by “Wired Clues” Abe
On March 23rd,
auroras spread o’er the land.
B sub Z tipped south.
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Crane flies fly about,
as the stroller rolls along,
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Along the paved drive,
the vultures carry on and
feast on carrion.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a poet combining tradition Japanese haiku standards with Modernist and PostModernist techniques, following on the work of writers, such as Nakamura Kusatao (1901-1983), Kaneko Tôta (1919-2018), Nagata Kôi (1900-1997), Nakamura Sonoko (1911-2001), and Akao Tôshi (1925-1981).
They Drop So Pleasantly
by E “Birdcaws” Eule
The words drip through his mind, like coffee, macha, or black tea.
They drip; they drop; so pleasantly… “this life of luxury”.
that’s just a snipet of reality that passes by.
While treading on a copper pheasant’s tail, one sees his eye.
The words flow easily, like streams of dreams and fallen leaves;
the neighbourhood revealed beneath the overhanging eaves.
O, even if they go away it will have been worthwhile
to watch the mockingbird and swallowtail. The crow can’t smile.
E “Birdcaws” Eule is a poet of birds. The quote comes from PostModernist British songster Ray Davies, a member of the Kinks.
Flower DNA and Tower
by Brac Lei Uweeds
Beyond Perth’s central business district area, one saw
red, yellow, green plants—kangaroo paws—growing at Kings Park.
The bird-attracting florals were there coated with dense hairs
and opened at the apex with six clawlike, fluffy flairs.
Behind Kings Park’s locked gates, one might discover Digby Growns
at biodíversíty conservation centre grounds,
part of the scientific group, along with David Field,
who analyze what kangaroo-paw DNA, might yield.
Nearby, the highest point of Kings Park stands the DNA,
a fifteen meter double helix spiraling staircase,
one-hundred-and-one steps above the paving stones below,
a steel, white, deoxyribonucleic chain’s glow.
Brac Lei Uweeds is a poet of flowers. Plant-breeder Digby Growns and molecular ecologist David Field are contemporary botanists. Perth, Australia, is a metropolis of around 2,000,000.
by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
Whether or not it is true, tea’s discovery has been attributed to
back in 2737 BC. This happened when the Divine Farmer boiled
leaves from a wild bush accidentally. When he returned to his
boiling water, he noticed
it had a pleasing aroma and pale hue. Then he tasted it; and by this
new drink he was blessed.
Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of Ancient China.
In Peaceful Lotus Pose
by Sri Wele Cebuda
He sat upon the dark-gray mat, in peaceful lotus pose;
and as he spread his legs out to each side, his head uprose.
He started breathing deeply, there near leafy, planted pot.
He closed his eyes, but opened up his inner concordat.
He did not think about the nearby railing at his back.
He did not contemplate eternity’s ecstat attack.
He simply turned his head of to the right a little bit,
relaxing from the taxing troubles of a frenzied fit.
He wondered was it worth it to a-me-li-o-rate stress;
and as he thought about it long, his answer was, o, yes.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of . According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “ecstat” is a trunc.
by Badri Suwecele
Gandhi was a little man
who strove for little more than
the freedom of India.
Badri Suwecele is a poet of India.
Another Gandhi statue ‘s been defaced in Canada
by backers who seek a Sikh nation they call Khalistan.
by Esiud L. Werecub
The air is best, and water second, gold comes in a dream,
and like a blazing fire at night, it shines out bright, supreme.
Still great in lordly wealth, its value spans millennia.
O, sing of contests, and great stars, far warmer than the Sun.
which shines by day through lonely sky, no contests greater than
Olympia, whose songs enfold poetic wisdom’s fan.
The son of Cronos, hearth of Hieron, he from Sicily,
where many flocks reap excellence upon its highest peaks.
Around his table, glorified by choicest music’s tunes,
we take the Dorian lyre up to fords of Alpheus.
Esiud L. Werecub is a poet of Ancient Greece. Alpheus was the river god of the Alfeios River. Pindar (c. 518 BC – 438 BC), from whom some of these thoughts come, was an Ancient Greek poet.
What Is Here and Now Undone
by Aedile Cwerbus
Inquire not, Leuconoe, with unpermitted eyes,
how long a term of life the gods allow; it is unwise.
Do not consult Chaldean calculations any more.
