Tanka
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Now I can behold
the coming expiration
of my dewy life.
What I most would like to see
is the end of corruption.
Tanka
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Although this long road,
that I am now walking down,
is not one of old;
nevertheless, remember,
I’ll forget it, forever.
Tanka
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
I, who must journey
across this vanishing world,
like foam on the waves,
my home will leave tomorrow,
like lucky Hitomaro.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is waka writer. Nijō Yoshimoto (1320-1388) was a noted Japanese renga poet of the early Muromachi period.
~~~
Question:
Was it a purposeful assassination that was made
on Beijing’s capital G-Ninety-Five Ring Ex-press-way?
~~~
Newsreel:
Iran had closed its airspace to all flights by Thursday morn;
but for two Chinese aircraft that were heading toward Tehran.
Tehran, Iran, has a population of around 9,000,000.
~~~
News Blackout:
Iran’s enforced, unprecedented digital blackout—
both internet and phone communications—blocked death’s counts.
So many body bags about. Dead bodies line the streets.
How many thousands have been murdered by th’ IRGC?
The Start of Winter
by Crise de Abu Wel
It was the start of winter, and his feet were very cold.
He heated up a cup of water. More warmth was his goal.
Near freezing temp’ratures kept him from walking down the street.
It was enough to simply pace about the mercy seat.
He stood upon the hardwood floor. The study was nearby.
The high priest sprinkled sacrificial blood come from a bull.
He stepped along—Could he be strong enough to come to God?
He wondered if he had the strength. He certainly was awed.
His arms were tight. His abs were too. He took another drink.
His thighs were cool, as were his gluts, as he began to sink.
Crise de Abu Wel is a poet of the Good Father.
~~~
The Knight in Armour
by Brawd Uliseece
A winter’s lay: it is a light, bright January day.
Although it’s cold, the Solar Disc sends out its gleaming rays.
Alone, he gazes from his window to the lane below.
There is no freshly, fallen, silent, sullen shroud of snow.
Although his name is No-Man, he is not a rocky isle,
nor has he built a fort, a steep and mighty, locked up pile.
He has small need of friendship, pain or sorrow—all the same—
he’s still in love with life and laughter; they leave him…amazed.
He has some books and poetry; but they do not protect;
he is not hiding in his room, a figure of neglect.
He touches hardly Any-One; but that is how it is:
he’s caught between extremes of bravery and cowardice.
Brawd Uliseece is a poet of Ancient Greece.
~~~
What’s in a Name?
by Uwe Carl Diebes
Georg Friedrich Philipp von Hardenburg
or Novalis: Which name’s more exotic?
Though the latter come from some demiurge,
from what blue bloom did the quixotic
former come?
Uwe Carl Diebes is a poet of German letters. Georg Friedrich Philipp von Hardenburg[Novalis] (1772-1801) was a German Romantic poet, proset, philosopher and polymath.
~~~
The Shadow
by Waldeci Erebus
“Between the essence/ And the descent/ Falls the Shadow…”
—T. S. Eliot
Like as a man caught in the grip of some strong wrestler’s hold,
the Shadow followed him around wherever he might go.
He’d thrust large arms, and shoulders wide, pecs welling up with pride,
but, o, no matter what he did, the Shadow kept astride.
He couldn’t stand without the Shadow’s haughty arrogance,
insisting on his ever penetrating surrogance.
He tried to shove the Shadow back, and pushed with all his strength,
but, o, the Shadow kept with him, o’er his entire length.
He arced his back, he arched his head, he’d not give up the fight;
but, o, the Shadow would not leave, as long as there was light.
Waldeci Erebus is a poet of the Dark. According to Beau Lecsi Werd, “surrogance” is a contextually solvable neologism.
~~~
A Gruk
by Sir Bac de Leeuw
The light of the sun is going away.
The night is setting upon the eyelids.
Tonight is slowly replacing today.
Dusk ducks into darkness, and the sky skids.
Sir Bac de Leeuw is a poet of the Netherlands.
~~~
He Saw a Helicopter
by Air Weelbed Suc
He saw a helicopter pass just barely o’er the clouds,
its big, long rotor overhead, stretched out above the shrouds,
a smaller rotor at the back to keep it in control;
so it would not spin crazily and go into a roll.
He saw the swashplate squishing up and down between the blades,
the tilting left and right, the nifty, whirling, lifting aids;
a shiny sparkle at the top, a cockpit bubble orb.
a passenger who grasped the situation, so not bored;
the pilot at the throttle, concentrating and austere,
who flew that whirring, grinding chirring through the atmosphere.
Air Weelbed Suc is a poet of mechanical flight.
~~~
A Guard of Nicolás Maduro
by Lud Wes Caribee
A guard who was protecting Nicolás Maduro said:
“We did not hear the Yankees coming. No, we were not dead.
Th’ Americans possessed high-tech that we had never seen;
they took off-line all that we used—radar…everything.
