The Voyage of the Novum Organum

frontispiece
frontispiece from Novum Organum Scientiarum by Francis Bacon, art by anon

The Voyage of the Novum Organum

’Twas in the summer of ’20
When our galleon set sale.
Now gather ye, and plenty,
As I lay the fearless tale:
We soon approached the pillars bold
That Hercules himself, we’re told,
Had planted, so’s to say “Behold !
Behold these sights, and quail !
Here lies the End of the Earth, my friends,
And who knows what may lie beyond ?
It’s time to find what you’re worth, my friends,
If dareꞌst ye leave your pond.
Will you view my gates as a warning ?
Then head for home on the turning tide.
Or will you view my gates as a dawning ?
Then pass on through to the other side !”


Who knows if God shall forsake us ?
Who knows where the currents take us ?
Over the seas on our questing quest:
With our fortunes pressed for the holy grail,
As on and on we sail.

So wise old Captain Bacon
Gave the word to pass on through.
We prayed he weren’t mistaken
And a-gambling with his crew.
We sailed betwixt those ancient piers,
And set a course for new frontiers.
Once Argonauts, now pioneers !
’Twas time to earn our due.
“There lies the Start of the Earth, my friends,
When we find out what lies ahead !
It’s time to give rebirth, my friends,
It’s time to raise the dead !”

We knew great riches would await us,
All our maps were full of exes !
We dug up booty with apparatus,
And unearthed keys to fresh complexes.

Follow the clues, be smart and plucky –
Here be dragons, if we’re lucky !
Over the seas on our questing quest:
The better we guessed, the more we unveiled,
As on and on we sailed.

We plumbed that deep wide ocean
So’s to chart her reefs and bars
The first we found was motion –
It was written in the stars !
Then spied we microscopic forms –
A hidden world of tiny swarms.
We shuddered, but we rode such storms,
And better for the scars.
There lies so much joy on this Earth, my friends –
Let’s find out what we share her with !
There’s nowhere upon her in dearth, my friends –
She’s always more to give !
We sailed upon her seas of numbers,
Fathomed her amounts amounting:
Formulas and patterns slumbered –
Ev’rything, we learned, was counting.

And the point where the limit of our learning meets,
There’s always a fair wind filling our sheets.
Over the seas on our questing quest:
The more we professed, the more we regaled,
As on and on we sailed.

The further out our striving,
So the better stocked our stores.
And always we’re arriving
Onto ever-stranger shores.
And on those lands we took our drills
And tapped the streams and dug the hills
And set down bridges, rails and mills,
And just and noble laws.
We learned how the whole of the Earth, my friends,
Is built from the same few blocks, not more !
We learned how the life round her girth, my friends,
Is built from life before !
We sailed away to explore and learn,
And still there is so much more to find !
We know we can never again return
To that ancient world that we left behind.

We’ll never be bored and we’ll never be done –
We’ll never arrive at the setting sun.
Over the seas on our questing quest:
The more we progress, the higher we scale,
As on and on we sail.

Soul-Lights

Experiment
detail from Experiment with an Air Pump by Joseph Wright

Soul-Lights

Perhaps she is just a chimera,
Or otherwise born with this curious guise –
For everytime that I’m near her,
I cannot but help to look into her eyes.
Perhaps she has suffered a trauma,
Where blood is now staining her iris tattoo
That partially came to transform her,
With one eye of hazel, the other of blue.
And further, her hazel is golden
Encircling her iris, but greener beyond.
Her stare surely has me beholden,
Her pupil eclipsing its het’rochrome pond.
No contacts nor tumours nor ’Shop-tricks
Are needed to give them what rarely occurs.
If souls can be glimpsed in our optics,
Then softly she carries a rainbow in hers.

Thy Name is Edom

detail from The Last Supper by Carl Bloch

Thy Name is Edom

Judas in paintings is often the one
Who’s sporting the bright carrot hair.
What does this signify, why was this done ?
For redheaded Jews were exception’ly rare.
Maybe he dyed it with henna, of course,
For most nat’ral gingers were Celtic or Norse,
So who were the genealogical source
Of Judas Iscariotson ?

Edom has nothing to do with Judas, being the brother of Isaac in Genesis, but his name means ‘red’ in Hebrew.

Trans-Galactic Relations

amazon women
still from Amazon Women on the Moon

Trans-Galactic Relations

How will love fare on a far, strange planet ?
Something tells me, just fine.
Astronauts are after all as human as the rest,
On those long and lonely voyages to Sigma Ceti Nine.
It really doesn’t matter how Control attempts to plan it –
Some eventualities are harder to decline,
And improvised solutions are unlikely to be guessed
Until that fateful moment when our instincts come online.

Then to the fore comes ambiguity,
When foreign incongruity’s the only game in town.
But, when it comes to promiscuity,
Then human ingenuity will never let us down.