It’s better to bear patiently whatever may occur:
if Jupiter will grant more winters for us to endure,
or this be last of all of them on an Etruscan shore.
Be wise, rack off your wines, abridge your hopes, for come what may,
th’ envious close of time is narrowing, o, seize this day,
not giving the last credit to the now succeeding one,
but plucking what one can from what is here and now undone.
Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of Ancient Rome. This tennos is a comingling of Latin Golden Age poet Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65 BC – 8 BC) and American Modernist poet Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869-1935).
by Uwe Carl Diebes
Give me another summer, Fate,
and one more autumn too, to sing;
for I will gladly celebrate
life in sweet melodies.
The godly soul in life can find
peace even in Orcean depths;
Each time the sacred meets the mind,
it wears perfected threads.
I welcome silence, shadows, worlds.
I happily greet spacetime’s weave,
embracing what has been unhurled…
and then I’ll madly grieve;
and then I’ll sadly leave.
Uwe Carl Diebes is a poet of Germany. On of his favourite poets is the NeoClassical Romantic poet Friedrich Hölderlin (1770-1843).
Against age changes, seven-hundred-thousand French, or more,
protest retirement from sixty-two to sixty-four.
by Red Was Iceblue
The Excel ROMAN function will convert a number to
a Roman numeral as text. This ís what ít will do:
Take =ROMAN (40) and it will create XL,
superior economy, like Olle Eksell’s sells.
Red Was Iceblue is a poet of Modern, PostModern, and NewMillennial art and design. Olle Eksell (1918-2007) was a Modernist Swedish graphic designer and writer. Dan Bricklin created, and Bob Frankston developed prototype VisiCalc (still available). In 1983, Mitch Kapor and his team, seeing Bricklin’s success, created Lotus 1-2-3, which became a new favourite. As Robber Baron Microsoft, a member of G-Mafia, saw what was happening, the company revised its Muliplan, and in 1985 launched Excel.
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Wallace Stevens
by Wilbur Dee Case
He’s dead. He eschewed rhyme. He was vice president once of
the Hartford Accident and Indemnity Company.
His wife’s profile was used for the Mercury dime design.
None of his family came to his wedding, and that caused a breach.
He, born in Reading, ended up in Writing, poesy.
The year he died, he won the Pullizer. He liked Key West.
With Robert Frost he argued, but hit Ernest Hemingway,
who then knocked Wallace Stevens to the street repeatedly.
He was inspired by inventiveness, Klee and Cézanne.
He was of three minds, like a tree with three blackbirds in ‘t.
He loved each line. He blessed the day. He ran no sprint—won one.
Wilber Dee Case is a poet and critic of American letters. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) was a Modernist American poet and critic.
O, let us go and make our visit to Taibbi’s home,
said special agents of the IRS. They come and go.
While he was in DC, and testified on Twitter files,
were those demonic rats that scurried through his litter piles?
Matt Taibbi is a contemporary journalist.
This Theatre of the Absurd
by Caud Sewer Bile
“It’s all performance.”
Just as events from January 6th begin to be
un-vei-led and re-leased, of the police brutality;
like scandalous, political, complicit cover-ups,
it’s obvious, the government has cherry picked its clips,
ensuring that the public won’t get the unvarnished truth.
Kidnapped by partisans and scheming zealots, through and through,
evasive FBI informants and DC police,
linked up with lawyers, judges and the media elites;
lawsuits were then produced by liars taken at their word,
yes, crisis actors in this theatre of the absurd.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the Beltway Lifers. Julie Kelly is a contemporary proset.
The Gauze of Sentences and Rhymes
by Cu Ebide Aswerl
I still recall those happy days, abandoned to time’s tide,
when I would leap in Silver Lake, my hands and legs spread wide.
I loved to jump onto those lily pads, green shiny isles,
where bass fish swished, and flying insects rested on their smiles.
I’d run and try to grasp the sky. I felt so glad and free.
I had not yet achieved the depths of death and misery.
I hardly knew the World. I had no friends or enemies.
I hardly knew much more than flushing through a summer breeze.
But now those days are only memories of distant times,
and only reach them through the gauze of sentences and rhymes.
Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of leisure.
A private Presbyterian school’s happiness was stilled,
three children and three members of the Covenant School killed.
