Wise Words with Bruce Wise

 

The World Before Us
          by R. Lee Ubicwedas

I want the many raptures of inspiration,
to explore places I have never been to,
to rise and roll in the carol of creation,
to discover before my very eyes the new,
now, unknown, o, do you see what I mean? If so,
let us go then, You and I, to these places, to
explore and explode in the shadows of our soles.
Let’s take to the open road, healthy, free, the World
before us, ready to extend all of our goals,
to see a million new things unveiled and unfurled,
marching forth into greater emancipation,
like grand cannonball-projectiles—lit, fired and hurled.

R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of ubiquity. Whitman, Hopkins, and Eliot inform this bilding.

~~~

Tanka
          by “Lice Brews” Ueda

Out in the cold air,
wind picks up a dead, brown leaf,
and swirls it around,
like as a robin scurries
after little bug or worm.

 

Hunter’s Moon, 2019
          by “Lice Brews” Ueda

The pale, ugly moon
shoves its dirty, yellow face
into Earth’s dark space.

“Lice Brews” Ueda is a poet of English and Japanese forms. The Hunter’s Moon is the full moon following the Harvest Moon. In northern climes, when leaves have fallen, deer have fattened up, and harvesters have cleared their fields, it makes it easier to see the animals under the light of what is referred to as the Hunter’s Moon.

~~~

Corruption
          by Bilee Wad Curse

Corruption’s everywhere across the body politic;
upon its purple throne of power, most become lovesick.
How many long to enter in its lush, alluring halls.
O, kick back leisurely and ride its raging waterfalls.
The trades one makes, the roles one takes, the biggest are the best.
Who gives a damn whom one might hurt; one wants that treasured chest.
From potentates to billionaires to gorgeous prostitutes;
corruption draws the powerful, the wealthy and the brutes.
O, have a seat, the ride is wild. Hold on for dear life.
Corruption’s rampant here beneath the blue and brilliant b-light.

Bilee Wad Curse is a poet of crime. He loves the World’s beauty, but is overwhelmed by its ugliness at times, which is found in Afghanistan, Albania, Algeria, Angola, Argentina, Armenia, Australia, Austria, Azebaijan,…, Uzbekistan, Venezuela, Vietnam, Yemen, Zambia, Zimbabwe.

~~~

We Never Swim in the Raw
          by Eber L. Aucsidew

Let the man tell the situation.
We’re all livin’ in a jollipoporama.
It’s gotta be safe for the baby.
There’s too much sewage and pollution.
When you go home and toot your mama,
recall especially the water is our gravy.

We never swim in the Nile.
We never swim the Niger. Uh huh.
We never swim the Congo.
We never swim Zambezi.

We never swim the Jordan.
We never swim the Tigris. Oh, ya?
We never swim Euphrates.
We never swim in the Syr.

We never swim the Indus.
We never swim the Krishna. Ho Humm.
We never swim the Ganges.
nor swim the Brahmaputra.

We never swim the Chang Jiang.
We never swim the Huang He. Lies. Lies.
We never swim the Mekong.
We never swim the Salween.

It’s not a good idea.
I tell you that’s the way it is.
Get the professor’s data,
or research it yourself.

We never swim in the Ob.
We never swim the Lena. Cool.
We never swim in the Don.
We never swim the Volga.

We never swim the Danube.
We never swim the Wesla. Well, then?
We never swim in the Rhine.
We never swim in the Elbe.

We never swim the Tiber.
We never swim in the Po. Who does?
We never swim the Tagus.
We never swim the Ebro.

We never swim in the Rhône.
We never swim in the Seine. Insane.
We never swim in the Loire.
We never swim in the Thames.

It’s not a good idea.
I tell you that’s the way it is.
Get the professor’s data,
or research it yourself.

We won’t swim the Saint Lawrence.
nor Snake-Columbia. Yawn.
We never swim MacKenzie.
We never swim the Yukon.

We never swim Ohio.
We never swim Missouri. You lie.
nor swim the Rio Grande.
nor swim the Mississippi.

We won’t swim Orinoco.
We never swim Amazon. Piranas.
We never swim Paraná.
nor Rio de la Plata.

We never swim the Murray.
We never swim the Darling. Of course.
We never swim in the broth,
nor swim the Murrumbidgee.

Let the man tell the situation.
We’re all livin’ in a jollipoporama.
It’s gotta be safe for the baby.
There’s too much sewage and pollution.
When you go home and toot your mama,
recall especially the water is our gravy.

Eber L. Aucsidew is a poet of air and water. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, a jollipoporama is the jolly panorama of life, that is, the carol of creation The rivers mentioned are from Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, South America, and Australia.

