Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Suddenly, amidst
the bright, sunlit maple leaves,
goldfinches appear.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a traditional haikuist.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
By humming, running
air-conditioning units,
cicadas chatter.
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Plate techtonics crash
below; above one can see
snowy Mount Fuji.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haiku poet.
~~~
Element’ry Particles
Ira “Dweeb” Scule
The element’ry particles include: six quarks,
up, charm and top, down, strange and bottom; six leptons,
electron, muon, tau, and their neutrino parks;
and four gauge bosons, Z and W bosons
and photon, gluon, and last found, the Higgs.
Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of science. Peter Higgs (1929-2024) was a British PostModern physical theorist.
~~~
F + V – E = 2
by Euclidrew Base
For any polyhedron
that doesn’t intersect itself,
the number of its faces
plus the number of its vertices
minus the number of its edges
always equals two:
F + V – E = 2.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. F + V – E = 2 is Euler’s formula. Leonard Euler (1707-1783) was a Swiss NeoClassical mathematician and scientist.
~~~
Along Pudong
by Aw “Curbside” Lee
Amidst all of the jewels, all along Pudong,
topaz, sapphire, rubies, diamonds, emeralds,
bling traffic bracelets blinking, off and on ping pong,
bright, glittering and shimmering in white and golds.
He sat above the silver-lit skyscrapers, tense,
his being’s eddies folded in ephemerals,
slick, sleek, square, chic, so many things to see and sense,
right at the edge of th’ azure pool, collected, cool,
thick, breathing hard, resilient, sharp, strong, sturdy, dense,
prepared to take it on—the World’s cruel school,
in wrinkled lights and lines, the ring of Ding und Dong,
breathtaking in its view, life’s brilliance bathed in blue.
Aw “Curbside” Lee is a poet of China. Pudong is a district of Shanghai of about 5,600,000.
~~~
Bridges Over Western-Flowing Seym
by Radice Lebewsu
Ukraine’s incursion in to Kursk was for a buffer zone.
Three bridges over western-flowing Seym have now been blown.
But Russians are determined to build more spans, like pontoons,
though even those are going down, according to the news.
It is too early to know if this will be a success;
but will these kettles—river pins—address Ukraine’s duress?
Radice Lebewsu is a poet of Ukraine. Before the incursion of Kursk Oblast, it had a population around 1,000,000.
~~~
Newsreel:
The BLS reported that 800,000 jobs
were overcounted, through July, in data-hiding lobs.
The Commerce Secretary said she had no knowledge of
new numbers in employment, though she laboured for the guv.
BLS is the Bureau of Labour Statistics.
~~~
The Ad(iron)dacks
by Brad Lee Suciew
The Ad(iron)dacks, rich in iron, once were mined;
and other minerals were garnet, as pyrite,
titanium, zinc, graphite, and wollastonite.
As well, tree-eating lumberjacks attacked these sites.
Throughout the 1900s, even more was gleaned,
galena for lead, gypsum, talc, and sphalerite.
But by 2000, most of th’ operations ceased,
or slowed, though not all cleaned. And yet, the mining sprawls,
amidst the beaver, fisher, martin, moose and lynx,
amongst the trees, streams, rivers, lakes and waterfalls,
helped build America’s industrial base might,
for that most vigorous of hardy animals.
Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of natural wealth.
~~~
Newsreel:
The Secret Service has rescinded their protection for
RFK, Jr., after he th’ exPresident endorsed;
although he’s still campaigning in a number of the states.
This is not a political decision, is it?…great?
~~~
The Effortless Unrolling of a Reverie
by SubCIA Weedler
He had a dozen passports, all with different
names, nations, dates, and data altered otherwise,
as if he now were living on another front,
as if he hovered over lies in covert lives.
He needed desp’rately to be somebody else,
with everyone he was; with everyone he vies.
In each new episode, he had to sell himself
again, but always failing ever quite to be,
and watching as each person falls; each person fell.
He ached for someone ever new, but never real,
the effervescent flowing of a river’s run,
the effortless unrolling of a reverie.
In This Coin’s Exergue
by SubCIA Weedler
There was no thing to see here, as the evidence had been
completely handled by the bureau—hazmat in the bin.
The building roof had been scrubbed down. It had been cleaned and hosed.
There was no in-depth autopsy. The body was disposed.
It was done quickly, out of sight. There was no need to see.
The butler didn’t do it by some black rock near the sea.
The murder had been handled by the people at the top.
It’s said…they waited on the roof until the killer stopped.
New Zealand, Germany and Belgium platforms need no looks;
they were not messaging accounts with secret service crooks.
And improvised explosives weren’t from set-up terrorists.
There were no shorted stocks; no, those were simply errors missed.
