by “Wired Clues” Abe

A lone crow cawing
upon the telephone pole
is joined by a crow.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Chirping cicadas,
wind-up, clicking machines, screech
above lawn sprinklers.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Fireworks splatter
red splashes, white lights, blue swaths:
the 4th of July.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a haiku writer of technology.


From Every Direction
          by Caud Sewer Bile

Out of the West came forth the roaring, horrid cries of war,
that left all of us changed forever, living on this shore.
Out of the North came forth harsh cold that left our faces raw,
that shocked our systems with its brutal energy and law.
Out of the East came forth the insignificance of life,
the viciousness of struggle and the savagery of strife.
Out of the South came forth the burning blast of searing winds,
the maddening, upsetting noise, the raging, human din.
North, East, West, South—the news came forth. Relentlessly it came.
The Solar Disk exploded constantly; each instant flamed.

Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of journalism, which he calls yellow urinalism.


The Girl With Seven Names
          by Dae Wi “Scrub” Lee

She was the girl from North Korea; she had seven names.
At eighteen she fled tyranny but drowned in China’s maze.
She fled the famine and the misery that she had seen
and crossed the frozen Yalu River—Hyeon-seo Lee.
She had to live with relatives in China carefully,
as an illegal immigrant, who hid clandestinely.
She bought a new ID, pretending to be someone else.
She acted challenged mentally; she could not be herself.
Then finally she got to South Korea, freed from hell.
and later, family escaped the Communists with help.

Dae Wi “Scrub” Lee is a poet of Korea. Hyeon-seo Lee’s book about her, and later her family members’ escape is entitled “The Girl With Seven Names”.


          by Seer Ablicadew

Our of new-mown grass,
he tried to pull a rabbit.
It leapt for the fence:
bones, flesh and all, in motion,
awakened, frenzied jump-jolt.


          by Seer Ablicudew
          “You will attack the Westland.”
              —Marduk, Babylonian inscription

It was a social cult of insurrectionality
that idolized and worshipped but one personality;
He was put in, installed as such. He was called OxiRam.
He was protector of the masses for whom he’d do harm
to any enemy who did not follow him awoke,
to any enemy who would not fall before his yoke.
Indoctrination followed fast initiation’s work,
all freedoms banned for any who did not obey his Word.
His justice was terrific as his global mobs proclaimed,
and everywhere he went was universally acclaimed.

Seer Ablicudew is a poet of prophecy.


A Revolutionary Change
          by Cid Wa’eeb El Sur

Around ten thousand years ago in western Asian lands,
a revolutionary change in food production chanced
to come about, that is, domesticating animals
and cultivating plants. Food thus became reliable.

Cid Wa’eeb El Sur is a poet of Mesopotamia.


The Dodo
          by Scubie Dew Lear

He dodged the sun, the dodo, when the sailors hunted him
and introduced invasive species to Mauritius.
Proposing then a caucus race in order to get dry,
the dodo said let everyone leave off whene’er they like;
that way each person entered in this crazy race can win,
including even jabberwockies from the loony bin
The jubjub and the bandersnatch galumphing with the snark,
all mimsy, frumious, and beamish on the Cutty Sark,
then sailed away and vanished at the setting of the sun,
the dodo having since retired t’ unbridled biddledom.

Scubie Dew Lear is a poet of biddledom. The extinct dodo was endemic to Mauritius, an island nation of 1,200,000 east of Madagascar, Africa. Lewsi Carroll (1832-1898) was a Victorian, British poet and mathematician, from which many of the neologisms come. Introduced pigs and macaques may have been more instrumental in the demise of the dodo than humans.


A Change in the Narrative
          by Cadwel E. Bruise
          “…a pretty large number of the inhabitants of Boston…”
              —Nathaniel Hawthorne, “The Scarlet Letter”

The light I saw in Boston grew much dimmer every day,
as the Bostonians began to toss their works away.
Anne Bradstreet couldn’t make the grade, the tenth muse had to go,
along with Taylor, Hawthorne and crude Edgar Allan Poe.

Longfellow, too, would have to leave with Lowell and Wittier.
Thoreau was never wanted; none could get much grittier.
Holmes too would have to leave with Sprague and spinster Dickinson,
and what about Alcott and Holmes, as well as Emerson?

It’s even time for Mother Goose to take a bow and fly.
That Boston had a literary past was juat a lie.
Apparently, the lettered birthplace of America,
to no surpise, was not in Boston. Change the narrative.

In this unprecedented time of a global pandemic, it is important to listen to those on the front line, the doctors and the nurses, those who face disease daily. With over 3,000,000 cases of COVID-19, the US leads the World, followed by Brazil, India, and Russia. With over 100,000 deaths, the US leads the World in COVID-19 deaths, followed by Brazil, UK, Italy and Mexico. The reliability of low data is questionable in countries, like China, where nurses and doctors who say things the Communist Party doesn’t like are disappeared. But, even in the US, some doctors and nurses voices are being discounted.


Words of Nursing Dean Doctor Neal-Boylan
          by Cadwel E. Bruise

“I despair
for our future as a nation,
if we do not stand up against
violence against anyone.

Black lives matter,
but also, every life matters.

No one should have to live in fear
that they will be targeted
for how they look or what they believe.”

Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England. The words of Nursing Dean Doctor Neal-Boylan which caused her to be summarily terminated from UMass, condemned without trial, remind me of the Salem witch trials, which Hawthorne attacked in “The Scarlet Letter”, and which Arthur Miller (1915-2005) used in “The Crucible” as a metaphor for persecuting others of differing views.


Remembering Billy
          by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree

When Billy came into the town, men-folk would turn away.
They didn’t want to be shot down and tossed into the hay.
But there was one guy who would not be cowered by his gun.
He would stand up and face him squarely in the blinding sun;
or as it happened near midnight; he came with attitude.
A man sprang quickly to the door, a stout, bareheaded dude.
Barefooted, or in stockings, a revolver in his hand,
he came directly toward him, o, Pat Garrett, sat there, man.

He came up close to Pat, and leaned both hands upon the bed.
His right hand almost touched his knee. “Who are they, Pete?” he said.
At that same instant, Maxwell whispered out, “That’s him!” He fled,
and raised his pistol, a self-cocker, to his chest, and head.
He drew his own revolver, shot, and threw his bod’, perforce.
He gasped for breath, he never spoke, so beautiful his corpse.
The Kid was with his many victims; Pat was still alive.
He did his best to meet that test, and did not take a dive.

“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of the Wild West. Pat Carrett (1850=1906) was an American sheriff, who shot Billy the Kid, i. e., William Bonney (1859-1881), an American outlaw.