Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Little boy crying,
I’d like to show you a hawk;
but they’re hard to catch.
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Ah, so beautiful,
the new colourful tree blooms:
white, pink, purple, gold.
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Beside the water,
he stood at the marsh watching
a great blue heron.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a trad haikuist.
~~~
A Fisherman Is Singing
by Li “Web Crease” Du
The years go passing by, and I enjoy sweet peace,
the freedom from ten thousand matters, each large tome.
I ask myself and answer thus, let this not cease,
for what is better than just being here at home?
A wind from off the pines is blowing my wrapped sash.
My lute is bright. The moon above the hills shines white.
You ask me what of good and evil fortune? In a flash,
there on the lake a fisherman is singing. Why?
Lu “Web Crease” Du is a poet of China. Wang Wei (699-761) was a Chinese Tang poet, who wrote “Answering Vice-Prefect Zhang.”
~~~
Dana
by Daw Buricselee
When true religion is no more, some still will have their faith;
but who will they give their gifts to? to robber or to wraith?
Daw Buricselee is a poet of southeast Asia. Approximate populations: Bangkok, 9,000,000; Mandalay, 1,200,000; and Naypyidaw, 900,000.
~~~
Newsreel:
A massive, deadly earthquake struck the center of Myanmar.
More than one-thousand-seven-hundred died, at least so far.
Skyscrapers fell, as far away as Bangkok in Thailand;
and Mandalay was left in rubble, rocked, and undermanned.
The loss across th’ embattled land was great, including in
the Burmese capital of Naypyidaw, the home of kings.
~~~
Coal Fly Ash Spraying
by Ira “Dweeb” Scule
“…much of a which of a wind…”
—E. E. Cummings
As coal fly ash is used in geoengineering tech,
adverse environmental health risks rise to wreak and wreck.
The aerosol particulates come down to Earth in snow,
a whirling, reigning, toxic, tropospheric vertigo.
Chem trails can’t be good for long-term health on planet Earth.
Are there solutions to these thick solutions, or a dearth?
Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of sci-fac. US unveils F-47, China J-36.
~~~
A Roman Seeing a Man with Outstretched Arms and Hands
by Israel W. Ebecud
I looked up at the man with outstretched arms and hands.
How could a human take it—nails in his wrists?
It seemed his face had faced the harshest of commands.
Yet there was something godly in his vision’s grist.
I tensed up when I heard him cry out ‘Eli’ twice.
I sucked my stomach in. I tightened both my fists.
I winced and flensed to witness such a sacrifice.
It wasn’t me upon the cross, and yet I felt
I could not stand to see the man pay such a price.
My body fused. It seemed as though my soul would melt
into his agony. Could he not breach those bands?
I saw him truly, o, but more I cannot tell.
Israel W. Ebecud is a poet of western Asia. The above bilding [sic] is in the first person point of view.
~~~
Peter Joseph Wilhelm Debye
by Acwiles Berude
When he set sail for Ithaca, his way was long;
he was at fifty-six, in 1940, when
he, Peter Joseph Wilhelm Debye, had, gone on
a life full of adventure and instruction. Then,
he had already met the Laistrygonians,
the Cyclops, and had won the Chemistry Nobel.
He did not fear Poseidon, no, his only chance
to ever get away from th’ horrid halls of hell—
Valhalla. Rare emotion touched his lofty stance,
deep down within his spirit and his body’s well;
but who can know—no man—not one can ever ken
what was within his soul’s revolving carousel.
His way was long, the many summer mornings spent,
before he came to rest beneath the pleasant grove,
were filled with joy, peace and contentment by cement
roadways, beside synthetic rubber trees and love.
He saw the marketplaces filled with fine merchandise;
no longer did he feel the need to move or rove.
His Ithaca—a miracle—it was a lovely price—
for free. He did not need to find Phoenician stores;
a New York state of mind in war time would suffice.
No pearls, coral, amber, ebony—no ores
from famed Egyptian cities. It was his intent
to learn as much as he could learn at scholars’ doors.
When he was old, rich with the all that he had gained
upon his long and winding way, he anchored at
his isle. ‘This is where I’ll stay and be maintained.’
He lingered there for many dipole moments that
burned brilliantly, shown in the scattering of light—
molecular, electrolytic acrobat,
who left, in ‘sixty-six, Ithaca, blinding, bright,
with such a wealth of splendors and experience,
with such a glittering and shimmering delight,
with wisdom borne of passion and luxuriance,
with rainbows shining from all of the times it rained,
a voyager who came back to the Ithacans.
Acwiles Berude is a poet of Homeric Greece. Peter Debye (1884-1966) was a Modernist Dutch physical chemist, who won the Nobel Prize for Chemistry in 1936 for investigations of dipole moments, x-rays, and light scattering in gases.
~~~
A PreRaphaelite Moment’s Monument
by Beau Ecs Wilder
Rossetti’s Saint George and the Princess is
an extraordinary painting. It’s a square
that’s cluttered with all sorts of things and instances.
The haloed saint holds fast the lady in a chair
beside the dragon’s dead and ugly, upturned face.
All parts are part o’ th’ overall designed scene there:
his dark gold armor, red dress, brown hair, somberness;
her white-touched, purple robe, her acquiescing mood;
the dragon’s sharp teeth, green head, like much in the place,
so many angles, curves, arcs, crosses, crass and rude.
