The Spacecraft Named Resilience
          by I. E. Sbace Weruld

The spacecraft named Resilience parachuted to the sea,
and safely brought back to the Earth four nonprofessionals.
The four had orbited the planet for three times around,
the all-civilian passengers had happily come down
A fleet of SpaceX rescue ships picked up the craft and crew,
just off the coast of Florida in the Atlantic blue.
The four that went had undergone some months of training for
the mission that they went upon, its rigours, risks and more—
up in their capsule, absolutely in space-travel gear,
there at 360 miles in the atmosphere.

Mr. I. E. Sbace World is a poet of the Universe.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Down from the ceiling,
a spider seeking to bite
is squished with fingers.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

This cylindrical
leek’s green, leaf-sheathed bundle is
fit for a king.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese forms in English, especially the traditional haiku, which reached its zenith in the 17th -19th centuries.


          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Seeking out insects,
a gecko on the window
makes the cat alert.

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


September 5, 2021
          by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
          “野鳥入廟” wild birds enter a temple,
              Ancient Chinese proverb

A black swan landed in Tiananmin, September 5.
Chinese police, then drove away onlookers that arrived.
Wildlife protection staff were there to quickly catch the bird.
And China’s censors cut all ref’rences to what occurred.
But there it was. The netizens had seen it for themselves.
The black swan walked around the People’s Heroes-Monument,
where leaders of the CCP present their offerings,
wreaths to the figures they adore—their Party Member Chiefs.
In January, Xi Jinping told loyal followers:
Beware grey rhinos and black swans, foregoers, they coerce.

Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of Chinese lore. Taleb’s “black swan” and Wucker’s “grey rhino” are used to characterize nasty human events. Ironically, Xi Jinping may be responsible for the biggest black swan and/or grey rhino yet—the Chinese Coronavirus.


A Yellow Bird
          by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei

A catcher caught a yellow bird out in the open field,
and he was overjoyed he got it, that it had to yield.
But a young man near by, who saw its plight, was very sad;
and so he took his sword and cut its net—that’s all he had.
And once again the bird was free, high up there in the sky,
and it was very happy that it could be there and fly.
So it came down to thank the youth—that yellow grateful bird—
although it could not say a thing and spoke no human word.
Yet, as it landed in that very field it had come from,
the catcher threw his net again, the sparrow caught—Mahjong.


Banned by the CCP
          by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei

Just lately “girlie” men were banned from Chinese TV, yo.
As Xi Jinping explained, the Party must expand controls.
The “girlie” men do not support the Revolution’s goals.
For “national rejuvenation” they must be deposed.

This month “abnormals” have been dropped from Chinese Radio,
as well as “vulgar Internet celebrities”—the Woke.
So many fan clubs—thousands—now suspended by Weibo;
and children of celebrities are banned. They have to go.

Too, actress Zhao Wei disappeared from streaming any show,
her name removed from any credits; she cannot be known.
Performers who have “lost morality” must leave the rolls;
they should not be allowed to be on China’s sacred scrolls.

Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of NewMillennial China.


World leaders are returning to the UN in New York
to fight both climate change and covid-19’s melt-down core.
Perhaps the UN can make China drop its carbon count,
and tell the truth about the Wu flu, as the numbers mount.
4,700,000 deaths so far this week.
230,000,000 cases—Have we reached the peak?


Actinic Keratosis
          by Dr. Weslie Ubeca

It was time for appointment with a dermatologist,
to have his skin checked—Were the splotches there precancerous?
He took off pants and shirt, but kept on shorts and shoes and socks.
Th’ attendant offered him a robe, but he declined their frocks.
The doctor scanned hands, arms and legs, his back, chest, neck and head,
and only found one spot he thought that needed to be shed.
With cryotherapy, he sprayed forth liquid nitrogen
to freeze the growth he found—a bi-ting-bur-ning-sen-sa-tion.
Glad the actinic keratosis had been found and drilled,
his basal-cell, skin-growth dispelled, his apprehension stilled.

