, 8) Tokyo, 9) Istanbul, and 10) Seoul. The most visited countries of the World include 1) France, 2) USA, 3) Spain, 4) China, 5) Italy, 6) United Kingdom, 7) Germany, 8) Mexico, 9) Thailand, and 10) Turkey. The above two poems are bildings.


War and Peace
          by Badri Suwecele

In Mumbai, India, Vernon Gonsalves did not fail
to make his court appointment for a hearing on his bail.
Arrested August 2018 for caste-based violence,
he was, in August 2019, ready for defence.
That he and others had been found inciting the Dalits,
on New Year’s Eve in 2017, upset elites.
Police had searched his home last year and found CDs and books,
the kinds that one would find in homes of criminals and crooks.
The judge asked pointedly why he possessed such tomes as these,
like those about about another country’s troubles—”War and Peace”.

Badri Suwecele is a poet of India. Many people may have “War and Peace” by Russian prosaist Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910) in their homes for many years on end to see if they can actually get to the end of it.


The Idea

            by Erisbawdle Cue

The  i-

            dea                         now, Maia, is                                     how to get       more    to                                          get                   beyond    to

the place                         where we are                         not             then— but                                                             now,                                                       like ne-    on lights off and

   on                 and running                                                 in-    to the jungle, like a bengal tiger                                                 in                                                 In-                         dia,                         o,                         yes.                 

What am I striving for in life?
greaterlove, pleasure, joy, power?
tohave peace? to be without strife?
to seve magic in a flower?

In only two days—
yes, just two days—tomorrow
will be yesterday.

Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy. His free verse is often positional. Seve is a neologism meaning to see and perceive. The above poem concludes with a haiku.


In Concord
          by W. Israel Ebecud

          Ah, but,
          even dumb Adam and green Eve
          at the dawn of civilization,
          in that silver-streaming sylvan dawn,
known as the Garden of Eden,
          even, according to Moses and Milton,
          in concord,
    after the primitive rhythms
         of the hovering frondy tongues,
         in the time we now call
          the Recent Pleistocene.


The Garden of Eden
          by W. Israel Ebecud

A river went away from Eden, watering the plants;
and turned into four tributaries as it left that plot.
The first one was Pishon surrounding lands of Havilah;
there was good gold, and bdellium. Ah, sure, they had a lot.
The second river was Gihon, which went past beast and bush,
meandering along and circumnavigating Cush.
The name of the third river was Chidekel, moving to
the east of Ashur which it washed once with its fluid blue.
The fourth and final river went by label of Phirath;
but where it went, and what it touched, did any know its path?

W. Israel Ebecud is a poet of Israel. Some writers suggest the term Recent Pleistocene should not be used, and refer to the last 10,000+ years as the Holocene; however some scientists consider that it should be included in the Pleistocene. Even geology has its controversies. His first poem is in positional free verse and the second is a tennos.


Anti-Immigrant Attacks
          by Badrue Ecsweli

South African police arrested eighty rioters,
as roving gangs attacked the shops of mainly foreigners.
Nigerians and Ethiopians were among those,
whose properties were vandalized, whose buildings had been torched.
In both Johannesburg and in Pretoria—five deaths—
raised fears that foreigners again were being targetted,
as in 2008, when sixty people had been killed,
or 2015, when another seven lives were stilled.
They pelted businesses with rocks and petrol bombs—these hoods—
and then rushed in and emptied shelves and ran off with the goods.

Badrue Ecsweli is a poet of South Africa. South Africa, a nation of 55,000,000, is home to an estimated 5,000,000 illegal immigrants, including 3,000,000 Zimbabweans. South Africa has eleven official languages, which are alphabetically Afrikaans, English, Southern Ndebele, Northern and Southern Sotho, Swazi, Tsonga, Tswana, Venda, Xhosa, and Zulu. Though the top three lnguages are Zulu, Xhosa and Afrikaans, the fourth language in numbers, English, is the lingua franca of the nation.


Functional Analysis
          by Euclidrew Base

It has intrinsic beauty—functional analysis—
such gorgeous chalices within its varied palaces,
as well as many applications in all kinds of fields;
there are so many areas in which it brings forth yields:
such as, quantum mechanics, metric groups and PDE,
topology, geometry, and probability,
dynamic systems and approximation theory too;
there are so many areas in which it brings forth fruit.

