A Stellar-Mass Black Hole
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
In our own galaxy the Milky Way, eight thousand lightyears from the Earth, there is a stellar-mass black hole—Cygnus X-1—past Moon, Mars, th’ asteroids, and Jupiter, past Saturn, and Uranus, Neptune too, and the dwarf planet Pluto. We leave behind our Solar System, no longer in our view. One wonders if the cosmos is designed…past Albireo, a binary star, past the Dumbbell Nebula, and the Ring, and NCG 7027. At this point, o, we have come very far, and “see” completely black, the mighty mass, and rapidly rotating disk, as gas falls…up to millions of degrees…moves briskly, orbiting in an accretion disk.
Eclipses
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
“It seems trembling with excitement…”
—John William Draper
When its Moon passes in between the Sun and planet Earth,
a solar disc eclipse lets slip its crown, gold, annular.
Yes, from Sun’s glare, it is a rare and brief abandoning,
a temporary shade in daylight—a band around, a ring,
allowing for a scientist, like Arthur Eddington,
to test this theory—edifying relativity—
by taking pictures, in totality, of nearby stars,
revealing gravity can bend light in the Universe,
or helping scientists discover brand new elements,
as when Jules Jansson first uncovered, and knew helium,
employing spectroscopic, super-powered prism light,
{in Guntur, India}, like Norman Lockyer’s awed insight.
Mr. I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Universe. The first work is a prosem, while the second is a dodeca. Arthur Eddington (1882-1944) was an English Modernist astronomer, Jules Jannson (1824-1907) a French Realist astronomer, and Norman Lockyer (1836-1920) an English Victorian astronomer. An early supporter for Jansson’s and Lockyer’s discoveries, was an Anglo-American scientist and historian John William Draper (1811-1882). Guntur, India, is a city of around 750,000, in Andhra Pradesh.
~~~
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
A meadow’s canvas,
has a flourish of orange:
Indian paintbrush.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a haiku poet, influenced by the Japanese painter-poet Yosa Buson (1716-1784).
~~~
Reprinted Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
So frequently seen,
the infant’s first spelled word was
fittingly WARNING.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haiku writer.
~~~
Tanka
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
Within the meadow,
he watched the solar eclipse.
The birds went quiet.
Then of a sudden he heard
the sound of crickets chirping.
Tanka
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
He paused at the house with the towering willow.
Enthusiastic, he picked up some fallen twigs,
and played and swayed with the sticks.
Tanka
by “Lice Brews” Ueda
He did not forget the woman who taught him how
to say one to five in Japanese long ago—
o, ichi-ni-san-shi-go.
“Lice Brews” Ueda is a poet of rad trad tanka, like Japanese Modernist tanka writer Ishikawa Takuboku (1886-1912), whose three line form, still retaining traditional syllabics, is seen in a couple of the above tankas.
~~~
The Shadow Bands
by Drew U. A. Eclibse
He watched the shadow bands across his driveway cross in waves,
appearing as the total Sun’s eclipse was taking place.
Refraction of the narrowed light creating this effect
was most amazing as it wasn’t something he’d predict.
But there they were—those curving lines—that rippled o’er concrete,
like waves in water on a pond, an undulating feat.
Did they occur because they were produced by the Sun’s rays
distorted by Earth’s atmosphere to make an eerie haze?
Could this be the result of that thin filament of light
appearing coming from Sunshine in long, small shady tides?
Whatever was the case, he felt as though his feet were at
the edge of some great city, billowing and undulant.
Drew U. A. Eclibse is a poet of the Moon.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Lebanon, Mohammad Srour was found shot to death.
at home in his mountain villa outside of Beirut.
Was it because of his association with Hamas?
or his affiliation with Iran and Hezbollah?
~~~
Flashback:
It has been thirty years since that mass genocide occurred—
800,000 Tutsis, Hutus, and Twa were interred.
In 1994, over one-hundred days, in breadth—
Rwanda had devolved into a dread display of death.
~~~
The Gambler
by Wes Cuebal Reid
“If I do pay him; it’s all over for me: I’ll be ruined.”
—Anton Chekhov, “The Bet”
“Who chooseth me must give and hazard all he hath.”
—William Shakespeare, “Merchant of Venice”
He had to pay off debts, but he did not possess a stash.
He was addicted to roulette; the gambler needed cash.
He had a deadline that he had to meet, or else he would
lose nine-year royalties for books produced, if he should not.
He got a talented stenographer to help him write,
and then produced a book in time, so he could keep his rights.
He made the bet, and paid the debt, and married the young gal;
despite the publisher, who was himself a force of mal,
who skipped town on the due date, so he wouldn’t have to take
the manuscript, just done in time, for his own wretched sake.
The author then proceeded to go to the town police,
and left a note explaining this, and gained a bit of peace.
Wes Cuebal Reid is a poet of gambling. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was an Elizabethan dramatist and poet, Fyodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881) was a Russian Realist proset, and Anton Chekhov (1860-1904) was a Realist dramatist and short story writer.
