The Human Schumann Resonances
          by Ira “Dweeb” Scule

The Schumann resonances are a set of spectrum peaks
in Earth’s EMF in th’ extremely lower frequencies,
excited by discharges, lightning-generated jolts;
Earth’s atmosphere’s potential is 200,000 volts.
At any time there are about two-thousand lightning storms—
some fifty flashes ev’ry second—this then is the norm.
The fundamental, u-s-u-a-l-l-y, strongest frequency
is 7.83 hertz, the base resonance we sense.
Each cell that’s found within the nervous system, brain, and heart,
is highly tuned and sensitive to what these spikes impart.

Ira “Dweeb” Scule (skulǝ) is a scholar of learnèd chorals. EMF is electromagnetic force. Winfried Otto Schumann (1888-1974) was a German physicist and electrical engineer, who, after World War II, came to the USA, under Operation Paperclip, where he predicted the Schumann Resonances in 1952.

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Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

He loved turning wheels
on the t-i-r-e-s of the toys.
Round and round they go.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is an haikuist.

~~~

Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe

It was the count down.
He was ready for the launch:
five-four-three-two-one.

 

Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe

He pointed upwards,
gazing at the heavenly…
blue mathematics

“Wired Clues” Abe is a rad 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). The above haiku draws on Sugimura Seirinshi (1912-1990).

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Near Where the Blinding Sunlight Made One’s Eyesight Strain
          by Ra Bué Weel Disc

He stepped into the sunshine of a cool, bright winter day,
that place near where the blinding sunlight made one’s eyesight strain.
How can one drive when one can’t see the road for the sun’s beams?
In such a place how can one move? How can one even be?

He turned off to a park that was spread out above the school,
upon a hill that overlooked both mind and golden rule:
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,
as Jesus pointed out in his free Sermon-Mount-per-view.

He walked along the parking lot, wide sidewalks, and wet grass.
Beneath the oaks he wandered on. The fields crossed were vast.
Here myriads would come and later go, day after day.
He climbed that hill, as others would, and then he went a-w-a-y…

Ra Bué Weel Disc is a poet of the Spirit of Light.

~~~

Newsreel:
It seems the Ivonets was hit by some Ukrainian drone boats;
and now that Russian-guided missile ship no longer floats.

~~~

Ernst Jünger
          by Carl Uwe Diebes

When he was young, he read adventure novels avidly,
developing a passion too for entomology.
At sixteen years of age, he joined the Wandervogel youth,
communing with the woods and nature in Teutonic truth.

He was intent on going to North Africa, and joined,
in 1913, the French Foreign Legion—not enjoyed.
So he deserted, in Algeria, and theretofore,
to Germany, participated in the World War,

where he was wounded seven times, through front and back of head,
as well as chest and lung—amazing that he wasn’t dead.
Besides the Iron Cross, he got the Pour le Mérite,
that man of steel who faced that raging stormy century.

Carl Uwe Diebes is a poet of Germany. Ernst Jünger (1895-1998) was a Modernist German proset.

~~~

North Pointe
          by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
          “The world…spins on this final point…”
              —Randall Jarrell, “90 North”

He went out in his sherpa-lined, full-zip, fleece, hooded coat.
He felt like as a bear off to a floating, icy floe.
The day was gray and dark, in this part of the Universe,
as he drove up one of the Globe’s impossible side curves.

The indicated point was N upon the panel span,
as he drove by the Interstate in that cLoud-Cuckoo-Land,
the World spinning rapidly upon that fine L-point,
where a third body of Lagrange had posited its joint.

He saw it there, from his ongoing biogenesis—
that interplanetary superhighway (IPS).
Perhaps he could get to his home upon this roundabout,
along this Lissajous curve, naviGating Bowditch fount.

Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of movement. Randall Jarrell (1914-1965) was an American Modernist poet and critic. Joseph-Louis Langrange (1736-1813) was an Italian-French physicist and mathematician who contributed to the fields of mechanics, analysis, and number theory. Jules Antoine Lissajous (1822-1880) was a French physicist and inventor. Nathaniel Bowditch (1773-1838) was an American mathematician and founder of neo-maritime navigation.

~~~

The Pilot Lands the Plane
          by Air Weelbed Suc

The pilot lands the plane along the lines
of shining lights upon the tarmac grid,
like a night bird alights upon a limb
near city neon with a sudden jerk.
Two hundred passengers coast to a stop;
each trepidation felt dissolves away;
they pull their luggage down and disembark;
each individual goes on their way.
Each action of reality’s instilled
with many layers of complexity
that everywhere one dares to look is filled
with more than patterns of perplexity,
a rich profusion at each turn of life
awaits each one prepared to meet it: rife.

Air Weelbed Suc is a poet of flight.

