Aubade to Maia
by U. Carew Delibes
O, slightly snoring damsel, resting, sleeping happily;
it’s time for me to rise and go; though not to Innisfree.
Though I am free, the birds are calling me to leave this Inn;
it’s time for me to greet the morning dawn, and even grin.
O, body of my soul, o, spirit of my beating heart,
why do I have to leave, my love? Why do I have to part?
I’d rather stay, like yesterday, and still remain alive;
this is the place I’d rather be, where I want to arrive.
O, let me stay a little longer. Let me be with you.
I cannot get enough of you, good, beautiful and true.
U. Carew Delibes is a poet of French music. An aubade is a poem or piece of music associated with Dawn.
The Josh’ua Tree
by Ileac Burweeds
The Yucca brevifolia, known as the Josh’ua Tree,
extends to many scattered sites across the Southwest scene:
from California to Nevada, and Arizona too,
it raises up its branches, like the prophet, to the blue.
The Promised Land before you comes, the sunny, burning earth.
The arid, barren desert yields its vegetating girth.
The narrow leaves persist upon the endmost branching limbs,
but dead, slim leaves last many years, and join the bark-like rims.
The Josh’ua tree can grow up high, in sunlight stilled and gold,
like Joshua in battle gear outside of Jericho.
Pink Evening Primrose
by Ileac Burweeds
Pink evening primrose blossoming, feathery, petal-opened,
at dusk in northern Texas, flowers i’ the coolness.
All night it’s contènt; it has a fragile eye of yellow-white;
there rustling, wiggling i’ the breezes, airy-fresh, hidden, unknown.
At morning, one sees them along the path or the carriageway;
they stand in clusters, or lone, not aromatic or sweet,
however, oh, so beautiful and blooming, as if of love;
diaphanous, they die, withering each day’s generation,
yet are replaced by the very stem’s conical whorls,
that turn into new flowers, longing to spin i’ the air.
Pink ladies, showy, speciosa, dresses in a swirl,
returning, drought-resistent, invasive as a weed.
Ileac Burweeds is a poet of plant life, in this case these poems from the Southwest. “Pink Evening Primrose” is his attempt a dactylic hexametres.
Toep Tnomrev: You Come Too
by Cadwel E. Bruise
A carpenter and poet-shaper up north in Vermont,
born in Berlin, he has a blog, he likes to write a lot.
He is self-taught, he likes a tightly-wrought poetic form,
and April when it melts the snow, so he can then get warm;
although he likes snowboarding in the bright, white crystal snow,
and skateboard dreams in Burlington’s light traffic vertigo.
His crisp reviewing leans to technical and musical;
his favourites in music are Baroque and Classical.
He analyzes books and such; code name Toep Tnomrev,
but never have I noticed Lermontov, Fet, or Tyutchev.
He started writing when he saw Frost in a video
read from his poetry in rhyme a long-short time ago.
Cadwel E. Bruise is a poet of New England.
Coleridge Casket Rediscovered
by Basil Drew Eceu
“For half a century now no human hand has touched them. May he rest in peace.”
—Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado
It seems that back in 1961 the coffin that
contained the S. T. Coleridge remains was moved, in fact.
It had been in the Highgate Chapel School in London’s north,
but had been moved for safety’s sake off to Saint Michael’s Church.
But where the coffin was no one remembered vividly,
so Alan West and Drew Clode searched to find where it could be.
Like Fortunato’s crypt, above the rubble, came the view;
they used a stone above the aisle as a final clue;
just barely visible through grille of ventilation vents.
Eureka, they discovered it, dispelling the suspense.
Bricked up, like Poe’s wine cellar, where the leaden coffin sat;
the dusty, musty box with the dead mariner intact.
Basil Drew Eceu is a poet of the Romantics and Victorians.
The GQ Canon
by Sirc de Wee Balu
GQ, a foolish little rag, continues on its way,
of blithering and slithering and slobbering away.
Its Lilliputian editors made up a list they thought
books overrated, not that great, in short, not worth a lot.
The fodder in their canon isn’t worth repeating, but
the ones they thought were worthless is—a height they’ll never touch.
The works they chose include The Bible, Huckleberry Finn,
The Catcher in the Rye, Farewell to Arms, Lord of the Rings,
The Old Man and the Sea, Th’ Ambassadors, and Dracula,
Catch-22, and Gulliver’s, ah, Good-bye to All That.
Sirc de Wee Balu is a poet of the silly.
The Prime Minister Resigns After Days of Protests
by Darius Belewec
On Monday jubilation hit the streets of Yerevan
with resignation of Prime Minister Serzh Sargsyan.
Supporters mobbed Nikol Pashinyan when they heard the news;
he had just been released; the joy was wide-spread and diffuse.
Republic Square was filled with people, bottles of champagne,
some dancing in the fountain, hugging, waving flags amain.
Authorities had shown restraint; to protests they gave way;
upon the day before Armenia’s Remembrance Day.
But it’s important to note that the government’s the same;
the only alteration is the leadership has changed.
Darius Belewec is a post of Armenia. Remembrance Day is a reminder of the Turkish genocide against the Christian, Assyrians, and Armenians at the beginning of the 20th century.
The Changing of the Guard
by Lud Wes Caribee
On Saturday dictator Nicolas Maduro met
the brand-new, Putin-well-wished, freshly spruced-up President.
The brand-new Cuban President Miguel Diaz-Canel,
would be the first non-Castro chief to lead in quite a spell;
the revolution magic, more than half a century,
continues on to spawn new things, and fresh adventuring.
This was the changing of the guard in Cuba recently,
Raul, who had replaced Fidel, stepped down quite decently,
although remaining party chief till 2021;
transition is important; it must carefully be done.
Lud Wes Caribee is a poet of the Caribbean.
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