by E “Birdcaws” Eule
Who’s there calling out,
after the ice-cold morning?
The first mourning doves.
by E “Birdvaws” Eule
In the leafless trees,
E “Birdcaws” Eule is a poet of birdsong, favouring Japanese poetic forms in Singlish/
by “Wired Clues” Abe
The grass is scraggly,
dragged inside into the house,
onto shag carpet.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a haiku poet of electricity, et cetera.
In the Garden
by Sri Wele Cebuda
O, in the garden, there you fe-el free, alert, alive.
The flowers rise up high above the waist. O, how they thrive.
Outside, beside the window, one can see such scenery—
the beauty of the afternoon, its gorgeous greenery.
The artist contemplates the pretty goodness of the scene.
He loves the luscious grasses of the lawn, so fresh and green.
The artist notes right angles, swerving curves, and strong, straight lines.
He loves to notice all the dazz-ling, sumptuous designs.
He sits there in the lotus pose—his notice sudden is—
O, God, he could be happy here; but this sweet spot’s not his.
While Sucking Oxygen
by Sri Wele Ceduda
Upon the left side of the bed, awakened, he arose.
He stretched his legs out as he got into the lotus pose.
He longed to meditate upon the beauty of the World,
despite the hardness and the violence that it unfurled.
He opened up his inner eye to gaze at gorgeous skies.
Although unseeing, he was being filled with vision’s prize.
He felt like as an arctic bear upon the tundra floor;
in that vast cosmic chasm, spasms shook his very core.
OM was his mantra, as he took fantastic phantoms in.
He galloped over bright, white plains, while sucking oxygen;
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation. The first tennos is touched by T. S. Eliot and Emily Dickinson.
Aerobic Optics: Nay Pyi Taw, February 1, 2021
by U Ber Lesc Dawei
Upon a roundabout to Nay Pyi Taw, the capital
the lithe Ms. Khing was dancing-exercising snappily.
in white mask, black-and-yellow top, black shorts, blue tights and shoes
Ms. Khing captured in video her energetic moves.
Her choreography was marvelous, kinetic, cool;
her hips swayed back and forth, hair, hands and arms about her flew.
But even more extraordinary in the background seen,
behind Khing Hnin Wai. Myanmar armored cars were traveling
in bound to take the power from th’ elected government,
declaring a state of emergency from this event.
The Myanmar Military
by U Ber Lesc Dawei
The Myanmar military has, in early morning raids,
arrested the civilian government. Here come hard days.
The censoring has now begun, as in the USA
where techno tyrants tell the people what they have to say.
As in Amerika, cool crooks accuse th’ opposing side,
so Myanmar generals accuse Suu Kyi of genocide.
They only have their nation’s best intentions in their acts,
as they surround their capitol with armed-force, fencing facts,
as in Amerika we see occurring in its theft:
Thanks for three-hundred-fifty million dollars, IMF.
U Ber Lesc Dawei is a poet of Myanmar. Nay Pyi Taw is the capital and third largest city of Myanmar with about 900,000 citizens.
According to the Yangste River News, the USA
has entered a recession after Biden’s seventh day.
In 2020, China built more than 3 times as much,
coal-run electric power as the rest of planet Chump.
according to the monitors at Global Energy.
And those at the Helsinki-based C-R-E-A agree.
The Russian state oppression ramped up over sentencing
Navalny to three years within a penal colony.
Ten thousand Russians were detained protesting the result
for showing the corruption of the Russian President.
by Radice Lebewsu
He was a physicist, his focus clear and nuclear.
He knew all kinds of things, the new and mathematical.
O, he was working actively; he strove to find the true,
both in the 1920s, and the 1930s too.
He executed fascinating lectures to the young
and old, about his studies, insights he had wrung, and won.
In 1936, the Soviets were in control.
It was the Purge; the Communists were clearing untold souls.
They executed millions, o, for whom they had no room.
and so, they, yes, deleted, censored his life’s work—Lev Shtrum.
Radice Lebewsu is a poet of Ukraine. Lev Shtrum (1890-1936) was a Ukrainian nuclear physicist that the Communists murdered and tried to censor his very existence, as they have done, and still do, in 2021 around the World.
by Brad Lee Suciew
“He who sells what isn’t his’n
Must buy it back or go to pris’n.”
