Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
As moonlight moves west,
the shadows of c-old rose stems
grow to meet new tests.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a trad haikuist. Yosa Buson (1716-1784) was a noted Japanese poet of the Edo period.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
It’s freezing, and yet
the toddler at the playground
wants to keep playing.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haiku writer.
~~~
We Do Not Know
by Esecwiel Barud
We do not know exactly what the cross
that Jesus Christ was crucified upon
looked like. We do not really know the loss.
We do not know so much about what’s gone.
We do not know who were the men who had
to put it up with Him upon its frame.
We do not know who were the souls who bade
their children look away in fear or shame.
We do not know so many things about
that cross, those people, what occurred that day;
and there are many other things to doubt
that would not be of value here to say.
We do not know so many things, and yet,
that is one thing we will not soon forget.
Post Habakkuk Observation
by Esecwiel Barud
Observe among the nations now, and see.
You’ll be astounded, filled with wonder, awed.
For there will be a work of misery
that you would not believe though you be told.
Observe the rising of the killer gangs,
those bitter, hasty, hateful murderers,
who cross the earth to brand it with their angst;
so dread and terrible are they and theirs.
Their guns and knives are swifter than leopards,
and much more fierce are they than evening wolves.
How proudly they press on, they from afar,
who fly like eagles chasing after doves.
They come for violence and hard command.
At kings they scoff. Of rulers they make sport.
They gather captives, like the beaches sand.
They sweep like winds. They laugh at every fort.
But even they must fall as time moves on.
They too shall pass, and die in droves at dawn.
Esecwiel Barus is a poet of prophesy. Habakkuk was a Hebrew prophet of the 7th century BC. The above poem is an extended sonnet.
~~~
The Miracle of Saint Mark
by Buceli da Werse
The Miracle of Saint Mark, 1548,
by little dyer Tintoretto, shows his ends.
The subject is a man about to meet his fate—
his legs sledge-hammered—but Saint Mark descends, defends.
The shattered hammer’s broken into pieces—shards—
and that is not all that the composition rends,
There are over two dozen spectators’ regards,
from turbaned man who holds two pieces up to those
who simply look upon with varying vizards.
Here is the drawing hand of Michelangelo’s
combined with Titian’s color, ready at the gate,
alive in structures, poses, actions, light and clothes.
Buceli da Werse is a poet of Renaissance Italy. In the above bilding [sic] Tintoretto (1518-1594) was an Italian Renaissance painter of the Venetial school. Michelangelo (1475-1564) and Titian (c. 1490 – 1576) were noted Italian Renaissance painters. John Mark (c. 12 – c. 68) was one of the four evangelists of Jesus Christ.
~~~
Now Is the Winter of 2025
by Ub Reece Idwal
Now is the winter of 2025,
and all those English kings the bard wrote of
have left the earth and vanished in the brine
of time. Here there are louring clouds above
that darken sky with gray and rainy sheets.
Their shrouds do cover western Washington
far from the thrum of histrionic beats.
Here is no Richard III with Buckingham.
But now upon the television screen
there can be seen that English play portrayed;
despite Shakespeare’s own act of vanishing,
he still comes back to haunt us with his shade;
and I can find within this cold, wet clime
delightful means to pass away the time.
Ubs Reece Idwal is a poet of Washington State. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was a noted English dramatist.
~~~
Newsreel:
Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau resigned,
He left his post and party head, because he was maligned.
~~~
Cold Boreas
by Lars U. Ice Bedew
“Can you tell me where this cold is coming from? Is it Russia?”
—Daphne Du Maurier, “The Birds”
Cold Boreas bore down upon the great metropolis,
god of the North, he soared forth o’er the crowded populace.
He saw the birds crouched on the power lines—each next to each—
attempting to get close together, keep within warmth’s reach.
Above, the huge blue clouds rushed past, the Arctic blast unleashed;
below the people crushed by winds were flushed and hard besieged.
They hurried through their varied chores before his storms appeared,
their hands and noses numbed as temp’ratures to zero neared.
The whizz and whir, the freezing brrr, whisked past in roaring mo
around the houses, trees, and squirrels speeding to get home.
Dead leaves flew high, from thé Enchanter, swirling to and fro;
they fled the lawns they’d been upon, and down the roads did go.
