A Morning Breakfast Omlet and Orange Juice
by Carb Deliseuwe
Like an egg breaking at th’ edge of a pan,
the sun burst out in gold, translucent rays
and spread across the silver azure span
in a spectacular and blinding blaze.
I took the crystalline transparent glass
of orange juice up to my mouth and drank
the brilliant, yellow, cool, fresh, fluid mass,
as happily into the day I sank.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food and drink. It is only recently that he has supplanted his breakfast carb-rich orange juice with pomegranate juice.
A Tweet: After Jia Dao
by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
In cool, pine air,
I ask one there,
who says, “He’s gone
for balm somewhere—
some mountain lair,
so thick in fog,
Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of ancient China, Jia Dao (779-843) a Chinese Tang poet.
The Beijing Daxing International Airport
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
It has become the World’s largest airplane terminal,
just opened up—the Beijing Daxing International.
Designed by Zaha Hadid, who did Guanzhou’s Op’ra House,
the orange-bright hub took four years to build and operate.
Connected to Beijing with high-velocity speed train,
approximately fifty-some kilometers away.
The airport has six spokes around a central courtyard’s hub,
possessed of polished stone floors and huge skylights looking up.
It now has just four runways, but will have more later on
to handle tens of millions passengers to come along.
Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of China. The oldest continuous airport in the World is College Park Airport in Maryland, USA, which was established in 1909. Hadid was an Iraqi-British architect (1950-2016).
A Lovely Show of Military Might
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
Commemorating seventy years since it first began,
the Communist dictatorship of China showed its span.
Its military might was showcased in Beijing’s parade,
Troops and equipment in Tiananmin Square were displayed.
Some 15,000 soldiers marched—bot choreography—
imperial, they passed before their kingly Xi Jinping.
Among new personnel who took part at Tiananmin
were Joint Logistics Force Support and Rocket Forces men.
Among the weapons that the Communists showed off were these:
the Dongfeng carrier destroyer, brand new UAVs,
the intercontinental hypersonic missile round,
that can maneuver sharply many times the speed of sound,
Z-20 medium lift helicopters flying by,
and aerial refueling jet-formations in the sky.
It brought proud Communists in power wonderful delight;
in all, it was a lovely show of military might.
Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of NewMillennial, imperialist China. UAVs are unmanned aerial vehicles. The people of Hong Kong continue to protest Chinese Communist totalitarianism; they fear losing their freedoms and their liberty.
A Photoshoot in Patna
by Badri Suwecwele
Three days of heavy rain, in Patna, Bihar’s capital,
have brought it to a standstill, flooding homes and hospitals.
Three teams of National Disaster Forces were deployed,
as many areas about the city were destroyed.
Amidst the waterlogged streets and the muddy monsoon streams,
a woman in red dress appeared—it was Aditi Singh.
She’d gone to do a photoshoot to show the city’s state,
a Mermaid in Disaster there, in Patna sit-u-ate.
While some appreciated seeing pictures of the streets,
some criticized romanticizing a calamity.
Badri Suwecele is a poet of India. Patna, is in northeastern India, is a city of approximatly 2,000,000. Saurabh Anuraj was the photographer and poster of the pics on-line.
The Russian Man in Paris, France
by Rus Ciel Badeew
He stood upon a balcony in Paris, France, and looked, as if he were a spy, out of the corners of his eyes, in chesty shirt and short white pants, a Russian apprehensive even of the floor. He looked like he was standing in a witness stand. He gazed out over roof-tops, while faced toward the door. The placement of head, chest, arms, legs and feet seemed planned. There was naught there but p(r)ose, tense torso rising over vertical and horizontal bars, behind, a building staid in gray and beige in windowed row. But that which was the most noteworthy in his stance was his left wrist, bent at an angle just below his abdomen, a single twist of fate—askance.
Rus Ciel Badeew is a poet of Russia and Russians, even when they are outside of Russia, as in this prose poesy.
by Euclidrew Base
Elliptic functions can be viewed as generalities
of inverse triggered functions found in trigonometry.
