Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
He stared at his ball,
a globe with nations on it,
for many minutes.
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Confirming reports,
Spruce Pine, North Carolina:
they sought purest quartz.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haikuist. Spruce Pine is a town of around 2,200.
~~~
Newsreel:
The fire broke out at Wang Fuk Court, in Tai Po, in Hong Kong.
The towering inferno burned out the apartment throng.
More than one-hundred-fifty died, fifteen arrested for
construction renovation—safety protocols were poor.
Alarms did not go off; ma-ter-i-als weren’t fi-re-proof;
the styrofoam and safety netting burned up to roofs.
Mass Chinese netizens complained about the tyranny
transforming and destroying their declining colony.
But Chinese communist officials started censoring,
collusion, injuries, bid-rigging, and commensuring.
The population of Hong Kong is about 7,400,000. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, the neologism “commensuring” is contextually self-evident.
~~~
Veni, Veni Emmanuel
by Crise de Abu Wel
One of the somberest hymns of all time is that
which is titled Veni, Veni Emmanuel.
Its grasp is unfathomable. It leaves the flat
plain of life and descends to the emotional
so simply, beautifully and purely; it moves
from the depths of hell to the heights of Israel;
and, in one of the most amazing of reprieves,
calls plaintively to rejoice. In one slow sweep,
it touches upon the advent of Jesus Christ,
the Book, the grave, and God’s glorious majesty.
This small hymn takes one, from wherever one is at,
to Him, and leaves one feeling awed, profound, and deep.
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Good Father.
~~~
On Virtues
by Erisbawdle Cue
It’s not enough to write the virtues down,
although it’s a beginning. One must start
somewhere. One could do worse than list those found
in ancient times. So let the waters part.
Courage, justice, prudence, and temperance,
with wisdom. Aristotle noted that
a virtue lies between deficiencies
and the excessivenesses of a trait.
The Romans added comity, constancy,
dignity, discipline and clemency,
along with gravity, frugality,
humanity, honesty, industry,
firmness, salubrity, and piety;
though Seneca thought, prudently perhaps,
that prudence by itself filled all the gaps.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy. Aristotle (384 BC – 322 BC) was a noted philosopher and polymath of Ancient Greece. Seneca (4 BC – 65 AD) was a noted stoic philosopher of Ancient Rome. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “excessivenesses” is a neologistic plural.
~~~
The Basic Axioms of a Group
by Euclidrew Base
The basic axioms of a group are closure,
associativity, identity, and inverses,
and any system that obeys that composure,
and can construct statements, and likewise converses.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics.
~~~
Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra
by El Cid E. W. Rubesa
His life was quite as tragi-comic as
his famous character’s life was, that is,
Don Quixote de la Mancha, who has
as many things go wrong as can. That’s his,
or rather I should say, their destinies.
Born of Rodrigo, a poor, deaf father,
and a mother Leonor Cortinas,
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra
is mentioned first in 1569,
“our dear…beloved pupil,” by Hoyos,
by which time he’d written redondillas,
a sonnet, and an elegy. None knows
for sure if it was he for whom back then
a warrant was signed for one with his name;
but he’d already left for Rome. So when
he had a chance for infantry and fame,
he took it. In 1571
he fought at Lepanto, where he was shot
twice in his chest and maimed in his left hand,
he said, “for the greater honor o’ th’ right.”
The Cripple of Lepanto served on at
Navarino, Corfu, Goletta and
Tunis, where he bore himself with credit,
enroute t’ Italian idioms and land.
In September 1575,
he sailed aboard the caravel, the Sol;
attacked by Moorish pirates, he survived
the brave resistance, but lost all control.
All those alive were carried prisoners
into Algiers, where he for five long years
stayed, slaved, wrote dramas, plotted and devised;
he strove to help the Christians organize.
Due to an accident, he was released
in 1580. Fray Juan Gil had sent
500 ducats for somebody else;
the Dey deemed it not enough, and so, set
Cervantes free, to be rid of such steel.
By ’83, Padilla states he’s one
“of the most famous poets of Castile.”
Then Catalina, whose suit he had won,
he wed. His pastoral Galatea
was published. Verses flew from his hand,
like deeds sought by his Don’s Knight-Errantry.
