The 2014 MU69 Flyby
          by I. E. Sbace Weruld

It keeps on trek-king, that is, NASA’s New Horizon craft,
proceeding onward through the Kuiper Belt, a techno raft.
Enroute to 2014 MU69, its reach,
a billion miles past the planet Pluto’s darkest beach.
This KBO, humanity’s next “Ultima Thule”,
is scheduled for a 2019 New Year’s flyby greet.
Its hydrazine-fueled thrusters have been pushed by NASA’s schemes
to bring it to this tiny chip and rock through distant beams.
This KBO is estimated 30 miles wide;
perhaps its data too will soon be stored in NASA’s files.

I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Universe. KBOs (Kuiper Belt Objects) are those objects beyond Pluto in the outer reaches of the Solar System.


The Brief Appearance of Sun Child
          by “Wired Clues” Abe

The large 6.2 meter work of Kenji Yanobe
has only lasted but a month. It now will go away.
The statue dubbed “Sun Child” riled Fukushima folk;
they did not like the kid in yellow radiation cloak.

The triple zero [000] radiation counter was too much,
for those who think it damaged Fukushima’s golden touch,
while others felt it caused anxiety, unease and fear,
for making people think they needed to be wearing gear.

The statue’s being disassembled by a city crew,
to keep its animated visage fully out of view.
It will take only three days to dismantle Kenji’s work;
but the 2011 nuclear meltdown still burns.

“Wired Clues” Abe is a poet of Japan. His favourite James Bond movie is “You Only Live Twice”.


          Li Baiguong (1968-2018)
          by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei

I saw him hanging out to dry, that modern Chinese guy,
who did his best, in his green vest, to hold on to the sky.
But as he held on way up high, the beautiful and true,
two rockets flew past mercilessly, blasting him from view.
Out of the blue, they hit him hard—those bastard fusiliers.
What hope had he, but to endure their cruelty and curse.
He held on tight, but he was brutalized , o, near his end.
But he would not give up the fight, attempting to ascend.
I still recall his shock, his awe—it took my breath away—
when he flew overhead and tried to hold on to the day.

Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei is a poet of modern China.


Tolerating Points of View
          by Bic Uwel, “Erased

All people, hence, all poets, differ in their points of view,
and even in one life-time attitudes can alter, do.
It’s not that what is true has changed, but only what one sees,
which never is complete, but ‘s plagued by partialities.
As human vision ‘s limited, it is incumbent on
each individual to tolerate what they seem wrong.
It is, therefore, important to agree to disagree
for knowledge to acrrue, for wisdom to gain realty.
But this is not an easy task, since this outlook is skewed,
as must be every view we have whenever it is viewed.

Bic Uwel, “Erased” is a poet of the common man and woman.


The Lions in the Den
          by W. Israel Ebecud

To fight or fly that is the question I must answer then.
I daren’t incautiously approach these lions in the den.
The amygdala lobe within my brain must make a note
if I am to retain thoughts, which, provoked by fear, emote.
O, see these lions lounging, tails rising on no wind—
an image conjured by subliminal adrenaline.
O, Daniel, as God is my judge, this awesome, awful scene
is not exhilarating, oh, my God, it’s frightening.
I fear these sprawling lions lying lovely and serene.
I long to run away, but I must stay the night, o, King!

W. Israel Ebecud is a poet of Israel.


The Den of Syria
          by Cid Wa’eeb El Sur

There are so many lions in the den of Syria,
what chance has anybody there enduring through it all?
The forces of Assad are aided by Iranians,
and Hesbollah is also fighting there, and gaining ground.
The Russians help Assad, the Turks assist north Sunni groups,
and ISIS still remains around the edges of these troops.
Americans are aiding Kurds; the French as well are there;
and it is common to observe Israelis in the air,
as when Israeli jets made a Latakia bomb drop,
and Syria downed an Ilushin-20 turboprop.

Cid Wa’eeb El Sur is a poet of Syria.


That “Son-of-a-Bitch Country”
          by “Cruel” Wadi Seeb

A tourist, Mona el-Mazboh, who came from Lebanon,
called Egypt one “son of a bitch”, a country rude and brawn.
She had been sentenced to eight years for viral video,
complaining of molesting taxi drivers hitting low.
This week her sentence was reduced to one suspended year,
and when released, she flew from Cairo, quicker than a deer.
For speaking out, she’d been imprisoned, and once she got out,
she fled that lovely country—fast—there wasn’t any doubt.
How dare she spread false rumours that could harm society,
and speak of young men on the street so dis-par-ag-ing-ly.


The Egyptian
          by “Cruel” Wadi Seeb

He showed me Egypt in a positive, good light.
I saw those well-formed pyramids rise up and high
above the sand-lined planes of time, pale dun and bright,
that shimmered in eternity’s ecstatic sky.
I saw the Nile Delta, fertile, thick and rich.
I wanted to be with somebody there, and fly.
Yet he showed me its gritty cities, filthy ditch
and dirty dune. One time he even called his land
spread out before us far and wide, ‘a shitty bitch.’
But he loved Egypt totally; he thought it grand;
so then I did as well: its spans, its pitch, its might,
and, yes, the deep respect for him it did command.

“Cruel” Wadi Seeb is a poet of Egypt.


David Hilbert (1862-1943)
          by Euclidrew Base

The theories that he worked in covered many areas,
class field, axiomatics, number, and invariants.
He proved new theorems, as in algebraic manifolds,
transforming into news his simpler proofs of complex olds.
In functional analysis, he minted Hilbert space,
geometry and algebra linked at Nullstellensatz.
A metamathematic wizard and fierce Formalist,
he proved the Finite Basis theorem with sheer forcefulness.
He proved the Waring problem too, and listed 23
famed problems back in 1900 for the century.

Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics. Hilbert once wrote, “Mathematics knows no races or geographic boundaries; for mathematics the cultural world is one country.” In one of his unique comments, he stated, “If I were to awaken after having slept for a thousand years, my first question would be: Has the Riemann hypothesis been proven?” Now he was a mathematician!


          by Euclidrew Base

As geometric objects take on diff’rent properties,
depending on the space in which their essences are seen;
as, for example, when one draws a circle on a piece
of paper with a compass, it’s embedded in that seat;
but let the circle float from two dimensions into three,
and suddenly it has a lot more flexibility;
the object gains some from the larger space in which it fits;
equations of its shape compound in numbers as it flits.
Relations of a shape and its embedding are explored
in tropical geometry, there topically stored.

Tropical geometry is a relatively new area of mathematics.


Notre Dame de Paris
          by Brulise de Wace

I still remember seeing it along the blue-lit Seine,
the arching bridge, the gray walkway, the winter oxygen.
I did not know who I was then, the white clouds floating by,
the Gothic Notre Dame Cathedral rising in the sky.
Who put that there?—the styles edging toward the Renaissance,
the flying buttresses supporting its gray elegance,
that fall like waterfalls in stone around its heavy back,
to keep its heaving walls upright, not crumbling at a crack.
I can’t forget its grand facade, nor its inspiring spire,
that points the way to God and His uplifting, holy lyre.


The Poet In His Digs
          by Acwiles Berude

I saw a poet in his small apartment standing tall;
but it looked like he did not look at anything at all.
Around one saw his furniture: a television set,
a light-green couch, one large, white alabaster statuette
of Pindar, Aristotle or some other classic Greek,
a world map, and modern art, two big blobs cheek to cheek.
He had a slender beard, short hair, and wore a gray tee-shirt.
But what I noticed most about him was he seemed inert.
What was he looking for? What was he doing in that room?
What longed-for, epic masterpiece would haunt him till his doom?

Acwiles Berude is a poet of ancient Greece. The character he most identifies with is Homer’s Achilles, his manic power and his fiery brilliance.


Joseph Salemi
          by Wilbur Dee Case
          “Stupidity is a talent for misconception”
              —Edgar Allan Poe

One can respect Salemi’s focus on ethópathy,
a plague that rages round the World and hits both you and me.
He’s marshaled many terse examples in polemic verse,
alerting us to this abuse and its pandemic curse.
He’s like a swirling cyclone when he offers his advice,
a mild-mannered man he’s not, nor would one say he’s nice.
Like Oscar Wilde with vituperation cranked up high,
expostulating to the crowds found floating in the sky.
He shouts aloud to bring them down to Earth, to make them see
the error of their airy ways and full-blown lunacy.
An Agamemnon in his hard-won literary realms,
he spews and slews his snarky views in hopes he overwhelms;
and yet one finds, upon occasion, rarely, to be sure,
a rarefied opinion wrest-l-ing with the absur-d.
And though it isn’t very often he is not uncouth,
irradic’lly, sporadic’lly, he blunders into truth.

Wilbur Dee Case is a poet and literary critic.


Young Woman Mollie Tibbets
          by E. Ducabe Wisler

Young woman Mollie Tibbets has been stabbed to death by an
illegal alien from Mexico, a Mexican.
Though some don’t want to face the truth, as hard as it may be,
she’s now forever separated from her family.
Though some say she is just “a girl from Iowa”, it seems,
she was a dreamer who won’t ever get to have her dreams.
Her death’s a homicide by multiple sharp injuries;
it should not be politicized—the agony is real.
Young woman Mollie Tibbets has been stabbed to death, and we
should pray for her eternal soul, and for her family.

E. Ducabe Wisler is a poet of the Midwest. In addition to corn, Iowa farmer are first in the USA insoybeans, hogs, eggs, ethanol and DDGS, Dry Distillers Grain Solubles.


The Body on the Bed
          by Rudi E. Welec, “Abs”

He loved to plop down on a bed, kick back and stretch his legs,
exactly like a protein lover having scrambled eggs.
He’d fold his legs up, working on a puzzle with a pen.
Is this not heaven? he would ask, this ample-est of men.
He’d cross his ankles, mulling over getting to the top,
or being down upon the bottom, groveling, a flop.
He feared the darkness, for he’d never not been riding high.
He loved to reach up high and kiss the sky, that fulfilled guy.
But, then, what would he do, when all was not a wished-for whim?
Would he hold up well, when some great force came down hard on him?

Rudi E. Wele, “Abs”, is a poet of physical exercise. His favourite poet is Pindar.


The Sailor Near the Bluff
          by Sea Curlew Bide

I saw him looking over his left shoulder near the bluff.
He turned his ship’s head to the wind. He had gone aft to luff
it to the open sea, where he could sail pleasantly.
He kept about his tasks serenely calm and steadily.
Perhaps he was in search of love or lovely Arcady,
a place where he could stretch out in a comely park and be.
Perhaps he was enroute to some gigantic, rolling hills,
where floral spills and golden rills grew exponentially.
I wondered if he knew the mariner Odysseus.
I do not know. I only saw him that time near the bluff.

Sea Curlew Bide is a poet of the beaches and the sea. One of his favourite Homeric epithets is “οíνοψ πόντος”, the wine-dark sea.