Kepler Reading
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
Kepler, reading Copernicus, saw that,
at the center of the solar system,
the sun’s situated, and is rounded
by planets, which are moving around it
in concentric ellipses. True wisdom
seeming naught less than miraculous fact.
Mr. I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Solar System. Nicolaus Copernicus (1473-1543) was a German-Polish polymath. Johannes Kepler (1571-1630) was a German astronomer and mathematician.
~~~
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Beneath bright, white clouds,
he downed a bowl of ice cream—
a summer day dream.
Tanka
by “Wired Clues” Abe
On a house ceiling,
was a gecko, calmly resting,
an unwanted guest.
Quickly get out the vacuum,
and empty it in the high grass.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial writer.
~~~
The Giant, Yellow Dragonfly
by Earwic Beedles
He saw the giant yellow dragonfly aloft in flight,
belonging to Ordónata, eliciting sheer fright—
large, bulging eyes, upon a head, with slender body length,
transparent wings, appearing threatening, with insect strength.
The wingspan was ginormous, of about four inches long;
though intricate its netting, its speed showed that they were strong.
Additionally, its wings were adjusted, quick on track,
for hovering like as a helicopter, forth or back.
This dragonfly was an efficient flier in the air;
at sixty-miles-per-hour, quite the deadly predator;
but it could also flee a threat, because it is so fast;
it’s there before you know it has appeared, and then has passed.
The lifespan of a dragonfly is only a few months.
It dines on flies, mosquitos, gnats, as well as bees and moths.
It uses pheromones when it is out attracting mates,
this creature that outlived the dinosaurs, for goodness sake.
And here in this hot weather it’s amazing to demur
this dragonfly is able to control its temp’rature.
Through thermoregulation it is able to maintain
a metabolic optimum in sunlight or in shade.
Earwic Beedles is a poet of insects.
~~~
Nature’s Creatures
by Rusdic E. Weebal
One has to share with nature’s creatures during summer’s warmth
one’s very home, one’s patio, as well as trees and yard.
Outside, the wasps attempt to cling to eaves or wooden fence.
The surly squirr’ls and dirty birds keep house on limbs and nests.
The geckos, lizards and the snakes seek out cool crevices,
while slimy frogs look out for any happy dampnesses.
The rabbits place their holes where there is opportunity,
and ants build hills wherever they can find some property.
Inside, the spiders, flies and gnats seek out some real estate,
as well as the mosquitos looking for some blood to eat.
Rusdic E. Weebal is a poet of bugs, etc.
~~~
Newsreel:
Japan has fired a ship-moun-ted-ra-il-gun at sea:
projectiles launched at Mach-6 speed—electric energy.
~~~
To Vergil George
by Éclair Dub W. See
Each day there’s something new to see, new ways of seeing too;
the constant of reality is it keeps changing view:
the magic of a sunlit lawn that glitters in the light,
replaced, then quickly moves one on to find another sight.
It matters not if one is driving, running, sitting still,
there are so many panoramas near one’s window…sill.
The beauty of land’s rugged features, captured in the dawn,
is soon replaced by other visions, as one’s moving on.
It is a-ma-zing coming to another gorgeous gorge,
forged from the cataclysmic plate tectonics, Vergil George.
O, all around abundance lies before one’s very eyes;
each second one discovers, ‘ttuned to nature, a surprise.
Éclair Dub W. See is a poet of seeing.
~~~
Hypertrophy of Slogans
by Aw “Curbside” Lee
He knew that his work could not win applause, while people were still intoxicated with flowers, the moon, sweet repose, or pause; all of that had to be extirpated. He was in love with revolution’s fire. He liked agitation and violence. The Blok-like poetry he did admire, Mao Dun called hypertrophy of slogans. So it came as a bit of a surprise, when after crying tears over Lenin’s death, and having supported the enterprise of the CPC for a decade’s breadth, Jiang Guanci from Anhui left it; not that he was expelled as a traitor from it.
The Slogans of Qi Hong
by Aw “Curbside” Lee
In Chongqing, China, August 29th, on high-rise walls,
a bold display of anticommunist ideas sprawled.
With two sets of projectors and surveillance cameras,
Qi Hong sent out into the city these large messages:
“It’s only with no communists that China can be new;
And freedom is no gift; to have it one must take it too;
Rise up you who refuse to be a slave; reclaim your rights;
Down with red fascists; overthrow dictating parasites.”
For fifty minutes, these four slogans cycled through and fourth,
until security discovered where they had come from.
Qi Hong had smartly gone to UK, or he’d have been killed
for demonstrating his free will and engineering skills.
Aw “Curbside” Lee is a poet of China. In the above prosem, Jiang Guanci (1901-1931) and Mao Dun (1896-1981) were Modernist Chinese writers. Alexander Blok (1880-1921) was a Russian Modernist poet. In the above dodeca, Qi Hong is a NewMillennial engineer. Chongqing, China, is a city of around 22,000,000.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Katmandu, the Singha Durbar Palace was burnt down;
the communist Prime Minister was hidden from the town.
His home had been reduced to rubble, parliament dissolved,
the fluid situation had remarkably evolved.
At least six dozen people had been killed in just two days;
and interim prime minister Ms. Karki had been named.
Katmandu, Nepal, has a population of around 800,000.
~~~
Flashback, September 11, 2015:
by Saudi Becrewel
At least 100 people died on 9-11 in
the city Mecca, when a huge red crane collapsed upon
the Grand Mosque filled with worshippers. Strong winds and heavy rains
had caused the damage to the structure. Saudis were at pains
to clarify blood resting on the mosque’s white marble floors,
as labourers removed green, bloodied carpets near the doors.