A phone that pinged the Galley Place in Washington DC
was not associated with a nursing home ID;
nor was there a device that went to Boston from Pittsburg.
The date July the 13th is found in this coin’s exergue.
SubCIA Weedler is a poet of the world of espionage.
~~~
A Place to Come
by W. S. “Eel” Bericuda
He was another northerner who traveled southward to
the sunny easygoingness, the skies and seas of blue,
to Key West with its orange-bright poinciana trees,
an Indiana Adam coming to the end of these…
United States, where Wallace Stevens sought out order’s forms,
where Ernest Hemingway endured its hurricanic storms—
an old man on the sea, who caught a marlin on the waves,
and fought to keep his terseness and his sanity, in vain,
where Robert Frost, was also lost beneath the palms and rum;
for northern Modernists, back then, it was a place to come.
Miami Isn’t Only
by W. S. “Eel” Bericuda
Miami isn’t only condos circling some beach,
or palm trees rising high into clear, azure skies.
It isn’t only buildings glinting golden peach,
skyscrapers climbing, wrapping aqua-waved shore-lines,
sunbathers in bikinis or sleek leopard thongs,
nor people playing volleyball amidst their lives.
Miami isn’t only pleasure-seeking throngs,
or surfing over waterways on boards and yachts.
It isn’t only dancing, thumping hip-hop songs,
or drifting, dreaming, drinking, driving, dripping, droughts.
It isn’t only cafes, ruby wines and cheese;
and it is hotter than all of its hottest spots.
W. S. “Eel” Bericuda is a poet of Florida. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955), Ernest Hemingway (1899-1961), and Robert Frost (1874-1963) were Modernist American poets. Adam Sedia is a contemporary American poet.
~~~
From the Apartment Stairs
by Bilee Wad Curse
He heard the air horn of the train from the apartment stairs.
He felt the concrete underneath his feet. There were no chairs.
He stood beside the railing, holding steady when it came—
that hurricane that roared about its violent loud claim.
Here at the bottom of the stairwell, he felt quite secure.
He didn’t want to leave the brutal, windowless allure.
He thought of oddly praising limestone in this hard cement.
O, how he loved the strength of it, here at its steep ascent.
Yet many times he had stepped down into its den of thieves,
disparaging inhabitants who shared its stony eaves.
They could be irritating, grating in their bullying,
and sullying his life with their insistent hoodlumming.
Bilee Wad Curse is a poet of criminal behavior.
~~~
Another Night Is Next
by D. Walse Ebicure
The Sun was setting in the west. Another night is next.
He sat up at the bistro in the Metroplex complex.
He heard and saw the roaring of another jet fly by.
So many came into the city, thousand through the sky.
The heat surrounded him; it penetrated flesh and bone.
It meshed with him—no whim—he checked the weather on his phone.
It was a cooler day, in Fahrenheit—just ninety-five,
He was again so grateful for another day alive.
He heard the water from a fountain near some shrubs and trees,
surrounding him, so ripe and green. There wasn’t any breeze.
He saw the swallows circle over, seeking flying bugs.
Life is a miracle, he thought, and felt it in his gut.
D. Walse Ebicure is a connoisseur of poetic moments.
~~~
On Being and Doing Good
by Erisbawdle Cue
One of the best things found in life is being good;
and each of us knows naturally what that is.
What makes one stronger comes from doing what one should.
Who would have thought that power comes from doing this?
What makes one healthy makes one strong internally.
By doing good, one can unlock such benefits;
for life seems to respond to good diurnally.
It’s such a simple little truth most pass it by,
not understanding what it does viscerally;
but it’s what Socrates and Plato—asking why—
both accidentally bumped into—being shrewd—
that doing good’s one of the best things found in life.
Since Happiness Relies on Life
by Erisbawdle Cue
Since happiness, like love and joy, relies on life,
it’s best to do all that is good for living well.
One must be strong, since it takes strength to deal with strife;
and so it’s vital to attain the best of health.
To live, of course, one needs the basics to survive;
to pay for housing, food and clothes requires wealth;
and so we need to work, and hence, we need to strive.
Intelligence depends on life as well, and so
as such all knowledge must be genuinely līve;
to function in the world there is much to know.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy. Socrates (470 BC – 399 BC) and Plato (c. 428 BC – c. 348 BC) were Ancient Greek philosophers.
~~~
A Twinge, a Bit Intense
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
Although he felt as though he was up flying in the air,
his feet were firmly on the floor, his seat was on a chair.
He felt a twinge, a bit intense, that moved within himself,
and though it was not pleasant, it passed quick, as it befell.
Racing
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”
When he was young, he thought that racing was athletic might.
He hardly kenned that he would be, o, racing all the time.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of physical activity.
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