Global Astrometric Interferometer for Astrophysics (Gaia)
by I. E. Sbace Weruld
December 2014, Gaia of the ESA,
a data-massing satellite, with a diverse array
of instruments, like video processing unit and
a photon scanner, telescopes, mechanical command.
Through 2018, Gaia has had quite a data yield
to carry out its Milky Way surveillance with Sun shield.
There Gaia measures spectra, light intensity of stars,
and looks for asteroids and planets, comets and brown dwarfs,
resulting in some petabytes of data flowing in,
while analyzing proof of the space-time continuum.
This month astronomers have found stars speeding up to ours;
perhaps another galaxy is kicking out its stars.
I. E. Sbace Weruld is a poet of the Cosmos.
There Always Must Be Children
by Cu Ebide Aswerl
There always must be children who aren’t longing so to hear
words of the prophet…targeting the people of the deer.
They grew up by the forest where they gathered berries at
the start of fall, and loved to eat them, blood-red, succulent.
There always must be children who aren’t anxiously enthused
to buy the greatest gadgets or to have the latest tunes,
that grew up in the neighborhoods of houses in a row,
where they would play tag, hop-scotch, hide-and-seek, and puppet-show.
There always must be children who aren’t looking for a war,
who grew up in a placid place they loved to live in…more.
Cu Ebide Aswerl is a poet of the games and claims of childhood.
Remembering Explosions in Tianjin, China
by Aw “Curbside” Lee
Explosions at a warehouse in port city Tianjin
tore through apartments, buildings, like a hur-ri-can-ic spin.
The second blast sent out a mushroom cloud into the sky,
its power like a mighty 2.9 earthquake blown high,
perhaps composed of toxic sodium-laced cyanide,
toluene diisocyanate, and calcium carbide,
a vast combustion, it was seen by satellites in space;
parked cars were torched like charcoal steaks, through air, roof tops displaced.
The aftermath looked like a war-zone, smoldering and gray,
the burnt-out devastation of a sooty graveyard’s lay.
How much can one discern despite the Chinese censors’ cast?
Now three years on, what do we know about Tianjin’s blasts?
They tossed about the intermodal, freight-container stacks,
some 7500 had been damaged, tossed or wracked;
12,000 cars were ruined and 300 buildings wrecked;
apartment blocks kilometres away were also decked.
The government maintained the gases weren’t detectable;
though thousands of dead sticklebacks have washed upon the banks.
At first the Communists had claimed that 14 people died,
but now it seems 168 (or more) did not survive.
Aw “Curbside” Lee is a poet of modern industrial China. The two words the Chinese censored from the Internet, when the Tianjin explosion occurred in 2015, were Tianjin and explosion. The official investigation concluded an overheated container of dry nitrocellulose was the cause of the initial explosion.
Espionage Harangues by Chinese Gangs
by Lu “Reed ABCs” Wei
The Chinese-government linked hackers flagrantly abuse
th’ American computer service companies they use,
conducting sneak attacks against some private network loops,
according to security researching cyber groups.
So many cyber raids are carried out by Chinese gangs,
e. g., Deep Panda and Wekby, espionage harangues.
Department of Homeland Security reported that
they’re targeting bulk data, even confidential chat.
What can one do to halt this Chinese terrorizing bent?
Is no one safe from them, as we search through the Internet?
The Unforgiving News
by Budi Eas Celewr
The weather over Indonesia—sunny, little wind.
The plane—a Boeing 737, sleek and finned.
The place—Jakarta, Java’s biggest city, glittering.
The time—on Monday morning; take-off—jagged, skittering.
The people—present, on board, were 189.
Survivors—none; the devastation—total, out of line.
The destination planned—Pangkal Pinang, on Bangka Isle.
The crash—the Java Sea, and after just a little while.
Before it crashed—the flight crew asked permission to return.
The captain—Mr. Suneja; his age—was 31.
The problem—still unknown if human or mechanical.
The unforgiving news—reactions hard and tragical.
Budi Eas Celewr is a poet of Indonesia, a practitioner of sastra koran, newspaper literature, which can, at times, be not only disastrous, but very hard to write.
Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel (1873-1950)
by Badri Suwecele
This week the World’s tallest statue, in east Gujarat,
there situated on the river island Sadhu Bet,
was dedicated, facing out to the Narmada Dam,
a giant likeness of Sardar Patel, the iron man.
100 tonnes of iron scrap were used to form the base;
182, in metres high, from feet to face.
Chief architect of Unity at India’s incept,
he kept on, focused, firm, erect, there for the nation state.
And here he stands, by Ram Sutar, in cost, 3,000 crore,
upon a steel framework, with bronze cladding covered o’er.
Badri Suwecele is a poet of India.
The Bombing of a Bus
by Saudi Becrewel
The day was hot; it was on August 12th, the time—unsure.
The driver stopped to get some waters for his passengers.
An aerial bomb hit the market north of Saada,
a bus of boys sent by a mosque to tour graves of the dead.
In Houthi-held, northwestern Yemen, where the strike occurred,
some thirty-four were killed; not all could be identified.
A sixteen-year old boy caught shrapnel in his lower back;
he had been working in a barbershop across the track.