The Grand Mosque holds the Kaaba, the black cube that some pray to,
but this is not what pilgrims on a hajj would want to view.
It’s more like what the Houthis see in Yemen recently
from bombers reigning seemingly on them unceasingly.
The city of Mecca, not mentioned historically until 741 by a Byzantine source, has a population of around 2,300,000.
~~~
At the Theatre
by Saudi Becrewel
I saw him standing in the darkness at the theatre.
He watched the movie with no popcorn, hot and buttery.
The sultan on the screen was saying something harsh and rude.
The horrors of his orders were unfortunate and crude.
Saudi Becrewel is a poet of Arabia.
~~~
Newsreel:
Inside Al Fasher, tens of thousands are in dire straits.
The city has been under siege from RSF of late.
Al Fasher, Sudan, has a population of around 250,000. RSF (the Rapid Support Forces) is a paramilitary force in Sudan.
~~~
No Hesiod
by Esiad L. Werecub
The coffee had been brewed. He had to focus on day work.
Although he was no Hesiod, he knew best not to shirk.
He said not that his gifts came from the muses, tending sheep;
although he longed to steep himself within epic deeps.
He was not bade to sing about the bless’d immortal gods,
although he was no Homer, no, excepting for his nods.
He did not live in Greece, nor had he ever reached its shores;
although he read about its myths and other metaphors.
He knew the need for honest work despite life’s wretchedness
just as he knew that justice was a route to blessedness.
Before success, th’ immortal gods have placed sweat on our brows;
but also that heroic in the ordinary deity allows….
Esiad L. Werecub is a poet fond of Ancient Greek poetry. Hesiod (fl.c. 700 BC) was a noted epic, didactic poet.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Poland, nineteen Russian drones invaded Pole airspace;
and three of them were shot down by the pilots in that place;
and this week too the Russians sent some o’er Romania;
but none of them were shot down, fearing raining of debris?
~~~
Catullus
by Aedile Cwerbus
Catullus bullies and sullies. His speech
is as vulgar as the commonest reach;
and yet, it contains refinement as well,
on the order of Horace and Vergil
Such a vibrant, liberating panache,
rhetorically akin to balderdash.
He was a man of many moods. He stings;
and then he idealizes weddings.
He snaps; and then he collects his spirit
for anybody willing to hear it.
Aedile Cwerbus is a poet of Ancient Rome. Catullus (84 BC – 54 BC) was a Latin neoteric poet of the late Roman Republic.
~~~
Happy Is the Person
by Ubs Reese Idwal
Happy is the person who makes a good voyage,
not like Ulysses’ odyssey, nor chasing fleece,
but just journeying with one’s reason, and at peace
with one’s parents, until a very ripe old age.
When one returns from Hellas to one’s small village,
where wreathes of smoke, in silence, climb above the trees,
and close within one’s simple cottage one has sweet ease—
nothing else can be seen in quite the same vantage.
What greater pleasure is there than being with one’s
forefathers, far from Rome’s rather audacious sons?
Warmer than marble or fine slate is plain, old wood;
cleaner than the Loire or Tiber is Salmon Creek;
and, though, compared to other towns hardly unique,[nay, sell this present home?], seems certainly as good.
Ubs Reese Idwal is a poet of wood.
~~~
The Operetta
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
Light opera, the operetta, had its greatest swell,
just at the time the opera was winding down as well;
and it in time would be supplanted by the musical,
et cetera…
Such is the science of sound patterns, the acoustical.
Ewald E. Eisbruc is a poet of music.
~~~
On an Undeclared War, a Docupoem
Caud Sewer Bile
Precursor chemicals from Shanghai bound for Mexico,
tons of N-methyl formamide and benzyl alcohol,
were seized off Panama enroute to Sinaloa labs,
in China’s surreptitious war against Americans—
three-hundred-thousand pounds of each! per the Fed sentinels[both of these drugs are used in making meth and fentanyl].
The drug cartel churns out about a ton of meth each week,
worth as much as a billion dollars on, say, Houston’s streets.
To haul this load would take two dozen semis just to move;
the scale is industrial, and deadly, war-approved.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of dregs and drugs.
~~~
It Only Was a Store
Brad Lee Suckiew
It seemed to be a palace, but it only was a store,
huge windows in a giant form, and furniture galore.
It seemed that everything within it was grand and immense,
so clean, and new, and open too, abundant recompense.
The customer who walked into its glitz was overwhelmed,
as if one were a royal guest to an enchanting realm.
The piped in music even came into pristine latrines,
and magic lighting gleamed throughout, amazing to be seen.
Yet what might any subject feel when it was time to leave,
that all of this was only meant t’ impress and to deceive.
Brad Lee Suciew is a poet of business.
~~~
Old Rollercoaster Rides
by Cu Ebide Aswerl
When he was young he was thrilled by the rollercoaster rides.
They were so fun; he loved the colours, and the whirling sky.
It was exciting, going up and down, from side to side.
They made him feel he was really living, and alive.
But now it ever seems life is a rollercoaster ride.
that’s full of twists and turns that’s difficult to take in stride.
One’s ever striving to keep up with, o, so many things:
work, leisure, sleep, as well as all the constant scheduling.
Perhaps those youthful moments at amusement parks were good
for getting ready for adulthood—all one has to do.
Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of leisure.
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