Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
A feather lying
on the backyard patio:
the cat comes inside.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a traditional English haiku writer. Some of his favourite haikus on cats are those by Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828).
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
In the auto’s back,
three very tiny snails ride.
How did they get in?
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Close up and beneath
giant, jet-engine planes are
cicadas voices.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haiku composer.
~~~
Newsreel:
Who is she really—Alice Leal Guo—a spy, or no?
Exactly who she is, it seems, few Filipinos know.
~~~
To See the Giant Clouds
by Waulcer Beside
He loved to gaze up in the sky to see the giant clouds,
the Sun’s light slanting through these shrouds miraculous, uncowed,
and jet planes flying high above begin their slow descent
in through the firmament enroute to tarmacs of cement.,
and silvery utility poles climb one-hundred feet,
and individual birds perch to view all they can see,
including him, down there below, on gray-white sidewalk lanes,
beside the trees filled with cicadas chattering away,
like cra-ckl-ing electrical and ca-ckl-ing chirp-purrs.
He loved the fresh wind on his face, its purpose and its bursts.
Waulcer Beside is a poet of sauntering.
~~~
Newsreel:
It seems the highest camp upon Mount Everest is strewn,
about with frozen garbage which will not be leaving soon.
~~~
Newsreel:
More than one-hundred souls died in an Indian stampede,
while hundreds more in Pakistan have perished due to heat.
~~~
Samarra
by Abdul Serecewi
A frog that calls, in ruins, to that very ancient age;
Samarra now is solitude, abandoned to huge change.
Like as an elephant that’s dead and being thus untusked,
the city died; dismemberment has left its muffled husk.
Abdallah ibn al-Mu’tazz, you too who were born there,
and ruled a day in Bagdad, would like wise end up no where.
Abdallah ibn al-Mu’tazz (861-908) was an Arabic poet, on whom this poem relies.
~~~
Ten Years Ago in al-Jalam
by Abdul Serecewi
A militant instructor, teaching his recruits
how to make car bombs, accidentally set off
explosives, killing twenty-one of his students
north of Bagdad, Iraq. The huge blast roared aloft.
Twelve wounded were arrested, with another ten,
who tried to flee the orchard where they’d all been boffed.
Authorities discovered seven bombs then, when
they rushed to reach the thunder of the bursting boom,
and several exploding belts as well. This den
in al-Jalam, a fertile area of doom,
brought on its own demise of crude, bloodthirsty brutes
by teaching them a lesson in a brilliant plume.
Abdul Serecewi is a poet of Iran and Iraq. The above poem is a bilding [sic], Al-Jalam is a farming area near Samarra, Iraq.
~~~
Newsreel:
Iran has a new president Masoud Pezeshkian;
yet still sends aid to Hezbollah in southern Lebanon.
~~~
And Vie
by Esiad L. Werecub
There’s always more to do; one cannot ever do enough.
No matter when or where one lives, it’s going to be tough.
Now obviously varied situations have degrees,
as demonstrated in the dramas of Euripides.
And so one does all that one can; and that is ample too;
enough, remains abundance to the wise, if not the few.
What’s more, a quiet conscience helps to stand the brunt of life;
which will be short, no matter what; time must flee us and fly;
yet it is up to us to make it smooth and free from strife,
despite all that which works against us as we strive and vie.
Esiad L. Werecub is a poet of Hellenistic views. Euripides (c, 480 BC – c. 406 BC) was an Ancient Greek poetic dramatist.
~~~
The Preacher
by Crise de Abu Wel
He watched the preacher in the church delivering his speech,
his sermon spewed through Boanerges, sons of thunder, cheeks.
He was so strong, so loud and long, he longed to get away;
but he sat mesmerized to hear all that he had to say.
He spoke of fiery damnation, hell-and-brimstone words.
He spoke of God’s immortal power, and His judgment’s curse.
He wondered how his faithful flock could take his fearsome talk;
and yet he saw them there entranced, ensconced before him—caught.
He thought that he was lucky he could get away from him;
but what about those closest to his heaven and His Hymn.
And Angel Messenger
by Crise de Abu Wel
He saw an angel messenger appear before his eyes.
He’d heard about such spirits but he thought that they were lies.
And yet here was one who had come to meet him in the night
whose form was curving, wind-swept, swerving, in depth, into sight.
But just what was his message; for he said no thing to him,
unlike the ghost of Hamlet’s father—talkative though dim.
He longed to question him before he left—turned into air—
like great El Greco in Toledo, long ago, and fair.
He gazed upon that phantom of the holy realm of God;
and then he vanished, as so many had, from him, before.
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Good Father. El Greco (1531-1604) and William Shakespeare (1564-1616) were Baroque artists, the first Spanish, the second English.