Transgendered murderer misgendered in the media;
her hate attack …is membered if at all in memory.
by Warbise de Luce
“the golden hawk of Horus astride above me…”
—D. H. Lawrence
He drove into the glaring Sun on thé horizon’s plain
in Taos, not New Mexico, but Texas, bearing rein.
He pulled both cap and visor down to face that brazen orb
of hydrogen and helium that in, to his face, bore.
He rode upon that road, that highway, wheeling to the East,
as daybreak broke into his eyes in panoramic feast.
He motored on, despite th’ unruly light that flared within,
from those fierce, burning, blazing, turning, tazing pins in spin.
His kept his auto rolling at its quick velocity,
of sixty miles per hour, speeding past vast scenery:
the greening trees, the hills and buildings, off-ramps, fast and slow,
with signs along the way that indicated where to go.
Warbise de Luce is a poet of light. D. H. Lawrence (1885-1930) was a British Modernist poet and proset.
by Bilee Wad Curse
As he was leaving his apartment, he did not foresee,
two perpetrators who were loitering near where he’d be.
They planned to rob him after he’d gone down the complex stairs.
It’s so important traveling through life not unaware.
Their stares were cru-el as they forced him to give up his wares.
They took his cache, yes, unabashed, out in that barren air.
He did his best to quench their quest, and get the hell from there.
O, to ascend those premises would be quite heavenly.
But he had to endure their crude and vile villainy,
until they left and he was free of their cupidity.
Bilee Wad Curse is a poet of crime. Hillary Ronan, a contemporary politician, made an impassioned plea for more cops in her San Francisco district.
by Cal Wes Ubideer
He’d walked since dawn, and so lay down to rest next to the sky.
Above the ocean, he could see a vulture wheeling high.
And presently it passed again, but nearer, lowering,
inspecting him; so he lay still, beneath its glowering.
He heard flight feathers whis-tl-ing, while cir-cl-ing his crown.
He saw the naked head, between great wings, bear staring down.
He thought it beautiful, as it veered o’er the precipice,
but not torn by that beak, or to become a part of it.
Those wings, those eyes, to die in that; that would not be sublime;
but Jeffers thought it would be an enskyment…after life.
Cal Wes Ubideer is a poet of California. This tennos encounters Modernist American poet Robinson Jeffers (1887-1962) in California.
by Ubs Reece Idwal
A silver ring, and radiating outward, bright blue strands.
Its beauty is spectatcular, its loveliness commands.
Set in the gorgeous sky that rises o’er the rolling dunes,
two moons climb up beyond the long and wrinkled, sandy noons.
Ah, one could dwell here for a hundred years and be content.
Such golden beaches, o, they are not easy to forget.
They are indeed inspiring by the whitecaps on the sea.
It is amazing that life offers up such ecstasy.
I draw my hand along its grain; I hold it close to me;
and then I fall forever with it through eternity.
Ubs Reece Idwal is a poet of the Northwest. Astoria is a port city of approximately 10,000.
That Body Snap
by Dr. Weslie Ubeca
He felt a sudden, freak electric jolt run through his arm.
Intense and brief, he didn’t know just what he should disarm.
He thankfully return to homeostasis at once.
The spasm was so quick, it left him in a massive stun.
That body zap was such a snap, it shattered his repose;
but that intense compression left him shocked; the moment froze.
Obvíously he was in stress, if only for a sec.
Did it come from his spinal cord positioned in his neck?
He needed to respect that spectre with more than neglect.
And that is why his memory of it he can’t reject.
Dr. Weslie Ubeca is a poet of medical concerns, not a certified medic.
by Carb Deliseuwe
How are black coffee and autophagy related, linked?
Does one enhance the other with its rich, brown, tasty drink?
Does coffee activate and amplify that gorgeous pitch
by energizing body fat in metabolic switch?
Does it help glucose turn to ketone molecules, and dance?
Does it impact the body with its antioxidants?
Do chlorogenic acids work on mitochondria?
O, what, pray tell, do mighty polyphenols conger up?
Do cafestol, trigonelline and kahweol affect
specific nutrient pathways in cellular ascent?
When it’s consumed while fasting, then what can it not improve?
Who would not want a coffee cup that triggers life’s v-a-r-o-o-m?
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food and drink.
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