From basic concepts, like normed vector spaces, it proceeds
through Banach spaces, and its rich and splendid properties,
to bounded operators, transformations, and the like,
duality, convergence, and dimensions to the sky.
Some of its main results include Hahn-Banach’s rooster calls,
there off the lovely side of Banach-Steinhaus’ stonehouse walls,
the Alaoglu’s cock-a-doodle-do, Krein-Milman too;
there are so many areas here on the unit blue.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Some key contributors include Swede Erik Ivar Fredholm (1866-1927), Pole Hugo Steinhaus (1887-1972), Frenchman Henri Lebesgue (1875-1941), as well as German David Hilbert (1862-1943), Austrian Eduard Helly (1884-1943), Pole Stefan Banach (1892-1945), Austrian Hans Hahn (1879-1934), Hungarian Frigyes Riesz (1880-1956), and Frenchman Maurice Fréchet (1878-1973);
and by the 1920s they had set the field on fire, a blaze of many areas, exciting, and desired. Later contributors mentioned above include Greek Leonidas Alaoglu (1914-1981), Ukrainian Mark Krein (1907-1989), and Russian-Israeli David Milman (1912-1982).


Max Thomas Scribbles
          by Scubie Dew Lear
          “I never think you should judge any country by its politics.
          After all, we English are quite honest by nature, aren’t we?”
              —Miss Froy, in “The Lady Vanishes”

He’s come back from hiatus, nearly half a decade long,
Max Thomas now is scribbling once again his ding dong song.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not quibbling with the dribbling stew,
but wonder what he’s cooking up for them and these and you.
And what will it all lead to? What’s the purpose and the aim?
Entelechy is eloquent at Clarity and Main.
There is, I do suppose, it’s possble t’ anticipate:
Will it Sit Well, as thyme grows in the garden of the Grayt?
I only know of late, he’s come back from hiatus, yet
he paused a moment not to say a thing. Will I forget?

Scubie Dew Lear is a poet interested in the works of Arthur Conan Doyle.


          by Ileac Burweeds

Perhaps the oldest living things on Earth
are bristlecone pine trees, which can reach up
in age to almost fifty-hundred years.
Analysis of rings within their trunks
can possibly reveal the isotopes
that they ingested centuries ago.

Ileac Burweeds is a poet of plant life. One wonders, if in some forms life can last 5,000 years, what are life’s possibilities?


A California Couple
          by Cal Wes Ubideer

They walked amid the great Sequoia trees,
dwarfed by their towering and shadowed trunks.
The sunlight filtered down. They were at peace
amongst those dark and aged, growing hunks.
They held each other close, within their arms.
Their hearts were beating uncontrollably.
They strolled along, enthralled by thrilling charms,
two lovers under leafy canopy.
They passed a long log laying on the ground.
They felt as if this was a wonderland.
They heard each other only, and the sound
of an occasional bird in that stand,
and stood the test of love; but time moved on,
and passed them by, and now they both are gone.


Off California
          by Cal Wes Ubideer

The tragedy is unrelenting for the families
of those aboard Conception, the dive-boat up in flames.
Once called the crown-jew-él of live-aboard dive-boats, it now
is on the ocean floor—off California—up-side-down.
The thirty-four who died below were burned up in the blaze;
but five crew members on the deck survived in that mad haze.
They jumped the ship. Who wouldn’t? But weren’t they the ones who were
responsible for keeping safe the people down below?
Oh, woe! Oh, no! What happened up above? What caused this stir?
that blaze that took the lives of Californians on that shore?


An LA Scene From an Unknown Movie
          by Cal Wes Ubideer

Not all scenes in LA are photogenic ones,
here’s one with empty bottles on the window ledge,
left over French fries, napkins and hamburger buns,
a cheap electric fan, bare feet at the bed’s edge,
long legs and arms extending from the shorts and shirt,
an ashtray filled with cigarette butts, a tired wretch
asleep in an apartment filled with dust and dirt,
and an alarm clock. Fingers stop its ringing noise,
and then this man falls on his back again ungirt.
Exhausted, he has had a night out with the boys.
His eyes are closed. He stretches out, touched by the sun’s
faint rays. He grabs a butt, lights it, and puffs in poise.

