Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
He touched today a
fritillary resting on
a yellow cat’s ear.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese sentiments. Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902) is sometimes credited with coining the term “haiku” as a stand-alone poetic form.
~~~
Her skin
by I Warble Seduce
Her skin was of the delicacy of
a Grecian beauty, though perhaps smoother,
creamier, truly as lovely as love
itself, wondrous to hold and touch further.
I warble Seduce is a poet of love.
~~~
A New Now
by Raw “Cub” Seedlie
He kept on striving so to understand what he could not,
arriving always at a new positioning of thought.
Could he imbibe a novel pattern he’d not used before?
Could he explore insights galore and then still find some more?
He heard bird chatter and a smattering of many things.
Life was more complicated than he’d ever hoped to think.
And how could strings of words and letters indicate the wealth
of knowledge that expanded through life’s everchanging stealth?
Raw “Cub” Seedlie is a poet of new beginnings.
~~~
Prime Numbers Are
by Euclidrew Base
Prime numbers are those numbers greater than the number one,
that have no positive divisors, but themselves and one.
They’ve been around for centuries, back to the Ancient Greeks,
who studied them, like Euclid did, and Eratosthenes.
In short, they are the building blocks of all the Naturals,
and yet they seem fantastic, despite being factual.
The Sieve of Eratothenes showed how to count the primes,
but for large numbers it was slow, and rough for later times.
In latter years, the staircase function of the primes appears,
and π(x), graphs each new prime, when each new number nears…
Eratothenes
by Euclidrew Base
He was a music theorist and a geographer,
a poet, mathematician, and an astronomer.
He was a chief librarian at Alexandria,
the Grecian Eratosthenes, perhaps Cyrenian.
He was the first to calculate the Earth’s circumference,
as well as the Earth’s tilt, by using facts and common sense.
He made the first map of the world on its daily spin,
incorporating parallels and medians therein.
His sieve was an effective way of gathering the primes.
He was the most remarkable Pentathlos of his times.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Eratosthenes (276 BC – 194 BC) was an Ancient Greek mathematician.
~~~
The Writer
by Ludiew E. Sarceb
Through solitary wars are future readers only won,
you will not dwell in Temple halls in choices of your own.
You will not own a private portal—one will unlock yours—
and what in life were wide wings flying, history devours.
Today’s loud screaming boasts you take for trumpet blasts are not;
they are votes being cast, and silence, is the ballot count.
Ludiew E. Sarceb is a poet of Poland. This 3/5th tennos relies upon a poem of Cyprian Kamil Norwid (1821-1883), a Polish Romantic-Realist poet and proset.
~~~
Newsreel:
Repeatedly he was attacked—young Henry Nowak—in
Southampton, crying out, he could not breathe, again…again…
Southampton, England is a city of around 250,000.
~~~
Flashback:
Do you recall June 4th of 1989, or not—
the protests at Tiananmen Square—and the massacre?
~~~
On Goes the March
by War di Belecuse
Although that war is gone, the march goes on.
Another one has come to take its place.
And so it goes. New foes do come upon
old woes, the story of the human race.
Must this be so? Can peace not ever stay?
Is it original to sin? Is it
impossible to win? From day to day,
new victories appear to make it stick.
But then it breaks the halt. On goes the march:
step after step, arm swing after arm swing,
down paved road, over bridge and under arch,
all part of a continual army.
New battles start as soon as old ones end;
heads see, hands reach, hearts beat, and legs extend;
taut shoulders rock, elbows unlock, knees bend.
War di Belecuse is a poet of war. William Shakespeare (1564-1616) was a Baroque British poet and proset.
~~~
Darkness
by Waldeci Erebus
Darkness
Darkness is
Darkness is all
Darkness is all around
It is an important part of the Universe
and ourselves.
It holds nothing and everything,
stars and ourselves,
holes that literally go on for forever.
Darktika
by Waldeci Erebus
Back in a century and country that no longer is, they got aboard a train to get across the border, but couldn’t. The train, diverted again and again, could not get out. The passengers were trapped, caught in a bureaucratic, tangled web. If only they were where the water lapped upon the shore, where tides would rise and ebb. Instead, they were engulfed by mountains, trees, and cloistered towns, where citizens were stuck on darkened roads of narrow certainties, in barren houses made of wood or brick.