~~~

Damodar Pollution
          by Badri Suwecele

The Damodar ‘s one of the most polluted rivers known,
like Jharkand liquid waste at Tenu Ghat in Bokaro.
In th’ area of Jharia coalfields, thousands groan,
especially if they drink its waters, illness comes with moans.
The water that’s supplied from Jamadoba’s water plant
had been suspended since pollution’s visibly rampánt.
The horror is the waste that’s dumped into the Damodar
is so much that it can be seen by people from afar.
Officals fear that waste from the Bokaro Steel Plant
has been released, alas, industrial dumped lubricants.

Badri Suwecele is a poet of India. The Damodar River in Jhardkand and West Bengal is the most polluted river in India. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, rampánt is a neologism meaning ramped up.

~~~

The Sino-American Negotiations Continue
          by Aw “Curbside” Lee
          “Trump’s not a politician; he’s a business man.”
              —Steve Pieczenik

The Chinese foreign ministry said Tuesday that the two—
US and China—now are on the same page of phase one;
that is, at least the outlines of a comprehensive deal;
the World watches carefully: Will it be war or peace?
From an “enforcement mechanism”, language has been changed,
to “dispute resolution”—China needed rearranged.
Lighthizer thought a trade enforceability’s required;
because of China’s history of failing to comply.
Details will be coming, if and when a deal’s made;
since ruthless Middle Kingdom Reds aren’t honest in a trade.

Aw “Curbside” Lee is a poet of the Chinese economy. Of negotiating team members, Vice-premier Liu He went to Harvard, Robert Lighthizer went to Georgetown, and Steven Mnuchin went to Yale.

~~~

Russian Lit
          by Alecsei Burdeew

Pushkin, Baratynsky and Yazykov
captured a classical moment in time.
They attempted and attained the sublime
before the arrival of Lermontov
or the demise of Venevítinov.
And they reached these heights in the realms of rhyme
before they were punished, each for his crime,
for man alone lives not only by a loaf.

 

Shahrizat and Shadiyar Shavkat
          by Alecsei Burdew

What chance have they—the twins—to stay in Russia, in Kazan—
at twenty-three years, Shahrizat and Shadiyar Shavkat?
For the past year, the brothers have been fighting in the courts,
they long to stay, to listen to their music and play sports.
But chances of success are slim, because they are Uighur,
though partly tartar, China wants them back into its herd.
All of their friends who have returned to China cannot speak;
they don’t pick up their phones; they’re gone; perhaps in Urumqi.
Who knows where they could be—perhaps reeducation camps—
what chance do they have, Shahrizat and Shadiyar Shavkat?

 

A Russian Gift
          by Alecsei Burdeew

Vladimir Putin gave a falcon to the Saudi King,
there at the royal palace in Riyadh in pageantry;
and he was stroking the gyrfalcon’s plumage cheerfully,
when suddenly it defecated on plush carpeting.
King Salmon, standing nearby, in the res headdress he wore,
accepted graciously the falcon shitting on the floor.
Another gift he gave the king, a sculpture, shiny, white,
was made out of the tusk of woolly mammoth ivory.
Of course, the more important gifts were economic plans
the two had signed in ceremonies of the varied lands.

