Asterichthys
A sunfish may look like a sun,
And a starfish like a star –
But both are fake, for the only one that’s real –
The starriest fish by far –
Is not some Milky Way-long eel,
But Cetus – the stellar monster gar –
He’s bigger than Cancer, older than Pisces,
Swimming the span of the sky high seas.
Hazy Words
Whatever happened to ‘gloaming’ ?
Do they still say that, North of the border?
Or has it been lost in the creeping gloom
Of a Sassenach fog or a shadowy order ?
When the mist comes roaming,
We may lose sight, discard a husk,
As the twilight stretches ’cross the room,
And the gloam sinks in the dusk.
Two Sheets to the Wind
Put my face on a champaign bottle,
And I can be a milli-Helen.
If just one-in-five come back agen,
I’m still a whole-Magellan.
If for a crew I’ve not a jot,
Then I score an M-Celeste as well, son,
And if you see no ships at all, well then,
I guess I’m fully-Nelson.
Raised Eyebrows, Wobbly Club
Pornography made proper by time,
With even the blue-rinse enthralled –
They snigger in Tolpuddle, Durdle, and Lyme,
Whatever the old man is called.
Surn is in Switzerland, Cairn is in Dorset –
The Abbas is hard in her C.
The Giant is likewise, and stands to endorse it,
With hard-ons for hadrons, says he.
Ennui Go
What on Earth to do today ?
Bake a cake or fill a pew ?
The night is sweet, but far away –
We ought to sleep, we ought to play.
We’ve been to ev’ry cabaret –
That’s why we’re feeling blue.
If things don’t change, I swear,
Then I’ll snarl and scream and sob.
I’m lost and going spare,
And all my corn is off the cob.
It’s more than anyone can bear,
My head is in a throb.
What on Earth to do today ?
To read a book or tour the zoo ?
The Sun is out, the prospect grey –
We ought to go, we ought to stay.
We’ve done it all, and never pay –
There must be something new.
If things don’t change, I swear,
If we don’t quit the usual mob,
Then I’ll start a love affair
With a Cleetus or Jim-Bob
Anything, I just don’t care –
I’ll even get a job !
Massacre On-Mass
Do fishes school in shoals
Or shoal in schools ?
Who cares ? Who sets these rules ?
And are they herrings or are mack’rels ?
Sharks just see them all as sprat-kills,
Be they hammerheads or bulls.
And dolphins call them balls of bait
When wolfing fins onto their plate
With click-and-bubble tools.
We ought to ask the swarming bunch,
Except, it seems they’ve gone for lunch…
The fools !
All Roads Lead To Roam
Where are you roving, our Romany Rhona ?
I’m running to Rome to pursue my persona.
I have to keep going as long as I can,
Or the Pope, when I get there, will be an old man.
Where are you heading, our Harefooted Heather ?
I’m striding to Stockholm to welcome the weather.
I can’t hang around, I’ve a long way to walk through,
Or Odin has no-one but ravens to talk to.
Where are you wending, our Wanderlust Wanda ?
I’m aiming for Athens to pep-up my ponder.
I must chase the rainbow, before it has cleared,
Or else Zeus will have reason to grow a long beard.
Where are you trekking, our Tramp-Treaded Trista ?
I’m casting to Cairo, to visit my vista.
I need to be off, so I’ve no time to chat,
Or else Ra will sink lower and red-faced and fat.
Englischer Waltzer
Eins zwo drei, eins zwo drei,
Beefeaters, wellingtons, toads-in-the-hole,
Morris and molly and May-round-the-pole,
Our feet may be English, but German our soul,
As we spin to the Saxony stride.
Volkswagens, Porsches, and Beamers and Mercs,
Beethoven, Handel, and Kraft-at-the-works,
Our ears may be English, but German our quirks,
As we turn to the Teutonic tide.
Some say Bavaria,
Some say Vienna –
The where and the when are
Long lost in the swirl.
Spinnen and spinnen,
In cotton and linen –
From Bath to Berlin,
In a wurlitzer’s whirl.
Fish-and-chip, tea-and-jam, bubble-and-squeak,
Stiff-upper sorries and tongues-in-our-cheek
Our words may be English, but German our speak,
As we pulse to the Prussian parade.
Rottweiler, doberman, alsatian, spitz,
The Hamburger Hans and the Frankfurter Fritz
Our names may be English, but German our glitz,
As we shimmy with Swabian suede.
Wange to wange,
From oompah to banger –
It’s no doppelganger,
But dancing for reel.
Schneller and schneller,
In ev’ry bierkeller –
It’s no tarantella,
But spooling its spiel.
Two Body Problem
I want to hear less of Uranus,
That big gassy body found in the Bath.
You see, you’re sniggering already !
It’s a noble planet, it’s not a cheap laugh !
Why use the Roman name of the Greek ?
‘Ouranos’ sounds not so silly.
Or better yet, let’s see more of ‘Caelus’
For the methane found by the Willy.
That’s Wilhelm Herschel, the man who slapped it
Into the solar system.
And named it after King George the Third –
When he saw royal buttocks, he kissed ’em !
From its nether regions, this constant hot air
Gets so petty, and I want it to stop –
I want to see less of this childish smut,
Or the pressure will make it go pop.
Urban Planning for Urbane Planets
You can’t build Uranus Circus in Bath –
At least, not by that name.
A quirk of language is having a laugh,
And we all have a smirk in the game.
Uranus was discovered in 1781 (11781 HE), though it had been unknowingly sighted several times, possibly as early as Hipparchus in 9873 HE. This was the first time that the concept of there being a new planet had ever occurred to anyone, and there was no reliable naming convention to guide them. Yes, the ‘prehistoric’ planets all bore the names of Roman gods, but was this new object really another one just like them, or should it be demarked as something different ?
Indeed, although Uranus was proposed as a name within a year (and the equally-newly-discovered element Uranium so named in its honour), consensus around it wasn’t achieved until some seventy years later, and meanwhile other proposals included Hershel, Cybele, and even Neptune. But at least the eventual winner was considerably better than that proposed by its discoverer – Georgium Sidus (or King George’s Star). I mean, it’s not a star, is it ? Next you’ll be naming a chunk of rock an asteroid…
Limb-Slungs & Beam-Shanks
Some daddy-longlegs are spiders in cellars,
And some daddy-longlegs are leg-craning flies.
Some are strange scorpings who walk in the harvest,
But all have more leg than they should for their size.
Some daddy-longlegs are tip-toeing fellers,
And some daddy-longlegs are mummies-on-stilts.
Some have evolved from their cousins the farthest,
But all are as lanky as when they were built.
Rhyming Couplets 