Lars U. Ice Bedew is a poet of the cold. Daphne Du Maurier (1907-1989) was a Modernist English novelist and short story writer.
~~~
Newsreel:
Collaborator of the Nazis, George Soros, received
the Presidential Freedom Medal, as Joe Biden leaves.
~~~
To th’ University
by Ira “Dweeb” Scule
The sky was filled with clouds. They day was gray, and windy too.
He slowly made his way to get to th’ university.
The campus wasn’t busy, but students lined the varied halls,
impersonal and grand, unwelcoming and very hard.
He checked into the library, computer texts galore;
unchecked-out books, unreadable, austere shelves fairly neat.
No one was in the room. There were a few flat magazines,
new free falls jarred one’s consciousness, or things that one might meet.
The hope was that these college students could get good degrees.
The World was falling rapidly beneath his fleeting feet.
Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of computer texts.
~~~
The Car Wash
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
He aimed his tires for the track, until they were clicked on.
He stopped the car, put it in neutral; his control was gone.
He took his hands off of the wheel, his feet off the brake.
The feeling was one of surprise; he felt the belt uptake.
Beneath the washing arches, windows clouded up with soap.
A logo flashed in splashing crashing; the whole car was soaked.
Next came the brushes rushing over, scrubbing, rubbing, loud,
red, orange, yellow, green and blue, to purple flushing—Wow!
And then the rinsing off, the clarity of water streams,
with driers coming afterwards, confluence of extremes.
He felt like he was coming out of a mild hurricane,
When GO turned green, he was released—reality again.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of driving.
~~~
Winter Prep
by Lars U. Ice Bedew
“Water is best, (ἄριστον μὲν ὕδωρ)”
Pindar, “Olympian 1”
In winter’s bitter cold—at twenty-one degrees or less—
he needed to let faucets drip, to keep his water best.
Beneath his sinks, he also opened up the cabinets;
and kept his bathroom doors unclosed avoiding pipe regrets.
He turned the water main valves off avoiding freeze mishaps.
His outdoor spigots were protected with foam polar caps.
He plugged up passages to thé outside with folded cloth.
His thought was not upon the kingdom of the Visigoths.
To warm himself he did not think upon King Alaric.
Instead he had a cup of herbal tea with turmeric.
Lars U. Ice Bedew is a poet of extreme cold weather.
~~~
The January Roses
by Brac Lei Uweeds
This January’s roses are such beauties to behold,
because they are so fresh and pink, despite their being old.
Their very thriving and surviving is a rarity,
here in the freezing, graying light, contrasting fair and free.
Tossed in the wind, but blooming nonetheless in winter’s air,
they are the definition of enduring fury’s air.
Is this the sixth or seventh flourishing, I do not know.
They keep on coming back again to rise, spread wide, and grow.
Here in the winter of our discontent they dance despite
th’ interment everywhere of snow and ice, the cold and white.
Brac Lei Uweeds is a poet of flowers.
~~~
Out to the Open Sky
by Cu Ebide Aswerl
He drove into the parking lot, then parked and locked his car.
He saw the giant trophy at th’ athletic complex park.
Named for a skilled microbiologist and soccer fan,
it rises up like as a cup upon a concrete stand.
The geodetic, spherical Buckminsterfullerene
was put together by the sculptor, light-shaping Ray King.
Found at the entrance to a world of climbs and slides and swings,
as well as merry-go-rounds turning under jets and wings.
Red-tailed hawks fly overhead; skyscrapers rise nearby.
A little boy infused with joy sings out to open sky.
Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of leisure. Ray King is a contemporary NewMillennial sculptor.
~~~
His Bundled Up Workout
by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs
He was so cold, he wore his jacket, even in the house,
as well as his black shoes and shoes, an ebony-clad Faust.
He did his early morning exercises in these clothes,
but stood beside a heater when he did extending mos.
He did his circle shakes, he did the stretching of his spine;
his movements were preposterous; they could not be divine.
His panting breaths were not Romantic; they were merely crude;
in fact, in focus, one might find his jo-stl-ings were rude.
But they were good for him, he knew the body needed more;
though bundled up, this workout he’d adore and not abhor.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs, is a poet of exercise. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) was Romantic German poet and proset.
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