Headquartered, Grapevine, Texas, GameStop is the World’s top
retailer gaming videos, whose stock began to drop.
Its brick and mortar stores, more than 5,000 even yet
were thought to be a detriment when China virus hit.
So Wall Street hedge funds started betting that it would collapse;
but many others didn’t buy that narrative so fast.
like Michael Burry, Ryan Cohen, even Microsoft,
and later, Keith Gill, Redditor and mass Millennials.
When Robinhood and other platforms stopped the buying spree,
Millennials asked if there was collusion on Wall Street,
like Melvin Capital, Point72, and Citadel:
the former needing bailing out, helped by the latter two.
The rich get richer and the poor continue to stay poor;
but cleverly some ordinary folks got in the door.
Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of business. Daniel Drew (1797-1879) was a 19th century American businessman. Grapevine, Texas, is a city of 50,000 in the Metroplex. Many business reports question the relation of Biden’s Treasury Secretary Janet Yellon and Citadel, from whom she recently received hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Inside the Google Archipelago
by Esca Webuilder
It’s no surprise inside the Google Archipelago
that Google would attempt to prop up Wall Street‘s Wall of Gold[
since, after all, the Goolag goons already did their best
to alter the elecion—2020 was their test.
So now to help the Robinhood App people with their site,
the Goolag goons deleted bad reviews sent left and right.
By tens of thousands, they deleted what the people said,
when GameStop stock was stopped and dropped for hedge fund wealth instead..
They try to rob the ordinary people when they can;
they only want the rich to rule in techno-tyrant land.
Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet.
by Erisbawdle Cue
Did Hume’s deep skepticism yield Kant’s subjectivity,
resulting in Postmodernism’s relativity?
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy, who marks Postmodernism (1950-2999): David Hume (1711-1776), Immanuel Kant (1724-1804).
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
He had been driving all day long. He longed to have a rest.
He parked his truck at the truck stop, a place to pause, assess.
There was a brick shed next to where he’d parked his semi truck;
and he went over to its welcome shade. He was in luck.
The birds were singing in the trees, so beautiful the sky.
He stood there in blue jeans and watch, and watched them, overfly.
He sucked the pith out of the air. He filled up his whole chest.
He slapped his side; he was alive; the breeze’s breath abreast.
He wished he could stay for forever, but he had to go.
And so he headed back to his job, and the open road.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation.
by Raise Club Weed
He stood up tall, dressed all in black, beside the railroad track.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, or if he’d come back.
Above, the poofy, pink-tinged clouds were floating in the sky;
but he would leave behind this hamlet—this intrepid guy.
Perhaps he’d find beneath the billowing clouds overhead
some brave new world, some brand new earldom he could love instead.
a place of beauty—mountain buttes—in North America,
great Rockies climbing heavenward, o. at its very cusp.
Perhaps he’d see those sunlit hills and lovely, flowing rills,
where life could flourish once again in shiny, silver spills.
Raise Club Weed is a poet of the north Rocky Mountain states.
A Single-Voiced Madrigal, Coffee Cantata
by Carb Deliseuwe
He got a cup of yummy coffee—not a yucky brew.
He took it off to bed with him. His sips were not a few.
He loved topology, a donut dipped in coffee cup;
it was so filling, yes, and yet it never was enough.
Today he longed to have it, o, like he did yesterday;
tomorrow too he’d want some more, just as he did today.
Life’s sweet elixir, freshly brewed, it made him fe-el young.
So fine, so hot, it warmed him up; he loved his donuts dunked.
He whispered to the caffeine god, O, do not go away.
I want you here and now, forever; but, know, you can’t stay.
by Carb Deliseuwe
Ikea is unique in that it also carries food,
like Swedish meatballs, after shopping, which can be quite good.
But during this pandemic of the Chinese Virus plague,
their restaurants are closed in many stores and not engaged.
But I can still procure their Skorpor Kardemumma rolls,
and score some of those crunchy crisps when I am in their stores.
along with ekologisk lingenberry sylt fruit spread,
a sweet, delicious, tangy, tasty. gooey, ooh-ie, red.
One has to find, in Moloch, lockdown down-times, pleasant things
that make one glad, like merry, February birds that sing.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food.