An Alien from Outer Space
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
He was an alien from outer space made out of sand,
like as a phantom, seventy and one-half inches tall.
What was his name? It wasn’t Dick. He wasn’t grand at all.
In fact, to those who saw him just invisible and bland.
In the observatory on the rugged mountain peak,
he fell from high atop it dome. He was not keen to speak.
Was he the saddest space invader ever to arrive
on planet Earth, this man of human girth, who took a dive?
He was no Muscle Beach type from some flying saucer’s land;
but was he radioactive, without strength or command?
He had been seen but momentarily in darkest night,
practically the only being in sight, of pure light.
I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of outer space.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
In praise of shadows,
the old man went to great lengths
to explain himself.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a rad trad haiku writer.
~~~
To Turn in Circles
by Euclidrew Base
He loved to turn in circles, go around and round and round;
but he did not want to get dizzy, nor to crumple down.
He wanted to remain erect, as round and round he went.
He wanted to be nice and straight, o, to be quite unbent.
It was such fun to go around, like as a carousel,
to be maneuverable, as fleet as any caravel.
He loved to ride, and go along with awesome cosmic tides,
and turn about in fair play, yes, then toss a pair of dice,
to take whatever comes up, and proceed to move along.
He loved to turn in circles, and go round and round, and strong.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of shapes and forms.
~~~
The Very Vision
by Éclair Dub W. See
“…human kind cannot bear very much reality.”
—T. S. Eliot
He saw the Sun-Disk rising over the rose-garden plants,
that plot of ground, so rich and brown, of beetles, bugs and ants.
The beautiful pink blooms took to the bushes ardently,
beneath the pale yellow Overseer Gardener.
The man observed there were green oaks that took to the white skies,
their leaves a-qui-ver in the wind, their branching limbed new highs.
Besides green grassy downy lawn, and other trees around,
the Dawn revealed many things, from houses, cars and down.
But he had to avert his eyes each time they passed the Sun.
How odd he thought, if he looked close, his eyes would be undone.
How odd he thought the very vision that he saw was harsh.
Reality was blinding, though the lines were clear and sharp.
Éclair Dub W. See is a poet of visions and revisions.
~~~
Meditating Prep
by Sri Wele Cebuda
He got into the lotus pose, extending knees and neck.
In search of the divine, he stretched his spine, mind and pec deck,
His gaze was forward-looking, while his crown reached to the sky,
his shoulder blades drawn back and out, his chin and abs tucked tight.
His chest was lifting up and forth, his spine was long and straight,
his active core drawn up, and, reaching for the stars, his pate;
tense biceps and dense triceps, were relaxed and feeling great.
By harnessing life energy, like Buddha in his seat,
he longed, if not for universal love, at least sweet beats.
His breaths were deeper, stronger, fuller; his heart on a roll.
He strove to be completely free and likewise in control.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation.
~~~
A Fallen Butterfly
by Alberdi Ucwese
As fragile as a fallen butterfly,
he flew about the world before he died,
attempting various things—fluttering—
no less, it was an interesting ride.
he tried to reach a lyrical aside
that rested in between detachment and
aloofness, as he flew up over life
and roof. It’s little that we understand,
our poetry and science stuttering
about, a great and grand forge of command,
these matters most of sense and muttering.
So much to see, so much to take in stride.
Alberdi Ucwese is a poet of Italian literature. Guido Gozzano (1883-1916) was an Italian poet and proset.
~~~
Where Art Will Stray
by Biel Ercwe Ruda
Although Sebastián Iradier, the Spanish Basque composer of the starting decades of the 19th century, died in obscurity, despite his art, here in the New Millenium I sing, in happiness, El Arreglito, oh! On one of life’s sweet cakes, it’s the icing, a habanera’s high descending low. “I don’t know why you say good-by, I say hello!” His cuban style song, popular in cabarets, made famous by Bizet [who never lived to know Carmen’s success!], and complemented by La Paloma! It’s hard to say, where art will stray. It can pop up at any place in any one; just like today, oh, yes, hooray! a man who feels fresh springtime airs fill up his lungs.
Biel Ercwe Ruda is a poe of Spanish music. In the above prosem, Sebastián Iradier (1809-1865) was a Spanish Basque composer, Georges Bizet (1838-1875) was a French Romantic composer.
~~~
Just Another Day
by Beadle Crew USI
“It’s just another day.”
—Paul McCartney
O, it was just another day that he was thankful for.
He had a hankering for coffee, so he got a pour.
The Sun was shining on the City’s lightly traveled streets.
There was so little traffic for Memorial Day week.
He drove off to a nearby store to get a butter cube,
a requisite for coffee bread, a European beaut.
The garbage was postponed a day; it was a day of rest.
How many thousands from the work-week schedule would be blessed?
He was content because he could shit, shower, shave and brush,
and do so very leisurely. Yes, he could be unrushed.
He even took a moment to clean off the stall-glass door.
O, it was just another day that he was thankful for.
Beadle Crew USI is a group of characters. Paul McCartney is a British PostModernist songwriter and singer.
~~~
Like a Tyrannosaurus Rex
by Bud “Weasel” Rice
At times he felt he was like a tyrannosaurus rex,
galumphing and harrumphing through the bio-metro-plex,
unsubtle on his claw-nailed feet, but not a theropod,
a creature not from Laramidia, no fiercesome god;
and though he was bipedal, he was yet an omnivore,
who liked the ruminants, and wasn’t only carnivore,
nor could he reach twelve feet, his height was only half that size,
his length and weight were such that he would hardly terrorize.
And yet although he was an apex preditor of sorts,
who rarely dined on deadly snakes, wolves, or rhinoceros,
he could fight off mosquitos, dogs, and humans nonetheless;
at times he felt he was like a tyrannosaurus rex.
Bud “Weasel” Rice is a poet of Animalia.
~~~
According to SmartAsset using MIT Wage Calcs,
these are the most expensive states to dwell in their locale:
1. Massachusetts
2. Hawaii
3. Connecticut
4. New York
5. California
6. Colorado
7. Washington
8. Oregon
9. New Jersey
10. Rhode Island
Esca Webuilder is a poet of the Internet.
~~~
Update:
In San Diego County, Gateway Energy this May,
with batteries of lithium, erupted into flames;
but more than one week later, there’s a “thermal runaway”,
and fire fighting crews still fight the Otay Mesa blaze.
~~~
Sugar Addiction
by Carb Deliseuwe
He said that heroin is nothing but a chemical,
the poppy juice refined into morphine from opium;
and sugar, too, is nothing but a chemical refined,
from cane or beet, and then molasses, to brown sugar grind,
and finally to strange white crystals—What a lethal find.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of sugar and carbs. William Dufty (1916-2002).
~~~
He Did His Exercises
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
He did his exercises as he had done many times:
How many years? How many lands? How many climbs and climes?
He loved those trips he took off to the gym—o, they were great.
He loved to do his lifts and steps. It helped control his weight.
He loved to boost his HDL cholesterol a lot,
decreasing his triglycerides—a one-two punch he got.
He loved his mood improvements, oxygen and nutrients.
He loved that boost of energy and lowering of stress.
He loved the sparking of his carcass, better functioning.
O, it was fun to get a punctuating unctioning.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”, is a poet of exercise. HDL is high-density lipoprotein. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “unctioning” is a verbal neologism.
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