Tanka
by “Wired Clues” Abe
The modern monster,
a se-mi-trac-tor-trai-ler,
parked before the house:
it was a delivery
of roofing materials.
“Wired” Clues Abe is a poet of NewMillennial construction.
~~~
Tanka Redux
by Ibe Ware Desu, LC
in (the) space (cabin)
in (a) space (suit) floating in
zero gravity,
observ(in)g turn(in)g Earthrise
in buoyant magnificence
Ibe Ware Desu, LC, is a poet of space.
~~~
Beaming
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
A man’s silhouette, beneath a concave prism,
sits in warm sunbeams, like an alien who’s in
his ovoid spaceship’s shadow, beaming in his prison.
~~~
About
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
There are so many possibilities that one can face.
Each day is an adventure that occurs in time and space.
The news, like squirrels, runs about. Where will it go today?
tomorrow? and the next? Who knows? It carries one away.
Mr. I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet writes about space. Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) was an American Realist poet.
~~~
Newsreel:
Space junk struck Shenshou 20; three Chinese are stuck in space;
proliferating orbital debris the likely case.
~~~
Newsreel:
Conditions on the mountainside, beside the Hongqi bridge,
got worse and triggered landslides, thus collapsing span and ridge.
~~~
Bagyo
by Cebu Awis Deser
The Philippines experiences typhoons frequently,
approximately twenty every year sequentially.
Sustained winds of one-hundred-eighty-five kilometers,
as well as heavy rainfall, Uwan’s threat was ominous;
and yet Kalmaegi’s damages, in lives and property,
were worse: more than two-hundred died in that calamity.
Cebu Awis Deser is a poet of the Philippines. “Bagyo” means “storm/typhoon” in Tagalog.
~~~
The Battle of Leyte Gulf
by War di Belecuse
The battle spanned 100,000 miles-squared of sea.
The largest battleships e’er built shared in the misery.
800 ships and 1800 aircraft did partake.
337,000 tons of shipping sank.
200,000 soldiers fought on both of the two sides.
The Japanese used kamikaze fighters in their dives.
The navy of Japan was paralyzed, brought to its knees.
MacArthur’s personal goal was to reach the Philippines.
Although most will forget what happened in that brutal War,
my mother’s cousin Dorin never lived past ’44.
War di Belecuse is a poet of war. How many thousands died in that battle?
~~~
Newsreel:
Protesters gathered in New Delhi at India Gate:
th’ Air Quality Index above three-hundred-thirty-eight;
the farmland clearing fires and Diwali fireworks
contributing to all the smog, along with vehicles.
~~~
Evil in the Sight of the Lord
by Esecwiel Barud
The people of Israel did what
was evil in the sight of the Lord
over and over again. And, but
for His grace and His mercy, they would
have all been obliterated. That
is a major difference between God
and all o’ the other idols it’d
take so long to list out and record.
Esecwiel Barud is a poet of Israel.
~~~
Look
by Crise de Abu Wel
On the next day, the great crowd, the one having come
to the feast, having heard that Jesus was coming
to Jerusalem, took the branches of the palm
and went out to meet with him, singing and humming,
“Hosannah. He who comes in the name of the Lord,
having been blessed [At times it is all too numbing.],
even the king of Israel.” [The crowd roared.]
All found Jesus sitting upon a young donkey,
as it has been written. [And there was so much more.]
Do not fear, you daughters of Zion. Look. The king
of yours is coming, sitting on the foal; and dumb
are his disciples, these things not understanding.
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Gospel. John the Apostle (c. 6 AD – c. 100 AD) was a noted Greek writer of the 1st century.
~~~
At the Middle of Raphael’s The School of Athens
by Buceli de Wersa
If one looks only at the middle part
of Raphael’s The School of Athens, one
discovers in the open central arch
that Plato’s old and Aristotle’s young.
Draped in a pale red, Plato, on the left,
points skyward, while he clasps a book close in.
At right is Aristotle, who extends
his hand, and holds his book edge next to him.
Gray-headed Plato’s slightly shorter than
is Aristotle, who’s dressed in subdued blue;
both seem they’re walking forward, so each man
‘s peripatetically straight and true.
Brown-bearded Aristotle is in front
of broader-shouldered Plato slightly back,
as they survey the earth and firmament,
one touched in gold, the other green and black.
Buceli de Wersa is a poet of Italian Renaissance painting. Raphael (1483-1520) was an Italian painter of the High Renaissance. Buceli de Wersa is an alternate spelling.
~~~
Was He Born Free?
by Cur A. Wildebees
He saw the beast that stopped on the savannah in the morn.
Was it a quadruped that paused to eat, or drink, or more?
He lifted up his coffee cup. What was he reading—news?
He saw the four appendages locked in a tightened fuse.
