On Planet Earth
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
How often do we slam our heads against a wall
of total acrimony and indifference,
and keep on doing it again against it all,
the long while, wildly striving for deliverance?
It is pathetic how we go against such odds
and reach perfection’s peak not ever, never once,
and come to realize that realm is only God’s,
and yet still press on, over, over, over, o!
The bounding, pounding, grounding of eight billion bod’s:
Where is it that we think that all of us will go,
upon this burning, ever turning, giant ball,
within this starry, wheeling, reeling vertigo?
Mr. I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of planet Earth. According to Worldometer, the population of planet Earth, mentioned in the above bilding, is about 8,300,000,000.
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Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
An osage orange,
its bright yellow-green fruit falls—
nature’s tennis balls.
PostModernist American ecologists, Daniel H. Janzen and Paul S. Martin, theorized in 1982 that the fruit of the Osage Orange is a fruit coevolved with a large animal seed dispersal partner that is now extinct.
Haiku
by “Clear Dew” Ibuse
Even after death,
his ghost is heard and felt,
a life tossed and dealt.
“Clear Dew” Ibuse is a poet fond of traditional Japanese haiku. “Magiggy” (2012-2026) was a satisfied, rambunctious, polydactyl cat, who never managed to get to the Hemingway Home Museum in Key West, Florida.
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Haiku
by “Wired Clues” Abe
On a wet sidewalk,
nigh New York City traffic,
a settled cat stares.
“Wired Clues” Abe is a NewMillennial haikuist. Patricia Carragon is a contemporary haikuist. New York City has a population of around 8,500,000.
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Newsreel:
A toxic haze in Kalimantan, Indonesia,
has bathed the island in a haze of yellow sepia.
Relentless wild fires smoldering have blocked blue sky.
Palangka Raya, hardly seems a vast and sacred site.
Palangka Raya, Indonesia, has a population of around 300,000.
~~~
Six Blind Men
by Sri Wele Cebuda
Six blind men went to determine what an elephant is like. The man who touches the leg says it’s like a pillar. The man who touches the elephant’s tail judges it to be rope. The one who feels the trunk compares it to a branch. The one who felt the belly thought that it was like a chunk of wall, while the one who the big ear held thought it was like a fan. The tusk feeler thought it a solid pipe. An old sage then said: “All of you are right. You each touched part, and so you each have part of the truth.”
When he heard this, a young fool spoke from his heart, “On the contrary, I must speak my mind.
You are all wrong, and furthermore, all blind!”
Sri Wele Cebuda is a poet of India. This modern take on a Hindu parable is embedded in a NewMillennial prosem.
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Tyutchev in München
by Rus Ciel Badeew
Tyuchev, in München, witnessed the convulsion of Europe from his diplomatic post, where he once wrote a poem on Cicero, arriving late to meet the Roman night, and watching its grand setting from his Capitoline height. True. But in parting with Rome’s gory glory, Cicero missed out on Vergil’s Aeneid and Horace’s booked Odes. Yet bless’d are those who could create a strong, enduring prose, that has not yet been superseded by Augustan throes, and taste, if only momentarily, immortal life, from heaven’s palace chalice, rounded by eternal strife.
Rus Ciel Badeew is a poet of Russian landscapes. Marcus Tullius Cicero (106 BC – 43 BC) was a noted writer and orator of Ancient Roman public affairs. Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev (1768-1846) was a noted Romantic Russian poet. München (Munich, Germany) is a city of approximately 1,600,000.
~~~
Bellini’s Saint Francis
by Buceli da Werse
“…but set down/ This set down/ This…”
—T. S. Eliot
Saint Francis in the Desert by Bellini shows the saint
step out into the sunshine, from out of his cave, in paint.
His figure, bathed in golden rays, is showered in bright light,
between the shadows of the rocks and castellated sight.
A holy book, a desk, a skull, a crown, and crucifix
are the particulars the artist carefully depicts.
Saint Francis stands in his brown robe, and has an upward gaze
that goes beyond all that the landscape happily displays:
a donkey, heron, rabbit, wall, and towers of a town;
there is so much the painter wants to put down here and now.
He raises his eyes higher, skyward, awed, in ecstasy,
illuminated by God’s word, and next to Deity.
Buceli da Werse is a poet of Renaissance Italy. Saint Francis of Assisi (1182-1226) was an Italian mystic, poet and friar. Giovanni Bellini (c. 1430 – 1516) was a noted Venetian painter.
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The Night Watch
by Sir Bac de Leeuw
Throughout, right angles form from banner, spears and guns.
A clownish clan of pompous asses dressed in style
appears and runs cross a surfeit of orisons
all modified by striking posing, gesture, smile.
Edge faces look in as the inner gaze beyond,
from barking dog and drummer through the valued file.
The darkness up above, the bright girl, golden blonde,
so many strange and small particulars of clothes,
play props that don’t belong they happened to abscond
with…the ridiculous, meticulous they chose;
this stage without horizons, going nowhere once,
a panoply of happinesses, I suppose.
Sir Bac de Leeuw is a poet of Dutch insights. Rembrandt (1606-1669) was a Dutch Golden Age painter.
~~~
Gamma, the Euler Constant
by Euclidrew Base
It’s .57721566…
and it appears in number theory and analysis,
the limiting diff’rence between th’ harmonic series and
the nat’ral logarithm, standing by it—eerie sand.
Yet it’s not known if gamma is irrational or not;
its nature is an open question in mathematic thought.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Leonhard Euler (1707-1783) was a NeoClassical Swiss mathematician and physicist. Lorenzo Mascheroni (1750-1800) was a late Neoclassical Italian mathematician.
~~~
The Autumn Dragonflies
by Earwic Beedles
They zoom across the afternoon—the autumn dragonflies.
They zip, they turn, in military form, in firm straight lines.
They go about their rapid trips without meandering,
precisely, nicely, neat and straight. There’s no philandering.
They disregard the butterflies, though beautiful and soft,
as well as birds, like hawks and crows, or planes and jets aloft.
They seek the insects that will satisfy; and do it quick.
They aren’t about to stare up at the clouds; no, not a bit.
They will not think to find a meaning in their daily lives.
They have no time for that at all. They’re looking for supplies.
Earwic Beedles is a poet of insects.
~~~
The Carnivore’s Feast of Life
by Carb Deliseuwe
The season was changing. It was getting colder.
Birds were flying in a southerly direction.
I, too, was changing. I was becoming older.
Now that is always true; but the vivisection
of existence was becoming more real to me.
Somehow I was making a closer connection
to the world. Life’s satisfactions were more roomy
and agreeable. True, I longed to have more heat,
but there was a new contentment blowing through me.
When I went to the feast, I was happy to eat
whatever was upon my plate. I was bolder
too. O, what was there that could not but beat the meat?
Carb Deliseuwe is a poet of feasts.
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