They can provide solutions to a wider class of blips,,
like the computing of an arc length of a curved ellipse,
or the position of a pendulum—displacements large.
As a conveyance they’re an intellectu’lly grand barge.
Elliptic functions also can be used in problems of
electromagnetism, where its powers are to love,
or solving gravitation problems one might come to meet;
they are without a doubt attractive, beautiful, discrete.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of math and mathematicians. German mathematician Carl Gustave Jacob Jacobi (1804-1851) put elliptic functions on the map with his work of 1829, Fundamenta nova theoriae functionum ellipticarum.
by Wibera Esculde
What else remains of once impressive walls
surrounding Córdoba, except some gates
and damaged towers, Calahorra crenellates
beside Guadalquivir’s tan, sandy sprawls.
O fertile plain, o soaring hills, dawn calls
us out into the presence of its greats:
the glory of the sword—Gonzalo Fernández—
and pen—Luis de Góngora—gold scrawls.
Its dullness rides; its brilliant ride commands.
Into this city what has not been hurled?
The Great Cathedral in the Great Mosque stands.
Three hundred thousand dwell amidst a world
of Roman, Visigoth and Moorish strands
out of which Spain’s alloy has been unhurled.
Wibera Esculde is a poet of Iberia. Gonzalo Fernández (1453-1515) was a Spanish general, Luis de Góngora (1561-1627) a Spanish poet, one of Esculde’s favourites.
The Katzenjammer Kids
by Wederic Eubals
In 1897, came The Katzenjammer Kids,
the comic strip by Rudolph Dirks for William Randolph Hearst.
Dirks was the first cartoonist to in-var-i-a-bly use
his featured comic figures’ dialogue in speech ballOOns.
However, it became The Captain and the Kids, when Dirks
quit working for the overbearing William Randolph Hearst.
His Hans and Fritz were ever getting spankings for their pranks
upon der Captain, der Inspector, Mama, or all three.
Dirks’ animated strip possessed a robust energy,
which, while it lasted, blasted with enthusiasm—thanks.
Wederic Eubals is a German satirical goofball, who loves Till Eulenspiegel’s merry pranks and Baron von Münchhausen’s marvellous travels and campaigns.Be Kitschig points out that Katzenjammer (cat wailing) means a pretty bad hangover or feeling blue in German. He used to love to come home on Sundays and read the colourful Sunday comic strips with licorice as a bonus. Hearst (1863-1951) was an American publisher.
No Army Sits in Arnhem
by Cees Wilerd Bui
The sky, the landscape, and the river rolling through the town;
the image at the end of the wide corridor is brown.
It is a picture of a faded episode of war.
It is a group of panthers stirring, purring at the door.
The time has gone. The fire is extinguished. It is night.
There is no elevator hum. There is no office light.
There is no word of tenderness. The horror has dropped off.
The bridge has been rebuilt. There is no person left to scoff.
No army sits in Arnhem, now a city filled with cars.
We may have gone a bridge too far. It’s hard to find a scar.
Cees Wilerd Bui is a poet of the Netherlands. Recently the 75th anniversary of the Battle of Arnhem took place there. The Dutch city Arnhem has a population of about 150,000.
The Top Five US Metropolitan Areas
by Urbawel Cidese
Uptight New York taxis, laidback LA surfers,
coldhearted Chicagoans goin’, totin’ guns,
are packing Dallas-Fort-Worth Metroplex stampede:
Houston, we have a problem—hoofers ramped on speed.
Urbawel Cidese is a poet of urban spaces. NYC-Newark, NJ ≈ 20,000,000; LA-Long Beach-Anaheim ≈ 13,000,000; Chicago-Naperville-Elgin ≈ 9,500,000; Dallas-Fort Worth-Arlington ≈ 7,500,000; and Houston-The Woodlands-Sugarland ≈ 7,000,000. Boston-Cambridge-Newton is 10th @ ≈ 5,000,000. Populations are only approximate, as the last census was in 2010. Finishing out the top 10 are 6th, Washington, Alexandria, Arlington DC ≈ 6,000,000; 7th, Miami-Fort Lauderdale-West Palm Beach ≈ 6,000,000; 8th, Philadelphia-Camden-Wilmington ≈ 6,000,000; and 9th, Atlanta-Sandy Springs-Roswell ≈ 6,000,000.
by Esca Webuilder
Bug-bounty hackers comb for program vuln’rabilities
across the Internet for many diverse companies;
and they can earn good money for the problems they unearth;
with seven billion on the planet, there is not a dearth.
