Quest-ion:
by Erisbawdle Cue
Does Ψ wave-function represent reality, or not?
Is it a state of knowledge, or else just another thought?
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy.
~~~
Those Aliens
by Earl W. Sidecube
They were strange bugs—those aliens—five fingers on each hand;
with two eyes only and with skin that was the hue of sand.
Earl W. Sidecube is a poet of alternate states of being. Craig A. Falconer is a contemporary NewMillennial Scottish Sci Fi proset of works, like “Whence They Came.”
~~~
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Two oak trees growing
stand in front of the garden—
another Buddha.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of traditional haiku. Hirahata Seitō (1905-1997) was a Japanese haikuist.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Shrines and sushi bars
beside the cherry blossoms,
in Nagasaki.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haikuist.
~~~
In 2024, Top 10 World’s Busiest Airports, as per Dorothy Neufeld:
1. Atlanta
2. Dubai
3. Dallas/Fort Worth
4. Tokyo
5. London
6. Denver
7. Istanbul
8. Chicago
9. New Delhi
10. Shanghai
Dorothy Neufeld is a contemporary financial proset.
~~~
Departure From Bataan
by War di Belecuse
The Japanese attacked the Philippines
December 8th, in 1941.
From then they launched enormous villainies.
Though Hong Kong fell, and Singapore was won,
alone in red the Philippines held on.
Though Roosevelt desired MacArthur out
much earlier, he ordered Douglas gone
on February 22; no doubt,
MacArthur had been fighting back the rout.
On March 11th, 1942,
at night, he left upon the risky route,
in PT boat beneath the dark of moon,
from off Corregidor. That fighting crew
of grim, gaunt, ghastly men, he left behind.
“Wainwright, hold out until I come for you..
I shall return. We will escape this bind.
I know one cannot help but feel resigned.
I pray for you and all of humankind.”
A US Army Missile Crewman
War di Belecuse
He did not really understand. He didn’t have a clue.
But he was ready in a minute for what he must do.
It was the Cold War, Heilbronn. He did his duty as
a US Army missile crewman in West Germany.
The Pershing was a short-range, nuclear, road-mobile thrust;
and he would do what was required. He’d do what he must.
How many were the things that went behind his high forehead?
It had a length of ten-point-five-five meters, with warhead.
It was four-thousand-and-six-hundred kilograms when launched.
Its range was seven-hundred-forty kilograms and staunch,
like as himself; his loyalty unquestioned and secure.
But now it’s gone into the past; it has become obscure.
War di Belecuse is a poet of conflict. Douglas MacArthur (1880-1964) was a Modernist American general. One of Belecuse’s favourite NewMillennial spy thrillers is the German television series “Deutschland 83”, with Peter Schilling’s “Major Tom” as its theme.
~~~
Shavasana
by Sri Wele Cebuda
He wore a white tee shirt on the recliner where he lay.
He loved to be at peace and ruminating on the day.
The shavasana pose was truly wonderful indeed
for meditating on the universal ordering.
There, lying down upon the ground upon a strong flat mat.
There—that was where he wanted so to be—so grand at that.
He focused on his breathing while he lay so motionless,
and contemplated, o, at sea, but still, and oceanless.
The benefits, an aura lift, were quite restorative,
like as a corpse rise from the dead and soar above the drift.
Here in the Lotus Pose
by Sri Wele Cebuda
“pity poor flesh…”
—E. E. Cummings
He got into the lotus pose. He spread his legs out wide.
He wanted to take things in stride. In peace, to just abide.
He lifted up his spine. It was important to do so.
He took deep breaths, inhaling and exhaling, ooh, ooh, oh.
He knew he needed to be strong, and so he needed rest,
so he would be prepared, yes, ready, for each greeted test.
He was a human being in a concrete jungle’s mesh,
within this gritty city in this space. O, pity flesh.
It was a chance for him to meditate upon this life,
the constant troubles in this cosmic rubble rife with strife.
Yet, still, there could be some contentment despite all of those.
He stretched his head down to his toes, here in the lotus pose.
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of meditation. E. E. Cummings (1894-1962) was a Modernist American poet.
~~~
Newsreel:
Three French-made Rafale jets were shot down by Pakistan.
Now India must think about what packs a greater punch,
since J-10 Chinese jets and PL-15 missiles can
together do a lot of damage, when they both are launched.
~~~
The World’s Largest Dome Built of Unreinforced Concrete
by Aedile Cwerbus
Why has the Pantheon in Rome remained intact so long?
Why was its concrete so enduring? O, why was it so strong?
Was it due to the pozzolanic concrete that was used—
volcanic ash, quicklime, and tephra, sand and water fused?
