Haiku
          by “Clear Dew” Ibuse

Adam Lonicer,
tt climbs beyond the trellis—
the honeysuckle

“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese sentiments. Adam Lonitser (1528-1586) was a German botanist. Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) is sometimes credited with coining the term “haiku” as a stand-alone poetic form.

~~~

Haiku
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

Without gravity,
the air particles we breathe
would fade into space.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial poet.

~~~

Breathing
          by Air Weelbed Suc

We exchange gases with our environment.
Our bodies take in oxygen and expel
carbon dioxide to the desired extent.
It’s something at which we naturally excel.

Air Weelbed Suc is a poet of breath and breathing.

~~~

In the First Six to Twelve Months of a War
          by War di Belecuse

“In the first six to twelve months of a war
with the United States and Great Britain,”
Admiral Yamamoto did aver,
“I will run wild and win victory on
victory; but if the war continues
after that, I have no expectation
of success.” He had the clearest of views
that era in the Japanese nation.

War di Belecuse is a poet of war. Admiral Yamamoto (1894-1943) was a Japanese commander in World War II.

~~~

A Persian
          by Euclidrew Base

Omar Khayyam was born in Nishapur.
At a young age he moved to Samarkand.
He studied there, then left for Bukhara,
where he became a mathematician,
astronomer, and sage philosopher.
He solved a cubic geometrically,
he plotted stars and planned a calendar,
and fought with Euclid’s Parallel theory.
But in the English-speaking world he is
remembered most through Edward FitzGerald’s
loose, oh, free-form, translated rubaiyats,
that voiced Victorian life attitudes.
Drink wine, Khayyam, for soon this clay of yours
will make a cup, a bowl, one day a jar.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of math. Euclid (fl. 300 BC) was an Ancient Greek mathematician. Omar Khayyam (1048-1131) was a Persian mathematician, and Edward FitzGerald (1809-1883) was a British Victorian poet.

~~~

Newsreel:
The IRGC terrorists continue to attack
the Emirates, and World shipping any way they can.

~~~

Near Saint Mark’s Square
          by Alberdi Ucwese

They rise in unison from Saint Mark’s Square,
as the great bell in the clock-tower’s struck
and startled flocks of pigeons hit the air.
Beneath, the gondolas pass through the muck
that is the Grand Canal, an aquacade,
while people mull about “the drawing room
of Europe.” Hordes of tourist groups invade
the sinking site on its way to a tomb.

 

Arrival in Italy
          by Alberdi Ucwese

As we flew in to Fiumicino from the West,
we saw the green Italian countryside below;
and at that height it was so beautiful, id est,
it fit my picture of th’ Eclogues of long ago.
It was intense, exciting coming from above
down to that bright, pale gray, rock-infested realm near Rome,
like Jupiter, or Venus on the wing, o, Love.
The aircraft windows, although they were small and thick,
revealed that hard and rugged world not of the dove.
Around and round we dropped, swept out a cyclonic,
a conic circle’s sweep, down to the paved cement
that made us just, as we descended, slightly sick.

Alberdi Ucwese is a poet of Italy.

~~~

On Science
          by Ira “Dweeb” Scule
          “Science, true daughter of Old Time”
              —Edgar Allan Poe, “Sonnet—To Science”

As Popper wrote, good science must be falsifiable,
potentially vulnérable to refutation’s cull.
It must be open to tribunals of experiment,
unlike the pseudo-sciences that merely err in vent.
Compute the consequences of a guess, see if it’s right;
and then compare results to nature. Is there any light?
If it then disagrees, it’s wrong. It makes no difference.
It is that simple; one should then not make an inference.
Good scientific theories must put up themselves for tests;
they have to run the constant gauntlet of experiments.

Ira “Dweeb” Scule is a poet of science. Austrian-British Karl Popper (1902-1994) was a leading figure in the philosophy of science in the 20th century.