Among the groups now running hacker-powered programs are
consumer goods, the megacorporation superstores,
the telecoms, banks, automotives, blockchain industries,
big governments, and those involved in cryptocurrencies.
Rewards for those adept at this can be quite large at times,
by helping keep the Internet securer from new crimes.
Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet.
Go, Spot, Go
by AI Welder, “Cubes”
“You are a machine.”
Bostón Dynamics has a yellow-black machine called Spot,
that climbs up stairs, traverses rough terrain, a dog-like bot.
Its battery is swappable, with ninety-minute run,
its speed 1.6 meters-per-sec means it moves along.
Avoiding obstacles and people at work-site locales,
its vision is 360, cameral, binocular.
It’s built to withstand wet and dusty work environments;
autonomously solving many work requirements.
Accessible, it has a customizable platform;
its payload capability is fourteen kilograms.
It’s small enough to use indoors; it’s tough enough outside.
It joins the pack, Pick, Handle, Atlas, Legasy, in stride.
AI Welder, “Cubes” is a poet of artificial intelligence.. Headquartered in Waltham, MA, Boston Dynamics is a subsidiary of Japanese conglomerate SoftBank Group.
by Des Wercebauli
He was as square as a measuring tape wound up—
the carpenter—with hammer firmly in his hand
and tools upon his belt, as if he would erupt
in building any moment at a calm command.
Unlike the cuckoo or the cowbird, he would make
a brand new house; but he would have you understand
he could not live in it. He only worked his stake,
and then he took off, leaving heart and soul behind.
He would tell you that that was all that he could take.
He’d have to get another job, some new task find,
to keep on working, with no time to interrupt
his livelihood, the constant challenge of his mind.
by Des Wercebauli
In summer heat one ever needs one’s H-VAC working well,
because at times one gets so hot, one feels like one’s in hell.
One time I tried to change its filter, but didn’t turn it off.
That raging, wild and windy bull—I fought—o, how I fought.
I barely managed to retrieve th’ air filter from that blast.
I nearly passed out on my ass, b-l-e-e-d-i-n-g, in pain, alas.
But I was thankful when the H-VAC worker came to help,
and calmed that stupid idiot, that wet and sweating whelp.
He was an inspiration with his knowledge and his aid.
I was so thankful for his work. I hope he was well paid.
by Des Wercebauli
Two workers in the factory were working very hard;
they had been posted to a drab and rather quiet part.
Both wore black-trimmed beige work shoes that were rugged, tough and smart,
there strug-gl-ing and la-bour-ing near large back warehouse door.
But though the two were working on the same contruction piece,
their countenances were unique, one tense and one at peace.
I could not tell exactly what they each were working on,
but they were very focused on their manufacturing.
Those strong hard-working gentlemen inspired me to work
as hard as they were working: O, do not attempt to shirk.
Des Wercebauli is a poet of work. For four years he worked in a paper mill in various departments, rolling huge, thick, hard, brown, cardboard-heavy paper to small thin, flimsy, colourful paper, the paper sacks section, jitney driver and loader, industrial janitor, and chemical mixer. It was a good-paying job, but very hard, and sometimes dangerous. The work was, at first, a bit of a shock to his system, especially when one young husband and father died in one of the deadly vats.
That One Guy in a Million
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
Long-dstance tra-il runner Thomas Stanley had bad luck.
He was a lean and hardy guy who loved to trek and truck.
But near the end of Flatrock 50K on Saturday,
September 28, the lightning struck, he passed away.