He saw the nearby table. Was it filled with foods galore?
How great it was to be as focused as a carnivore.
He was a hunter-gatherer who most desired meat,
but he was not that hungry now, nor was he on his feet.
What feat could he attempt, if he were ready, prepped to go.
He turned a page. None here were caged, not beast, not man, nor soul.
Cur A. Wildebees is a poet of Africanimals.
~~~
The Tourist Speaks
by Cale Budweiser
Chianti I am drinking now reminds
me of our trip to sunny Italy;
the fruity taste is bitter and it blinds;
it blends into a stark acidity.
Firenze was a warm and sunny place
compressed with tourists, like myself, and filth.
It was a blast of brutal loveliness,
depressing and oppressive as it thrilled.
I do remember walking down its streets
as hard and gray as those found at Pompeii,
remembering the sun hurts as it beats;
life’s cruelty is still in tow today.
I learned so much in that brief trip I took,
I never could discover in a book.
Cale Budweiser is a poet of wine, beer, and spirits. Firenze is a northern Italian city of about 350,000.
~~~
To Jack, January 1, 1900.
by R. Lee Ubicwedas
“If a man will comprehend the richness and variety of the universe, and inspire his mind
with a due measure of wonder and awe, he must contemplate the human intellect not
only on its heights but in its abysses of ineptitude.”
—Marcus Manilius, translated by A. E. Housman
… Go cram it! The Twentieth Century started
when? Then? Nineteen-o-what? And have you forgotten the Black Week?
Stormberg, Colenso, and Magersfontein? Crane dying in Deutschland?
Ruskin extinguished in England? and Nietzsche, the prophet of horror,
roaring aloud nein Gott? horned Capricorn’s tragic amusements,
hot shot pump guns—Browning’s, the friggin’ ‘Frikaners of Calvin,
grim old Oom Paul Kruger and Botha, or Christian de Wet, Smuts,
Conje, and Koos de la Rey, fierce fighting guerilla commandos?
not to forget, God, Rhodes, the colossus of Cairo to Cape Town,
golden the gathering dust, roast boars on the glittering platters,
Evans beginning his dig, the Minoan empire at Knossus,
Klip Drift French, Bobs Roberts, and Kichener, victor of Sudan,
cool, clean Kipling and Baden-Powell—May Eighteen in London,
Liverpool, Newcastle, Birmingham, York, yes, Leicester and Brighton,
Glasgow in Scotland—the building aglow, lit, looming, oh, candles,
towering, glimmering energy flowing, imperial laughter?
wild and maddening joy? loud, deadening sounds in the streets, crowds?
truly the last of the gentleman’s wars? calves, horse, and Kaffirs,
children and women, o, thousands, and even Australian recruits—killed—
culled, colts bucking the choice of the Hobsons? the end of Umberto?
Shinto, the Red Sun, rising? McKinley igniting the voters?
God’s way? Kaiser extending his wings all the way to Majuba?
Churchill escaping Pretorian walls? gawk, Gandhi, Mahatma,
great-soul hauling the hollering bodies, a literal litter.
Call this what? gads, hardly, the final hurrah of the Eighteen
Hundreds? the end of an era? the last au revoir to the ladies?
dreamy Victorian marms, smashed, sister, to carry a nation,
wildly swinging their hatchets—Chicago to Galveston, Texas.
Tosca, Puccini, oh, brother, a Dido in Italy leaping
onto a Freudian couch—a cigar—ouch. Zeppelin rising,
flinging its soul to the bare, hard sky, yes, there in the bleak twigs.
fluttering wings in the winter, a hardy and singular brown thrush
singing away to a sinking horizon, the spiraling dance of
life, Munch, evening dissolving the day, this circle of white and
black, night, back, the nocturnal return—e lucevan le stelle,
blasting the cannons, ker-plunk, Planck, light wave energy quantized,
sized up, prized, priced, praised, like J. J. Thomson’s electrons,
amber reflections in aquamarine, stars, thousands and thousands,
burning and blazing beyond, Lord Jim, jumped, sacked by the Boxers,
knocked down cold in the first damn round, stretched in the ring, flat,
clap-clap-clap, the applause! twenty-three short questions of Hilbert.
Russell and Whitehead beginning their test of Leibnizian logic.
Surely, you gotta be kidding. The Twentieth Century started
when? Then? Nineteen-o-one? Christ, kick the Astronomer Royal
out of his misery now. Time measured in silver utensils?
This spoon pendulum shrinking, increasing in mass, and, oh, slowing
down—stops right here, see, x, t, both equal to zero.
Tell me the truth now, Jack, just what do you figure the odds are
that this moment is true? Half? None?
R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of flash ubiquitexts. One of his favourite arias is that heartfelt one from late Romantic Italian composer Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924), e lucevan le stelle. Marcus Manilius (fl. 1st century AD) was a Roman poet and astrologer. A. E. Housman (1859-1936) was a late Victorian British poet and translator.
