by E “Birdcaws” Eule
In strident, rude jeers,
the bluejay on the fence shrieks:
E “Birdcaws” Eule is a poet of birds using Japanese poetic adumbrations.
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Pestering the cat
is the sassy mockingbird,
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Across the garage,
a marching maggot barage.
Russia raids Ukraine.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of natural settings and Japanese poetic forms.
Abbott Nutrition has announced that infant formula
production now will be restarted, Sturgis, Michigan.
The FDA’s Commissioner, a Pharma confidant,
had rushed in to shut down the food for infants in the plant.
But was it necessary to close down its factory,
when evidence was lacking linking its facility?
Sturgis, Michigan, is a town of around 11,000.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Th’ open-mouthed baby
wants oats, carrots, bananas.
Young bird in a nest.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
A dinosaur dad,
in the crepuscular scene.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a poet using Japanese forms united with technology, who although he appreciates the Gendai movement and New Rising Haiku, very much admires traditional haiku.
It was just last week North Korea had assumed control,
as UN chair on world disarmament. A joke? O, no!
but isn’t this like Peng Liyuan, Goodwill Ambassador,
who at Tiananmin Square sang in warlike uniform?
Peng Liyuan is the wife of Xi Jinping.
On the Eve of June 4th, 2022
by Aw “Curbside” Lee
Livestreamer Li Jiaqi was banned by the Communists
for a tank-like plate of ice cream, unsafe and ominous.
Aw “Curbside” Lee is a poet of NewMillennial China whose pen name is curbside 路边. Li Jiaqi is an Internet influencer who had 35,000,000 followers on TikTok back in May of 2021.
Apparently it was Iran’s top cyberterrorists
who planned a sneak attack on Boston’s Children’s Hospital;
but Bureau Chief Wray said that China was the biggest threat,
surveillance in the name of state security at best.
It seems Wang Liqiang was smart to keep away from there,
despite some Bidens, NBA and Hollywood’s strange care.
Amidst the Pain and Gray Paint of this World
by R. Lee Ubicwedas
One looks in vain amidst the pain and gray paint of this World,
intó which we have all been hurled, o, seeking peace and pearl.
One looks back at the comrades one has shared this passage with.
Although one cannot see them clearly, still one can see them.
One searches for those moems of sweet happiness and joy;
but, oy, they pass so fast. One silently endures the Void.
One searches for a stance that one can stand in life for long,
and longs to keep connected to it. Ho, one must be strong.
One sees so many ugly things go by, yet one still strives
for truth and beauty, goodness, duty. Lo, for these one vies.
R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of Ubiquity.
At the Circus: the Acrobat and the Lion Tamer
by Sirc de Wee Balu
The acrobat stood by the swing; he was a fine gymnast.
He was a worker in the circus, tending to a task.
Nearby the lion tamer had a snapping whip and chain;
to keep that animal in tow he also had a chain.
The acrobat looked worried, though he did not fear the swing.
It seemed that he was well prepared for almost anything.
The lion tamer, further on, was messing with his prey,
antagonizing him while also keeping him at bay.
The acrobat stretched out his hands to catch the silver bar.
He jerked his back and jumped spasmotic’lly into the air.
The lion tamer, firmly on the ground, kept prodding hard.
The lion looked back at his nemesis in anger, jarred.
The acrobat leaned back and somersaulted round and round.
He held his thighs in hurled motion, high-up and unbound.
The lion tamer grinned to see the lion backing off.
He scoffed at bundled agony. Of this job he was fond.
Sirc de Wee Balu is a poet of the circus. Baloo is a fictional sloth bear in “The Jungle Book” a work of Victorian writer Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936). When he first read Kipling’s novel “Kim”, as a teenager, he didn’t understand the half of it.
Both Nupur Sharma and Naveen Jindal expended for
remarks about Muhammed—BJP has closed the door—
denouncing insults of religious figures evermore,
of any figure of religion—hate speech to abhor.