Alecsei Burdew is a poet of Russia. Kazan, Russia’s sixth largest city, has a population of approximately 1,200,000. Riyadh, the capital of Saudi Arabia, has about 5,000,000 inhabitants. Alexander Pushkin (1799-1837), Yevgeny Baratynsky (1800-1844), Nikolay Yazykov (1803-1846), Dmitry Venevitinov (1805-1827), and Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841) were famous Romantic Russian poets.

~~~

The Picture
          by Cawb Edius Reel

The walls were drab and coloured puce, French Realism paint.
Two men were staring sullenly; their looks were grim and strained.
As each was wearing dog tags, one could see that they were in,
perhaps, the army or the navy, maybe the marines.

One man with tattoos on his arm was standing up and tall;
but he was looking downward at not very much at all,
perhaps a light-lit, round spot at the bottom of the cell,
but it was hard to tell exactly on what he did dwell.

The other man seemed most concerned about that same bright spot,
as if that were the only beauty in that nasty grot.
He turned about to get a better look at that lit glob.
Perhaps he was upset at what was coming—their next job.

Was their deployment visible on each man’s countenance;
for no enjoyment on their faces showed that they were tense.
The background was so dull and unappealing ‘t was as if
they were in some unhappy Whistler portait’s barren gift.

Cawb Edius Ree is a visual poet. American James Whistler (1834-1903) was a painter.

~~~

Beside the Ocean
          by Sea Curlew Bide

Our feet leave prints where we have walked the beach this night,
beside the ocean’s rooooooar, beside the ocean’s rooooooar;
and like the brave Orion, I’ve gained back the sight
I knew so well before. O, yes, I see once more
what I’d so soon forgotten, o, what I had so
soon lost, forsaken. Sailor, is this life so short?
Are we so quickly swept away from spacetime’s gold,
star constellations? o, so quickly swept away.
It is dark now, and though the stars are clear, it’s cold.
It is so cold. It makes it hard for me to stay.
O, I don’t want to go. O, let me hold this light.
Don’t let it go away…away…away…away…

Sea Curlew Bide is a poet of the sea.

~~~

The Mariner
          by Acwiles Berude

He was an ancient mariner, akin to Odysseus,
in sailor stripes and pearl strings, this worshipper of Zeus.
He bore his chalice through the fallacies of palace guards,
and held his cup up to the bards, this bearer of the gods.
He firmly held his bearded head up to the force of fate,
and could withstand the fire-fury of Achilles’ hate.
He gave his all to all who gave as much as these could give.
He was a mighty mariner who truly longed to live.
He did his best to keep his curved and floating boat on course,
through turbulent, uncharted seas to distant, twice-kissed shores.

Acwiles Berude is a poet of ancient Greece.

~~~

The Man Thucyidides
          by Esiad L. Werecub

Ktema es aei, a possession forever, for all of time, thus wrote the man Thucydides, in his story of the Peloponesian War, that history of the clash of the great cities of Athens and Sparta, that war between brother cultures, that shared a common tongue, common beliefs, and common festivals, that war like no other, set there against the backdrop of classical Greece. And though he never did complete either the war or book, perhaps because he was exiled and lost, he still did leave behind some things not seen before, destiny’s lessons, both the essence and the cost, this sifter after truth and causes of events, who since has been extolled for drama and his sense.

Esiad L. Werecub is a poet of ancient Greece, who admires the didactic epic poetry of Hesiod. Although not a fully formed werewolf, his totem is a wolf, which he imagined he was, if only momentarily, in his late teens. In the above prose-poem, ktema es aei means a possession forever, which Thucydides’ (c. 460 BC – c. 400 BC) history is.

~~~

Sense and Sensibility
          by Basil Drew Eceu

George Gordon and Jane Austin kept their heads
above the Romantic fray, that foray
into morbidity, which to this day
has left so many unravelling threads
flapping in the winds of wime. What thin shreds.
And yet, Byron and Austin could not stay
the avalanche. It would come—come what may,
and in its path all manner of Manfreds.

 

William Ernest Henley
          by Basil Drew Eceu

I saw You fall into the cold and rushing stream,
roll beneath the wheel of the Nineteenth century,
and end up in a bed, grasping for (in your dreams)
o, anything you thought might be worth venturing
after. Of course, it didn’t take that very long
to see what You were seeking was Earth’s history,
the pieces that would say that here’s where You belong.
After that it didn’t matter if You were in
Paris or Edinburgh, for you could sing your song.
Yes, finally, You would be able to begin
to do what you had always wanted to do—live.
Yes, now, You would be able to learn how to win.

Basil Drew Eceu is a poet of British literature. British novelist Jane Austen (1775-1817) wrote the novel “Sense and Sensibility”, British poet George Gordon—Byron (1788-1824) wrote the dramatic poem “Manfred”, and Bristish Victorian poet Henley (1849-1903) wrote the poem “Invictus”, which inspired Nelson Mandela. Beau Lecsi Werd states that the Postmodern word “wime” is the white, blizzard-like essence of time.