~~~
A Rags-to-Riches Tale
by Usa W Celebride
Horatio Alger’s life hardly seems
believable, so fantastic is it.
It begins with his severe father’s schemes
of study, discipline, and requisite
prayer. At eighteen, he graduated
from Harvard, tutored, and later entered
the Harvard Divinity School against
his wishes. At graduation, he fled
with friends to Paris, around which centered
a youthful love affair, which so incensed
his father, he had it quashed. In Paris,
he became Bohemian and fell in
with a femme fatale. To flee her caress,
the clutches of this Parisian Helen,
he returned to New York City. But she
took the same boat! He lost her at the dock!
and snuck back to Massachusetts, where he
tried to enlist in the Union Army
several times, unsuccessfully, th’ awk-
ward, fat, pale, and little man with cloudy
eyes. This resulted in severe illness,
ordination as a Unitarian
pastor, and resignation. But restless
ambition to write sent him scurryin’
to New York City, where he spent about
three decades. His first, big publication
was a “Ragged Dick” tale. Charles O’Connor
of the Newsboys’ Lodging House sought him out.
Alger became his close friend, House chaplain,
supporter, and publicist of honor.
In addition, he wrote the “Luck and Pluck”
and “Tattered Tom” series: plain piety
displayed in book after book after book
of the rags-to-riches variety.
He was popular, but miserable,
with no family; so he adopted
a little Chinese boy named Wing. But Wing died;
and that only added to his trouble;
and, so, to ease his sadness, he opted
to rest, go West, and take a long, long ride.
It didn’t work; and so, sick, and further
insane, he returned East. But in Peekskill,
New York, he was arrested for murder
mistakenly, released, more unstable,
and fell madly in love with Una Garth,
a married woman in a frilly blouse,
who, bored of him, fled to her home in France.
He followed her! She drove him from her hearth.
He crept back to the Newsboys’ Lodging House.
But O’Connor soon died, a final lance.
Alone, with his fame, charities, and clubs,
he went to live with a married sister,
the man who wrote over a hundred books,
at sixty-four, and soon thereafter died.
Usa W. Celebride is a poet of American literature. Horatio Alger (1832-1899) was an American Realist writer who wrote young adult novels about impoverished boys who rose to wealth through good works.
~~~
A Line of Trees
by Dewie Arbuscle
It was late afternoon; the Sun was glaring at his pate.
He walked along a line of trees on thé esplanned estate.
The coiffured lawns were wide and neat; they stretched along the way.
The park-like atmosphere was lovely, covering the day.
The tall shade trees were sprawling, next to next, up at the helm:
white ash, red oaks, and locusts, sugarberry, cedar elm.
There were so many growing out between the housing plots,
so big and grand, they took their stand, like mighty arbor bots.
There were lots—as far as the eye could see—spectacular—
short of miraculous, yet overwhelming in their way.
Dewie Arbustle is a poet of trees. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “esplanned” is an epenthesis.
~~~
Top Ten States Dependent on SNAP,
as of May 2025, as per SmartAsset,
listed by Carb Deliseuwe
1. New Mexico 21.5%
2. Oregon 18.1%
3. Louisiana 17.5%
4. Oklahoma 16.9%
5. West Virginia 15.5%
6. Nevada 15.2%
7. Massachusetts 15.1%
8. Pennsylvania 15.0%
9. New York 14.9%
10. Illinois 14.8%
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of food. The state least reliant on SNAP is Wyoming 4.6%.
~~~
He Went Out
by Rudi E. Welec, Abs
He went out for his morning jog; the air was fresh but warm.
Left-right, left-right, he kept on going in a proper form.
He passed the houses in his neighbourhood, o, panting hard,
his feet up-down, the pavement pounding, past yard after yard.
He’d done his power breaths; then followed with his strong exhales,
expending CO2 along his varied sampled trails.
Rudi E. Welec, “Abs” is a poet of exercise.
~~~
Some Find
by Erisbawdle Cue
Some find their god in gold,
spending life’s time for it,
and when they become old,
seek for room to store it.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy.
~~~
My Love
by I Warble Seduce
I will always love you, My Love, though seasons change,
and our lives be tossed, like scattered autumn leaves,
this way and that, though the starry skies rearrange
themselves in oceanic, universal heaves,
though I’m taken away from you or you from me
(Who knows through what eternities the lover grieves?),
still will I love you so—no matter what may be.
It’s true I’m only one single human being,
and all my strength can only elicit pity.
In the great scheme of things, I’m hardly worth a thing.
Still within that very little extent and range,
you’ll always be for me, my heart’s deepest feeling.
I Warble Seduce is a poet of love.
Leave A Comment