Yule Not Yet

"Box of old, tangled Christmas lights."

Yule Not Yet

Hold off the tinsel and un-ring the bells,
Don’t hack the holly, at least for a week,
And don’t eat the chocolates or savour the smells –
Endurance, my friends, we are far from the peak
We’ve barely entered December, remember,
We’ve business to busy and bills to be paid.
For awe and excitement need patience and pacing –
It’s not like we’re likely to miss the parade.

Linnaean quanta

linnaeus

Linnaean quanta

The thing about Phylums and Classes and Orders and all,
They don’t really mean very much, from a-one to another –
They don’t show a definite border or wall,
Except that each member within is a brother.
But how shall we simply compare, say, a Fam’ly of fishes
With Fam’lies of insects or fungi, or some other race –
For nature won’t readily yield to our wishes
For systems and schemes with all life in its place.

What’s needed are rankings that indicate something specific,
Like maybe the age when such clades were diverging anew –
There must be a way to be more scientific
That merely to shrug and decide “this’ll do”.
Then maybe some Kingdoms or Phylums will prove to be hoarders,
While others lack class in their Classes, now under-supplied.
So finally, let’s bring an order to Orders,
And give ev’ry Genus some Family pride.

It always struck me that the Linnaean ranks would be more useful if either all of their inhabitants shared a minimum percentage of genes, or alternatively that they were diverging at roughly the same time as all the others of that rank.

Note that in the old method, species is the only rank which has some actual science behind it and isn’t just vibes-based. Except…it turns out that the concept of a biological species is far murkier and less discrete than we used to think, so even this is not really true any longer. Hybrids, it seems, just keep popping-up…

But this will cause its own oddities, such as Cheliserates (arachnids & horseshoe crabs) diverging from the other arthropods in the Cambrian before all of the currently-recognised phylums had appeared, meaning these would need to be recognised as their own phylum too. So we are back to (hopefully) common-sense rough collectives showing nested sub-groups within – but this only makes real sense when we examine the specific heirarchy, but not much when we compare the same level from different heirarchies.

But either way, the idea of the phylums being the major body-plan divisions is well-established, at least in the animals. And having four intermediate levels between there and species feels about right – we now know that there have been an order of magnitude more branches (mostly petering-out in extinction), but we don’t need to capture all the complexity of the Shrub of Life, this is intended to be a layman’s tool, not a PHD.

Yet I do wish when talking of, say, the Order of Proboscidea, they would add when the split occurred – in this case, in the early Paleocene. You’re welcome.

A Poet to His Surgeon

two person doing surgery inside room
Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on Pexels.com

A Poet to His Surgeon

You know me much closer and touch me much deeper
Than any could ever before –
You bring to your table this soundest of sleepers,
And open me up to explore.
You rend me asunder with gentleest plunder,
To survey my hintermost-lands –
You ease my distress with your tender caress,
With my life firmly held in your hands.

Do Kings Play Chess on Fine Green Silk ?

chess

Do Kings Play Chess on Fine Green Silk ?

Henry moves his vertebrates,
And Louis tunes his tunicates,
While Malcolm swims his sharks and skates
To battle Olaf’s ranks of starfish pawns.
Boris risks bacillus rods
To fight with Oskar’s fungal squads,
As Richard launches octopods
To counter Philip’s shrimp-less group of prawns.
So James arrays his gymnosperms,
Like Ferdinand his cyan germs,
And Otto’s nematody worms,
At Charles’ yet-to-be-discovered spawns.

I should point out that the title is a mnemonic for the Linnaean ranks of life: Domain, Kingdom, Phylum, Class, Order, Family, Genus & Species.  Actually, Domain is a relatively new addition, and plants have Divisions instead of Phylums (or Phyla if you’re a pedant), and the whole thing now looks hopelessly simplistic in the wake of cladistics, but it’s still a handy starting-point.

Microbiota

mites
Eyelash Mites – you’ve probably got them and didn’t even realise

Microbiota

I’ve mites on my lashes,
And yeasts in my guts,
And hundreds of species
Of germs on my skin –
But not cos of rashes,
Or buboes or cuts,
Or dry parts or greasies,
Or illness within.

