Haiku
by “Clear Dews” Abe
A single warbler
sings easily in the oak,
that has lost its leaves.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is an haikuist.
~~~
Haiku
by E. Birdcaws Eule
One sights, at great heights,
in interweaving circles,
eight red-shouldered hawKs.
E. Birdcaws Eule is a haikuist. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “K” is the only consonant in the work “hawk.”
~~~
Tanka
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Orbitting the Earth,
the Shenlong Holy Dragon,
on its third mission,
tried to match the sixth mission
of th’ X-37B.
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Above the fenced field,
where black cows munch grass, there speeds
a helicopter.
“Wired Clues” Abe (pronounced “aw-bay”) is a trad haiku writer, 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).
~~~
Dao
by Wu “Sacred Bee” Li
His heartfelt lines remind one of the wrenching parts of life
one tries to file away but will not stay, so off they fly.
There is no way to bridge those gaps, to span those lands of waste.
No matter what one tries to say, or do. There is no way.
One must go on. There really is no other path. In sum.
Dao is the only way to go, or else Confusion comes.
One needs to focus on the nature of reality,
increasing one’s longevity, and living morally,
to regulate one’s consciousness and diet properly
by actions that are effortless, and likewise scholarly.
Wu “Sacred Bee” Li is a poet of Ancient Chinese. A fundamental Daoist concern is wu wei “effortless action.”
~~~
The Whoo Way
by Sri Wele Cebuda
The meditator sat in sunlight in the glowing day.
The gold illumination shown was glistening, and blazed.
He loved to feel its penetrating beams upon his skin,
the body’s largest organ, but the interstitium.
He thought about the stomach, kidneys, liver, heart and lungs.
But did he dare think on the brain whose virtues tons have sung?
And what about the pancreas, gallbladder, and the nerves?
and other varied systems, that endow, dispense and serve?
immune, digestive, endocrine, intestines, small and large,
circulatory, reproductive, and the muscular?
The meditator sat…urated with so many parts…
decided it was easier to close his mind than start.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “whoo” is an interjection suggesting excitement, astonishment, or relief.
~~~
Montmarte by Wu Guanzhong
by Red Was Iceblue
A scintillating illustration, intricate and long—
the lovely inked and coloured paper framed by Wu Guanzhong.
It is a snapshot of Montmarte, tall buildings climbing up,
alive with people, cars, and slender trees, the scene so full.
The hues distilled and yet pronounced, the city vistas fill;
the picture pulls one to the tower on the distant hill.
Abstract, and yet precise, arise the shuttered balconies,
suggesting people living in delighted formal ease.
So fine the filigree comingles with the shadowed daubs
and black rectangles near the bottom windows of the shops.
Red Was Iceblue is a poet of Modernist, PostModernist, and NewMillennial art. Wu Guanzhong (1919-2010) was a PostModernist Chinese artist.
~~~
The Egyptian
by “Scribe” El Uwade
He came out of the darkest night in a black suit.
He stood straight at attention, hands behind his ass.
He wore too broad a smile; one saw he was a brute:
large arms, large legs, large head; he even had large abs.
His ears stuck out, like radar from an alien.
His cheeks were puffed up big; his countenance was crass.
There was no part of him that was not salient.
He seemed to be larger than life, a spectacle.
He’d change his stance, as if a male chameleon.
There was something about him that was epical.
With wiry hair, thick neck, and chesty pec-deck, shoot,
at such a sight one could not but be skeptical,
one had to be elliptical.
“Scribe” El Uwade is a poet of Egypt.
~~~
In the Square
by Bulcari Edesew
He saw them in his mother’s village in Bulgaria.
In Vishovgrad, he saw them flying, singing—nightingales.
He took their name for his name Petko Rachov Slaveykov,
remembering his mother, since she’d died when he was born.
His verses were syllabic and accentual in form,
variegated songs and fables, varied pseudonyms.
A statue of him and his son, the poet Pencho, sit
upon a bench, in Sophia. It’s what good poets git…
like Ferdinand’ Pessoa in Lisboa on a chair,
unbreathing, a bronze person, open to the city air.
Bulcari Edesew is a poet of Bulgaria. Petko Slaveykov (1827-1895) and his son Pencho Slaveykov (1866-1912) were noted Bulgarian poets. Ferdinando Pessoa (1888-1935) was a Modernist Portuguese poet, who likewise used pseudonyms.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Finland two died in an avalanche; the climate changed;
and lives of tens of thousands were abruptly rearranged;
in Sweden, EV busses couldn’t run because of cold,
although they were brand new, and had been recently enrolled.
~~~
Puccini’s Nessun dorma
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
Tears well up in his eyes whenever he hears it,
Puccini’s Nessun dorma, th’ aria sung by
Calaf, th’ unknown prince, who sings with such spirit,
deep love for the cold Princess Turandot. It’s night.
The stars are twinkling, trembling with love and hope.
Though no one knows his name, he’ll say it in the light
of dawn. His kiss then will dissolve the silent slope
that keeps her from him. None shall sleep. And then one hears
a women’s choir singing, sighing. Can they cope?
Calaf is certain now, the morning sun appears,
of victory, a B4 followed, he fears it,
an A4 long sustained, that tears him a-
part, as it nears.