The US used drones, taking out our bases and defense.
They only had eight helicopters, maybe twenty men.
But what those twenty men did…to this moment truly stuns:
it seemed three hundred rounds per minute issued from their guns.
Unlike no thing that we had seen, they sent a SHOCK-BOOM out;
we fell down to our knees and vomited blood—nose and mouth.
We were immediately incapacitated then.
No matter what, we never want to go through that again.
We’re warning you, drug-traffickers, be careful what you do.
We’re not now saying, if you want us, come get us. No. Don’t”
Lud Wes Caribee is a poet of the Caribbean.
~~~
Who Was the Washington DC Pipe Bomber?
by Caud Sewer Bile
“Not Guilty.”
—Brian J. Cole, Jr.
So stealthily, she placed pipe bombs in Washington DC—
right at the offices of DNC and RNC.
Keen to keep a low-pro-fi-le, she 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 her feet;
kinetic’lly she did her very best to be discreet.
Her pause appeared she meant to stop at the CBCI,
or was it merely a distraction meant to mystify?
Familiarly, she had waved at the Capitol Police,
fastidiously leaving via Second Street Southeast.
Caud Sewer Bile is a poet of the Swamp.
~~~
Zora Neale Hurston
by Cause Bewilder
“I used to take a seat
on top of the gatepost
and watch the world go by,”
wrote Zora Neale Hurston.
With no socks on her feet,
and just a dusty road
below the Florid’ sky,
she stood there a-burstin’
with happy energy,
the sweet joy of childhood,
and a gleam in her eye,
ready to leave her town.
At the top of the trees,
what she longed for the most
was the horizon, aye,
and to “jump at the sun,”
which she did, indiscreet
perhaps, but with gusto,
not sitting around cry-
ing for herself when done,
in an old folks home, beat,
alone, unknown, and poor,
hardly given a sigh.
Now she was a person.
Cause Bewilder is a poet of the South. Zora Neale Hurston (1891-1960) was a Modernist American proset.
~~~
E. E.
by Usa W. Celebride
E. E. Cummings understood well the world
of mechanical devices and ads.
He appreciated what had been unfurled
on American children, moms, and dads.
He understood the fast-pitch and sound-bite
and tailored his poetry to these new
cadences. He saw such words could excite.
There were fresh possibilities, he knew.
But despite all his typological
innovations, he also admired the old
themes of life and love. Ontological
arguments he may never have unrolled,
but despite embracing the modern toys,
he still maintained some of the ancient poise.
Usa W. Celebride is a poet of American letters. E. E. Cummings (1894-1962) was a Modernist American poet and proset.
~~~
Homage to George Gershwin
by Educable Wires
Down I into the great city went from th’ high elevated
hill that o’erlooked it, and there met noisy commotion,
a jazzy symphony unfolding, spectacular arches,
brightly kaleidoscopic avenues, a myriad of things,
intertwining throngs, buildings that into the sky soared,
streams of autos, bikes, and big trucks, fast and flashy taxis.
passengers packed there on a bus, subway travelers too,
saxophonic rock-drill concerts just blasting up pavement,
and up above, magistrates, justifying a morally straight way,
stores, theatres, temples, and homes caressing the surrounding
hills, bank-funded foundations, the community’s pillars,
parked ships unloaded in port, birds circling in groups,
parks to the brink with green trees filled, and flowery strewn paths
jammed chock-a-block with bees busy rounding up new resources,
fortuitous pollinations made, good luck’s happiest best,
sweet honeys in cells formed, viscous nectars manufactured,
warm sunlight glittering o’er all, a blending of ambers,
lending an aura of perfection, prosperity and joy,
time’s golden heyday, assonance out flowing about all.
“O, we blessed by fate. O, this fine surging of high walls.”
I shouted to the workers there walking on a scaffolding,
yes, truly a miracle to relate, but nobody heard me.
I was invisible to ’em all as I through the place passed.
Educable Wires is a poet of American music. George Gershwin (1898-1937) was an Modernist American composer.
~~~
A Lone Star State of Mind
by “Wild” E. S. Bucaree
So many leaves are brown, and yet the sky is very blue.
I have been for a walk, upon this winter day so new.
I am glad that I am not living in Los Angeles;
and I’m so thankful that I’m living in the Metroplex.
There are so many churches here, I pass along the way,
and many other places too, where one can stop to pray.
I’d rather have my dreaming here in Texas by the by.
There’s something glorious about a Lone Star state of mind.
I could not tell the one I love that I would leave today;
for though it can get very cold, I’d never go away.
“Wild” E. S. Bucaree is a poet of Texas.
~~~
New Things
by Erisbawdle Cue
The human body ever has to de-al with new things.
There’s never any time when it does not. That’s what life brings.
To Do Good All Along
by Erisbawdle Cue
It’s very hard to do what’s right, so easy to do wrong.
If only one could have begun to do good all along.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of philosophy.
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