More plays were written out, revised and planned.
In 1588, he next became
the Deputy Purveyor to the great
Invincible Armada. When that came
and went, he sought to claim another fate.
By 1594, he’s now aheel,
tax-gathering in grand Granada; but
by 1597, in Seville,
he is imprisoned for his management.
When he’s released, the Treasury no more
is interested in his public work;
and so he labors on his novel poor,
his Don Quixote, his burlesque quirk.
That was 1605. The time passes.
A dozen Novelas Exemplares
were followed by a trip to Parnassus,
from which he came back, ever Cervantes,
the second part of Don Quixote made;
for he knew well the hard vicissitudes
of life; and so in 1616 laid
down, too, like Shakespeare, in his latitudes.
El Cid E. W. Rubesa is a poet of España. Miguel De Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616) was a poet and proset of El Siglo de Oro. “Goletta” [La Goulette] is the port of Tunis, Libya, with a population of around 45,000.
~~~
The Shearers by Samuel Palmer
by Beau Ecs Wilder
The view is from the barn, dark, shadowed, brown,
man-made, like all the unused tools found at
its mouth: pronged pitchfork, shears upon the ground,
a large, sharp scythe, basket, coat, and straw hat.
Outside, male workers shear sheep, cut the wool
off; women workers gather up the fleece,
one looking at the view—it’s beautiful—
a golden, shining, undulating peace.
Even the trees are lit with yellow light,
as are females and males at mundane chore.
The earth is brilliant; rolling hills are bright;
the sun e’en enters in the barn’s wide door,
and England—momentary splendor and delight.
Of Grand Eternity’s Proscenium
by Beau Ecs Wilder
Everywhere curious, articulate,
perfect and inimitable…nature
does…leave a space for the soul to climb [yet]
above her steepest summits. As, in her
own dominion, she swells from herring to
leviathan, from the shelly hodmandod
to th’ elephant, to the divine and true,
to th’ radiant, heavenly eye of God.
I can’t but think this world a setting of
the table right before the feast, though which
her features dimly smile in peace and love,
creation but an antepast and dish,
a prologue to the dream about to come
of grand eternity’s proscenium.
Beau Ecs Wilder is a poet of 19th century British aesthetics. The above poem draws mainly from the words of British painter Samuel Palmer (1805-1881).
~~~
Mind Tectonics
by Luce Brew Ideas
“Projecting our images in space and in time.”
—John Lennon, “Mind Games”
“No one is interested in your mind,” she said.
It is an interesting world in which we dwell.
He said, “Has no one read these lines? Someone has read
Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Oh, well.”
I turned to see the men come sliding down the poles.
Elijah’s at the altar, lit on Mount Carmel.
The burning fire’s flames rise, representing souls
locked in the hell of Israel. Where can one go?
This Tel has not a well. Perhaps it is Sheol’s.
“There’s no thing you can know that someone cannot know,”
he said. She said, “Where is your knowledge when you’re dead?”
He felt the continental shelf shift down below.
With What Won-der-ing Brings
by Luce Brew Ideas
He got into the lotus pose; he sat up nice and tall.
He stretched his neck, extended pecs, and rose to meet the squall.
He strengthened abs, he tightened ass, he modulated spine
He meditated on existence; he loved to opine.
He sifted mental folders, lifted shoulders out and wide,
and let his hands and arms arise into the open sky.
The mind appreciated the physical, when it’s in shape,
for then it can investigate, with patience and strong nape.
He loved advancing through mind-dancing, understanding things;
the Universe is so immense with what won-der-ing brings.
Luce Brew Ideas is a poet of enlightened thinking. John Lennon (1940-1980) was a British PostModernist lyricist and tune-maker. Ray Bradbury (1920-2012) was an American PostModernist proset.
~~~
The Washington DC Pipe Bomber
by Caud Sewer Bile
So stealthily, he placed pipe bombs in Washington DC—
right at the offices of DNC and RNC.
Keen to keep a low-pro-fi-le, he limped with each small cask,
enrobed in a gray-hooded sweatshirt, jeans, black gloves, and mask.