Hot mixing does allow for other benefits as well;
when lime clast cracks fill up with water they will glue and swell.
And so the Pantheon in Rome remains the largest dome
unreinforced, though it was built two thousand years ago.
Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of Ancient Rome.
~~~
In Deutschland
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
It was in a cool dive, down in a dark cellar.
The walls were made of faux brick, and the light was low,
colored dim red, pale blue, soft green, and faint yellow.
The mood was indigo, as we walked in, did go.
It was so mellow as those four fellows played jazz:
the drums and the cello first, then the piano,
and finally the saxophone. How it did moan.
How the drums did roll, O, and how those keys did flow.
Shadows fell over all. And still that saxophone
did call. The cello kept the beat. Oh, so much soul.
He almost melted in that Heilbronn ratskeller;
beneath that golden round—an American glow.
Ewald E. Eisbruc is a German poet of jazzy moods. Langston Hughes (1901-1967) was an American Modernist poet and proset. Heilbronn, Germany is a city of around 125,000. A ratskeller is a German basement bar and/or restaurant.
~~~
When He Could Be Free
by R. Lee Ubicwedas
He lounged like as a lizard lingering among the rocks;
but he was wearing dark brown tie as well as tight black socks.
The Sun was radiant; he leaned back on his white long chaise;
he loved the feel of the breeze beneath the brilliant blaze.
It made him feel so alive, alert and so relaxed,
because he ever was so tested, pressed upon, and taxed.
He was in love with life those moments when he could be free
of the constraints life put on him hard and consistently.
It might be but a momentary pleasure he could feel,
but he was so content then he could not help but be real.
R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of sweet jazz.
~~~
Newsreel:
The Spain and Portugal blackout was triggered by the loss
of fifteen gigawatts of energy. The grid collapsed.
Was it renewables? dark sabotage? What was the cause?
Was it the disconnection of some solar plants? Perhaps.
~~~
IBM NORTH HARBOUR by Ben Johnson, Portsmouth, 1984
by Red Was Iceblue
I. The Man and the Plan
Ben Johnson spent four days in photographing it,
and chose four of the images to work from sight.
A half-year later he went to the building site
and focused on one single view. He thought the light
would just be right at midday near midsummer’s day.
He then enlarged the picture, having come quite close
to what he hoped for. Drawing took a month. On a
large sheet of film, he put a geometric grid,
and then imposed the structured shapes on his display.
Increasingly he left the snapshot, and transferred
onto the canvas, the line image, bringing it
to final form. According to him, that’s what he did.
II. The Painting
Between the white but shaded poles, a bright walkway,
crisscrossed with shadowed lines, leads straight up to a door,
rectangular and lit by light around its stay.
Noon sunshine penetrates through windows to flat floor.
Above one sees the azure sky outside the glass,
and arched curves to the point of vanishing, and more.
If one were walking at that place one wouldn’t pass
a soul; for this setting is quietly bereft
of people. What is there are bars and beams in mass.
No one appears upon the stairs descending left.
Nobody says that there is no one here today.
The lines are clean and bright but it is all effect.
Red Was Iceblue is a poet of PostModernist painting. Ben Johnson is a contemporary British painter. Portsmouth is a city of around 200,000.
~~~
Newsreel:
The US is withdrawing from the W.H.O.
HHS Robert Kennedy said in his video,
it’s time to make new institutions that are clean and lean,
accountable, transparent, and are run efficiently.
~~~
Thick, Pink Slime
by Caud Sewer Bile
He sat up at his desk, as he had done so many times;
but he was not one of those scribes involved in thick, pink slime.
He did not lean on algorithmic generated flows,
a news website filled with an overwhelming dose of prose.
And yet, at times he couldn’t help but feel fairly bad,
for lacking much in-depth analysis and too much pad.
If only he could be less shallow in his word displays,
he could displace banality with deeper penetrates;
for though he wasn’t making journalistic hyper news,
he still felt that his red guitar was playing purple-blues.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of yellow journalism and pink slime.
~~~
Take a Guess
by Weedler SubCIA
Alas, poor Y—rick, whom I did not know, has disappeared.
Where has he gone, that fellow of no finite jests endeared?
Abhorred in my imagination, he has now become,
since vanishing the 14th of July. Where has he gone?
Was it another lone, young individual who thought,
and planned, then executed an assassination plot,
just days before a rally had been publicly announced,
and circumvented Secret Service protocols, then pounced?
Homeland Security and FBI proclaimed they found
no more than that…There only was one gunman, only one…
a single gunman…only one. That’s what they said went down.
No more than that…there only was one man who had one gun…
Of course, the main stream feeding frenzy said that this was true,
and so moved on to other things as they are wont to do.
Why was the crime scene covered up, so quickly from the press
of people wanting to find out what happened—Take a guess.