For ev’ry itch I curse,
There lurk my lurkers –
I know you’re there, my pretties
And I know I am your food.
My constant hitch-hikers,
My loafers and workers.
You are my troops, my cities,
You’re my nations and my brood.


Way down my intestines
Are hundreds of others,
Who outpace each cell
In my body by ten –
And while some infestings
Are life-giving brothers.
They yet could rebel
If they turn pathogen.

For ev’ry inch of me,
I am outnumbered –
And long before my birthing
Saw you terraform my loam.
I thrive unflinchingly,
Yet so encumbered.
Be gentle with this earthling
As you make yourselves at home.

Since I wrote this, the theory that bacterial cells outnumber our own by 10:1 has been called into question, and a figure of 4:1 is now proposed.  Alas, I have already rhymed with ‘ten’, so it has to stay.

Not Only Pascal’s Wager

white dices on checked wood
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Not Only Pascal’s Wager

If God is not, and I believe,
Then my mistake shall matter none to me –
And when I come this life to leave,
I matter none to void infinity.

If God there is, and I abstain,
Then my mistake shall matter great and well –
And when I quit this earthly plain,
I matter none to He who saves from Hell.

If God is not, or God there is,
Still our mistake, for taking up this bet.
So ere our lives are done, know this –
They matter much, they might be all we get.

Overwhelmed by Subtlety

teabag
Cup & Saucer made from Earl Grey Tea Bags by D Postlethwaite

Overwhelmed by Subtlety

You undergo life just a little too much,
You taste ev’ry nuance and stray molecule
In vision and sound and in palate and touch,
You never can blend them to seamless and whole.
But the good and the bad must equally live
Inextricably encurled –
You are, I fear, too sensitive,
To suffer this imperfect world.

This verse was inspired by a friend who insists she can’t use teabags because she can taste the paper.

A Fate Worse Than Death

white graphing paper
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

A Fate Worse Than Death

Forget all choice, forget all thought,
Forget responsibility –
For ain’t you heard they’re worth as nought –
Our will is broke but sure ain’t free.

For all the world is but a stage,
And all its folk are actors thence –
With scripted lines on unseen page,
Directed by the Higher Sense.

For take one atom, set it stray,
And watch it ripple, interact –
With those it wasn’t meant to play,
Till all those careful plots are wracked.

But if our input’s fake and stripped,
Then thinking such seems wry to me:
For saying thus, we speak a script
With wicked sense of irony.

My words, my moves, my thoughts ain’t mine –
The puppeteer, he runs the show.
It isn’t me who writes these lines,
For they were written long ago.

Ah, predestination – the only downside of time travel.

Moody Lintels

demolition
Demolition by Greg Phipps

Moody Lintels

This building, is it still so great ?
No masterpiece or pioneer-
And now it’s looking quite a state,
And none too safe in brick and slate –
It really ought to face its fate,
Admit the end is near.

It did it us proud, it served us well,
But now it’s really past its best –
And as its city-centre dwell
Has far more worth as bank, hotel,
Or office block – we had to sell,
In public interest.

So down it comes, and in its place
Development beguiling new:
A fresh design this site will grace,
A source of jobs and conf’rence space –
We may yet choose to save the face,
And gut the insides through.

These architects with magic touch
That turns the golden into shite –
Their helping hand’s a concrete clutch
Which crushes, smothers eversuch
And chokes the life they hate so much,
Because it shone so bright.

And when they try to match the theme,
They cannot think along that line –
Just vague pastiche and stripped-down scheme.
Yet form must come from vein and seam
As penetrating all like steam,
And scream these forms are mine.

Their new designs cannot be stood
Besides the old, for both then wilt –
So segregate each neighbourhood,
And save the past whene’er we could
For once it’s gone, it’s gone for good –
Will never be rebuilt.

I n the last line of the second verse, ‘interest’ should be pronounced with three syllables.