We are the pioneers
Across the galaxy we plumb
We are the copuleers
We boldly go and boldly come

So Human-Alien exchanges probe
To grasp a firmer bond –
Exploring green and grey and blond,
Until enquiring ends combine
In intimate communion.
We’ll scout each sucker, fin and lobe,
And softly test how they respond
To fingers from the great beyond –
And arms and tentacles entwine
In interstellar union.

I have heard it suggested that humans would be disgusted by anything even-slightly non-human. After all, for all we snigger at bestiality, it’s a very rare proclivity. And just look at our closest neighbours, the chimps – when the females are in heat, their genitals swell up to advertise the fact, though good luck getting any human gentlemen callers with that trick !

So if we’re six million years too distant for
Pan-spermia, what hope have we of getting horny for alien horns ? Well, I think it’s a case of uncanny valley and not marrying cousins. After all, there’s way more octopus porn than monkey business.

And Saw That It Was Good

Haeckel
Aspidonia by Ernst Haeckel

And Saw That It Was Good

Life, it seems, is ev’rywhere,
An opportunist spiv:
And ev’ry nettle, ev’ry rat,
And ev’ry spider, ev’ry gnat,
And ev’ry roach and snake and bat,
Is one more proof of nature’s flair
Through evolution’s sieve.
So love each thriving organism:
Dandelion, botulism,
Dry-rot, fly-bot, feral pigeon;
Life, it seems, is ev’rywhere,
It cannot help but live.

There is no Plan A

Animalcules
Animalecules by Antony van Leeuwenhoek

There is no Plan A

First there was sunlight and bedrock and ocean,
And acids amino, all churned in a dance –
When somethings were randomly formed in that potion
Of nutrient flow in a soupy expanse.
They hadn’t a thought or a want or a notion,
They hadn’t the know that they’d barely a chance;
They had no creator to watch with devotion,
So where could they go, and just how to advance ?
But networks were working and systems in motion
Which favour and grow and compete and enhance –
And so, life is life – a fluky explosion,
A spawny crescendo to blind happenstance.

Yes, I know I put an extra ‘e’ in the title of the picture above, but now it’s so much easier to say ! Interestingly, I’m not the only one, though there is some debate over which letter should represent that extra schwa:

Animalacule (both singular and plural) yields 1 screen (at twenty returns per screen)
Animalecule produces 3 screens – this one is my favourite, as it could mean “animated molecule”
Animalicule turns up six screens
Animalocule generates just 9 entries in total
Animalucule scores a measly 8 hits
Animalycule strikes out completely – though that’s before this page goes live, of course, which will increase the result to one
.

No Laughing Matter

Isabella Brant
detail from Isabella Brant by Pieter Rubens

No Laughing Matter

There !
There in the middle of my cheeks,
I swear – I bear the mark of freaks !
These cavities my face must wear
Just undermine my steely stare –
These hollow hickeys suck the chic
From out my compromised physique.
Oh, why must I be cursed to share
The pinched-in dimples of the meek ?

I’d sooner acne, moles, or freckles
Than these intermittent craters –
Hardly think my lips need echoes
Just to show my cheeks are traitors.
But now, such is their two-faced work,
They turn a smile into a smirk.
Alas, they’re written in my cells –
The cheesiest of tells.

Why on me and not my brother,
Nor my cousins, aunts, or nieces ?
But the worst is how my mother
Loves to chub my surplus creases.
Hardly wonder all that froth
Would drive my teenage self to goth.
I felt far safer with a frown
When their depressions couldn’t bring me down.

Damn !
I always promised that I wouldn’t let the beggars show,
Or that I’d let my whiskers grow.
But if you like to see such flam on me,
Feel free – but never tell me so !
I guess we’re wrinkled when we’re born,
Or else that’s how my face has worn.
I guess I should maintain a scowl,
Or slather on the botox with a trowel.

Dented, vented, wrecked, and rent
Is really not my style –
I guess this must be what is meant
When faces crack a smile.
Did I once gurn on a change of breeze
To trap my grin within parentheses ?
I wish my apple cheeks were fruitless
From this taint of enforced cuteness.

Patina

you won’t believe how many online AI image creators I had to try before getting this, so kudos to Imagine.Art

Patina

Her hair is purest white, not quite,
Her skin is hinted bisque,
Her eyes are palest blue in hue,
Her lips are coral kissed.
Her subtleties of shade displayed
Are never blanched, but lush –
And with a gentle goose, educe
A gorgeous crimson blush.

I would just like to add that the goose was consentual.

Beside the Seaside

Mudskipper
Periophthalmus schlosseri by F A Lucas

Beside the Seaside

Mudskippers: day-trippers,
Walking out along the beach
And paddling in the foam.

Mudskippers: toe-dippers,
See how far they dare to reach
From out their briny home.

They love to breathe the ozone airs,
And dig their castles in the sand –
Between the waves and folding chairs,
They comb their shingled strand.

Mudskippers: tide-rippers,
Love to surf the wash and breakers,
But a wipe-out leaves them drowned.

Mudskippers: land-shippers,
Masters of their seafront acres:
Beached, but never run aground.