Among the heart-felt feeling, love, and gentleness,
are artifacts strewed round and equally construed.
Baeu Ecs Wilder is a poet and art critic of the 19th century. Dante Gabriel Rosetti (1828-1882) was a British Victorian poet and artist.
~~~
Spring’s Unfolding View
by B. S. Eliud Acrewe
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower drives me new,
that blasts the roots of trees, likewise is my destroyer too;
and I am dumb to tell the crooked rose this, as are you;
that my age now is bent as well by spring’s unfolding view.
Bermuda grass is dormant, tan, and dry, as straw accrued,
and rosebush stems, are crinkled, wrinkled, really hard and crude;
the leafless oak without its cloak, is gray, contorted wood;
but all of this alive, that drives and thrives, God found was good.
Still, I am dumb to tell how time ticked heaven round the stars,
but, for as long as I can I will drive despite time’s bars.
B. S. Eliud Acrewe is a poet of Brit lit. Dylan Thomas (1914-1953) was a Modernist British poet and proset.
~~~
The Thoughtful Film Director
by Cawb Edius Reel
He saw the thoughtful film director sitting on his chair.
He was deciding what he planned to do, both when and where.
Because his vision would impact the final product made,
he had to be involved in every aspect of his trade.
He had to help the actors and the crew create the scene,
to capture—up to rapture—yes, his vision for the screen.
He had to get the cam’ras focused, ready for each spell.
Interpreting the scripts, he had to set the tone as well.
He worked with editors, with sound and music personnel,
and likewise the producers who may wonder—What the hell?
Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of film.
~~~
Newsreel:
The new torpedo bats are stirring up a noticing.
The New York Yankees’ fifteen homers their first three games—zing.
~~~
The Hunting Carnivore
by Carb Deliseuwe
Although he’d thought about so many types of foods before,
he wondered, Was the proper human diet carnivore?
and if that was the case, what types of meats to eat were best.
Should he go to the forest on a wild hunting quest?
His friends said yes. And so he would go to the wilderness
to seek out beasts on which to feast despite the bitterness.
At times he felt like all of life on such trips was in flux.
They’d all go out on bumpy timber roads in rugged trucks.
And there they’d find a place to stop to seek out fox or deer.
Perhaps in brush or trees a nice plump quail would appear.
Or maybe they would find a meadow, hidden and secure,
where they could pause for but some peace from a demanding World.
He loved those moments, for they made him feel so alive,
like as a four-legged quadruped, that in thick thickets thrive.
He loved that rare com’raderie. He felt connected too…
to nature and to fellow man, not stuck in some zoned zoo.
To Break His Fast
by Carb Deliseuwe
He opened up the airtight butter dish to spread some out.
He loved to cook his eggs with butter, scooping an amount.
He loved to make an om-e-let, with two fresh eggs, or three.
He loved to heat the pan up to a medium degree.
He loved to add some sausage too to break his fast anew,
as well as olives, and some pepper, water for his brew.
As to the olive, he mused on, Does it have benefits?
Hydroxytyrosol is hydrophilic; but is it
opposing oxidative stress caused by free-radicals?
And is the olive relatively low in calories?
Does it contain essential minerals, like calcium,
magnesium, or iron for transporting oxygen?
He didn’t know—How could he know? but kept on wondering.
This Wórld was ever challenging, o, over-under-ing.
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “over-under-ing” is a neologism.
~~~
It Will Be Great
by Des Wercebauli
It was another day of work. ‘It will be great,’ he’d say,
self-mockingly, because he knew it rarely went that way.
He sat down in his cubicle, into the hard-back chair,
but wished that he could lean back with his feet up in the air.
Too bad. He had to sit erect, computer on his desk.
There was a schedule to complete. He was not statuesque.
He lifted up his head. He spread his shoulders and pec-deck.
He lifted up his spine. He tightened abs and stretched his neck.
He tried to have the proper form, so he could finish up
e-mailing, typing, and as well, the coffee in his cup.
Des Wercebauli is a poet of labour.
~~~
Emily Dickinson
by Usa W. Celebride
She was small, like a Wren.
Her hair was bold, but tied;
for, like the Chestnut Burr,
it grew out true, and tried.
Lodged, like a Baryon,
in Amherst Nest—near leaves.
Her eyes were like the Sherry in
the Glass the glad Guest leaves.
Usa W. Celebride is a poet of American literature. Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) was an American Realist poet. In 1860, Amherst, Massachusetts, had a population of around 3,000; today its population is around 40,000. Quark-based baryons, like protons and neutrons, are small, but heavy, subatomic particles, that make up much of the mass of the visible matter of the universe.
~~~
Haydn’s “Farewell” Symphony, #45in F-Sharp Minor
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
From his Sturm und Drang period, Haydn’s
“Farewell” Symphony, #45
in F-Sharp Minor, begins tense, strident,
and the allegro assai is alive
with its impassioned arpeggio themes,
after which an adagio next appears,
followed by a minuet’s swift streams,
honing only what one hears as one nears.
Finally, one comes to the fourth movement,
one of the most surprising finales,
what one doesn’t dare call an improvement,
nor one of the composer’s follies:
one by one the instruments peel off to
the last two violins, and then silence…
Ewald E. Eisbruc is a poet and music critic of Germanic compositions. Josef Haydn (1732-1809) was a Germanic composer of the Classical era.
Leave A Comment