Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
The new bees of spring
buzz in the tall, willow tree,
outside the window.
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
All about the boy,
craneflies fly at his each step.
He enjoys their pep.
Tanka
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Around the pebbles,
roly-poly, pill-bugs, stroll,
seeking out water,
taking heavy metals in,
Armadillidiidae.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is an haikuist.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
The man encountered,
in the aluminum can,
bones of a salmon.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a rad trad haiku writer, following on the work of writers, such as PostModernist Japanese poet Kaneko Tôta (1919-2018), from whom the above haiku draws.
~~~
Shard-Bits of Fragility
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
It is a bittersweet duet between two lovers, ah.
He claims that she belongs to him by a profound tie wand.
She asks him to forgive her honesty, she is too blunt;
the truth seems to hurt him so badly, like a bold cool front.
Like china in a cabinet, he has a heart of glass.
She says she is “so sorry” for this break up and impasse.
Amidst NMSL signs, heart-shaped glasses, and cut leaks,
balloons, plush toys, a panda, and a lot of little pinks,
with apples, cotton, bats and shard-bits of fragility,
provoking, poking, piquing, touching, feeling sappily;
their crooning is so saccharine and cloying, sugary:
Namewee and Kimberley are singing, cooing See See Pee.
Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of China. One of the top songs of 2021 in East Asia was the Chinese-banned, Mandarin “Fragile” by hip-hop artist Namewee and Kimberley Chen, which was number one on Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Taiwan song charts.
~~~
Newsreel:
Vladimir Putin was announced the winning candidate
for president. He called the vote “transparent…absolute”
and said “not like in the US with mail-in voting” fraud.
To win, officials will do anything “allowed in law.”
~~~
To Do the Good
Erisbawdle Cue
“…good turns out to be activity of the soul in accordance with
virtue.”
—Aristotle
It is so hard to bring forth joy out of this grime;
and yet it is our mission to, our duty to
make beauty out of all this sordidness and slime.
Of all things, that’s the least of all that we can do.
It is our purpose in this life to break the gloom,
to grasp the wonderful, that which is true.
Is it the most important thing one should assume?
Oh, gorgeous action is it to perform the good
in panoramic vista or in drab, dark room.
It feels so right to do all that we can and should,
although we always have to battle fate and time,
those grim maugers, even when we’re not in the mood.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy. Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC) was a noted Greek thinker.
~~~
The World Homer Sang Of
by Acwiles Berude
In the orange twilight of the dawn in darkest night,
out of the gloom of bleak eternity, he came,
a poet who could sing out verses in that blight
of heroes, like Odysseus and those of fame.
In sun’s first flame of three millenia ago,
a mythical and splendid world arose to claim
attention to its supernatural rose glow:
it was the world that Homer the Greek poet sang
of—Troy’s turmoil, Odysseus’ travail and soul,
the body’s many crucibles, the heart’s hard pang,
the woes of war and sail, the foes one has to fight,
the mix of joy and pain upon which life must hang.
Acwiles Berude is a poet of Homeric Greece. Homer (c. 8th century BC) was an epic Greek poet.
~~~
To Tally gRand
by Euclidrew Base
He says it helps to…start by understanding small things first,
the simple situations…moving to the Universe.
When working on conjectures…it is helpful to attempt
to alternately prove and disprove what one strives to get.
The progress comes by jumps—two matching puzzle pieces linked—
o, instantaneously things are clearer than one thinks.
He’s written on generic chaining, and spin glasses too,
to realize his quantum field intro point of view.
Adopting godly wisdom can reveal many things,
and, as M. Talagrand says, “mathematics gives you wings”.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics, including those areas Talagrand has studied, i. e., functional analysis and probabilty theory. Contemporary French mathematician Michel Talagrand won the Abel Prize of 2024.
~~~
He Saw a Phantom
by Badri Suwecele
“What are you that usurp’st this time of night?”
—Horatio, “Hamlet”
He saw a phantom in the night, when he was wont to sleep,
like as a ghostly spirit who had wakened up to pee.
He wondered if the figure that he saw was someone real,
or an angelic fellow who had come out of a dream.
But he was too substantial, though that is just what he was.
The viewer tensed up from his tip top to his bottom base.
Was he a Hamlet coming face to face with kingly sprite,
or mighty knight in round brown crown, not wearing black or white?
O, though he was as pale and as thin as any sheet,
he seemed secure and solid from his head down to his feet.
He saw him walk across the floor. Where was he going to—
that spectre with a scepter—and what did he plan to do?
