Meat and Water
by Carb Deli Seuwe
“I could see maybe a star or two in the bucket,
and maybe in the dipper, a star or two before I drank.”
—William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying
Each night I see the star Arcturus shining in the sky,
and the long handle of the ladle of Big Dipper’s lie.
I cannot see Boötes, the great herdsman, with my eye;
and yet I am, o, quite content to think of cattle nigh;
for as a carnivore I’m happy, quite a happy guy,
when I have got a good supply of meat to eat nearby.
Nor can I see Big Dipper’s bowl, nor the North Star aligned,
but am content when water is around me all the time;
for that is what I wash my steaks down, when I pause to dine,
and gives me what small might I have to hold the living line.
Carb Deli Seuwe is a poet of sweet meat. William Faulkner (1897-1962) was a Modernist American proset.
~~~
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
She spared a cockroach,
she loved Tezuka’s “Phoenix”,
trim Takaichi.
Tanka
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
In summer he comes,
chipping away at the bark
of resonant trees,
seeking wood-boring insects—
Dendrocopos villosus.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet of Japanese forms. Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828) was a noted haikuist. Takaichi is the present Prime Minister of Japan. Osamu Tezuka (1928-1989) was a Japanese Manga artist.
~~~
Tanka
by “Wired Clues” Abe
Red, yellow and bright,
shiny, juicy, tart,
the nectarine exceeds art.
It satisfies more deeply
than science or poetry.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial writer.
~~~
Red-Crowned Cranes
by E. Birdcaws Eule
There are only about as many red-crowned cranes
in the World now, as there are books on my shelves
[A picture is worth a thousand words; it maintains
what We can’t ourselves, what We were ourselves.];
and one of the few places left they habituate
is around the 38th, of all parallels.
O, Korea! So like a human is the state.
So like birds are our emotions.
E. Birdcaws Eule is a poet of birds. Korea has been split at the 38th parallel since 1953.
~~~
The Painter
by Red Was Iceblue
The pain-
ter pain
ts a pic-
ture of a pain-
ter with a pick
axe in his had
at Pick-
axe Mountain in Iran.
Red Was Iceblue is a NewMillennial poet of pain-ting.
~~~
Newsreel:
Torrential rains caused a gigantic pile of garbage to
kill over thirty in Guinea under its land-slide-re/f/use.
Conakry, the capital of Guinea, where the avalanche of trash occurred, has about 2,000,000 inhabitants.
~~~
In Kaliningrad
by Rus Ciel Badeew
There were some sculptured statues at the square to where he’d strode.
Around its rigorous periphery, there was a road.
It was a place beloved by him of glaring lares’ nods;
cemented sand, crushed stone, and gravel made the concrete gods.
One saw the entryway beneath a gray, but lovely arch.
With apple in his hand, he watched a military march.
Their guns were tilted up. Their springs were locked. A larch nearby,
one scraggly, scarcely foliated, touched th’ abyss of sky.
The heroes entered, one by one…Victor, Hector, Menelaus.
They’d come from some catastrophe, yet seemingly so bouse.
How many had they laid to rest? What thousands had they crushed?
The cold outside reached to the teeth inside his munching mouth.
Beside him, standing, Helen coughed into a handkerchief.
Her face would launch a thousand ships. Her eyes were touched by grief.
She’s munched upon potato chips. She drank some cherry wine.
I’ll knock you on the mazzard, sir, if you take what is mine.
Don’t speak so hotly. This is Russia’s vast and frosty haunt,
where you can toss your cigarette butt anywhere you want.
I’ll punch you in the eye, if I desire to. So there.
Quit waxing eloquently in the brisk and open air.
Close up your cheesy-smelling breath that’s laced with attitude.
Go right ahead and give yourself some needed latitude.
Help, someone, please. This scene, you see, is filled with violence.
Nobody here is thinking clear, so call an ambulance.
Life’s easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.
She saw the unpretentious vacant lot of misery.
Amour and armor turn to rust. Alas, that it must be.
I’ll take you down, because I’m going to. That is my tree.
It’s January, lips are blue, the gods are stockpiled here.
The frozen corpses bound by time have reached another year.
I’ll have a frothy lager. Really, at a time like this?
Bring forth bulldozers. It is time to wreck this raging bliss.
The flaring dawn sends forth its rays upon the hoary frost.
It’s time for Eris to depart, and Paris pay the cost.
Your teary eyes aren’t necessary in infinity.
