On a Whirling Globe
          by I. E. Sbace Weruld

I feel as if I’m on a whirling Globe out of control,
that speeds 1,000 miles per hour in a mixing bowl,
as if I’m travelling around a blazing, raging Sun
some 60,000 miles per hour on a tearing run.
O, then it seems as if I’m rushing round this galaxy
on a 400,000-mile-per-hour spatial spree.
And if that wasn’t fast enough, it seems the Milky Way
is soaring on a million-mile-per-hour horseless sleigh.
And so I doubt I’ll find much peace here in this cosmic yawn;
I’ll live my life as best I can, and then be moving on.

I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Universe.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

One can learn so much
by serving and observing
a charming child.


          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

No frog will jump in;
the ducks and geese have flown off;
the old pond is gone.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a haiku poet.


The Australian Rugby Player
          by Walibee Scrude
          “no worries”
              —a common Australian phrase

He put aside his uniform, the yellow and the green.
He tossed the ball across the hall where it could not be seen.
He lay across the gym equipment, head turned to the left.
He lost the match, he missed the catch, but he was not bereft.
He stretched his legs, he thought of kegs, the whole damn day he’d doff.
He simply wanted to relax, to let it all go off.
He rested patiently, alone; the crowds had disappeared.
He cast the rind of all behind; an unfilled hunger neared.
He got up on his knees and yawned. The banner raised had dropped.
He simply gazed in thoughtful daze, and then the worries plopped.


As Putin wages war against Ukraine, Xi visits him,
perhaps the tyrants can share thoughts on ruling next to Kim.
Perhaps they could read “The Art of the Deal” to get some hints
about how to desist from murdering the innocents.
Mean-whi-le Fumio Kishida traveled to Kyiv
to meet Zelensky, offering support…and hope he’d live,
as well as his beleaguered countrymen; and so he went
as well to Bucha and the site of a mass grave’s lives spent.


Waltz Number 2 by Shostakovich
          by Waldi Berceuse

Waltz Number 2 by Shostakovich is both gorgeous and
touched by grotesquerie. Its sweep is beautiful and grand,
though its long, suave, melodic lines, sweet and continuous,
are constantly conflicted with attacks less sinuous,
the pizzicati strings, the snare drum’s tapping tac-tac-tac.
It seems like it is ever trying to get off its track.
His work of 1938, C-minor and E-flat,
leaves one expecting carousels or swinging acrobats.
Still, it’s quite mem’rable from intro by the clarinet
to booming sounds contrasting with discrete, neat disconnects.

Waldi Berceuse is a poet of Slavic music. Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-1975) was a Modernist Russian composer.


Joe Biden lectured Netanyahu on judish-reform,
while launching his own mission for a packing of the court.


          by Drew U. A. Eclibse
          “radiisque retexerit orbem”
              —Vergil, “Aeneid: Book 4, L119 & Book 5, L65”

He rises so mysteriously, with a brilliant shine,
of rubies, amber, diamonds, gold, and rare väyrynenite,
all in a pile, a heap come from some dark, stark, distant mine—
this Universe, amidst this mist, where close night closes nigh.

Drew U. A. Eclibse is a poet of heavenly bodies.


Outside the capital of Bangui, at a gold mine drilled,
in Central African Republic, nine Chinese were killed.


Mediterranean Meditations
          by Erisbawdle Cue
          “Μέγιστον τόπος· ἄπαντα γὰρ χωρεῖ.”
          —Thales of Miletus

According to famed Aristotle, the Philosopher,
Thales was the Magnificenter Magnetometer.
He thought this Orb re-lied on water, rested on its surf.
Did he conclude that Earth was rocked by waves upon its turf?
He thought that water was the stuff from which all matter came.
Did he think hydrogen was the material archê?
He thought the magnet has a soul; it was alive somehow.
Did he regard that motion was important for the Plow?
He thought the Globe, things in themselves, were filled, o, full of gods.
Did he suppose the Great Bear roamed upon the cosmic clods?

Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy. Thales (c. 623 BC – c. 545 BC) was an Ancient Greek mathematician and astronomer from Miletus. Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC) was a Classical period philosopher of Ancient Greece who studied biology, botany, chemistry, ethics, history, logic, physics, poetics, political theory, psychology, rhetoric, and zology. The Plow and the Great Bear are constellations in the night sky. The phrase “things in themselves” is associated with the German Enlightenment philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724-1804).


The Acrobat
          by Luwese Becardi

When happy circumstances led him to
the study of Italian poetry, He found himself
within a world of beauty and delight,
a new and noble world, a lawn of dew.
He left behind a dark and musty shelf
and entered in a garden fresh and bright.
So like a child, he ran this way and that,
and found such jewelled blossoms everywhere
he looked. He was quite overwhelmed. The air
was sweet and redolent. The welcome mat
became a magic carpet. He was at
the beck and call of wonder. Did he dare
disturb a universe at once so fair?
Of course, he did. He was an acrobat.

Luwese Becardi is a poet of Italian literature.


