by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Fit for a caesar,
even for an emperor,
green, leafy romaine.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Cool watermelons—
in small cubes, shall we cut them,
or slice them in rounds?


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

waiting for the arrival
of another one,
two anxious hands are holding
cineraria daisies.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese forms in English, especially the traditional haiku, which reached its zenith in the 17th -19th centuries. The tanka plays off of a Sayumi Kamakura haiku, a contemporary haiku writer.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

A butterfly net—
a gecko is in the house.
The cat is alert.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial poet interested in the comingling of technology and Japanese poetic forms, like the haiku.


Beside a Long-Ago, Logged Wood
          by W. “Blue Cedar” Ise

When I was young, we lived beside a long-ago, logged wood.
It was a forest few had entered, fewer understood.
And yet for us, kids of the neighbourhood, it was our realm
of poplar, fir, and cedar, bushes, shrubs, sword ferns, and elm.
We loved to live amidst its leaves, and make exciting trails
that took us through, o, down and to dun, fun, sun-filtered lanes.
We played. We stayed. We climbed up trees, and hung from long, thick
Like woodland fauns, we came from lawns to play in nature’s gym.
We felt so peaceful in its deeps, to breathe the fresh air in.
Down at the creek, we swung the swing upon its fine, fair win…d.

W. “Blue Cedar” Ise is a poet of the trees. In his youth, one of his neighbours, a WWII warbride, taught him some Japanese—orally. One of his favourite works, containing over 200 waka poems, is the Tales of Ise.


Yang Luchan
          by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li

Yang Luchan, known as Yang Fukui, born in broad, flat Guangping,
an influential teacher in the practice of tai chi,
loved martial arts, and studying, when he was in his youth,
and had achieved a good degree of Changquan skill, in truth.

One day, while watching one of those from the Chen pharmacy,
he witnessed one of them subdue a group of would-be thieves.
Because of this, he yenned to learn with Chen De Hu, the boss;
and though he was, o, but a butler, got to work by close.

One day, he heard the sounds of “hen” and “ha”, hard, distant breaths.
he traced the sounds to an old building, in the dark night’s length.
He saw his master Chen perform, while peeking through a wall,
techniques of grasp, control, and, yes, emitting jin, in awe.

From then, he watched those secret martial sessions every night,
returning to his room to practice them in sheer delight,
becoming better and advancing in ability,
until he could defeat the other pupils utterly.

From there, as teacher, he went off to capital Beijing
to the imperial Qing dynasty bureaucracy.
That was the start of taijiquan from a small village town
to flourish as an international phenomenon.

Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of Chinese history. Yang Luchan lived from 1799 to 1872.


One Wants
          Sri Wele Cebuda

One wants a poetry that’s beneficial, helpful, good,
remedial and curative, a salutary food,
corrective, analeptic, and ameliorative,
salubrious and sanative, o, yes, restorative;
but a-ble still to de-al with the dif-fi-cult and rude,
refined and cultivated, yet original and crude.
Somehow to gain much needed things, the powerful and true,
as well as the ability to reach beatitude.
And so one’s ever striving to attain those states of mind,
that lie beyond where one is, that one ever wants to find.

Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of healing.


Stranded in Afghanistan
          by Sawceeb Dareli
          “And I’m afraid that I’m a fuck it up/
          Ain’t no way that I can leave you stranded.”
              —song sung by Kid Laroi & Justin Bieber, “Stay”

How many hundreds still are stranded in Afghanistan?
How many thousand SIVs tracked by the Taliban?
Joe Biden lied, and people died…and still continue to?
Why won’t he and his admin tell Americans the truth?

Why aren’t we trying to get flights out of the country now?
Why are there six planes on the tarmac? Why can’t they get out?
How many emails keep on coming, pleading for some help—
o, any help at all…to be let out…get out of hell?

So many willing to support are begging for some aid.
Where is the State Department now? Where is the CIA?
Where is the Senate and the House, in this, a time of need?
Can they just sit and watch while multitudes are stuck…and bleed?

Sawceeb Dureli is a poet of Afghanistan. SIVs are Special Immigration Visa holders.


Chinese Coronavirus deaths Worldwide continue on
Four-million-and-six-hundred-thousand dead—CCP sPawn:
including 1) USA, 670,000; 2) Brazil, 584,000; 3) India, 441,000; 4) Mexico, 264,000; 5) Peru, 198,000; 6) Russia, 189,000; 7) Indonesia, 137,000; 8) UK, 133,000; 9) Italy, 129,000; 10) Colombia, 125,000. Though World numbers are official, few believe they are accurate in these ten nations or around the Globe. Has Egypt had 175,000 unreported deaths? With a population of around 30,000,000, why does Peru have so many deaths? Do the people of some countries naturally distance themselves from others? Is China still lying? There are so many questions.


