by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Hello fresh food meals,
in unrecycled ice-packs.
Rose petals lack peels.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

In the warm sunshine,
the cat lounges in the shade
beneath recliners.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese poetic forms. Among the many names The Japanese prose and haiku writer Natsume Soseki (1867-1915), was the author who used a common house cat in his satirical novel “I Am a Cat”. .


          by E “Birdcaws” Eule

In armchairs, chatting,
beside the chimney mantle,
a mockingbird chants..

E “Birdcaws” Eule is a poet of Japanese poetic forms, like haiku. He admires the poetry and prose of the Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (1644-1694).


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

A new offspring comes,
from turnip to bell pepper,
on the monitor.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

A space alien
is landing upon the Earth:
a berth in the Sun.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

In the small, fenced lawn,
a supersoft golf ball sits,
nests with birds’ eggs on.


by “Wired Clues” Abe

Why did China hide
Chinese Coronavirus?
New mutants appear.

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


The Cellar Dweller
          by Walibee Scrude

I am a dweller in the cellar, waiting at the door.
I’m at the threshold of the darkness underneath the floor.
I’m digging dirt for plumbing purposes, far from the Sun,
while listening upon the radio—Van Morrison.
I’m flat upon the dark-brown earth, this task hard to perform;
I have a shovel at the threshold of a perfect storm.
Perhaps some day, I’ll find a way to leave the dark behind;
but as of yet I still remain a prisoner of mind.
O, let my spirit fly from here beyond this muck and mire
that I one day before I die expire into fire.

Walibee Scrude is a poet of Australia. When he was young, he spent one summer digging underneath his house, listening to songs on the transister radio, like lively “Brown-Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. The above tennos alludes to another Van Morrison tune, brought to mind by contemporary Australian poet David Redpath.


The foreign minister of Philippines on Monday said
it’s time for China’s boats to leave the EEZ. He’s mad.
He thinks the Chinese fleet—two hundred boats—needs to go now.
Part of his quote, succinctly put, was “Get the fuck out.” Zow!
He’s fed up with the Chinese thinking that they own the Sea.
But will the communist imperialists go now? We’ll see.

*Teddy Locksin, Junior, is the foreign minister.

“Go Now” was a 1964 rendition of the Banks-Bennett tune by the Moody Blues, its striking features, gospel piano support an unusual beat, and the urgency of lines like “I don’t want you to tell me just what you intend to do now…” an influence on the poetry of Cebu Awis Deser.


The CCP took down its post that mocked the covid deaths
in India due to a backlash from the World’s breadth.
It showed the difference between two fires being lit,
a Sino rocket versus Indian cremation pit.
The site went viral, even angering the Chinese folk,
the lao baizing themselves found such a post a nasty joke.
Each day in India three-thousand die from covid’s plague;
more than three-hundred-thousand cases through the country rage.
The hospitals are overwhelmed; there aren’t enough vaccines.
health workers need more cylinders and oxygen machines.
The Chinese communists should hardly laugh at this disease,
as it came from those mockers—CCP-controlled Chinese.


Bruce Lee Patter—N—ow!
          by Bruce Lee Wisda

All fixed set patterns are incapabile of [Bruce Lee Wisda says] adaptability or pliability [because] the truth is outside of all fixed [or unfixed] patterns ]—yes].

Bruce Lee Wisda is a poet interested in Bruce Lee wisdom.


In India the trainee docs were pulled from their exams
to fight the World’s biggest covid surge—a re-al slam.
The nurses too were pulled out to join in the wretched mess,
so many Indians at sea, in utter helplessness.
They need more beds; they need more tents, they need more meds.
The crematoriums are overloaded with the dead.


The Indian Mutation
          by Sri Wele Cebuda

The virus from the Wuhan bio lab has variants,
with various contagiousness, escape and virulence,.
The others have been called Brazil, UK, South Africa,
since that’s where they were found first, China hiding what they had.
The double mutant that’s been found in India is that
which has been wreaking havoc from Mumbai to Kolkata.
Up to last January, it seemed not to spread so fast;
but of new cases found in India it’s over half.
It seems to move much faster than the rapid UK one.
And now, a triple mutant—has its sequencing been done?


Above Mumbai
          bt Sri Wele Cebuda

He got into the lotus pose in his skyscraper flat;
amazingly the straight lines emanated where he sat.
He was there on the off-white couch, the soft light pouring in;
by window in that tidy room, a minimum of din.
He longed to reach repose. He turned his head, He loved the sky.
He placed his hand upon his hip, and opened inner eye.
He meditated on his situation. Was it dire?
He ruminated on the room, as if he were on fire.
He felt so good. It was so beautiful up at that height,
Sweet ecstasy held in abeyance, o. there above Mumbai.

Sei Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation and India.


Via in Selci
          by Aedile Cwerbus

Along the short, curved, narrow Via found in Selci, Rome,
the Santa Lucia basilica has made its humble home.
One sees one of its walls rise up nine meters to the sky.
it is the remnant of an ancient Roman building’s side.
The road itself has been around at least two thousand years,
Beneath the modern pavement, ancient stone blocks disappear.
Ground level here has little altered since antiquity.
Today one sees parked cars abound in its propinquity.
Continuously used millennia, it still remains,
though now perhaps passed by the tourists seeking greater names.

Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of ancient Roma.


The Opening Theme of Beethoven’s “Piano Sonata Number One”
          by Ewald E. Eisbruc
          “Sweet sounds, oh beautiful music, do not cease!”
              —Edna St. Vincent Millay, “On Hearing a Synphony of               Beethoven”

Beethoven’s “Opus 2” begins his grand piano raid,
his foray into Mozart’s art, sonatas on display.
And so magnificent it is, dramatic and concise,
his first theme’s burst, F-minor’s rise to C—is paradise.
It is so nice, a momentary pause, if not at peace,
so clear and light, a sheer delight, a flight. O, do not cease!

O, it defies all futile tries to catch it on the wing,
the rockets launched and pocketed, the little birdie sing.
High in the sky, Franz Haydn sighs, a dedication to
the classical, dynamic, minimalist bird’s-eye view.
In just five phrases in eight measures, he has done so much,
and then, yes—Ludwig van Beethoven—touchdown on the bridge!

Ewald E. Eisbruck is a poet of Viennese Classicism in music.


Greta Garbo
          by Cawb Edius Reel

Sophisticated, elegant, and beautiful as well,
she had a talent she could sell, she had a tale to tell.
Assertive, simultaneously very feminine,
engaged before the camera, and poised as few have been.
From European Gosta Berlings to the Joyless Street,
the Swedish actress honed her skills, supreme, complete, unique.
And then came to America—the silent silver screen,
And when the 1930s start—the talkies here—she speaks.
“I want to be alone,” she says; he character bemoans,
such world weariness in sombre, melancholy tones.
And so believable the animated actress is,
the World looks amazed before the glittering show…biz.

Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of film. Greta Garbo (1905-1990) was a noted actress of the 1920s and 1930s, after which she retired. Her collectoion of Modernist paintings included her biggest painting, a colourful Robert Delaunay (1885-1941) and the portraits of Alexej von Jawlensky (1864-1941).


Juan Pujol Garcia
          by War di Belecuse

Born Juan Pujol Garcia, Barcelona, 1912.
though maybe lonely, he was never quite alone himself.
He lived the Spanish Civil War through, if not tranquilly;
he hated both the communists and fascists equally.
So when the British entered World War II, he longed to help
by being both a spy for them and Germany as well.
He faked his resume and his imagined network spies,
He made up intel, books and ads, and manufactured lies.
The Abwehr called him Alaric, his network Arabal;
though it was all deception, he received the Iron Cross.
The British came to see , he could be useful to their cause;
at times, to tell the truth, to feed the Nazis overall.
On D-Day, when the Allies hit the beach at Normandy,
just as it started he sent word to spies in Germany;
but he lied, saying it was a diversionary force,
so Germany did not respond to alter the war’s course.
For this he got the MBE, but worried for his life,
he faked his death with MI-5 to aid him and his wife.
But Venezuela did not work for her, and so she left.
He stayed, remarried, yet remained dead, from the World reft.
And yet, four years before his died, he went to Normandy
the D-Day forty year memorial for all to see,
that he had not died in Angola, nor in Mozambique
from snake bite or malaria, that “Garbo” spy mystique;
for now his story had been told by Rupert Allason,
the British military writer and historian.

War di Belecuse is a poet of war.


The Insurrection Lies
          by Brice U. Lawseed

The Insurrection lies in history for those who mind,
though rallies are forgotten, rotten tallies left behind.
The bullies hidden, and ForBIdden fully from the true;
the dailies hiding, biding idly, anything to view.
The helpful friendlies, FBI, and fine DC police,
inviting the unrulies in—to see what they could see.
Aye, a white rabbit lies in state! What in the Sam Hill’s this?
O, damn it all! O, cap it all with doilies—oily glitz
Watch out! the fire! extinguisher! Life’s flame goes on and…flies.
This is y-our country sitting where the rule of law applies.

Brice U. Lawseed is a poet of Washington DC and the rule of law.


Joe Biden bans the POW/MIA,
the motorcycle rally that has crossed the USA…
for decades. Don’t remember vanished veterans today.
Joe Biden hopes their memory will simply fade away.

The robber baron billionaire Bill Gates plans to divorce,
just as Jeff Bezos also did. Melinda changes course.
But monster MSNBC continues through the Swamp,
continuing its in-your-face, huge whoppers—stomp, stomp, stomp.


World Press Freedom Day
          by Cawb Edius Reel

The World Press lacks freedom, everywhere across the Globe.
Misinformation and disinformation windstorms blow.
No one is free, not you or me, from false and fake reports,
and truth itself is on the skids in corporation courts.
At times, all one can do is question sources one suspects,
each piece of data one accepts or info one rejects.
On Freedom Day one is reminded that speech freedom is
attacked on many fronts by coups and biz, by news and Ziz,
and is a rarIty one should be thankful for—Gee, whiz!
against the legions of the darkest regions led by Dis.

Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of the press, including the corrupt corporate media, owned by people, like robber barons Jeff Bezos and Bill Gates.