Dr. Weslie Ubeca is not a doctor, but a poet of medicine and health-care providers.


Rescued From Afghanistan
          by Sawceeb Dureli

In August, Afghan women soccer players had escaped…
in burqas, making it to Pakistan. They were not raped.
Australia, then, accepted them; and that is where they are.
They had departed Taliban brutality—afar.
Yet such was not the fate for th’ Afghan girls soccer team;
they hid and lived in fear of Taliban atrocities.
But now, with help, they, too, got out, and traveled to Lahore;
as Taliban officials stated girls don’t need sports.
On Sunday last, the rescued girls and their families
arrived in Lisbon, Portugal—asylum granted—free.

Sawceeb Dureli is a poet of Afghanistan. By overland and via Qatari flights, Americans and their allies continue to escape from the Taliban; but, according to some sources, less than 5% of US Afghan aids and translators have managed to escape. Lahore is a city of around 11,000,000 and Lisbon around 500,000, with 3,000,000 in its metro.


Results suggest United Russia won the recent poll.
A pre-vote crackdown crushed the critics; keeps control.
Some claim that there was widespread fraud; authorities deny.
Some watchdog groups recorded many violations—aye.


A Beautiful Gift in Krasnador
          by Alecsei Burdeew

Like as an Afremov at night, the lighting shiny bright,
a glittering excitement reigns on Krasnador’s main street.
On weekends, strolling down the pavement, lined with well-groomed trees,
a touch of magic stirs the pageant of the peasantry.
Closed to the cars that choke its weekly traffic diagrams,
a lolling flow of feet and, o, a road of bionyms.
Occasionally one may see there passing—a flâneur—
a nameless, urban wanderer, a strange boulevardier,
a man within the crowd who ambles, dressed in blue and tan,
a janitor, detached and watched by hawk and cockeyed cam.

Leonid Afremov (1955-2019) was a contemporary painter. Krasnador is a city in southern Russia with a population of around 900,000. Krasnador contains the steel lattice hyperboloid tower designed by Russian architectural engineer and polymath Vladimir Grogorievich Shukhov (1853-1939). According to Beau Lecsi Werd, a bionym (not the company of that name), is a named human life-form.


He Czeched the Box
          by E. Ludwic Barese

He Czeched the box. The robber took the van. He was damn mad.
He was the driver for the robbery—no map in hand.
He waited there in readiness, prepared to press the gas.
He was so tense; but he was glad. His hands were on his legs.

Though he had been born after the Prague Spring—unlike Dubček—
when socialism with a human face was crushed, and crushed, and crushed.
And he was shot—How many times?—his life turned up-side-down.
He was excited—but it didn’t happen, as he found.

What could he do? He had no choice. He had to join the pack.
Like as a wild animal, he had to cede, in fact.
He picked his feet up off the ground—and leaped into the air.
He found that he could do it, yes, accept the deep despair.

E. Ludwic Barese is a poet of the dark side of Eastern Europe. Alexander Dubček (1921-1992) attempted to reform the Communist government, until the Warsaw Pact attacked.


          by Eric Awesud Ble

Afoam and frothy at the mouth, insoucient idiocy,
with torch and pitchfork, storm-troop, antisocial media
seek out pariahs in their swarm, piranahs on a roll,
to strip opponents with their vicious, frenzied monogoal—
OneState where everyone’s the same, accepting PC-Be,
the UniMind and UniParty, proto CCPee.
There is no room for freedom from that fiercely frenzied crowd,
and freedom from the Inquisition will not be allowed.
It is Verboten, out-of-bounds, blocked, banned, needs banishing,
until it will be disappeared in downright v-a-n-i-s-h-i-n-g…

Eric Awesud Ble is a poet of Orwellian dimensions.