~~~
He Was So Happy
by W. S. “Eel” Bericuda
“You know then that it is not the reason/ That makes us happy or
unhappy.”
—Wallace Stevens, “Of Mere Being”
He was so happy there beneath those dark and splayed out palms
upon each side of his parked trunk, the sky’s display of alms,
the streaming streaks of gold and blue, above the silver sea,
beyond the railing at its edge, in beauty’s ecstasy.
He was so happy there below the surfboard standing tall
against the station wagon tow, beneath the solar ball,
beneath the faint and sandy beach, above the tee-shirt’s edge,
as he lay living, angling, hanging at the dangling ledge.
He was so happy there, although it would not be for long,
but having striven hard against the waves, he still felt strong.
W. S. “Eel” Bericuda is a poet of the beach. W. S. (1879-1955) was a Modernist American poet.
~~~
The CIA Is Clean
by Caud Sewer Bile
The CIA does not define a petty bureaucrat.
The allegation’s false. The agency would not do that.
The CIA is not a power-hungry entity,
that intervenes in the investigations into the-e-e ¬__________.
Fill in the blank. No, no, they would not stop an interview.
The CIA would never stop a witness talking to ____________.
Fill in the blank. They’re not manipulating anything.
They are not hiding money flows to or from the West Wing.
There’s nothing here. There’s no there there. There’s nothing to be seen.
Apparently with no surprise the CIA is clean.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the BOG.
~~~
Within the Throes of History
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
“I saw a man pursuing the horizon…”
—Stephen Crane
He saw him strug-gl-ing within the throes of history,
embattled on the lap of rugged, cragged eternity.
He rode its cyclone, like a rider, bouncing up and hard.
How would he have the time to pause in peace and be a bard?
He gave himself completely to the hurricane of life.
How could he feel much more than raging ecstasy and strife?
He held on tight for all his worth to Pegasus unbound.
He stretched his legs around that saddle, flying off the ground.
O, Lord, please help him make it through this turbulence gone wild,
a single man upon a bucking bronco, roiling, riled.
Saffron-Dim
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
“Air is best, then water.”
—Eber L. Aucsidew
He saw his shadow in the morning rising, saffron-dim.
He saw his shadow in the evening striding after him.
Yet even more when going south or north he saw his shade,
beside him going down the sidewalk on his promenade.
For he could see indifference in a hand full of dust,
a certain kind of confidence and animal life lust.
It was not courage, nor a kind of bravery he saw;
but simply calmness in the face of macrocosmic law.
He saw pink roses on their stems beneath a sky of blue.
The wind was fresh, the breaths enmesh. He’s here. O, where are you?
“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of Texas. Stephen Crane (1871-1900) was an American Realist poet and proset. Eber L. Aucsidew is a poet of air and water, his quote alluding to the Ancient Greek poet Pindar (c. 518 – c. 438).
~~~
Newsreel:
Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said China interfered
in the last two Canadian elections, when inquired.
~~~
The Gardener
by Brac Lei Uweeds
The jets were redirected, as the planes flew overhead.
The gardener was cutting roses, pink to brilliant red.
He heard the distant cheering crowds out at the baseball fields.
He was surprised at all these flowers that each rosebush yields.
A neighbour stopped her car to say how beautiful they looked,
but he had not done much at all to make them look so cool.
It was the lovely weather and spring rains that made them grow.
In fact, he hadn’t watered, nor turned on the Sun to glow.
If only he could do as much for his unwieldy lawn,
filled with so many grasses, weeds, and other thrivers-on.
He heard the rousing crowds again, enjoying scores and games,
and wondered just what parts of life would not be counted gains.
Brac Lei Uweeds is a poet of flowers.
~~~
Prescriptive Driving and Arriving
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
When traffic is congested—moving fast—there is a need,
accelerating quickly to attain a merging speed;
for it’s important is to blend in with current traffic flow,
as much as possible, while vehicles are on the go.
Avoid frustrating other drivers, changing lanes and rates,
by indiscriminantly moving, as in fickle gaits.
Be sure to use turn signals where they are appropriate,
and use your mirrors constantly, preempting risk and rut.
Remain alert whenever one is at a rapid pace,
and though one’s joined the rat race, don’t give in to tag and chase.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation.
~~~
Touching Toes
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
One value found in touching toes is flexibility,
providing upper body overall stability.
A stretched-out spine, if not divine, relieves both back and hips,
and lengthening the calves and hamstrings yields greater flips.
Enhancing posture is another thing that it can do,
as well, reducing stress on sinews o’ th’ musculature.
But does it calm the mind, release endorphins, and provide
another life accomplishment that one can take in stride?
and also boost one’s circulation in the body too,
transporting nutrients and oxygen throughout the flue?
Rudi E. Welec, Abs, is a poet of exercise.
~~~
Heard Quote:
Homeostasis is the basis of a well-run life,
within parameters of amateurs and normal strife.
~~~
A Nightly Childhood Prayer
by Crise de Abu Wel
Bless everyone in the World.
Help me to be a good boy.
And help everyone to be good.
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Good Father.
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