Two Body Problem

Uranus from Umbiel by Stefan Blaser

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

This illustration seems to come from The Burke Museum, but alas I have no idea who drew it.

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.

Poetry Briefing

Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on Pexels.com

Poetry Briefing

I should have written a shorter verse,
Where a couplet’s too verbose –
As slim as is a haiku terse,
Or a limerick at most.
A sestet tops, or a triolet,
Or a nonet’s fading ghost –
As tightly as a minuet
When sent by pigeon post.

I never should have waffled-on
Beyond the break, you see –
All trace of pithiness was gone,
As the twelve-bar blues run free.
If sonnet-length should not be crossed,
I should curtail this spree –
But no – I fear all hope is lost
As the ballads call to me…

Winter Jacks

Autumn Afternoon by Jane Jones

     Winter Jacks

Jack Frost and Jack Thaw,
Mortal enemies –
Fighting over water drops
In air and stone and trees.
Jack Frost gets in early,
But then Jack Thaw wins the day,
But once the Sun has set, we see
Jack Frost come out to play.

Those Two Impostors

Out of the Square by Cesar Santos

Those Two Impostors

So there I was, a Son of Martha,
Making my way in the world.
I knew that I could keep my head
’Gainst any Brown Bess girl.

But that was ere I met my match
With Triumph and Disaster –
A pair of Ladies of Many Dreams
As clever as Aggie de Castrer.

They played my heart for pitch & toss,
With a swish of skirt in the dew –
With broken dinner knives, they dug,
To plant their roses blue.

Why did I go with the grey widow-maker
Upon my young-man’s feet ?
Oh, how I wish I’d walked by myself,
Where never the twain shall meet.

But I shall hang from the highest hill
On the road to Mandalay.
How far is St Helena now
From a lonely shilling-a-day ?

But no – don’t deal in lies –
For if a dog has torn my heart,
As it’s moving up and down again,
It’s just because I gladly played my part.

Don’t let cold iron be my master
While the gentlemen go by –
For the female of the species
Is a better man than I.

Languid Curlicues

Photo by Frank Cone on Pexels.com

Languid Curlicues

“Poetry editors are in revolt against the overuse of certain florid words.”

– Poetry How

Cliches seep into my verse,
Those myriad shards of shrouded thought –
Reflections on the torrid motes I nurse,
So pent and overwrought.
I strive to excise each as it freights
Through my ever-cloistered, fevered mind,
Yet their crimson soul still percolates
To leave a palimpsest behind.

The Groaning Trencher

from a listing on AliExpress

The Groaning Trencher

Sometimes, falls the Burns Night on the number two New Moon,
That will open the cacoon of a brand New Year –
So the neeps and cock-a-leekie get to share the serving spoon
As the beansprouts and the riceballs soon appear.
From the docks of old Kowloon to the mists of Brigadoon,
So it all goes in the haggis, and the bamboo pipes the tune –
As we all sup down together, from New Scotland Yard to Scone,
In a typhoon of lampoons and tartan cheer.
Now maybe I am nothing but a Sassenach poltroon,
From the billabongs of Perth, and through the snows of Saskatoon –
But a shortbread in my green tea on a global afternoon,
And the paddy-fields of glens are very near.

Can I just say what a wonderfully weird experience it is to hear someone read Address to the Haggis in an unapologetically RP accent ?

Brass Neck

An amended image from the original computer modelling by Darren Naish & Donald Henderson.

Brass Neck

All mammals can swim,
Or least, can float,
Just paddle each limb
And be the boat.
It may be slow,
And lacking grace,
But it lets them row
To a dryer place.

Even the elephant,
Hedgehog, or bat,
Even the fattest
Or scardiest cat,
Even the kangaroo,
Aardvaark, or aye-aye –
You know why it’s true ?
Cos they’re mammals, that’s why !

All, that is, except for one –
The landlubber giraffe.
Once evolution had its fun,
They’re not safe in the bath.
It’s strange the way that they capsize,
You’d think they’d learn to cope
When possessed of long and mighty thighs,
And a built-in periscope.

But on the land
They look such gentry,
Tall and grand
When standing sentry.
They are the backlash
To the trout,
Who make a splash
By standing out.

Online Ovines

Do Androiods Dream of Electric Sheep by Cooper Hill

Online Ovines

When I first heard of what made androids dream,
I wanted to know much more –
Like where are the hordes of electric sheep
All under the crook of a cyber-Beau Peep ?
Yet ev’ry pasture dotted with white may teem
With robotic ewes by the score,
And so well made are these flocks of steel,
They bleat and follow just like real…
Do their eyeballs glow with a laser beam
That the ravens quake before ?
Are their horns antennas, warning of fox ?
Does their wool discharge with electric shocks ?
I swear these sheep aren’t all they seem,
It’s folly to just ignore…
For the folds are filling with a new kind of lamb,
A bellwether seeking to upgrade their ram.

Carapace Steeplechase

Carapace Steeplechase

The pangolin and the armadillo
Are worthy mounts for a knight,
Though they only ever battle ants,
And their snouts are lacking a bite.

With a pingo-pongo-pangolino,
Clanking, swanking, tank–bambino –
Overcoat from head to toe –
Hi-ho for a skin of nails !

They’re faster than the tortoises,
And faster than the snails –
With scutes from shoulder-blades to boots,
In a bodysuit of scales.

But the armadillo and the pangolin
Are secret devils for a thrill –
They curl-up in their tightest balls
And roll full-tilt downhill.

With an armadilla-dilla-dilly-day-oh,
With a three-band-six-band-nine-band-go,
In a concertina rodeo –
Hi-ho for the bonded mail !

They’re tougher than the rhino,
And they’re tougher than the whale –
With clout – from a stainless-steel snout
To a tinplate-tempered tail.

Pangolin by Adam Tusk