Rare Nike Max Speed Turf sneakers were worn upon his feet;
kinetic’lly he did his very best to be discreet.
His pause appeared he meant to stop at the CBCI,
or was it merely a distraction meant to mystify?
Familiarly, he had waved at the Capitol Police,
fastidiously leaving via Second Street Southeast.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the Swamp.
~~~
Newsreel:
An Afghan migrant murdered Sarah Beckstrom in DC.
There to keep people safe, she was shot down most heinously.
~~~
Sunday Morning Sunrise
by Walice du Beers
Outside the temp’rature was cold; inside the home was warm.
Inside the gingerbread man was in cookie-cutter form.
He took a sip of coffee from his cup; it cheered him up.
The Sunday morning sunrise faint-light started to erupt.
Enjoying his tan freedom, like a cockatoo assuaged,
he stood up on the carpet’s red and yellow, black and beige.
He saw the brilliant Christmas lights in lines across the lane.
Daybreak spilled pale blue and pink, with clouds of darkest grey.
The Sun was rising in the East; this was not Palestine,
nor Israel, nor Asia’s ancient ageless palace shine.
Here simply was the gingerbread man standing on his feet
and looking out upon the scenic contours of his street.
Walice du Beers is a poet of scenes. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) was a Modernist American poet.
~~~
Newsreel:
In Minnesota, so it seems, tax payers have paid for
al Shabab terrorists, according to new fraud reports.
~~~
The Sprocket
by Des Wercebauli
The sprocket is a profiled wheel
that meshes with a chain or track,
as in a ten-speed bicycle,
a caterpillar, or a tank.
It sends out rotary movement
between two shafts, where gears would be
unsuitable; and thus transmits
lined motion to machinery.
It may not be a ferris wheel
or a high-flying rocket bound
for space; and though it’s small, its reel
steel moves—the turning sprocket round.
Des Wercebauli is a poet of mechanical work.
~~~
California Vortex
by Cal Wes Ubideer
“Southern California, where the American dream came too true.”
—Lawrence Ferlinghetti
It was a swirl of hurricanic earthwakes whirled
right at the edge of the Pacific Ocean’s swells,
a series of wild, cataclysmic typhoons unthurled,
trips, drugs and gangs, hips, hugs and angst, loves, hates and hells.
It was a world of Chinatowns on th’ U. S. coast,
gold diggers, Mexicans, hard-hearted citadels,
dust Okies, pioneers, all kinds of ships and boats,
so many pouring in, th’ insane, th’ inane, th’ unnamed.
It was a rural and an urban nightmare’s roast,
a hurried mural in a turban’s tight shroud framed.
It drew crowds to its crazy laser-strobe-light swirled
about in its eternal burning ballroom flamed.
Cal Wes Ubideer is a poet of California. Lawrence Ferlinghetti (1919-2021) was a PostModernist American poet. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “earthwakes” and “unthurled” are contextual neologisms.
~~~
Aft the Electric Storm
by Éclair Dub W. See
Aft the electric storm, the leaves were scattered all around,
red, orange, yellow, green and brown, on streets, sidewalks, and ground.
Cold Autumn’s western being’s breath drives branches, limbs and twigs,
across the barren landscape; countless people take a swig.
These multitudes, alive to pale colours, keep their form;
in pastel houses, brick and vinyl-siding walls stayed firm.
About them wild powers roar; they hold on to the Earth.
Against such mighty dominance, they held for all their worth.
They saw the lightning, heard the thunder, felt the pelting rain,
and understood the forces of their World and its reign.
The summer dreams have gone away, replaced by those of Fall.
The lulling streams have been replaced by raging water’s law.
The clouds fly high up in the sky, so wide above the plains.
The crashing cymbals of the gods are madding and insane.
The Earth is growing colder in the Northern hemisphere,
but in the South, Spring springs to life and grows in full career.
The hail crashing here, o, hear, hails forth a brand new day,
and what seems over overhead begins to make its way.
There is no rest from pestilence, nor help from too much hope.
From ever changing seasons, we the people have to cope.
Éclair Dub W. See is a poet of the atmosphere. Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was a Romantic English poet.
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