Besides, look there—mass transit is in the vicinity.
Rus Ciel Badeew is a poet of Russia. Kaliningrad, Russia, is a city of about 490,000. PostModernist English band, the Beatles, composed “Strawberry Fields Forever.”
~~~
Newsreel:
Moscow gas stations reimpose fuel limits. Now it’s worse.
A second wave of shortages hits Russia with its curse.
While Russia bombs across Ukraine—for humans marketed—
Ukraine drones struck at gas deliberately targeted.
~~~
Phaethon at the Reins
by Ercules Edibwa
I saw him, Son of Helios, young Phaethon at the reins,
the shining mortal holding to the equine hurricanes.
For just one day he longed to ride his father’s chariot,
traversing heaven with his boldness and his lariat.
But he could not control the reins, and lit the sky ablaze.
He turned much of the Earth to desert with his scorching ways.
The polar caps were melting in an oceanic suck.
The climate change was devastating, burning people up.
In order to restore Earth’s balance, Zeus smote Phaethon with
a thunderbolt of sanity to halt his deadly myth,
that he could cross the sky upon his father’s golden car
without emitting carbon oxides, leaving Earth no scar.
Ercules Edibwa is a poet of Ancient Greece.
~~~
Newsreel:
The CIA Chief Ratcliffe rushed to Moscow for some talks;
but what was said was not explained. All speaking was in locks.
~~~
Zorn’s Lemma
by Euclidrew Base
Zorn’s lemma states a partially and ordered set, say, P,
contains the property that every chain, that in it be,
must have an upper bound in P; therefore, contains at least,
one element that’s maximal. It seems that is its yeast.
Zorn’s lemma is equivalent to th’ axiom of choice,
which states that given any set of bins, each with invoice,
it’s possible to choose exactly one thing from each bin,
not needed if the set’s finite, but infinite, it’s in.
Zorn’s lemma, too, is like the theorem stating that each set
can be well-ordered, if each set has a least element.
Cantor felt it a fundamental principle of thought.
Zermelo gave a proof, one that was beautifully wrought.
Kuratowski-Zorn Lemma
by Euclidrew Base
Let P be a partially ordered set that satisfies
P is nonempty and each chain in P, where’er it lies,
contains an upper bound in P, then P has, at least, yes,
one maxim-element, in order theory, of a subset S.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Georg Cantor (1845-1918) was a visionary Realist German mathematician. Ernst Zermelo (1871-1953) was a Modernist German mathematician and logician. Kazimierz Kuratovski (1896-1980) was a Modernist Polish mathematician. Max Zorn (1906-1993) was a Modernist German mathematician.
~~~
While Listening to Bach’s Wir setzen Uns mit Tranen nieder
by Ewald E. Eisbruc
We were sitting around listening to
Bach’s Wir setzen Uns mit Tranen nieder,
when our cat, a creature in her mouth
walked in, and set down for Us to inspect
a bat! that started flying in the house!
You let out a high-pitched scream, and then some!
in crazy-eight loops! around and about!
at the ceiling sweeping cobwebs away!
You ran to the bedroom with your popcorn.
I opened the door in hopes it would leave.
With broom in hand, I tried to knock it out,
but only knocked a nearby light-bulb out.
The chorus and organ and harpsichord
all roared together in Gothic tremor!
—and then it left.
Ewald E. Eisbruc is a poet of German musical composition. Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750) was a major German composer of the Late Baroque period.
~~~
Friedrich Leopold von Hardenburg
by Uwe Carl Diebes
He remains in the coolness of the lawn,
distant, out of sight. Even his name is unknown—
Friedrich Leopold von Hardenburg. He is gone.
He knows no night. O, he isn’t even alone.
Uwe Carl Diebes is a poet of German literature. Friedrich Leopold von Hardenburg (1772-1801) was a German Romantic poet, philosopher, mystic and polymath.
~~~
La Marseillaise
by U. Carew Delibes
Composed by Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle in Strasbourg,
La Marseillaise came when war was declared with Austria.
Originally called Chant de guerre pour l’ Armée du Rhin,
it was a revolutionary call for citizens
to fight against the tyranny of raiding foreigners,
for freedom’s mobilization against such privateers.
And now it has gone viral on the social media,
one fourth of a millennium since L’Encyclopédie.
The murdering of many people on Parisian streets
has stirred the patriotic fibres of the Earth’s heartbeat.
