by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Into the new bath,
the baby carefully sits—
the sound of water.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a haiku poet. The above haiku draws from Edo master Matsuo Basho (1644-1694).
A steady stream of mourners visited, distraught, forlorn,
where Shinzo Abe was assassinated Friday morn,
there saying prayers, placing many flowers, day and night,
remembering the politician at the Nara site.
Nara is a city of around 360,000. Shinzo Abe (1954-2022) was a NewMillennial Japanese politician.
The Lotus Pose
by Sri Wele Cebuda
The room’s decor was beautiful, in beige, dark brown, and white.
Uncurtained windows let in lots of early morning light.
He got into the lotus pose to contemplate his life
accentuated troubles by some bubbles of delight.
He spread his knees out to each side and stretched his legs below.
He lifted up his head and spine. O, where could he not go?
He wanted peace and mental freedom, but he felt he was
bound to the whims of brutal souls beneath the burning Sun.
He was alert, but could not speak; he could not breathe a word;
and yet, he was content though caught within the crass absurd.
Demonic individuals might try to keep him down;
but he was bound to joy in this room, white, dark brown, and beige.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of yoga.
Marcus Fabius Quintilianus
by Aedile Cwerbus
He was an old distinguished teacher, his hair gray and short;
if not politic’lly correct, he could at least comport.
He worked hard to instruct the students on the themes at hand.
He showed the students what to do, but he did not command.
He taught both rhetoric and grammar; he thought morally.
His speech was clear; and he pronounced his pronouns properly.
Was Marcus Fabius Quintilianus glorious,
who authored Institutio, o, Oratoria,
who tried his best, ah, “vir bonus dicendi peritus”,
in his attempt to be and do, to speak the veritous?
Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of Ancient Rome. Marcus Fabius Quintilianus (c. 35 AD – c. 100 AD) was a note writer of the Silver Age of Roman literature. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, the neologism veritous is a blend of virtuous and verity.
by Beau Lecsi Werd
He looked upon pejoratives as something not to use;
but others found them satisfying sprinkled with abuse.
How could that be, he wondered, why did some enjoy their pall?
Was it because they liked to break taboos, to challenge all?
How could such people love to hear such nasty, vulgar talk?
Was it because they were Bulgarians from Burgas Lakes?
Beau Lecsi Werd is a poet of language. The Burgas Lakes are a group of lakes near Burgas, Bulgaria, a city of around 200,000. One of his favourite journalists is the Bulgarian-born proset Даниел Иванджийски.
His Eighth Symphony
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
When asked by his pupil Carl Czerny why
his eighth symphony was less popular
than his seventh one, Beethoven’s reply
was, “Because the Eighth is so much better.”
Ewald E. Eisbruc is a poet of Austro-Ger-Manic music. Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827) inaugurated the Romantic period in music (circa 1800-1900). Carl Czerny (1791-1857) was a Czech Austro-Hungarian composer whose music, like that of Beethoven’s spanned the Classical and early Romantic era.
by Lucas Eberewid
“I had a farm in Africa
at the foot of the Ngong Hills.”
Karen cultivated coffee,
with husband Baron Bror, until
divorced in 1921.
For ten years she strove on alone,
in love with Denys Finch-Hatton,
until death, drought, and the depressed
market drove her back to Denmark,
Lucas Eberewid is a poet of Denmark. Karen Blix, Baroness Blixen-Finecke (1885-1962) was a Danish Modernist author, known also by her pem name Isak Dineson.
by Wilude Scabere
Across the lawn he walks, Sir Thomas More,
before he goes to th’ executioner.
Now he sits at a most ominous court.
On Woolsey’s death, he is Lord Chancellor.
Cromwell is in the wings. Henry on stage.
He desires a divorce from Catherine,
so he can have a male heir. Turn the page
forward to the marriage of Ann Boleyn.
Across the lawn he walks, Sir Thomas More,
before he goes to the Tower. Upon
his soul, he will not take the oath. He won’t.
Sweet Thames, run softly till I sing my song.
Upon the block he puts his godly pate.
Once cut off, it is placed on Traitor’s Gate.
Wilude Scabere is a poet attuned to Shakespearean creativity.
On a Book by Emily Brontë
Beau Ecs Wilder
I remember it all so vividly.