Why did the gunman have two phones? Did he buy them himself?
Was he a man who never searched the Internet as well?
Why had one of his phones been pinged in Washington DC?
and also Boston, Massachusetts? Really, who was he?
Some people saw an individual upon a roof.
What was he doing there? Who were his handlers? Where’s the proof?
Three shots rang out. They hit his ear. He’d turned his head a bit.
Then came five bullets more. How many were involved in it?
Next came two separated shots. Who fired each of these?
The answers will not be forthcoming from the G-men. Geez.
Who in that crowded, planning group was not a perjurer?
And as for Corey Comperatore, who was his murderer?
Who was the bald man gesturing for someone to stand down?
How many videos were scrubbed, Zapruder-like, undone?
Why was the crime scene covered up, so quickly from the press
of people wanting to find out what happened—Take a guess.
Weedler SubCIA is a poet of clandestine black/psi ops.
~~~
The City Is
by Urbawel Cidese
The City is a swirling whirl of much activity,
so many people moving through such productivity;
beneath the glaring Sun, we millions in captivity,
the theory of and the wonder of its relativity.
Ignited by the light, we billions cross this planet Earth,
such brilliance and resilience moving over rock and turf.
It is amazing just to see all that is changing round.
What new construction and improvements can be seen and found?
It overwhelms the individual with all its shine;
as if one was within a golden-ruby-silver mine.
Urbawel Cidese is a poet of urban spaces.
~~~
Flashback:
From the Lahaina Fire, just one single building stayed—
the Beach Resort, Lahaina Shores, was all that still remained.
Was it because it took most of the water for itself,
and left the city to burn down without the needed pelf?
~~~
Low-Costing Drones
by Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis
The US Army’s undergoing transformation now
with uncrewed aer-ial systems playing an important role.
Department of Defense initiatives show that, and how!
as Replicator signals that shift to low-costing drones.
Deployed at scale and expendable is the new thrust,
the focus is upon the soldier and lethality, or bust.
The things that don’t advance that goal will certainly be culled
according to the Army Secretary, Dan Driscoll.
What’s wanted will be AI-integrated long-range shot,
a trimmed-down force and waste, old projects dropped, as like as not.
Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis is a poet of military equipment.
~~~
Too Bad
by Des Wercebauli
He had been working very hard: lifts, hauls, and mad-dash runs.
He felt so sweaty, clothing wet, and sticky too, like buns.
He felt so dirty, tired too; the job was difficult.
He wished that he could take a shower—if he only could.
Too bad. He had to keep it up; and so he sweated more.
At times he only wanted to give up. He was so sore.
But such was not to be. He had to finish up the job.
At times he felt like as an apple in a barrel bob.
Could he but stop, he’d be so glad. He would be filled with glee.
Too bad. He had to keep on going. Such was not to be.
Back to the Bump
by Des Wercebauli
Back to the bump and grind of work; there never was a pause.
He sat up at the desk to type; there were no oohs or aahs.
He simply had to git to tasks that he was ordered to
accomplish by the afternoon, or merely carry through.
He stretched his spine, as he keyboarded needed sentences;
he needed grit to power through these central mentances.
Des Wercebauli is a poet of work. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “mentances” is a neologism suggesting mental messages, at a minimum.
~~~
Near to the Tall Stop Sign
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
His rig was parked along the ramp near to the tALl sTOp sign.
He helped a lady push her SUV off to the side.
It wasn’t all that much in the great scheme of this terrene;
but she was glad for the assist, and he for rescuing.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of vehicles.
~~~
That Rolling Lawn
by Dewie Arbuscle
He looked upon that rolling lawn the gardener prepared.
It was so beautiful when it was trimmed—there bared and aired.
He loved that yard, though hilly at its edges, hard to go,
and also round crepe myrtle and the rising oaks, to mow.
But still, when it was neatly cut, despite its ugliness,
it still remained, o, yes, retained a rugged loveliness.
Dewie Arbuscle is a poet of trees and grass.
~~~
A Great Blue Heron
by Sea Curlew Bide
He saw a great blue heron standing at the roadside marsh.
At peace, it patiently was seeking some food at the marge.
It didn’t seem to be communicating psychic’lly,
nor speaking with the gods, indulging in divinity.
Alone, it seemed to look upon that little wetland bit,
as its own hunting ground demesne, despite cars passing it.
Sea Curlew Bide is a poet of wetland birds.
~~~
Normativity
by Erisbawdle Cue
There is so much that is hard on the individual,
each Dad, Mom, Dick, or Mary should contribute. Did You all?
One has to straighten up and fly right, even if it’s hard,
to do the best that one can do for all and one’s regard.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy.
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