~~~

The Chain Rule
          by Euclidrew Base

The Chain Rule is a handy tool to use
when you desire to take derivatives
of function’s functions. Smoothly does it fuse
the two together into one, and gives
the answer to the question one may choose,
and, thereby, prove a true solution lives.

 

The Euler Characteristic
          by Euclidrew Base

The Euler characteristic was first observed to work
for polyhedra in geometry, o, as it were:
V – E + F is 2, if it’s a convex shape;
but surfaces need not be flat and edges not be straight,
as Poincaré, who through topology’s new purposes,
saw that it works for arbitrarily closed surfaces.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of math. The chain rule is a valuable asset in calculus, du/dx = du/dy · dy/dx, in Leibniz notation. V, volume, minus E, edges, plus F, faces, equals two. Swiss Leonhard Euler (1707-1783) and French Henri Poincaré (1854-1912) are famous figures in the annals of mathematics.

~~~

The Inspection
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

He put the top down of his new compact convertible,
and got into its back seat to inspect it—wonderful.
O, it was shiny, beautiful, a gorgeous thing withal.
He loved its shape and lines, so smooth and aeronautical.

It parked in his garage, his ladder leaning on the wall,
beside the water system box for s-p-r-i-n-k-l-i-n-g his lawn.
He paused, and seemed to be stuck in, yeh, time’s eternal law,
in contemplation of the moment’s awesome overall.

But during his inspection heavy eyelids seemed to fall;
his lips, just slightly open, were as if about to call.
His movement suddenly became much slower than a crawl,
while orbitting upon this dented, earthly, rounded ball.

 

Semi Trucks
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

Freightliner, Kenworth, Peterbilt, Mack Truck and Western Star,
along with International and Volvo really are
most popular of semi-truck brands in America;
perhaps you have seen them bobtailing you when in your car.
The semi-trucks roll down the concrete, cargo trailers towed;
they are the largest power horses one sees on the road.
When loaded up they can weigh up to 80,000 pounds,
at sixty miles-per-hour, stopping needs 100 yards.
If one is tailgating, you might want to move instead,
since that’s the length of one long football field up ahead!

Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of vehicular transportaion. His favourite columnist on the automotive industry is radio personality Ed Wallace.The five top-selling semi trucks in America (2015) were Freightliner, Kenworth, Peterbilt, International, and Volvo.

~~~

The Swiss Ball
          by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”

He had a silver Swiss ball he was exercising on,
diameter of sixty centimeters—maybe not.
In white tank-top, he struggled hard to keep his balance, o,
the ball moved every which way so he had to do it slow.
He panted as he moved upon its plastic spherelike form.
His neck was strained, as were his legs. O, he was very warm.
Nearby in a black tank-top stood his coach up over him,
commanding him which things to do with every single limb.
He had a stern judgmental look, a sneer upon his face,
as he explained what should be done right at that time and place.

 

On Touching Toes
          by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”

O, touching toes, yeh, as it goes, can be quite difficult,
requiring agility for youngster or adult.
When older, one can look quite comic, like an egg that’s cracked.
When younger, one can look quite clumsy, ludicrous, in fact.
Still, it is good for one if one can keep one’s balance fine.
Indeed, when rising, one can feel perfectly divine.
Though some can grab their ankles, some can even grab their soles,
while drinking nectar from the gods, from goblets, mugs or bowls.
O, bless’d is he or she who can reach heavenly delight,
and touch one’s toes, no matter when, o, morning, noon or night.

Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of physical exercise.

 

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