Though it was a dream, it was a real one,
her characters, haunting so lividly
the world she made, related by Ellen:
those of Wuthering Heights: Hindley, Heathcliff,
and Catherine; and those of Thrushcross Grange:
Edgar and Isabella, followed by
Hareton, Linton, and Cathy. What if
there was one who could take in all that range—
from the moors to Penistone and the sky?
There it was—the mad, wild Romantic will
dying before the cold Victorian soul.
I remember it well—out of control,
the wind and the rain at the window sill,
Beau Ecs Wilder is a poet and literary critic of British literature. Emily Brontë (1818-1848) was a Romantic English novelist and poet, who penned the novel Wuthering Heights.
The Sun Also Rises
by Wilbur Dee Case
“The sun also rises…”
Ernest Hemingway sure knew how to write
depressing novels, if that is what one
desires. The Sun Also Rises is right
there at the top, a tale of depression.
There’s Jake, an American journalist
(surprise, surprise), ex-fiancée Brett,
her semi-fiance Mike, and the rest,
writers Robert and Bill (oh, to forget).
These lost-generation expatriates
take an extended vacation to Spain
to watch bull-fights, drink hard (like idiots),
and find contentment only in the vain.
How could it really be any surprise
then, that he would receive the Nobel Prize?
Wilbur Dee Case is a poet of American literature.
The Old Man and the Bay
by W. S. “Eel” Bericuda
I saw the old man on the water, his hair short and gray.
It looked like he was on a skiff and sailing on a bay.
He had gone fishing, wishing he could catch a fish today,
or two, or more—You bet!—He loved to get them with his bait.
His neck was wrinkled, as he sat there in the burning Sun.
To him the whole thing was so wonderful. He loved this nub.
He concentrated on the task at hand. He rode the waves.
He greeted passersby with joyous rippling ‘Ho’s and ‘Hey’s.
Though motor boats and other vessels shook his craft’s strong hull;
he readily stayed staid and ready for hard pull or gull.
And though he did not smile at all, he still was happy there
out on the water in the sunshine and the open air.
W. S. “Eel” Bericuda is a poet of fish and the sea. One of his favourite novellas in “The Old Man and the Sea’ by American Modernist proset Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961).
When citizens are paying more for gas than they deserve,
why was the Biden Admin selling oil from the reserve
to Sinopec’s branch Unipec, that CCP-owned firm?
The hunter of this answer is not toilsome to discern.
The Pressing Essence of Exercise
by Rudi E. Wele, “Abs”
He had to get up off the plat. He had to make a stir.
It was time for his exercises. Stretches were up first.
He stretched his legs and arms and abs; he stretched his neck and pecs.
He had to pick the pace up, he was pressed to work his chest.
Next came the biceps and the triceps, shoulders strengthened, bold.
Then came the squats, he got quite hot; the perspiration showed.
He rolled his back, like as the tide that crashed upon the shore;
he had so many things to do; at times, chores he’d abhor.
And yet he kept on going, o, he worked back, back and forth,
as if he were a Norse god fighting high-and-mighty Thor.
But finally, exhausted, dropping flat upon a mat;
he got into the shower stall, and washed away all that.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of exercises.
US inflation keeps on rising—9.1 %.
This is the worst in 40 years, it’s on a spend ascent.
Though not as bad as Ven’zuela, Turkey, or Sudan,
it’s way above Malaysia, China, Hong Kong, and Japan.
The Office Clerk
by Brad Lee Suciewe
Another day back at his desk, a smooth, brown, wooden top,
that he could lean his forearms on, and a warm coffee cup.
He sat beside the monitor, a window on the World.
He sat erect and focused on the early morning’s work.
His phone was ever at his side, and his computer on.
There were so many that he had to contact after dawn.
He was alert, this office clerk. O, there were many chores;
some that he really liked, but so too those that he abhorred.
Whichever was the case, he did his best to get them done;
yet sometimes he felt like he was a planet on the run.
by Brad Lee Suciewe
Inflation’s rising, market’s tumbling, int’rest rates increase;
and yet job numbers found in the United States don’t cease.
Though slowing from the winter, they’re continuing to grow.
Is this what a recession looks like? How can this be so?
Brad Lee Suciewe is a poet of business.