Right at the bottom of the Zodiac, he lies – At the bottom of the garden, at the bottom of the sky – Barely rising high enough above the privet hedges, As he’s hugging the horizon – just a hello and goodbye. Battling through the light-infested night (plus those long evenings), Peeking out from skies that are perpetually grey – From the top floor of a tower block, I bet he looks a treat, But for us, he’s always hidden by the roofs across the way.
The Christian Martyrs’ Last Prayer by Jean-Léon Gérôme
Damnatio ad Bestias
The lions weren’t alone in the Colosseum To kill the priests – Not that there were none, But the Romans also had their fun With boars, and bulls, and dogs, especially dogs, To be the beasts. Their moment was the lunchtime lull When public executions filled the interval – And some, I guess, were Christians, Making up the Lions’ feasts.
Of course, a Colosseum death Was for the criminals – And Christians weren’t that often used To feed the animals. Persecution was rarer than lions – It happened, but only in spurts. But how to vilify Roman indiff’rence And un-martyred lack-of-hurts ? We needed far more dramatic saints, So unleash the lions and uncork the paints !
Reapers sweep the scythe And sheafers bush the sheaf – Gathering the harvest, Gathering the grain – Threshers thresh the flail To tear the seed from leaf – Gathering the harvest, Holding off the rain – Winnow-women winnow, And siever-maidens sieve, Prizing out the pearls That the golden ears give – For to the corn we’re born, And by the wheat we live. Bringing home the harvest down the lane.
Once it took a village, And ev’ry boy to spare – Gathering the harvest, Stooked and ricked and mown – Now it takes machines, With no use for man or mare – Gathering the harvest, Gathered to the bone – Children of the corn And cottage-kitchen wives Are spared the broken backs And spared the broken lives, With Summers never shorn By the sweeping Reaper’s scythes – So bring us home the harvest on your own.
H-plus plus H-plus is D-plus, D-plus plus H-plus, we suss, Is positively He-3-plus, He-3-plus twice is thus An H-plus twice plus He-4-plus – Plus the two H-plusses free, To go and make some more for us.
Which is to say, a Hydrogen Without its lone electron, Meets another, and their new connection Merges to Deuterium, When another Hydrogen jumps-in To gin them up to Helium, Which crashes with another one – Whereby, two Hydrogens say ‘bye’, And out they fly, ad nauseum.
But this whole synthesis, you know, This H-&-H-combining show, Is not so clean – For it also makes a new neutrino, Indestructible and lean – It doesn’t do much, though, Except to leave -and there it’s keen ! It’s shooting through – just watch it go ! Except you can’t, it can’t be seen…
But H & H will also make A beta particle – A beta-plus, a positron, That’s looking with much spryness How to get it on with beta-minus – Say a lone electron That has lost its Hydrogen – Birthing photon-twins once done, That one bright day will light the Sun.
We’re too many, that’s the trouble, But what to do ? Who would wish a war to thin the herd Down to a few ? Gone are cities brought to rubble, Gone the Black Death’s fatal third. We’re safe in our hygienic bubble – Breeding, undeterred !
Climate change is next to tackle, Pollution, too – But even if we don’t, we’ll still be here, If black and blue. As a species, though ramshackle, We won’t go extinct, don’t fear – Other creatures take the flack, But we won’t disappear.
For all our poverty and pillage, Give us our due – We’re capable of so much common sense To pull us through. We’re running out of land for tillage, Cities growing far too dense – Time to shrink down to a village, Time for abstinence !
It’s time to start doing our bit by not doing our bit…
A Rainy Day in Paris by Ulpiano Checa, finally finding a use for impressionism’s fuzziness.
Sparkle in the Rain
The very first drops and we’re under attack, The sun is in hiding, the sky is in black, We pull on our coat and we button our mac, And we rush to get out of the rain.
Sheltered in doorways and clustered by trees, We’re watching the drops as they dance in the breeze, And cursing the spray and the drizzle and freeze, As we wonder how long must it rain ?
Some make a dash, be they brave or naive, Breaking from cover when showers reprieve – Darting from shelter to harbour they weave As they try to run faster than rain.
Some, with umbrellas, just pleasantly stroll, Dry and protected with weather control, But puddles and splashes may yet take their toll, In the endless and ev’rywhere rain.
The streets have all emptied, the crowds have gone home The bird have all vanished, the bees seek the comb, The colours are muted, the world monochrome As the sunshines wash out with the rain.
The gutters are flooding, and eaves getting drowned, The kerbs are a torrent, the drains are unbound, The fountains are pointless, and springs are uncrowned, And their waters all drown in the rain.
But beauty is here, of a different strain, For not ev’ry downpour’s a twelve-hurricane – Why, just ask the ducks why they choose to remain, And relish the cool of the rain.
They burned our books, But we remember, word-by-word. Except the few that slipped on by, The odd paragraph that’s blurred, The bits we didn’t really understand, But set to memory Along with all the boring bits – They’re still all in there…probably.
They burned our books… Except, no, we burned our books Before they could, to make a point – We burned them for the good ! We pass them down, like Homer – But in secret, out of sight. Mutation ? Evolution ? They just make the story better…right ?
Summer days, ah Summer days, When the world is out-of-town. The Commons and Courts are resting, And the news is old and brown. When gherkins are smooth and longer, And the sunbeams are making them glow, Then just ask Jack and Algernon How quick the sandwiches go !
Alas I cannot find who is the artist for this picture
Teenage Timbrels
Jephthah’s daughter never had a name to call her own, Nor a life beyond her moral, Nor a point beyond her sacrifice – And so she nags us to atone Just by being, just by dying, Just by owning nothing but a price. She’s just a noble loser, bewailing her virginity, A shibboleth to adolescents searching for divinity In mopey acquiescence of lonlieness and blame. A role model for the friendless nights, But one of fleeting fame – Discarded by her acolytes Once they discover girls who bear a name.
Musical AI version generated by Suno.com – find more of them over here.
Rhyming Couplets 