Ghjattu Volpe
          by Bud “Weasel” Rice

The stories of Ghjattu Volpe have been passed down in time,
but many thought the lurking creature simply was a myth.
It is discrete, so much so it stayed hidden for so long,
the Corsican cat-fox is a new species catalogued.
It is nocturnal in its isolated habitat,
on that Mediterranean isle wherein it lives at.

Bud “Weasel” Rice is a poet of Animalia. Corsica is a French island with a population of around 350,000.


How could a Trump indictment be injustice targeted?
No, it is really only pargeted façades by-bid.


Hen-Stepped Page
          by Caleb Wuri Seed

A ranch-and-farm sabbatical from teaching at the school
gave him a cow-to-calf and seed-to-harvesting retool.
He found bucolic and pastoral weren’t idyllic…toil,
beyond the spills of Theocritus or Ver-gil-ean roil.
He loved wood patches, grassy turf, the fresh streams, ponds, and swamps,
the beaucoup, blooming flowers, and the rambling, traipsing romps.
He liked the food-chain harmony of possums, fox, and skunks,
of hawks and vultures, wi-ld-cats, owls, snakes and teguses.
And there at one end of the ranch, along the riverrun,
the gauchos could observe flamingo goes in gold-glow sun.

Caleb Wuri Seed is a poet of fieldwork and harvesting crops. Theocritus (c. 300 BC – c. 260 BC) and Vergil (70 BC – 19 BC) were poets from Ancient Greece and Rome. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “goes”, in this context, means flows. Stephen Page is a contemporary poet and fictionist.


Thé Laplace Transform
          by Euclidrew Base

To change from the domain of time to frequency’s domain
one can use a Laplace transform to make equations plain.
There are so many of them—dozens—one can utilize,
to alter functions that contain derivatives inside.
They’re widely used in engineering applications where
the driving force is discontinuous; that is their their.
If f(t) is differentiable, one can write ODEs
in extra-ordinary ways and mathematic cODEs.
There are so many things that it can do, ah, yes, and morph.
O, let us take a moment to praise thé Laplace transform.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Pierre-Simon Laplace (1749-1827) was a noted Enlightenment mathematical physicist.


A Picture of Delight
          by Beau Ecs Wilder

A young boy’s seated on a wall that overlooks Capri,
an oil painting by Dane Peter Vilhelm Carl Kyhn,
where a rock ridge arises over architextured walls,
with arches, domes and towers over roof and mason sprawl.
The landscape artist captured a sweet momentary peace,
tranquility in beige, gray, white and tan, without caprice.

The boy, with blue-gray coat hung on his shoulders, sees the scene,
amidst the separated, tiny plants of mainly green,
upon the wall wherein he feels a calm so deep and pure,
beneath a sky with few white clouds in luminous azure.
He seems at ease, pleased with the stillness of that place of light,
a palace in reality, ideal and all right.

Beau Ecs Wilder is a poet and art critic of the 19th century. Peter Vilhelm Carl Kyhn (1819-1903) was a Danish landscape painter.


This Cold
          by Dr. Weslie Ubeca

This glob of mucus shows me that my body fights this cold;
this cold globe Earth reminds me too, o, even for the old,
there is no respite, no, nor peace without alarms, or war,
that ever must we struggle on alive, yes, strive, and more.

Dr. Weslie Ubeca is a poet of medicine, not a doctor of medicine.


The truck stops of the TravelCenters of America
were being purchased by BP, according to Pertchik.


That Clean, Well-Lighted Place
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

He drove into the travel center for black coffee—large.
The ample pavement slightly-potholed, for car-drivers, jarred.
But it was welcome nonetheless, to leave the interstate,
that vast and open, evening sky, this grand, inviting gate.

He drove along the spacious lot to find a place to park,
for he was enervated and the welkin setting dark.
He went inside. The light was bright. He left black night to walk
about the restaurant and store to meet his quaffing want.

He poured his java choice into the classic paper cup;
the plastic polyethylene-coat cup kept waterproof.
He passed the warm fresh buns and hotdogs turning on the grill,
and paid the clerk two-plus bucks, careful not to jerk or spill.

And then he stepped back into shadowed tenebrosity,
continuing upon his traveling velocity,
departing neon towers and that clean, well-lighted place.
Before him was the open highway, and the all of space.


Mundane Monday’s Daze
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe

It rises on the far horizon, the refulgent Sun,
like as it must have done so many times, that eerie One,
when dinosaurs arrived on Earth and thrived gargantuan,
high Titans of eternity, like as Hyperion.
He leaves the highway, flowing to a greater thoroughfare,
and drives off, going to another realm, in that gold glare.

Yes, there he is. He fills his tanks, three-hundred gallons full,
here at the futuristic truck-stop, diesel pullable.
He sees an arc, there at the parking lot, and gets a cup.
He fills it up with bourbon pecan coffee, plucky Puck.
And then drives back onto the trail, in the flaring blaze,
to face it with his pulled-down visor, mundane Monday’s daze.

Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation.


The FDIC ‘s making good on only certain bank
deposits for officials in the government. Gee, thanks.
No, there is no CoR-rUp-TiOn in US financing schemes
for SVB, and Signature, or First Republic dreams.
Soon after Powell had slightly raised the rates, then Yellen said
the US was not focused on a blanket in-sur-ance.