Near Independence, Kansas, near the race’s finish line,
the runner, in his tank-top, shorts and sport shoes, lost his life.
Near th’ race’s end, the gaunt, athletic thirty-three-year-old
had done the off-road sections and was running on paved road.
He’d left behind the rugged path along Elk River Trail,
that one guy in a million struck by lightning, and was killed.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of sports. Independence, Kansas, is a town of around 9,000. Its heyday was in the early 1900s when it grew to a town of about 12,000.
The Billiards Player
by Reid Wes Cuebal
I saw him playing billiards by the green baize table spread.
He found the cue stick on the wall, the balls below were hard.
He studied very carefully the shot that he would make.
He analyzed it thoroughly. O, which path would it take?
He placed his left-hand fingers on the “felt” beside the ball.
He longed to hit it perfectly. He angled nice and tall.
Nearby his adversary tried to quietly distract;
his fists were clenched, as were his lips; he would not overact.
The shooter then stepped back a bit, positioning himself,
and hit his shot off to the pocket, smoothly o’er the “veldt”.
Reid Wes Cuebal is a poet of pool. He has a love of billiards, which he gives himself to, when he can. For some unknown reason the game absorbs the very fabric of his being.
by Dec E. Uwr Blaise
I saw the fireman next to a fire hydrant post.
He had connected up his hose. The place was hot as toast.
Bright orange flames were burning wi-ld-ly out of control.
He took his hose and sprayed and sprayed. He sprayed with lots of soul.
He kept his hose secure and firm, so ‘t would not move about.
What was the chance that he could put that blazing fire out?
The gushing, rushing, flushing force was more than most could take,
but sturdily he kept it up, though he began to bake.
He got so hot he thought he ought to back off from the heat,
but he would go until the job he worked on was complete.
Dec E. Uwr Blaise is a poet of firefighting. A “deckie” in Detroit is a firefighter on the back of the fire engine. He weekly sees the firefighters of his community, whom he loves because of all they do. They are an inspiration to him because of their dedication and their sacrifice.
by Carb Deliseuwe
“I want some wine.”
He was a connoisseur of wine. He loved to sip.
He could spend hours testing, tasting a bouquet
at his suburban home or on a business trip.
He loved to drink wine, whether it was night or day,
but he especially liked night, slumped in a chair
or on the floor, the ruby liquid on display.
He’d turn the glass up to his lips to drink it there
and savored every drop as it passed by his beard.
He loved night’s black straps closing in beyond his hair
upon head, face, chin, arms, wherever it appeared.
He could not help himself. He had to take a nip.
It was the closest to perfection he had neared.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food and drink.
I Warble Seduce
It happens all so suddenly.
One’s simply walking down an aisle,
doing something ordinary,
and one’s hit by a touch of bile.
It doesn’t take that long, and then
that touch of mild disgust becomes
an avalanche of longing, yen.
The heart goes pounding like ten drums.
What’s happened? One’s transported, swept
up in a maelstrom of wild winds.
One falters. One becomes inept.
It’s quiet, but one hears such dins.
The racing heart’s enamored, and
one wonders what has just occurred.
How can a person understand
such rushing flows without a word?
It happens unexpectedly.
One cannot reproduce its stay.
One finds it accidentally,
and then it flees. It runs away.
When one has just been smitten, caught
off guard, it is not easily
forgot. It pops into one’s thought—
o, such an odd, but pleasing thing.
by I Warble Seduce
I felt like Romeo when viewing Juliet,
who stood upon the garden balcony at night.
I was excited, flush with love, ebullient;
for here I was beneath the moon, bathed by its light.
I longed to kiss those gorgeous lips between such cheeks.
I felt so lithe and blithe, filled up with much delight.
I wanted so to touch those curves of softest pinks.
I gazed upon the lushest flesh my eyes had seen.
Here was the purling sea my open island seeks.
Here was the purest form, as close as I could be.
Here was the truest beauty I could ever get.
Pale white, I turned away. And now I’m green with spleen.
I Warble Seduce is a poet of amour.