~~~
“Cruel” Wadi Seeb
by “Scribe” el Uwade
When I knew him, he always was angry.
I never knew him when he wasn’t mad.
He had the look of one haunted, hungry,
as if each fibre of his being was bad.
And he was mean to me too. He just stared
no matter what I did, like I was naught.
Too close too long and we both needed aired;
too hot when under collar, or when not.
He always sneered behind his dark mustache,
as if no thing was good enough for him.
I thought to ease his hate, but he would bash
me down hard; so I came to abhor him.
And I became like him whom I despise,
as vile and vicious as “Cruel” Wadi Seeb.
“Scribe” el Uwade is a poet of Egypt.
~~~
In Borgo Sansepolcro
by Alberdi Ucwese
Born in Borgo Sansepolcro in Umbria,
forty miles to the south of Florence, Tuscany,
was the painter Piero della Francesca.
Not long after his death, it was the destiny
of his painting to become unfashionable
because of its stillness and its serenity.
The sublime, mathematical, and rational
were seen at the time as inadequate and quaint.
How many of his works were thrashed, dashed into null?
Few sought his geometric precision in paint
or admired the dignified and majestical
therein. Few appreciated such pure restraint.
Alberdi Ucwese is a poet of Italian Renaissance painting. In the above bilding [sic], Piero della Francesca (1416-1492) was a noted Italian Renaissance painter and geometer.
~~~
In Mechanical Commands
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
At dawn he saw the newly paved and painted parking lot.
the dark gray tar, the lines of blue and yellow on the plot,
It was renewal of the previous, rough, gray cement;
replenishing the surface with a tough recrudascent.
To purchase shortbread cookies, he went in the pharmacy.
pure butter, mini Scottish biscuits most importantly.
They were a small, delicious gift to give to someone dear,
and near to him, who grew up to be trained an engineer.
When he came out onto the lot beside the busy street,
he saw skyscrapers tower over traffic underneath.
He clicked his key, unlocking thé car that he had come in,
and placed his purchase in the trunk, with some positioning.
And then proceeded to drive on to join the locust swarm;
for him this was the usual; for him this was the norm;
to go forth with no king, but in coordinated bands,
his hands upon the wheel in mechanical commands.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of traffic. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “recrudascent” is a neologism. L15 draws from the poet “Agur”, a pious gatherer of words, around the time of Solomon (c. 10th century BC).
~~~
Newsreel:
As Beryl barrels down upon the Texan coast today,
around Joe Biden’s presidency storms a worricane.
~~~
As Terrible Deinonykus
by Bud “Weasel” Rice
He weighed in at about one-hundred-thirty-five, or so.
like raptors of one-hundred-thirty-million years ago,
as terrible Deinonychus, curved claws on each hind foot,
and similar saurs during the Cretaceous period.
But he did not feel like a prototype of flying birds,
nor having feathers, alligator jaw-like predators;
though he had toe and finger nails, enjoyed the crisp, fresh air,
and had hair on his head and face, with teeth to chew and tear.
And then he saw a power glider hanging in the sky,
reminding him man can alone, with a machine, fly high.
Bud “Weasel” Rice is a poet of Animalia.
~~~
A Large Songbird
by E. “Birdcaws” Eule
Despite its noisy, grating, croaking caw, the crow is classified a songbird, largest of them all. Corvus brachyrhynchos, wherever it may go, on meadow, road or airy tree, it likes to call obnoxiously. It has a lot to say, or sing, while it roves about, seeking plant or animal. It’s not easy to miss when it’s upon the wing—that ominous, omnivorous, soaring omen. It will not quit its voice when it gets on a thing, and keeps repeating on, like Cato the Roman did too, “Carthago delenda est,” long ago; and I can hear it still at this very moment.
E. “Birdcaws” Eule is a poet of birds. In the above prosem, Cato the Elder (234 BC – 149 BC) was a noted early Roman proset who argued against the political influence of Scipio Africanus.
~~~
At the Cockcrow of Dawn
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
He did his exercises, starting with ellipticals.
He stretched his arms, his legs, his hips, his abs and cyclicals.
Around, around, o, up and down, he moved his body parts;
he wanted organs working out, especially his heart.
From head to glutes, from feet to chest, he turned his panting on.
It was his typical workout at the cockcrow of dawn.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”, is a poet of exercising.
~~~
Across the Sky
by Éclair Dub W. See
Across the sky, the lightning flashed electrical designs,
the current active, dangerous, enormous gold-white lines;
and then the crash of thunder, like the clash of cymbals hit,
the rain and hail, flash floods following and flowing fit.
Éclair Dub W. See is a poet of atmospheric notes.
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