Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

A lone crow cawing
upon a telephone pole
is joined by a crow.

 

Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Fresh crisp breaths of air,
the smell of newly mown grass—
running in the sun.

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a traditional haikuist.

~~~

While Gazing at New Apps
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

While one’s on the phone,
gazing at new apps perhaps,
two munching fawns pass.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haiku poet.

~~~

Haiku
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

In the heat wave now,
helicopter overhead,
dead cicada down.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a rad trad haiku writer.

~~~

The Killing Does Not Cease
          by War di Belecuse
          “He wept at what he saw.”
              —Crise de Abu Wel

I wish that even now you knew the things that make for peace.
Today they are hid from your eyes. The killing does not cease.
In Gaza, Israel, the West Bank, Red Sea, Lebanon,
Ukraine, Sudan, Myanmar, Sahel. The list goes on and on.
Your enemies surround you, hem you in on every side;
and they will cast a bank about you that is high and wide.
You and your children—they will dash you, dash you to the ground,
and they will not leave any stone, not one, they won’t throw down;
because you did not know the time your visitation was.
You did not know what all your violence and hatred does.

War di Belecuse is a poet of war.

~~~

A Revolutionary Change
          by “Scribe” El Uwade

Around ten thousand years ago in Middle Eastern lands,
a revolutionary change in food production chanced
to come about, that is, domesticating animals,
and cultivating plants. Food thus became reliable.

“Scribe” El Uwade is a poet of the Middle East.

~~~

The Kitchen Poet
          by Carb Deliseuwe

I saw him standing at the frij, while looking to the side.
He was a kitchen poet who was chewing on his pride.
He wore a dark blue tee-shirt tight around his bulging parts,
and looked like one who snacked upon art-is-ti-choking hearts.
But what impressed me most about that kitchen poet dude
was that he seemed to have a gormandizing attitude.
He seemed to have an appetite that would not let him go,
as if his all-consuming logic was his pastry dough,
which kept his puffed up shoulders back and ass upon the line,
his output its own source code, and his will, Van Orman Quine.

 

The Fellow at the Frij
          by Carb Deliseuwe

I saw him standing at the frig, while eating apple sauce.
He hadn’t paused to put it in a bowl or something else.
He ate it out of the container he had found it in;
but that was not the end of all his hungry foragin’.
He next pulled out a lemon yogurt, drawing off its top,
and scooped it greedily into his mouth, plop after plop.
But this was not the end, he kept on wanting more—the slob.
At such a rate, it looked as if his hips would sprout huge globs.
I ultimately got that guy to walk away from there
by telling him I’d seen enough; it wasn’t nice to stare.

Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of foods, like carb-rich apple sauce and non-keto lemon yogurt. Willard Van Orman Quine was an American philosopher (1908-2000).

~~~

In the Waning Light
          by Caud Sewer Bile

About four-hundred feet away where Donald Trump was at,
a sniper readied his gun for his grim assassinate.
And then he shot eight rounds attempting murder from that roof.
Where were the secret service and police? Were they aloof?

It was a miracle the former president survived—
He turned his head, and in that second, he was still alive.
One bullet grazed his right ear, as he dropped down to the stage.
fist pumping as a trail of blood was left upon his face.

Above that bloody scene flags flapped; the shooter then was killed;
but not till Corey Comperatore had been forever stilled.
It was in Butler, Pennsylvania, at a rally site.
The Sun was shining overhead in the waning light.

Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the deep state. Corey Comperatore was a rally attendee who gave his life to save his family.

~~~

Newsreel:
Joe Biden has now given RFK security,
protection from his foes with secret service “surety.”

~~~

I See Her
          by U. Carew Delibes

I see her in a traffic jam upon the roofs of cars.
I see her in the Milky Way amongst the shining stars.
I see her everywhere—o, she is ever on my mind.
I see her on a balustrade. I see her when I dine.
I see her on a carousel, arm stretched out at its rim.
I see her on a rooftop of a building, on a limb.
I see her flying in the air upon the wings of doves.
I see her leaning on a lamppost—happily in love.
I see her walking on the wires, electrical and thin.
There is not any scene at all that I don’t see her in.

I see her on a wall, upon a fountain shooting up.
I see her in the steam that rises from her coffee cup.
I see her on a statue rising on a pedestal.
I see her chasing butterflies across a meadow, ah.
I see her near some flowers blooming in a garden lane.
I see her with the contrails of a passing aeroplane.
I see her on an orchard tree. I see her on a hedge.
I see her on the steps that rise right up to heaven’s edge.
I see her on a laptop. I see her on a garbage bin.
There is not any scene at all that I don’t see her in.

U. Carew Delibes is a poet of amour.

~~~

Money
          by Brad Lee Suciew

Money is as beautiful as roses
in its effects and laws, according to
Ralph Waldo Emerson. It closes

loquacity occasionally too.
As Solomon said, it answers all things,
though by itself there’s little it can do.

Watts noted it’s not the best of blessings,
a good conscience and good health are better;
while Austen thought it something business brings,

but friendship hardly ever. The debtor
we should forgive; but money’s love’s the root
of all evil, Paul put in a letter.

Rockefeller, that first billionaire coot,
thought it was his duty to make money,
and still make more. He liked a lot of loot.;

but Thoreau, beneath dark skies and sunny,
cultivated poverty, while Moses
left pelf for the land of milk and honey.

Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of money. Moses (fl. 14th – 13th BC) and Solomon (c. 976 BC – c. 926 BC) were Hebrew writers, Isaac Watts (1674-1848) was a British lyricist, Jane Austen (1875-1817) was a British novelist, Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882) and Henry Thoreau (1817-1862) were American writers, John Rockefeller (1839-1937) was an American entrepreneur.

~~~

A White Knight
          by Cu Ebide Aswerl

I saw a white knight sprawled upon a wide and wooden square.
It looked as though he was surprised to find himself thus there.
His shiny silver armour was all off and to his side,
as if he were relaxing, resting from a taxing ride.
How long he had been hanging out like that I could not tell;
collapsed and flat, it looked as if it had been quite a spell.
Perhaps a rook had taken him, or dark pawn knocked him lame.
It definitely seemed as if he was out of the game.
I wondered if no one would come and pick him up again
to play another game with him, or if this was his end.

Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of games, like chess.