Eyes Front
by Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis

His dog-tags dangled from his neck, between his hairy pecs.
They jangled as he turned around, though it was but a sec.
He tried to make no noise, there at attention and—oh, my.
He was supposed to be as quiet as a pantomime.
He slightly turned his head to see if he was straight in line.
That was important standing there, aye, out loud listening.
He locked his shoulders, abs and arms, attempting not to move;
it was important to be still, like as within a groove.
He was alert and watchful at the aweful scene he saw,
which seen, he had to keep eyes front, but not be moved at all.

Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis is a poet of the military.


Poor, Tired, Huddled Masses
          by Brice U. Lawseed
          “Pictures aren’t allowed of the massive border crisis.”
              —Cawb Edius Reel

Near th’ International Bridge, in between north Mexico
and the United States, they tread across, o, thousands, flow,
from Ciudad Acuña, walking through the Rio Grande,
to end up in Del Rio, Texas, where they now must stand
beneath the massive concrete bridge—at Loop 239.
Poor, tired, huddled masses wait. The scene is not divine.

Above, a drone flies over, captures pictures of the crowd—
more than ten-thousand souls—facilities are overwhelmed.
Th’ Administration, through th’ FAA, had stopped such flights,
till people had protested, wanting answers for this plight.
And so they stand there, waiting to learn what will be their fates.
The Biden Admin states some will be flown back to Haiti.

Brice U. Lawseed is a poet of the law (not a lawyer). Some of the French-speaking Haitians have been flown to Haiti and many released into largely Spanish-influenced Texas, the Lone Star State. Del Rio, Texas, population about 35,000, Ciudad Acuña, Mexico, about 200,000.


Taking Out the Garbage
          by Wilude Scabere

He was dressed all in black, from tee-shirt down to socks and shoes;
but he was not Prince Hamlet, with his father’s throne to lose.
He was just taking out the garbage for another week,
the coffee grounds in melon plastic bowl, o, jowl by cheek.

Aye, aye, he was on time—swift-footed. No, he was not late.
He was about to go to work—a quarter after eight.
But, o, he would have loved to stay, to linger short or long.
He wished the base and building of his love were very strong.

Ah, yes, the fair Sun shone. He did not buy a full-length glass.
He did not long to see his shadow, or to watch it pass.
He only longed to dawdle as he diddled time away,
and idly touch it, dan-gl-ing, here at its merry stay.

Wilude Scabere is a poet attuned to Shakespearean creativity.


Meditation in See-Sharp
by Beau Ecs Wilder

He stood up at the table covered with a bright white cloth:
a cross and candles there upon it, o, content in thought.
It was like as he was in an asana pose, o, yeh,
and contemplating ecstasy that had not come as yet.

He opened up his inner eye; his head turned to the right.
He closed his outer eyes, but kept on seeking new-insight.
He felt close to the universe G. Manley Hopkins wrought.
He dreamed of God and thanked him for all of the love he got.

He wondered at the awesome cosmic flux he focused on,
and longed to stay there, o, where he felt like as he belonged.
He felt the presence of some mighty force, so deep within,
that gave him strength along his total length, through think and thick.

Beau Ecs Wilder is a poet of Victorian Britain. Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889) was a poetic innovator in English prosody, for example, sprung rhythm. He enjoys lisseening to Rendezvous’ “C Sharp” with its animated Afremov-like coloured music-video.


This Little Piggie Squealed “Wii Wii Wii” All the Way Home
          by Brad Lee Suciew

To differ from its competition—Sony, Microsoft—
Nintendo’s Wii was its blue-ocean-strategy aloft.
While Microsoft and Sony innovated console strength,
Nintendo went to great lengths to make newer ways to play.
Another part of its success was Wii’s much lower cost,
allowing it to make some money, while the others lost.
The console’s price at final launch, although a hefty fee,
was cheaper than Xbox 360 or PlayStation3.
Since discontinuation, Wii is now a target for
homebrewing, hacking, emulation—legal cleanroom ore.

Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of business.