“Like a lamp flickering,” he said, “ensued by dark and dust,”;
it was a Saudi-coalition bomb that hit the bus.
Saudi Becrewel is a poet of Saudi Arabia.
China Lifts the Ban
by Wildebees A. Cur
As conservationists attempt to slow illegal trade
in rhinos, elephants and tigers, China ups the grade.
On Monday, China said they would revoke the ban they’d made
on tiger parts and rhinos; all such raiders will be paid;
despite the last white male rhino’s death this year in March;
another subspecies extinct; the cold and callous charge.
The militants from east and central Africa fund war,
like Al Shabaab and Alláh’s Resistent Army corps,
through poaching ivory and other wildlife parts they get.
Who knows, they may kill off another new subspecies yet.
Wildebees A. Cur is a poet of African animals.
On the Destruction of a War Memorial
by Ludiew E. Sarceb
Authorities in Nowa Sol in Poland took it down—
the Brotherhood-in Arms Memorial lodged in their town,
reducing the large monument to their Red Army “friends”
to rubble, that huge tyranny of tons of concrete ends.
The Russian Ministry described the Polish action mad,
this “war of monuments” unleashed is negative and bad;
but mayor Wadim Tyszkiewicz had called it ugly, sere,
rust leaking its abyss of emptiness, like blood or tears;
and Poles once occupied by Soviets for many years,
are free at last, oh, praise the Lord, a brave new world nears.
Ludiew E, Sarceb is a poet of Poland.
Henri Léon Lebesgue (1875-1941)
by Euclidrew Base
He feared, reduced to generalities, math would become,
though beautiful, an empty form, without content, and numb.
And yet, he was one of those who transformed the integral;
his concept of it was itself new and more general.
He then extended classic length and area to sets;
his measure thus more general than curves and surfaces,
his work a great success in modern real analysis,
he ranged partitions into simple functioned palaces.
He thought the best instruction that a prof can give his class
is thinking up in front of students; whom they’d like to pass.
Euclidrew Base is a poet of mathematics.
Clive James Is Holding On
by Walibee Scrude
“This is the cactus land.”
—T. S. Eliot, The Hollow Men
He left Australia, oh, so, very many years ago,
it hardly seems he ever was Australian, even though
there’s something in Clive James that makes him seem Australian yet,
his self-dramatic attitude and striving after wit.
And now I hear he is retreating from the World because
of emphysema and leukemia. O, what once was—
the fires in his mind—are dying fast. His phrases drift.
This is the dead calm, his watch-band, too loose about his wrist.
And yet he keeps on floating down the River in the Sky,
and yet he keeps on writing mini-epic poetry,
and so he keeps on going, rolling, holding, living on,
the story of a mind that heads into oblivion.
Walibee Scrude is a poet of Australia.
The Winning Man
by Luc Ebrewe Dias
He left the military as low captain in the ranks;
but views the military with his open-ended thanks.
Since 1990 reelected as a deputy,
he has been in nine parties in his poli-ticking spree.
As for his economics, it is really hard to know,
although Brazilian stocks have risen on his winning show.
He wants more order in a country plagued by lawlessness;
divorced twice, some would say he is a flawless, awesome mess.
And yet, the “myth” has made it to his country’s highest spot;
he says he’s evangelical in speaking of his God.
In Barra da Tijuca, near his condominium,
Brazilian Jair Bolsonaro was the winning man.
Luc Ebrewe Dias is a poet of Brazil. Bolsonaro has been called “mito” by his supporters.
At the You-Haul
by Bruc “Diesel” Awe
He had to go…to get prepared…to move across the land.
More than two thousand miles—that trip needed to be planned.
And so he went to see the local movers at their store
to buy and rent the things he needed for his moving chore.
The cost—it was enormous—dollars followed dollars there.
Of things he hadn’t been aware of, he became aware.
And even now he still remembers trips he made to make
the trip he took…o, all those trips…good God, for goodness sake.
He still recalls the heavy hauls, the heaving and the drops,
unending bending, lifting, pending, standing, stretching, stops.
He still remembers one time when he made a major flub.
He dropped his package on the floor, and bent to pick it up.
But he got stuck. His back was wrenched. Two workers witnessed this,
who rescued that tee-shirted dude, and pulled him from his mess.
Bruc “Diesel” Awe is a poet of transportation.
Gab’s Been Attacked
by Esca Webuilder
Beware the TV sophist talking-heads of vitriol,
the verified nobodies twittering their bitter gall:
While Gab’s been working with the DOJ and FBI
to bring to justice Pittsburg’s antisemite, shooting guy,
it’s been no-platformed by the Oligarchy Silicon,
who smear and censor anyone for free speech, that they can.
But Gab’s not going anywhere. O, no, they plan to fight.
Although blind-sided, they’re still planning to get back their site.
So though Gab’s inaccessible—who knows for just how long?
They can’t stop an idea, no, the online outrage throng.
“Remember to speak freely,” Andrew Torba writes online.
It isn’t only Gab, but it’s free speech that’s on the line.
Esca Webuilder is an advocate for free speech on the Internet: for alt-right, alt-left, Middle Earth, and the Middle Kingdom.