He’s late for work again. He gets up, throws on pants,
steps out the door and fights the lock, fights with his key.
He walks down cement stairs to garbage in the grass,
then steps across the sun-lit street casually.
Above the cyclone fence around the unkempt field
on the horizon, he is able next to see
the towering skyscrapers of LA revealed,
realities so far removed they seem unreal,
rectangular, high, distant, narrow buildings steeled,
gray, amber, auburn, crossed by lines of white, black, teal.
He moves along the sidewalk, small, poorly heeled, against
those mighty fixtures. Worn so, it’s not awe he feels.

Cal Wes Ubideer is a poet of California. In the first poem, a sonnet, the picture draws from a moving picture northern California scene from Hitchcock’s Vertigo. The second docupoem, a tennos, refers to this week’s tragedy, of which most of the victims were northern Californians. The third is a pair of bildings.


The Hand-Held Rotary Rock Drill
          by Rawcee Buildes

Atop the rock drill is the handle and its handle bolt,
the air control valve for the drilling, constant, pounding jolt;
the handle of the throttle valve, the pawl and rathchet part,
the rifle bar rotating piston sitting at its hearrt;
the air control for blowing and the air post for exhaust,
the riflenut and piston on the piston stem embossed;
down to rope-threaded, hollow drill, made of drill steel, bit,
and finally the steel retainer, curving from the pit.
In 1912, it came to be, by Simon Ingersoll,
inventor of the hand-held drill, in rock to force a hole.

Rawcee Buildes is a poet of construction. Simon Ingersoll (1818-1894) was an American dreamer, inventor and ingenious mechanic. His first invention was a wedge-and-plug cutting machine. He also invented an early steam–powered car, a friction clutch, a gate latch, and a spring scale. His most important invention, the Ingersoll rock drill brought him no financial reward, although his steam-powered percussion rock drill was a major advancement in the mining and construction industries. He founded the Ingersoll Rock Drill Company, which is now Ingersoll Rand.


          by Raucee Buildes

The limestone kilns for making concrete do add dear
to carbon that’s emitted to the planet every year.
The ancient Roman engineers used hemp in mortar for
the building of their bridges, and a lot of structures more.

Hempcrete’s a new alternative to regular concrete;
the modular and inter-locking bricks are cleaner—sweet.
As it is mixed with clay or lime, it still takes carbon in,
and better ventilation too is just another win.

Because it’s fire resistant, it can regulate the temp.
It captures CO2, each cubic meter built of hemp.
Developed 30 years ago in France, it has progressed
to build new homes and buildings, in which people can invest.

Rawcee Buildes is a poet of construction, mining and geology. Hempcrete is a bio-composite material of hemp hurds and lime used in construction and insulation.


A Man Eating a Grapefruit
          by Carb Deliseuwe

He grasps the golden globule in his hand
and slowly peels off the appealing skin.
A yellow grapefruit is his to command.
His lips ope’ up, as he takes it all in.
The bitter, sour juice is biting, sweet.
He takes another piece. It is quite nice.
It spikes his appetite. He likes to eat
it up—each succulent delicious slice.
He does not stop, except to pause to feel
the joy that journeys down his hardened throat.
He pulls apart the pinkish parts; a wheel
of happiness surrounds his aural float.
So brief it passes by. It’s hard to think
where it has gone, into where it must sink.


The Salmonberry
          by Carb Deliseuwe

The salmonberry, Rubus spectabilis, looks
like a golden raspberry hanging on the bush.
Although it isn’t used by very many cooks,
it’s still delicious, when it hasn’t turned to mush,
or nearby birds have not destroyed its luscious fruit.
Around the border of my lot it likes to push,
and constantly gets in my way—each stickered shoot—
when I am mowing. Up to four feet high, hardwood
sinewy branches branch about above the root;
and though its antioxidental content’s good,
it is a nuissance and unwanted when it brooks
my criticism and attempts to make a brood.

Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food.