by “Wired Clues” Abe
Tap water faucet,
the toilet, the clothes washer:
ice freeze dominoes.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Housetops, lawns, streets, trees,
white skies are flush with bright light:
children are playing.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
In the morning snow,
power-grid traffic lights off,
fishtailing to work.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Power off, then on,
in the sub zero weather:
it is not much fun.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a haiku poet of electricity, et cetera. This week he was reminded of Realist Jack London (1876-1916), and his stories Call of the Wild and “to Build a Fire.”
Cat on a Concrete Pool
by “Blue Screw” Idea
He stared upon the surface of the clear and quiet pond.
He saw the verdant evergreens rise high in shining dawn.
They seemed to reach, o, way down deep, down to dawn’s bottom’s depths;
perhaps to Tokyo, Japan, or Kyoto’s farther breadth.
And further down below the trees he saw the cloudless skies
o, seeming to go even further in within his eyes.
But there, o, look, he sees a coy fish swimming underneath
reflections shimmering and glimmering on all of these.
He longs to grasp that wig-gl-ing and squig-gl-ing below;
but does not dare to wet his pause; and so he lets it go.
“Blue Screw” Idea is a poet of Japanese settings and scenes.
Beside the Pool
by Wes Cal Ubideer
He looked askance, as if to ask the overarching sky,
an overwhelming question, something stupid: What is life?
What would he get, when he got in, the lotus pose outside.
two aching knees, a quaking ass, two shaky palms, a sigh?
Yep, he was tough, uh, crude curmudgeon; how could he advance?
If he was stuck, how could he focus on romance’s dance?
He focused on his inner eye; but just what could he see?
a wooden wall, a swimming pool, a concrete misery?
O, he was glad he was alive—that was his lone insight—
when he was in the lotus pose, sun-pounding rays outside.
Wes Cal Ubideer is a poet of sunny California.
The Ice Storm Shirley caused more deaths than DC rioters,
and caused more than 200,000 power outages.
It hit the South of the US, and moved northeastly.
while all along the way bequeathing freezing rain and sleet.
The Green New Deal Ordeal
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
The Texas power grid relies upon green energy,
like solar power and wind power, far as eye can see;
but in 2005, what Texans could not then foresee
were freezing temperatures that lasted longer than a week.
Their 25% reliance on renewables
left them with less than what was needed when the ice winds blew.
So many millions were left home without some energy
the death toll kept on climbing, more than dozens totally.
While China madly builds coal plants, the Texans tear them down;
in the last decade three were closed; wind towers now abound.
But when the states begin to drop their fossil fuel store,
a freezing rain can stop wind towers turning in a storm.
When gassed up, oiled helicopters blast wind turbines with
hydraulic fluid in an ice storm something’s got to give.
When what is “blowin’ in the wind” is filled with sleety rain,
and when “the sun ain’t gonna shine”, wood, gas, and coal remain.
A combination of them all is what is needed when
the weather won’t cooperate. One must use what one can.
“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of Texas.
Last week, by Fort Worth, Texas, on I-35 there was
an ice-storm highway accident of many vehicles.
One-hundred-thirty-five involved were in the lengthy span;
including semis, cars and trucks, and first-responder vans.
The pile-up was horrific, dozens went to hospitals;
hydraulic cranes dislodged so many individuals.
Six people lost their lives.
At the Police Academy
by Cawb Delius Ree
At the police academy, he was a rookie cop.
He had to take another class. Good, God, would they not stop.
His teacher was a stocky dude, who wore his uniform,
a sneering grimace on his face, which seemed to be his norm.
The rookie took his seat in class and propped his black boots up.
Though not as arrogant, he seemed to have a lot of oomph.
He leaned back listening to what the teacher had to say,
about their mission and their values. on whiteboard display.
He pressed upon the rookie the importance of his talk
in this time of police defunding, freedom, friction, frock.
He listened quite attentively; he was alert, not pert;
and was content until the end, o, active, not inert
Cawb Delius Ree is a poet of police retraining.
In a New Millennial Diner
by Carb Deiseuwe
Two dudes were seated at a diner—William-Hopper-esque—
involved in some dramatic, rather comical burlesque.
The bigger of the two was nearer to the clear-glass door.
He seemed like as a bearded satyr gazing at the floor.
What was he looking for? one wondered, pulling on his hair.
It looked like he was quite wound-up up in his swivel chair.
The other dude was slenderer, like as a runner clad
in band around his head to catch all of the sweat he had.
What was he doing looking up, his head back on his neck,
To be right where he was, it seemed like as he was content.
These two did not evince an empty loneliness at all,
but something wild and passionate, perhaps political.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of dining. So many restaurant owers across the land are having extreme difficulties. William Hopper (1915-1970) was a Modernist American painter.
Insurrection, January 6th
by Caud Sewer Bile
Do not forget the Insurrection, January 6th,
when thousands came protesting the election’s dirty trick.
Remember when so many people stormed the Capitol
How could they not see what was done was downright criminal?
Do not forget that Ashli Babbitt was shot in the neck,
and others died as well due to conditions and neglect.
Remember all the votes were certified in all the states.
Why should courts question such results? Why was there so much hate?
Do not forget the Insurrection, January 6th;
for that is what it was, and what must be, and what it is.
Remember that Dominion of the Country matters most.
Let this date be a record of our Nation and our votes.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the Swamp.
by Cadwel E. Bruise
“What but design of darkness to appall?
If design govern in a thing so small?”
—Robert Frost (1874-1963)
In Windham, in New Hampshire, where they use Dominion for
the counting of election votes, to keep a proper score,
the town has done a recent recount tallying votes there,
in District 7 Rockingham. Was the election fair?
And what they found was each Republican. no matter who,
was shorted votes—about three-hundred votes. Can this be true?
That means results for all Republicans were wrong, messed up.
and strangely by almost three-hundred votes, each one of them.
Dominion, in a little town, and in so small a state,
if it did that, what did it do across the USA?
Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England. Why is YouTube censoring an interview with Dr. David Strang, M.D.?
This Giddy Thing
by Dr. Weslie Ubeca
The old grandfather paused a moment at the counter top.
The white-haired dude there in the kitchen made a sudden stop.
He saw the sunshine filter through the curtains, gold and pink;
but there was something else that caused pause at the kitchen sink.
He felt an overwhelming feeling coming over him,
but it was not a physical meltdown or some mere whim.
He grabbed on to a nearby edge that he could hold on to,
while this enormous feeling passed, and balance was renewed.
He wished his grandson could be next to him for steadying.
Ah, yeah, to focus on the passing of this giddy thing.
Dr. Weslie Ubeca is a poet (not a medical doctor) of medicine.