U. Carew Delibes is a poet of French song. Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle (1760-1836) was a French Army officer and writers of French songs.
~~~
To Hamlet’s Ghost
by Wilude Scabere
“…the play is puzzling, and disquieting as is none of the others.”
—T. S. Eliot
You were a fool, trapped, Hamlet, in iambs—pentameters.
Would it have been that hard to alter the parameters?
You could have saved Ophelia, while you thrashed all about,
while you were trying to fight off your horror and your doubt,
while you were figuring out what your uncle had done to
your father—and your mother. No, you did not have to do
all that you did, o, such a mess. So many lost, and dead.
You really weren’t that clever, were you? What was in your head?
Look what you did. How many had to die because of you?
Your friends, your family, your love, her family, you too.
You left Denmark to Fortinbras, Horatio alone.
Would it have been that difficult to change the combat zone?
You could have saved Polonius. Who was the real fool?
You didn’t have to be so savage in Ultima Thule.
You didn’t have to do it on your own, all by yourself.
You could have shared your knowledge. Yes, you could have used some help.
Your arrogance was vast, but not that intellectual.
Why sacrifice so much for hardly anything at all?
Look what you did. What was the purpose of your bloody mess,
your misery and madness making such unhappiness?
Wilude Scabere is a poet of England.
~~~
The Ghoul-Haunted Forest of Weir
by Esiad L. Werecub
I once went out walking at night
in a ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.
My guide was the moon’s lovely light
as I paced past the trees dark and drear.
I started out fairly relaxed.
Black bats were out scooping in-sects.
Some lone owwwl’s jowwwls were taxed,
who-whoooing who would be the next.
But then I was startled. I heard,
“You are the next to be vexed,”
from the beak of a shiny white bird.
I paused, and I pondered perplexed.
What was the meaning of this?
Why was I thus put upon
by birds in nocturnal abyss.
I was sure I was there all alone.
But behind every conifer lurked
some ghastly, grim ogre-ghost guy.
My heart heaving hard—each beat jerked—
My only response was to sigh.
The first one I saw stared at me
with a drab and a cynical look,
his pale blue robe flowing free;
it eerily flapped in the nook.
I stepped rapidly past that ghoul,
when I came to an arrogant face.
You must think I am but a mad fool,
since I went further on with my pace.
And then up ahead, o, it seemed,
I had come to the King of the Ghouls.
He sat on the edge of a dream
where the sleeper turns over and drools.
He gleamed purple, radiant light,
looking left off to where I had come,
a strange lucifer of the night
whose kingdom was filled with the numb.
Impulsively I longed to run,
for my heart uncontrollably beat;
but attempting to not be outdone,
I calmly stood there on my feet.
He then disappeared in the dark,
just as quickly as he had been seen,
then I saw thirty-some ghoul-guys spark
in yellow, or’nge, scarlet and green.
I feared they would take me away
on some weird, ancient mariner’s craft,
but they also vanished, and they
flew through Weir Wood fore and aft.
Then off up ahead I could see,
a wan, pale ghoul upon a branch.
Like Earl Aldon Page, he seemed,
but shrieked with a black rook’s harsh scraunch.
I truly was vexed when I heard
all the sounds that he made in my ear.
I basically thought he was weird,
and I wished he would just disappear.
And he did, without leaving behind,
a message, a presage or bier.
So I vanished half out of my mind
from the ghoul-haunted forest of Weir.
Esiad L. Werecub is a poet of Ancient Greece.
~~~
Sonnet in Sand
by Cawb Ediu Reel
It was a movie with no pictures,
a celluloid screen between
reality and Me,
neither a window nor a mirror,
not a microscope, nor a telescope—
not even a reflection—
it was simply a roll of film
with nothing on it.
It did not indicate or signify anything,
It did not give of bird or bush—
it only was,
like the nothing that is not
and the nothing that is—
pure negative.
Cawb Edius Reel is a poet of film. Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) was a Modernist American poet.
~~~
O, Those Eyes
by I Warble Seduce
O, those eyes of silver and green,
of a shimmering, shining sheen,
as if they came from beyond here,
of an eerie ethereal leer.
What can they see, those wild eyes,
that stream with clouds through crystal skies,
clear and clairvoyant, brilliant too?
O, what is their eternal view?
And how is it that We can see
them looking out at You or Me?
What is it that We bring to them
blazing brighter than star or gem?
I Warble Seduce is a poet of love.
Leave A Comment