Puccini’s E lucevan le stelle
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
A somber clarinet begins the aria:
the stars were shinining, the air was fresh, the gate creaked,
a foot steps on the sandy path, o, Mario,
she enters, Tosca, fragrant in his arms—love wreaked—
sweet kisses, warm embraces. Trembling, he unveils
her lovely form, his dream of love forever wrecked.
His time is running out. His hope for living fails.
He dies despairing. Never has he loved life so.
No matter what the prisoner does, naught avails.
It is time for the execution. He must go,
as all things must, including this—the B minor
romanza, here at the Castel Sant’ Angelo.
Ewald E. Eisbruc (otherwise known as E. E. E.) is a poet on central European music. Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924) was an Italian verismo operatic composer.
~~~
Around Lord Weary’s Castle
by Cadwel E. Bruise
A Boston Brahmin, tracing back to the Mayflower ship,
a trip he longed to skip…along…like as the fleetest fish.
Emotional, confessional, he used library paste,
for tones that were both protestant and catholic in taste.
He conscientiously objected to the World War,
and for some months, therefore, he ended up a prisoner.
He wore his politics upon his sleeve as he moved through
his mental institutionalized rooms and moods of doom.
He hung around Lord Weary’s castle, writing poetry,
some cooked, some raw, Jehovah craw, New England polishing.
Day ReCreation
by Cadwel E. Bruise
Work desk, computer, tissues, sleek lamp, papers, pens and drinks:
the ordinary things of life for ordinary thinks.
He’s living in a tidied room, and though it could be cleaned,
it’s neat enough for him, on this twelfth day of Christmas cleared.
He doesn’t wear pajamas; underwear is good enough.
His head is dry. He f-e-e-l-s right…within his neighbourhood.
His life is streaming through diurnal turns, returns and glides.
He slides along through words—occasionally he elides.
Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England. Robert Lowell (1917-1977) was a PostModernist American poet.
~~~
Morning Snow
by Red Was Iceblue
The winter, leafless forest, bathed in a purple glow,
beside a winding stream, is coppery in hue,
in Jeremy Sams’ quiet painting Morning Snow.
What is there not ideal from his point of view?
Above, the white sky filters through the woodland trees,
so thin and narrow rising, wriggling, real and true,
their twiggy branches hovering above the stream,
and covered with a sprinkling of finest snow.
It is so still there doesn’t seem to be a breeze.
The light reflected in the smoothe, but running, flow
of water shows those trunks, white ripples, and sun’s gold,
all crossed by fallen branches of some time ago.
Red Was Iceblue is a poet of NewMillennial art. Jeremy Sams is a contemporary artist.
~~~
Newsreel:
Alaska Airlines flying out of Portland, Oregon,
was forced to land when a plane part blew off, and it was gone!
The Boeing 737 Max 9 panel dropped,
with the in-flight departure of mid-cabin door-plug plop.
~~~
An Aristotlist
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
“…mankind is divided into three classes:
those that are immovable, those that are
movable, and those that move.”
—Benjamin Franklin
It was time for his exercises—moving morn routine.
This would be those that he would do without workout machine.
He did his stretches—side to side—extending torso up.
He was more like an plucky pup, than like a pumping puck.
He sucked in flabby abdomen—in-out, in-out, kerplunk.
He was no Hercules hunk, rather more a spunky punk.
All is in motion, as sage Heraclitus said himself;
and so he knew that movement was important for his health.
He did his breathing exercises too—quite vital, yes.
He was an overstimulated mover, I confess.
He moved his feet, he moved his legs, he even moved his hips,
to lengthen all the muscles that he could with digs and dips.
The truth be known, it was his posture needing to improve,
to strenthen all the muscles that he could, and move…o, move.
To be peripatetic was a major goal of his,
a moving force upon his course, an Aristotlist.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”, is a poet of movement. Heraclitus (fl. c. 500 BC) was an Ancient Greek poetic philosopher. Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC) was an Ancient Greek philosophic polymath. Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) was an American Enlightenment tinker, thinker, and civic activist.
~~~
One Bright Red Blooming, Blossom Bud
by Brac Lei Uweeds
Among the rows of roses in the garden, what appeared?
One bright red blooming, blossom bud, in January reared.
What was it doing there in winter’s icy windy blows?
Why has it sprouted out? No other spread of flowers grows?
It is so beautiful, o, yes, that richest, deepest hue,
in view above the dying leaves, beneath the pure azure.
Brac Lei Uweeds is a poet of flowers.
~~~
A Supermarket Run
by Carb Deliseuwe
The frost was on the windshield under thé fierce, glazing Sun.
Yes, he was ready to proceed beneath th’ Amazing One.
He turned his engine on, and pressed as well, his heated seat.
He needed to adjust side mirrors; and so he did that.
He sat upright, his foot was on the pedal in the car;
and from his parked position, in reverse, he then embarked.
He wheeled down the driveway onto the unbusy lane;
and then went forth; he drove up north; o, he was off again.
He did not feel like Hercules, so muscular and strong;
but rather like some hungry locust gromping on and on.
Yes, he, the hunter gatherer, was seeking food and drink,
a sure man caroling along enroute to Kroger, Inc.
Food Industry Top Ten Food Retailers in US by Revenue, as per Progressive Grocers (2021):
1. Walmart
2. Amazon (online & physical stores)
3. Costco
4. Kroger
5. Walgreens
6. Target
7. CVS Health
8. Sam’s Club
9. Albertsons
10. Ahold Delhaize
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food and drink.
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