Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
In the warm morning,
one hears distant soccer cheers
and smells minty plants.
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
The ability
to just sit and see is good,
after surgery.
Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
A fighter jet is
deadly when it’s in the sky,
but on ground, exposed.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial writer.
~~~
Flashback:
On August 10th in 2026, above Hainan,
the Long March 7A, a Chinese rocket had been launched,
with Zhongxing 4B, a communication satellite:
just seconds after liftoff…then it b-r-o-k-e apart in flight…
A massive fireball exploded in the open skies;
attending crowds and watchful eyes then followed its demise,
while it was moving through Max Q to reach its orbit’s goal.
It was a disappointment to…so many following.
State media reported it was an “anomaly”,
then scrubbed the Internet and quickly cut all scrutiny.
~~~
Horse Power Unleashed
by Ubs Reece Idwal
Remembering those distant days of Expo ’74, is not fresh in his mind. He hardly knew what he was, or, what he was doing, driving riding his painted pinto o’er the Columbia Basin—up t’ eighty-five miles per hour? It was ridiculous and awesome—horsepower unleashed. His single purchase was a book of Tyutchev’s poetry. He still considers Fyodor Tyutchev’s poetry supreme within the realms of Russian Realism—its acme.
Ubs Reece Idwal is a poet of Spokane and Idaho. In the above prosem , Fyodor Tyutchev (1803-1873) was a noted Russian Realist poet. Spokane is a city of around 225,000.
~~~
Newsreel:
Lab worker Darya was the first plague victim from Irkutsk;
but has there been a second one? One hardly knows the truth.
~~~
The Bleak Black Death
by Dr. Weslie Ubeca
The bleak, dread, Black Death, the bubonic plague,
made its frontal assault on Italy,
beginning in year 1348,
and placed, on the late 14th Century,
its stamp, its stomp. From tiny fleas on rats
came the disease, the ugly injury.
The air above the people in their hats
is cleared of angels. Demons multiply.
A new severity is pushed forth that’s
intense in its extreme dogmatism;
and naturalness of space becomes flat
with a rigorous absolutism,
all seen through the incredible prism,
grave, vague, engaging, yet unforgiven.
Dr. Weslie Ubeca is a poet of diseases—not a medical doctor.
~~~
He Is
by Claude Webesir
an animal with mind and soul,
who lives on flesh and air,
and water is his favourite
refreshment to prepare.
Each Day
by Claude Webesir
Each day is quite a challenge to achieve all that one wants—
the projects and the dreams are ever potent hopes and taunts.
Claude Webesir is not AI.
~~~
Sir Eel
by Blue Screw Idea
Sir Eel Budecaw was resting on his elbows’ bend.
The ski slope down his shoulders curved up and around his end.
He fell into the valley, crashing, smashing! all apart.
He was a copper—golden—but without a beating heart.
Where had he come from—kingdom? O, where was he going to?
He stretched his legs out to the edge of doom—and then he knew.
He looked about the room. Somewhere there had to be a key
that could unlock his emptiness and set his feelings free.
He looked upon the wall, and then he looked down at his bed.
He tightened up. He turned his head. And then the image fled.
Blue Screw Idea is a poet of the surreal.
~~~
The Scop
by Eric Albu, “Swede”
I saw him sitting at the table with the feisty men;
he was so slim, he did not seem like he was one of them.
It looked like they were drinking mead upon a wooden bench.
It was a mighty thirst that they were trying there to quench.
Among the scoffing, scolding warriors, he, the scop, shaped verse,
and rose to entertain them with his sturdy, strong-stressed words.
He’d try to meet those Vying Kings with equal force and strength.
He’d ride those graceful, long, and narrow nights with all his length.
He’d sing old pagan legends of the hard, Germanic tribes,
and eulogize abusive guys with jesting, jeers and jibes.
The Bearded Man
by Eric Albu, “Swede”
He turned his head up to the left, as if moved by a god,
and what he saw look down at him left him unhitched and awed.
It was as if great Odin spoke to him in poetry,
or Thor caressed him with his healing and fertility.
He lifted up his eyes to see the mighty power there,
and felt it deep inside his holy soul, o, hard to bear.
He hung around the tree of life, in Asgard, Yggdrasil,
and longed to stay there for forever, on that big, rude hill.
But he would have to leave that gorgeous forage of a forge,
and fall from heaven’s paradise into space-time’s dark gorge.
Eric Albu, “Swede” is a poet of the Northlands.
~~~
Newsreel:
Almost two-thousand were arrested in Paris, and France,
for vandalism, arson, looting shops, and violence.
What first began as protests for the schools has since become
a mounting hatred for the nation and officialdom.
~~~
The Twin Towers
by Arcideb Usewel
I still remember vividly, as if it were
just some short time ago, those high Twin Towers, grand
against the gorgeous city, stalwart and secure.
They were so beautiful, upright above the land.
They were so sleek and tall, and fit so perfectly
beside the other buildings, life-filled, lofty and
pulsating. But, alas, o, such was not to be
for long; for vicious men had plotted their demise.
They longed to knock them down with wild insanity.
They longed to tear them from their heights with harsh surprise.
How long will I remember them, there at that perch,
forever shoved from morning’s rosy-coloured skies?
Arcideb Usewel is a poet of urban architecture. The World Trade Center Twin Towers (1973) were designed by Minoru Yamasaki (1912-1986), a PostModernist American architect, and dedicated to peace. Arcideb Usewel fondly remembers the Pacific Science Center for the Seattle World’s Fair (1962), his previous major work.
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