Badri Suwecele is a poet of lordly sightings. Horatio is a character from “Hamlet” by British poet and playwright William Shakespeare (1564-1616).
~~~
Another Coffee Cup
by B. S. Eliud Acrewe
Another morning and another coffee cup to drink.
Anticipation of th’ elixir brought him to the brink.
Prepared to take advantage of the situation, yep,
there in that kitchen nook upon that table, ready, set.
O, it was time to go, there were so many things to do,
enjoying possibilities with a nice bit of brew.
He lifted up his spine, that curving, nervy, swerve of bone,
and stretched it out with flesh and skin, while staring at his phone.
Like Prufrock, he had measured out his life with coffee spoon,
and focused on the beauty that he saw—the rising Moon.
B. S. Eliud Acrewe is a poet of England. He was no Prufrock, nor was meant to be.
~~~
Emancipated from the Horror of Death’s Dance
by War di Belecuse
Upon Thanksgiving Day in 1943
on Tarawa, some men are standing at a “well.”
One has a jug of water that he happily
pours out upon the several there and himself,
that stand about the concrete square. This is their bath.
Four others stand nearby who also pause from hell.
They all have just come through the bloody aftermath.
They are so glad to be alive, to have a chance
to wash their filthy skins that brought them down this path.
Emancipated from the horror of death’s dance,
they rub, they scrub,as time runs past them merrily.
O, God, how wonderful it is—each circumstance.
War di Belecuse is a poet of war. His father fought in the Pacific in World War II.
~~~
Where Ruddy Bays Are Far Removed
by Cadwel E. Bruise
“…when we forget, the trees remember…”
—Laurie Rosen
In this huge World, in which reside poetic millions, yours
is a sweet voice, a nice, neat noise, that thoughtfully allures;
yet also is a lava flow of rhythms, rhymes and words,
that gathers fragments from the Earth, in haikus to free verse,
and balances between untangled tubes and muddy ruts[where ruddy bays are far removed from T. S. Eliot],
persisting in the Ashkenazi food your mother made
through pregnancies and other depths through which you had to wade,
your husband…cooking fine foods by mismatched, knobbed cabinets,
amidst the mice and musty basement—of America.
Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England. Laurie Rosen is a contemporary American poet. T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) was a Modernist American English poet, playwright, and essayist.
~~~
An Early Morning Jaunt
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
He went out for an early morning run. The sky was gray.
But that was good for running and he thought that would be great.
He wouldn’t get too hot, and u-v rays would be quite low;
the Sun would not be blasting in his face with its bright glow.
He listened to the pounding of his shoes upon his weight,
as he ran through the neighbourhood upon his airy way.
He heard the distant locomotive moaning from afar,
as he was running on the concrete, past both truck and car.
O, he was panting with each step. His heart was beating so.
He didn’t take his phone with him, while he was on the go.
His shoes and socks were black; his clothes were tan and minimal.
Upon this trek, he felt like as a wild animal.
His heart was pumping, thumping earth, with each projecting stride.
He wished that he could drive right now, or, at the least, could ride.
But he would simply have to travel on his own puissánce,
his mitochondria appreciating this brisance.
He used his glutes, to move him forward, over hill and grass.
Upon this trip there were so many things to see and pass.
And all the while, he was keeping his spine flexible,
his body nexible and healthy in fine exercise.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”, is a poet of exercise. On February 22, 2024, the jogging nursing student Laken Riley was murdered by an undocumented migrant in Athens, Georgia, and whose name was mangled in the 2024 State of the Union.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Newark, California, Google worker Linwei Ding,
has been arrested stealing some AI technology,
more than 500 files in infrastructure hardware wares!
Who were the workers who were unaware of these affairs?
Newark, California, is a city of around 47,000.
~~~
Where You Are At
by Éclair Dub W. See
You pass somebody on the street or in a bar;
there is a gaze beyond the world upon their face;
and you depart and travel off in truck or car;
and they will disappear in time without a trace.
How odd the many vagaries of life unfold.
One moment you are lifting up a cup of grace,
an offering to an acquaintance you’ve consolled;
the next you find yourself caught in somebody’s trap,
and life becomes nightmarish, harried, uncontrolled.
You drive around a corner. Hold on to that strap.
And then you haven’t an idea where you are,
but still press on with all your might without a map.
Éclair Dub W. See is a poet of seeing.
Bruce Wise, I’m honored to be the subject of your poetry!! Thank you, what a wonderful surprise!