Meditation in A-Flat
by Sri Wele Cebuda
He got in an asana pose, his seat placed squarely, firm.
He wanted so to be relaxed. He did not want to squirm.
He was upon a mat upon the floor beside the couch.
He stretched his legs out to each side with little irk or ouch.
He would not shirk his meditation, though it seemed like work.
He lifted up his head; his eyes were closed; he tensed his core.
His inner eye was open wide, as was his OM-filled mouth.
He deeply breathed a thousands thous, as he went north and south.
He penetrated inner space, he jostled like the wind,
and did his best to meet the test within the heartfelt din.
He loved to reach up high above the plane on which he was.
O, Lord, it was amongst the very best of all his loves.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation.
by Crise de Abu Wel
I’d often found myself in crypts dug deep down in the earth
with walls on either side lined with the bodies of the dead,
where everything was dark, as though the Psalmist’s words were true:
Let them go down quick to Sheol, for evil is their due.
O, here and there the light, not entering through windows, came
down filtering through shafts, relieving horrors of the dark.
But just as soon as one moved on, the black night closed around,
and stark, dread dearth renewed its claim. To gloom’s rooms I was bound.
There came to mind the line of Vergil, horror on all sides,
the very silence breathed a terr’r; and on my soul abides.
by Crise de Abu Wel
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of Jerusalem. Jerome (c. 342 – c. 420) was a noted Roman theologian and historian. The above poem is an arranged iambic pentameter couplet. The previous tennos alludes to the Hebraic psalmist David (c. 1010 BC – c. 970 BC), as, e.g., in “Psalm 55”, and to the Latin poet Vergil (70 BC -19 BC).
A Federal Grand Jury has indicted Peter N.
That’s not Navalny but Navarro—villainy again,
two opposition figures, Russian and American,
both persecuted by tyrannical officialdom.
by Radice Lebewsu
“But here in the yellow and blue of my days
I wander the endless Mercurian caves
Watching for the signs the Harmonians make
The words on the wall…”
—Al Stewart, “Sirens of Titan”
The hard attacks, the man in black, the missile surge astounds.
The war continues. O, the horror grows by leaps and bounds.
Each countenance is grim and sober; talking hardly helps.
Each soldier does his best, and yet, one still hears yells and yelps.
Some bide their time in basements, both embarrassed and abased;
they dwell upon facts on the ground; they contemplate the waste.
They feel like gophers in their holes; they wish that they could leave;
but all that waits for them is fighting, biting pain and grief.
How long can this go on, they wonder. Will it never stop?
Though they are strong, o, how they long there just could be a pause.
Radice Lebewsu is a poet of Ukraine. Al Stewart is a contemporary artist. “The Sirens of Titan” is a novel by PostModernist American author Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (1922-2007).
Cebas Ur Ewilde
by Bièl Cerwaudes
I saw him Cebas Ur Ewilde by the hypercube.
It looked like there was some crude brute he wanted to subdue.
White, blue-gray, black and silver-green, the door was opening.
He crossed the floor with anxious speed, no Copenhagen King.
He gazed along his long arms for the longed-for prize he sawt,
some monster lounging, or some Grand El hanging at the Swamp.
He thought of princely Aslan at the castle El Sinor.
He wanted to push down that creature to the shiny floor.
He loved exploring varied spaces through prozaic kicks.
Perhaps he could defeat his nemesis with some new tricks.
Bièl Cerwaudes is a gentleman and ingenious literary critic. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, sawt is a portmanteau of saw and sought. Cebas Ur Ewilde is an Ecuadoran Knight Errant, Aslan a knight of light.
When Stern Duty Calls
by Usa W. Celebride
“When Duty whispers low, ‘Thou must’…youth whispers [must I go?]”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
He looks off to his right, o, yes, he waits for his commands.
The soldier ever is upon his lookout where he stands.
Alert, his muscles tense, he tries interpreting the runes.
He dreads incoming missiles, whistling dread and deadly tunes.
