by “Wired Clues” Abe
A thunderbird soars
above the high-flying clouds.
A jumbo jet drops.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a haiku poet of technology.
The Comet Neowise
by Seer Ablicudew
It’s passing closest to the Earth—now—Comet Neowise.
It can be seen in night’s horizon as it starts its rise.
But it will soon begin to fade, with its divided tail,
as it proceeds—this new Earth object. See its trailing sail.
Wide-field Infrared Survéy Explorer caught its op,
the first now visible, by naked eye, since Hale-Bopp.
What doth th’ uncouth soothsayer say? Beware the tides—July?
If Julius were here where we are, nowise would he sigh.
Amidst these many pestilences, Caesar, send a sign.—
Could this be that which I have seen—the Comet Neowise?
Seer Ablicudew is a poet of prophecy.
Censoring the People, Yes
by Udawe Bericles
“Let my people speak.”
—Israel W. Ebecud
G-Mafia’s at it again in censoring free speech.
They do not want the people saying what they feel and think.
Another instance of this home-grown terroristic plot
is Amazon now blocking a new “Killing Free Speech” doc.
Ironic’lly they’re doing what the video portrays;
Big Tech does not desire to hear what citizens might say.
Our First Amendment Rights are being stifled by Big Tech.
The robber barons are alive and well this very sec.
And not surprisingly the Main Stream Media agrees;
WaPost is owned by Bezos; they will do just as they please.
Udawe Bericles is a poet of oratory.
The Prisoners in Manacles in Xinjiang
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
The prisoners in manacles in western China were
just on a day out, stated the Chinese ambassador.
The picture shows the people kneeling, shaven, wearing blinds.
They’re being led to trains by guards—to trains—relaxing binds.
The Communist ambassador explained there are no coops,
and Uighur people live in peace with other ethnic groups.
So orderly they’re herded; there are no corrals or ramps.
They all are off to wonderful re-education camps.
Maps show 500 camps are operational—a craze—
in Xinjiang where millions live in harmony these days.
Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of China.
by Sri Wele Cebuda
“The smart pig built his house with bricks.”
—Scubie Dew Lear
He got into the lotus pose on the divine divan.
He hummed his OMG, o, open, like a whirring fan.
He spread his legs out to each side, as flat as he could go.
He longed to open up into eternity’s gold glow.
He felt so peaceful, o, so good, his inner eye awake.
He felt as if he were about to overtake love’s ache.
He raised his head and shoulders up. He contemplated time.
He loved to travel in the realms of love and the sublime.
Although he knew a wolf was huffing, puffing at his door,
o, ostentatiously he kept on humming more and more.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of yoga and India.
The Filling of Grand Renaissance
by Luwe Recs Abede
As Ethiopia begins the filling of its dam,
Grand Renaissance upon Blue Nile, just east of the Sudan,
The downstream nations were upset, especially Egypt, since
its farmers and its people need the water for their crops.
But Ethiopia, as well, needs water for its land,
as well as for its people; and then there is still Sudan.
Somehow they’ll have to share the priceless water of the Nile,
the longest World river, length of some 4000 miles.
Although objections came from Cairo and Khartoum this month,
this is the rainy season, Abiy Ahmed said thums up.
Luwe Recs Abede is a poet of Ethiopia. Abiy Ahmed, leader of Ethiopia, won the Nobel Peace Prize in 2019.
Odysseus at Sea
by Acwiles Berude
Odysseus was caught between two forces on the sea:
Charybdis was on one side, right, while Scylla was alee.
Upon the bumpy sea he sailed, waves rolled underneath his boat.
He wondered if he could endure and still remain afloat.
No matter where he looked he was cribbed in by enemies.
Poseidon, first and foremost, would do anything he pleased.
He moved to Scylla skillfully; he had to take the hit,
there at Messina Strait, there was no getting out of it.
But though sore-tried, he made it though the rocks of Sicily
and those at Calabria’s shore in southern Italy.
Acwiles Berude is a poet of ancient Greece.
by Liudwecas Bere
God too, and language patched from languages. And how again?
Who would I be if I were not who I am now—a man.
of unknown faith, my head out on its own mental voy’ge?
Ich bin gar keine Russin, stamm‘ aus Litauen, echt Deutsch.
What would I eat? What would I drink? Where would I sleep? With whom?
If I were a long-haul; truck driver, would I need a room?
O, would I wash my oily hands in a stream or a sink?