~~~

A Cosmic Note
          by Lucid Ase Bewer

Fritz Zwicky, a close watcher of the skies, in the four years before America entered World War II, discovered more supernovae than had all the eyes prior to his, previously espied,
as he added to theoretical astrophysics with his paper “On the Masses, and of Clusters, of Nebulae.”

Lucid Ase Bewer is a poet of vistas of space. Fritz Zwicky (1898-1974) was a Modernist Swiss-American astrophysicist.

~~~

The Machinist
          by Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis

He concentrates upon the task at hand.
He is a taut machinist at a lathe.
He’s focused on the piece he must command.
His work is done precisely, firm with faith.
He wears protective glasses on his eyes,
an apron round his waste, and short-sleeved shirt.
It is his customer he satisfies,
while being careful not himself to hurt.
He does all kinds of operations there,
like facing, boring, axial drilling,
cutting screw threads, and sometimes knurling, where
a grooved, hard roller’s pressed against the thing,
the work piece, to attain a rough finish.
I saw him give an object English once.

Ed “Bear” C. U. Lewis is a poet of equipment.

~~~

David Humphreys
          by Usa W. Celebride

Hello, gray ghost, who once upon a time
inhabited Yale college as a youth,
no longer do you linger in that mime,
beside that classic stream in thirst of truth.

In fact, you joined the dogs of harshest war,
the din of battle, clang of arms and steel;
beside the starry banner’s beam of yore,
you leapt with revolutionary zeal,
enlisting to support your nation’s weal.

How could one ever say good-bye to you,
though you are gone, as all must someday go;
because you helped to pull this nation through,
that death itself, uniting with our foe,
has not yet stopped two-hundred-fifty years, great ghost?

 

John Whitworth (1945-2019)
          by Usa W. Celebride

The house is cold and empty, and the garden’s overgrown;
his letters lie unopened by an uncharged mobile phone;
no footsteps echo strangely on the moonlit cobblestone;
no longer is he laughing there in blarney baritone.
The shadow that’s behind him is the shadow of his moan;
the World was his oyster; though in truth he was unknown;
he was a belly-shaking Belloc, with a funny bone,
a rather clever, metric rhymer with an acid tone,
a heavier-than-air light-verser who enjoyed a scone,
and knew what wit was worth. He left an odor of cologne.

Usa W. Celebride is a poet of America. David Humphreys (1752-1818) was a Colonial American poet and proset, Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) was a Modernist British proset and poet; John Whitworth (1945-2019) was an American PostModernist poet.

~~~

An Oddball Band
          by Cadwel E. Bruise

He felt like as he’d fallen in with a most oddball band,
fine individuals who were themselves New England, grand.
Were they like Robin Hood and his most merry group of souls?
Not really, but he couldn’t help but feeling glad with those.
The World’s countless conflicts didn’t seem so bad with them,
and one could flow along and go through space-time’s REM.

He wished for such societies for all who felt beset
by double troubles, toil and rubble ceasing never…yet.
He still remembered Nottingham, those forests of delight,
down trails that he traversed morning, afternoon and night.
And though he felt as though he was an outcast on his own;
together he was thankful to be given such a home.

Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet fond of New England ponds.

~~~

Newsreel:
The final flight of Spirit Airlines landed overnight
at DFW; controllers bade pilots good-bye.
From buying it in 2024, Jet Blue was blocked;
3.8 billion dollars then, now 13,000 jobs.

~~~

The Cub Reporter
          by Wilee Read Bucs

When young he was a cub reporter for his neighbourhood.
With older friends, he’d stamp out stories, quaint if not that good.
But it was fun to make a paper other kids could read,
and those adults, glad that their kids eschewed mischiefery.
Their stories were not that profound; but they showed what they saw.
The vision of a youngster isn’t all that very far.
But that set him and them up for a feeling of the news,
a thing both he and they would like to do themselves and choose.

Wilee Read Bucks is a poet of print.

~~~

Newsreel:
Enroute to New Braunfels, the Cessna fell and doomed their ride:
Five members of the Amarillo Pickleball Club died.