Waldeci Erebus is a poet of dark places.
~~~
Flashback:
On Friday, there took place a global ransomware attack;
computer owners had to pay to get their data back.
100,000 plus computers had been threatened with
a data hit-squad, if not bitcoin compensated quick.
A 22-year-old from Britain slowed the ransomware,
when he procured the kill switch’s domain; but everywhere…
had been infected: Russia, India, Ukraine, Taiwan,
Romania, the US, Britain, China, on and on.
Last summer, Shadow Brokers, hidden within logic’s booles,
said they had stolen varied governmental hacking tools.
~~~
In the Midst of So Much Info
R. Lee Ubicwedas
“We are the stuffed men”
—T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
Is it not odd that in our World the well-crafted verse
is largely overlooked. It is for better or for worse,
because there’s so much poetry. The same is true for math.
Think of how many mathematic papers there are! that
each month appear across the Web. O, who could read them all?
or physics, medicine, or chemistry, et cetera.
It is exciting, overwhelming and formidable.
We’re in the midst of so much info, it’s incredible.
And yet one has to find a niche where one can be content,
despite the continents of content, cosmic in extent.
R. Lee Ubicwedas is a poet of ubiquity. T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) was an English Modernist poet and proset.
~~~
Sweet Life
by Erisbawdle Cue
“There’s some hard times in the neighbourhood
But why can’t every day be just as good.”
—Darrell Scott
He didn’t want it to occur again; He’d had enough of sad, but meaningful, profound analysis. No, not that end. He wanted the undaunted beautiful, the charming, captivating brilliances. In short, he wanted happiness, those good and lovely moments, fine resiliences, or anything within the neighborhood. Life could not be a series of events, more or less dour, somber and sour. There is a point at which it makes no sense to listen to one more sob-filled hour. He just had to get out. He could not take it anymore. It’s for sweet life he ached.
Erisbawdle Cue is a poet of the philosophy of life. Darrell Scott is a contemporary singer-songwriter.
The Person of Disinterest
by Cu Aswerl Ebide
He walks along in happy disconcertedness,
like as a kid engaged in bright, diverted bliss.
He ambles on beside the brambles on the path,
and rambles on his cheerful way, a jollymath.
Oblivious of everything but nature by,
the birds, the trees, the road, the houses and the sky.
He’s a conduit to the vusions of his mind,
new-lit and grandiose as myth, grand, and designed.
He tells himself a story of the glory felt,
aware of nothing, clothing, body, brain or belt.
He dawdles near the dandelions, like a bee,
but lackadaisical in outward industry,
a Hamlet strolling at the edges of a wood,
in contemplation of the potent and the good.
The sun shines down upon his playful wandering,
as if he were detached in solar sauntering.
He ruminates like any grazing ruminant,
like as a Rip Van Winkle and illuminant,
who looks upon a lea as if it were a place
to rest in peace beyond the pace of ease and grace.
Cu Ebide Aswirl is a poet of leisure. According to Beau Lecsi Werd “vusions” and “jollymath” are neologisms.
Gaunt Edgar
by Earl Aldon Page
Gaunt, ungainly, grim and grizzly,
Edgar played upon the grasses,
like a Martian with a frisbee
on a spaceship to Parnassus.
Earl Aldon Page is a poet in tune to EAP.
The Mourning Doves
by E. Birdcaws Eule
They hover in the air about the holly’s crinkly leaves,
there, dorky, flapping, slapping with ungainly, gangling wings,
while plucking bright-red berries with their sharp and rugged beaks,
each gizzard, like a garbage-thick disposal’s grinding skeek.
E. Birdcaws Eule is a poet of birds. According to Beau Lecsi Werd “skeek” is an onomatopoetic neologism of 2017.
Here is a poem of the 19th century by the American Realist poet Emily Dickinson (1830-1886).
“Hope” is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I’ve heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet—never—in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of me.
Newsreel:
Blue Origin exploded on the launch pad—horrid, raw.
a roar-id mushroom cloud burst over torrid Florida.