Would I read Motor Road the weekly? And what would I think?
And would I drive through life and Europe, bristle, blag and brawn
in a transcontinental trailer? Whistle at the dawn?
Liudwecas Bere is a poet of Lithuania. This poem draws from Eugenijus Ališanka and T. S. Eliot. Vilnius is the capital and largest city of Litjuania with a population of about 600,000.
New York City in Quarantine
by Dic Asburee Wel
“The Forbidden Zone was once a paradise.”
—Pierre Boulle, La planète des singes
Some cars pass by; occasionally one can also see
a few pedestrians as well as some boxed shrubberies:
Fifth Avenue is emptied of its busy bus-tl-ing.
Foot traffic’s plummeted, and there is much less hus-tl-ing.
The Charging Bull, right at the vee-shaped curve is oft alone;
Columbus Circle sits in silence. See it on your phone.
Mulberry Street contains a few cars parking at its curbs.
It’s hard to think Times Square is in the middle of an urb:
around its US flag, half-mast, there’s social distancing,
the traffic light, big, bright signs shine, “See Me” insistently.
Dic Asburee Wel is a poet of New York City. New York City has a population of around 8,000,000. Pierre Boulle (1912-1994) was a noted PostModern French novelist noted for works, like The Bridge Over the River Kwai and Planet of the Apes.
China’s Houston Consulate
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
Just after orders closing China’s Houston consulate—
Was it espionage and theft? One saw they were upset.
They were filmed burning documents out in the open air.
The local firefighters were called in to quench them there.
But they were barred from entering by Chinese Communists,
according to reports from local Texan journalists.
So, were they caught then really stealing US property?
Was what they did a threat to national security?
Unfair trade practices and robbing’s not appropriate,
Is that why they are closing China’s Houston consulate?
“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of Texas. According to reports from around the World, even after giving the World COVID-19, the Chinese Communists are out and about stealing, even possible COVID-19 vaccines. This week COVID-19 total cases in the US: California, 415,000; New York, 408,000, Florida, 379,000; Texas, 359,000; New Jersey, 177,000; Illinois, 166,000; Georgia, 152,000; Arizona, 150,000; Massachusetts, 114,000; and Pennsylvanis,, 108,000. COVID-19 deaths by state: New York, 32,000; New Jersey 15,000; Massachusetts, 8,400; California, 7,900; Illinois, 7500; Pennsylvania, 7,000; Michigan, 6,300; Florida, 5,299; Connecticut, 4,400; Texas, 4,200.
Complacencies of the Patio
by Cause Bewilder
“The boisterous devotion to the sun”
—Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning”
Against the droning buzz of the remote controlled airplane,
cicadas ticked away, a wind-up clock inside a brain.
Membranous wings whirr rhythgmic’lly. Repeatedly they whine.
Occasionally overhead an airplane groans a line.
Bird voices mingle with the droning, offering their trills,
A bright variety of whistles, liquid silver spills.
The Sunday morning sounds are far removed from abstract thought.
The dominating Sun warms up the music of the lot.
The natural concerto with a jet crescendoing
returns to easy Sunday morning’s peaceful rendering.
Cause Bewilder is a poet of the “southern vision”. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) was a Modernist American poet.
A New Millenium Art Piece
by Red Was Iceblue
It’s nothing,,,but a lazy, crazy eight upon its side,
A feathered möbius a pair of glasses strangely dyed,
in aqua blue and pale red, a lighter shade of brown,
with drips and dabs, avoiding slabs, with wisps and whips around.
It isn’t going anywhere, nor has it been some place.
It isn’t something that a normal person wants to face.
It sits within a pale blue rectangle where it’s at.
It’s har4dly anything at all. It’s fathomless and flat.
It doesn’t even fit inside the the border of its frame.
It’s nothing…more than an infinity without a name.
Red Was Iceblue is a poet of art.
by R. Lee Ubicwedas
He tried to get his balance, at the bottom of the stair.
So heavenly and white the way, so free from other care.
He longed to climb up higher, ever higher than he was.
He put his arm against the wall. Would he find hope or love?
And yet he felt a tug on him, o, coming from behind,
That pulled him downward, ever lower, o, there in his mind.
He longed for Heaven, but was being pulled down hard by Hell.
Could he escape and make his way up to God’s Citadel?
From solid legs he stretched his chest. O, he would climb those stairs.
This was where he desired to be, alert in Heaven’s airs.
R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of anything, something, nothing, everything.