His body taut, in anguish wrought, he focuses upon
the rattling battle, cattle prepped for slaughter—o, my God.
Where is the softness of that gorgeous life lived happily?
Why must each moment pass along and blast so snappily?
He feels hardly hardy, though he has to be that way.
Upon a field of sable, he must wear a Scarlet A,
a red badge on a field of dun midst muddy concrete walls.
O, Hell, this is the situation when stern duty calls.
Usa W. Celebride is a poet of the United States of America. Since Biden became the Resident of the White House, America has added more than 2,000,000 immigrants. Romantic American author Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) authored the novel “The Scarlet Letter”, Ralph Emerson (1803-1882) was an American essayist and poet, and Realist American author Stephen Crane (1871-1900) authored the novel The Red Badge of Courage.
Indianapolis: a Glimpse
by Wilbur Dee Case
When I came to…I saw…Indianapolis,
a cluster of skyscrapers in the center of
Interstate 465. Hardly fabulous,
gray, distant buildings from the highway—tender love
was no where near. I felt like I was hurtling round
a motor speedway, cars rushing tighter than a glove.
My focus was upon the hard, gray pavement’s pound,
the many vehicles all rushing fast along.
To that great, mighty power, Progress, all were bound,
its music blasting out a piercing, driving song,
here on the edges of one of its capitals,
here in the throes of this accelerating throng.
Wilbur Dee Case is a poet of Middle America. Indianapolis is a city of around 880,000. The bilding is a 12 x 12 poetic structure with a ABABCBCDCDAD rhyme scheme, created by PostModernist poet Uwe Carl Diebes.
by Caderius E. Blew
Born in a log cabin on Lincoln’s birth date
in Lincoln County, Oklahoma, before
it became a state, in 1898,
Leroy Harris went west in 1904,
out to California with his family.
At Covina High School he played clarinet,
and later, to be more popular, football,
where he broke his nose, his arm, and finally
his fingers. He would never play the spinet,
nor would he go traipsing after the hoot owl.
But he did see “the end of pioneer days,”
as the orange groves and ranches gave way to
urban and suburban sprawl. It did amaze.
Roy was with a state-side artillery crew
in World War I. After his time in the service,
he drove a dairy truck, delivering milk,
butter, and eggs to regular customers
in southern California. Then, after this,
he was an usher for the black-suit-and-silk
crowd so he could listen to music concerts.
In his mid-twenties, he went off to college,
after which time he composed an “Andante”
that Howard Hanson planned to play. With knowledge
and train fare he went east to New York one day.
There Aaron Copland recommended that he
study with Nadia Boulanger in Paris.
What he studied were Beethoven’s string quartets,
from which he learned discipline and form, gladly.
From this developed the style of Roy Harris,
at least in general outlines, more or less.
He picked up patriotic songs and folk tunes
combined with fiddling sounds, firm and feckless,
and cultivated pure, rustic, broad-stroked runes
that spoke with American directness.
Caderius E. Blew is a poet of American art music. Roy Harris (1898-1979) was a Modernist American composer, as were Aaron Copland (1900-1990) and Howard Hansen (1896-1981). French Modernist Nadia Boulanger (1887-1979) was a noted music teacher who taught many of the leading composers and musicians of the 20th century.
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
He started doing squats upon a platform at the gym.
He felt the need to exercise with vinegar and vim.
Dressed lightly, from white baseball cap to black athletic shoes,
on tip-toes, going up and down, his focus, flux and fuse.
He concentrated on his abs and kept on working hard,
on form and funtion, as he flexed his core, his legs and arms.
It was like as he was a football player marking yards;
he kept on moving till he touched down on the field of Mars.
O, he’d gone far, yet wanted to go further than he’d been;
but he was only doing squats, a non-eventful spin.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of exercise. “Non-eventful” is an expression drawn from German-British PostModernist poet and critic Michael Hamburger (1924-2007), author of the noted work of criticism “The Truth of Poetry.”