~~~

January Newsreel:
O’er PDX, a section of a Boeing jet blew out,
and left a gaping hole…the fuselage had too few bolts.
There was a big boom and a rush of air. Abort, abort.
The 737-9 returned to thé airport.
It had attained an altitude of 16,000 feet;
amidst the Milky Way night stars, it beat a sweet retreat.

~~~

Woot, Wood
          by “Blue Cedar” Siew
          “The poet is a forest rebel”
              —Ernst Jünger

When he was young he used to spend his hours in the wood,
where he’d make trails in between the trees. He thought them good.
He was content to go to them, when there were sunny days;
and after school, he’d sweep the leaves, and run down forest lanes.
He loved to climb on limbs and hang around week after week:
the tallest cedar tree, created spots, the winding creek;
the Diamond Falls, the varied calls of birds upon the wing;
tree houses, fern-roof classrooms, maples, alder, fir and swing.
On that wood-handle swing across the passing creek, he could
go back and forth again…again…through the fresh air, and would.

“Blue Cedar” Siew is a poet of trees.

~~~

Gray and Orange
          by Red Was Iceblue

The morning and the evening yesterday in colours came,
beginning with some gray and orange, ending just the same;
and in each case this one observer similarly showed
to see configurated hues across the scene bestowed.
Today this focused watcher of the skies has come again
to see but gray clouds covering the heavens up above;
but all he notes is welkin gray, upon this Ground Hog’s Day,
monopolized by singing birds that sing away…a way.
He likes this weather, warm and feather, dry and wind-blown hewn;
the russet leaves adorning limbs and ground about are strewn.
There are no shadows coming there to greet him where he’s at;
but coffee cup and one loose orange-patterned rambling cat.

Red Was Iceblue is a poet of colourful scenery.

~~~

Driving to the Pawn Shop
          by Brad Lee Suciew

He turned on down the two-lane by-way, leaving far behind,
Vienna’s dark, side-streets, like those in “Thé Third Man” enshrined.
He drove on past the huge loblolly pines along the road
that climbed so high, above piles óf dropped needles and pine cones.
He liked the Blackland Prairie soils for their iron earth;
acidic, offering so many large trees a wide berth.
He followed the bipartite route, triangular divides,
remembering his past at parks and younger children’s rides.
At thé communication tower, he had stopped to pause,
to think a little bit…before he got to the pawn shop.

Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of business. “The Third Man” was a 1949 film noir set in Post World War II Vienna.

~~~

An Oleato Caffè Latte
          by Carb Deliseuwe

He had an Oleato Caffè Latte, heavy cream,
no oatmilk, in his morning cup, pretentious in its stream.
He did not boycott the establishment; he didn’t care;
though as for that he didn’t think the drink was meanest fare.
Would Mary have, as she fled skirmishes near Sanquhar,
to fare at night, like o-w-l-s did, in hunger, cold, and fear,
and live on sour milk and oatmeal, sleeping on hard ground,
so far removed from Linlithgow, found in West Lothian?
The sky was gray with purple tints. The Sun was barely seen.
She fled to her first cousin once removed, and England’s Queen.

Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food and drink. Mary, Queen of Scots (1542-1567) was a mid-16th century political figure. Sanquhar is a southern Scottish town of around 2000, containing perhaps the oldest working post office in the World (1712), and, as well, in the Church of Saint Brides, a memorial to the polymath James Crichton (1560-1582).

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A Lizard in the Morning
          by Wild Brecesaur

He felt like as a lizard in the morning when he shaved,
his razor rolling down his neck, wherein his muscles caved.
Along the skin, he trimmed his whiskers, terrible and thick,
and cut them down around his mouth, his chapped lips lightly licked.
He felt he was a lizard, o, so terrible his core;
in short, he seemed a solid, stolid, stomping dinosaur.
His narrow vision, arrow fission, darted from his eyes,
his rough and rugged stature, a continual surprise,
erect, but sprawling, of hard mettle, and bipedal too;
and yet, he was mammalian, his hairy head in view.

Wild Brecesaur is a poet of terrible lizards. One of his favourite literary characters is Breca from Beowulf.

~~~

Neighbourhood News:
The garbage carts were all aligned along the narrow lane.
Está el día de garbaje—la fi-és-to-lé!

According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “fi-es-to-le” is a Spanish trunc of “fiesta” and “olé.”