Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

The long limbs are bare
above the trunk in the ground;
but there is still life.

 

Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

A girl is running
across the lawn’s pale margin:
four in the morning.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a haiku poet of natural settings.

~~~

Haiku
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Scratching itchy skin,
while turning on the light switch,
the man’s finger ‘s—zapped.

 

Tanka
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

He sees the large print,
gazing at the toilet lid;
and then, on it, sits,
like as a wild savage,
reading signs of th’ Infinite.

 

Tanka
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Along the highway,
keeping four huge flat-end screws
from creek water,
walking homeward without shoes
with a strapping lad.

 

Haiku
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Stalked by hate police,
crossing lush, high grass and fence:
Keep Off the main drag.

 

Tanka
          by “Wired Clues” Ab

An old college guy,
waiting in the dining line,
at the registrar’s
explains things that he had done
that perhaps weren’t all that smart.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a poet of English, Japanese forms, and technology.

~~~

Beneath the Solar Disc
          by Luwe Recs Abede

The Ethiopian prime minister has turned from war
by shifting focus in his country to a border road.
Abiy Ahmed has cut the ribbon on a megaway,
connecting his land to Mombasa, seizing, o, the day.
Refraining from discussing war with Tigray in the north,
by focusing upon the southern border, going forth;
but near a million people in the north have been displaced,
which cannot help but hurt the country’s economic pace.
The aspirations of the nation could now be at risk,
due to the war and Wuhan flu beneath the Solar Disc.

Luwe Recs Abede is a poet of Ethiopia, a nation of approximately 115,000,000. The Tigray region in the north has a population of around 5,000,000. Metro Mombasa, a major port in southern Kenya, has a population of about 3,500,000.

~~~

A Photo Realistic Pic
          by Rus Ciel Badeew

He stands before a building, with a cigarette in hand,
in tie, white shirt, and dark coat, with a frown in his command.
The photorealistic pic in pastels and faint browns,
reveals a somber attitude, defiant, without sound.
It’s Oleg Lukyanov’s fine portrait in Saint Petersburg
of Joseph Brodsky on a wall near where he lived and worked.
Although the mural has been whitewashed by authorities
and relegated to the ash-heap of our history,
still one can find the image of the poet on the Net,
self-righteous, anti-fascist censors haven’t crushed it yet

 

Not Yet Abroad, Nor Skiing
          by Rus Ciel Badeew

When young, he managed to survive the siege of reich and red.
but felt, in school, a dissadent, a dissonance amd dread.
How could he bLENd IN with that ever-present, glaring face,
nor, as submáriner or miller, find himself a place?
He tried a prison morgue, a hospital, ship boiler-room;
some polish and some English added shine to the jejune.
A pilgrim to the cemetery, fore the rising hills,
denounced, placed in a mental institution, twice in swill;
thence to hard labour in the Arctic Circle’s icy pole,
not yet abroad, nor skiing mountain slopes with Lermontov.

Rus Ciel Badeew is a poet of Russia. Joseph Brodsky (1940-1996) was a noted PostModernist
Russian poet who was censored by the Communists. Oleg Lukyanov is a contemporary Russian painter.
Mikhail Lermontov (1814-1841) was a Romantic Russian poet.

~~~

The Accurate Combatant
          by Wedese Bulcari

He’s in the bunker with computer, at his monitor.
He is a soldier in the clashes of the Data War.
He’s at the Battle of the Bulge, dismantling its lies,
with open mind and open mouth, with open ears and eyes.
A Daniel in the Lion’s Den, a fighter for the truth,
he’s a believer in the just, the good and right, forsooth.
He’s at his guard post keeping lookout at the leagues of hell;
he’s in the trenches with his trencher, typing madly, well.
In camo, armed with ammo of intelligence and might,
enlivened by the djinn and asking for the force of light

Wedese Bulcari is a poet of conflict. The djinn, in the Quran, is a spirit, often capable of assuming human or animal form, and exercising supernatural power.

~~~

A Mozartian Air
          by Waldi Berceuse

Viola, Clara, Pia—no net, in the open, there—
a group of three fine ladies playin skittles in the air.
It is the afternoon, nine pins are standing on the lawn.
One listens to a lovely spinet, sprinkled with a yawn.
Some little melodies are interspersed amidst the throws,
beyond the lovely lavender, aromas of the rose.
The balls are tossed, the pins are dropped, the sun continues on;
The tiny birds are singing songs, as if it now were dawn.
But it is dusk, and twilight lights upon the company.
It’s time to pick the pieces up, like twinkling timpani.

Waldi Berceuse is a poet of Central European music. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791) was a Classical Austrian composer. It is the “Kegelstatt Trio” referenced in this tennos.

~~~

An Avid Cyber Worker
          by Esca Webuilder

Keen intellect and cyber expert in security,
election fraud uncoverer and voter purity,
schooled in electric engineering and computers too,
he, under oath, says there ‘s been massive fraud. This is his view.

A man with thirty years of expertise, including as
vice-president of INDOSEC; and that’s not all he has:
a leader or supporter for the US CIA,
rocked FBI, the US CYBERCOM, and NSA,

ZB explorer, innovator, implementer of
next-generation cybersurance for the US guv,
identifier of insider threats and incidents,
a man on whom the nation has relied for its defense.

Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet. A ZB, zettabyte is one sextillion (1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000) bytes. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “cybersurance” is a neologism for strong cyber security.

~~~

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!
          By Caud Sewer Bile

Read all about it! Extra! Extra! It’s the latest! See!
The Main Stream Media is fake, as fake as fake can be.
They deal in lies and alibis, like MSNBC,
and their so-called competitors, WaPo and ABC,
The propaganda that they print for high-tech oligarchs
sits well with CCP, and old guard followers of Marx.
Like Nazis in the Third Reich, with their oft repeated lies,
they fall in line, like CBS, FOX, and the New York Times.
They’re proud, card-carrying prevaricators, hard, uncouth,
who do their very best to obfuscate and hide the truth.

Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the Journal.

~~~

An American Lawyer
          by Brice U. Lawseed

She’s an American attorney fighting for the truth,
is known for her tenacious willingness to follow through,
defending individuals against the villainous,
nefarious, bad actors, vile and supercilious,
embattling overbearing federal prosecutors who,
year after year, destroy with vicious venom that they spew.

Professionally motivated, she helps those attacked
officially by overzealous governmental hacks,
who are vindictive vultures, who have licenses to lie,
eviscerating anyone they envy or dislike,
like businessman or auditor they think aren’t innocent,
like brave commander or the people’s choice for President.

 

Last Words of a Lawyer Wannabe
          by Brice U. Lawseed

I leave behind the city lights of this land of my birth,
as surely as I leave behind this jewel’d isle Earth.
I’m going now with certainty from this reality,
as surely as we all must go on to eternity.

Brian U. Lawseed is a poet of law.

~~~

Remembering a Speeding Ticket
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

He still remembers it—the speeding ticket that he got.
He was pulled over to a nearby, concrete parking lot.
The cop, in shades, was in a black-and-blue, crisp uniform.
Outside the red-brick building and green hedges, it was warm.
The upright cop made him get out of his parked vehicle
to check if he was drunk, but he was not, as he recalled.
The cop was hard, unbending, as he leaned against the hood;
in gray tee shirt, he wasn’t feeling glad, or very good.
The cop gave but a warning, not to do what he had done;
but still he does recall it well—that hassle in the Sun.

Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of driving.

~~~

In Ellensburg
          by Ubs Reece Idwal

It was an education con-fer-ence in Ellensburg,
Ten to the minus seven joules, referred to as an erg.
He had so much to learn there in the city of his birth;
he felt like as a sultan in that starry night on Earth.
Originating in the system of the CGS:
He drove across the Cascade Range without a GPS.
He had a major task to do, ergo, he had to work,
exerting forces of more than one dyne, or surging erg.
But he continued through the night, Van Gogh was near and by.
He passed the mountain pass with flying colours in his eye,
And when he reached his destination, he fell fast asleep.
No god was looking over him, content and deeply pleased.

Ubs Reece Idwal is a poet of the Pacific Northwest. Rudolf Clausius (1822-1888) was a German physicist and mathematician was noted for his work in thermodynamics. He coined the concept entropy and coined the term “erg” in 1864. Ellensburg, Washington is a town of over 10,000 at the foot of the Cascade Mountain Range.

~~~

At Recess in the Ring
          Cu Ebide Aswerl

When we were young we used to play at recess in the ring.
On piggy back, we’d push and shove each other over—fling!
The guys on bottom weren’t allowed to use their hands at all;
the guys on top were scrappy, but they tended to be small.
They would use holds upon those shoulders, or artistic bunts.
This exercise could be exhausting for participants.
In sun or sleet, in cold or heat, no matter what the clime,
We loved to do it very much, and did it all the time.
For precious moments we would play and have a lot of fun,
until we had to go back to the classroom once again.

Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of fun.

~~~

A College Lesson
          by Ira “Dweeb” Scule

He still remembers when he was in college long ago.
He left his new athletic shoes in his locker closed.
But when he came back from his shower, he found they were gone.
He asked around, but no one knew about what had been done.
A nearby dude stood by to “reassure” him nonetheless.
He pointed out that he’d been robbed. “Get over it.” he said.
He got down on the bench beside the tall, gray lockers there.
He had been taught a lesson in that steamy, seemy air.
He lifted up his head and stared, his attitude not good;
but he would have to be much smarter, tougher, harder, crude.
His eyes were set, his muscles tense; he still recalls that day
he lost his shoes to some rude dude and his naiveté.

Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of studies, school, and the socially inept.

~~~

Losing Fat
          by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”

It was time for his early morning exercise routine.
O, he was chubby; he could use some extra lowering.
He loved uplifting lifting weights that built up all his limbs.
He loved to tackle challenges that he had seen at gyms.
He’d get up on the set machines and go for all his worth.
He loved it so much he would go for seconds and for thirds.
Up-down, up-down, in-out, in-out, he’d hold the handle bars.
He’d grip the barbells with his hands and raise them up to Mars.
If he could shake his flab off, using calories to boot,
he was a happy camper. Losing fat made him feel good.

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