Volcanic Thera Rocked the Earth
          by Ercules Edibwa

More than three thousand years ago, among the isles of Greece,
volcanic Thera rocked the Earth, disturbing purblind peace,
in purple skies, there in th’ Aegean Sea just north of Crete,
one of the great eruptions of recorded history,
ex-plo-ding, forming a cal-der-a, rounded by much ash
of rock and varied minerals along with vulcan glass.
Its great tsunami may have led to the Minoan fall.
Perhaps it was the source of famed Atlantis’ chronicle.
Whatever be the case, this Bronze Age culture’s g-loss and p-art,
is a reminder of Earth’s constant, ever-changing Heart.

Ercules Edibwa is a poet of Ancient Greece. Crete, the largest island of Greece has a population of around 600,000. Minoan civilization, centered on Crete, reached its apogee in the 2nd century BC. The Bronze Age was approximately 3300 BC – 1200 BC, after the Stone Age, and before the Iron Age, as per the Romantic Danish antiquarian Christian Jürgensen Thomsen (1788-1865). The Isle of Atlas, Atlantis, was an ideal island mentioned in Plato (c. 428 BC – c. 328 BC) in the “Timaeus” and “Critias”.


Elementary Isolation
          by Acid Sluew Beer
          “It was Davy who attacked chemistry, like a shark.”
              —Ira “Dweeb” Scule

The Cornish chemist Humphry Davy is remembered for
the isolation of new elements not known before:
soft metals, silver-white, potassium and sodium,
by using electricity, thereby exposing them;
and next, dark boron, gray magnesium, and calcium,
and alkaline earth metals, strontium and barium;
and, too, the elemental nature of two halogens,
green-yellow chlorine and the non-metallic iodine;
as well as crystal clathrate hydrates in his lab so fine.
and th’ anaesthetic traits of nitric oxide, laughing gas.

Acid Sluew Beer is a poet of chemistry. Humphry Davy (1788-1829) was a British Romantic chemist, who discovered more individual elements than anyone in history. The quote by Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a play off of a Samuel Taylor Coleridge quote.


          by Cawb Edius Reel

He was a small-role actor in the movie industry,
from 1921 until the 1970s.
He also played bit-parts in television frequently,
oft as a pilot, or in westerns, on the silver screen.
What does that mean? Not much. There really isn’t much to make
of one whose life was mainly just a cinematic take.
And yet, each life has some importance in the human wake,
both re-al el-em-ents o-paque, and those that are seen fake.
For all the World’s a stage, and all the men and women are
just players with their entrances and exits, dust of stars.

Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of film.


The Commute
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

One hears the early morning traffic—commute is in full force.
The constant flow of vehicles, en route and hot on course.
The people driving out to work—there is a number spike—
the metroplex is activated, cars, trucks, motorbikes.
The hive’s alive, here at the edge of night, o, hear the hum.
From near and far, o, round the neigbourhoods, the masses come.
From cul-de-sacs, on lanes and roads, down streets and avenues.
The highways fill up with the spill and grow as light accrues.
The steady roar is like a river pouring water forth.
One hears them hardly slowing, going west, east, south and north.

Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation. As of September 9, 2021, gas prices in the USA have hit the pocketbooks of the people. As per AAA, some examples, per/gallon regular gas price in California, $4.37; Nevada, $4.01; Washington, $3.88; Oregon, $3.77; Colorado, $3.61; Wyoming, $3.57; Illinois, $3.31; New York, $3.28; Connecticut, $3.19; Massachusetts, $3.09; Florida, $3.01; Georgia, $2.98; Texas, $2.82; Mississippi, $2.80;


Copra Vagaries
          by Cruse Wadibele

He was like as a monkey climbing up some jungle tree.
Between his thighs, he grasped the trunk in his ascendancy.
He longed to get at those big, thick and hardened coconuts,
that hung up high there in the sky above these scuttlebutts.
He loved to eat those hairy, light-brown, tough, round hanging drupes,
to drop those fruits, down to their roots, arranged in lovely groups.

This is the tree of life, providing fuel, and fleshy food,
cosmetics, medicine, and building wood. It is so good.
Mature ripe coconuts are used as edible, pure seeds,
processed for oil and plant milk—so many basic needs.
The hard shells are produced for charcoal, coir from the fibrous husks
can be turned in to mats, and brushes, mattresses and such.

Cruse Wadibele is a poet of the Pacific Islanders.