Oh science, unforgiving in its might,
Hast found its words in the mouths of many.
Stopping people, as they seem to take flight.
Halting those whose minds imagine plenty.
I ask those who hone science as an art,
Why must you crush our dreams and desires?
For we and our dreams, we never shall part.
You would not know a dream from a wire.
As you prove to some, God does not exist.
You do not see all their hope torn to shreds.
Heads down faces low, their life gone amiss.
It’s amazing how you hold up your head.
Science, I ask you to tread from my place,
So that I may still show dreams on my face.
As sure as I stand in the mixed of this garden,
Glimmering gold falls to the earth by my call.
Many are great and then some are a bit small.
I release magnets clutching an obscene pardon.
It is like balancing a beam that only I will harden.
I wrap myself into a silver plated resilient shawl.
Person place and time steadily climb up to maul.
It’s a give or take rejection expected to turn on.
One day ye shall see,
My Moon half drawn,
Ye see it was all of me.
Your Sun will be gone.
Only one Star shall rise up above my name.
It’s a special place inside my heart I frame!
®Registered: Ann Rich 2007
Our ecosystem and wildlife can no longer be ignored
The devastation caused by the Gulf oil spill must vastly be restored
As anger and frustration surges across the Coast
The depletion of our environment, indeed we fear the most
Several past months, many lives have been erased
In the midst of these disasters, we can only look to faith
Now let us pay a visit to some underlying factors
Volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, and other natural disasters
It was not in their intention for a high tech failed invention
Yell still they don't take into account the consequences of their actions
Efforts to contain this oil spill is more doltish than we have known
What more massive debacles can this single Earth condone?
Many local residents are now suffering from depressions
So think about what lies ahead, our future generations
Chimera’s are mythical creatures composed of two or more parts.
Sagittarius, by example, is shown: to be made of both man and horse.
But Myths are not found among the living, except in the mind and art.
For where is the mermaid and her siren song found? Nowhere, of course!
Fiction has brought us fantasies, though life is stranger than fiction, I think.
For, now they’ve found the butterfly is in its life, two very separate beings.
Two separate strands of DNA work at different times within this missing link.
One is for the caterpillar, while the other is for the butterfly’s wings to bring.
One must die, or so they say, to allow the metamorphosis to bring the other to life.
But if they say one is dying… I think not… perchance it dreams, or does it sleep?
Or is this like the Phoenix that dies in flames, to again be reborn amid the strife?
Next time you hold a caterpillar or a butterfly in your hand… think about this leap.
Imagine all the wonder of their secret lives, and all that this can mean.
Not only is it a miracle, but perchance a place where we have found our dreams.
If we accept our own definition
of the Universe as the sum of all,
we must abandon the supposition
that it’s inflating like a giant ball.
There is no doubt distant galaxies race
away from each other increasingly,
and, relative to each other in space,
their pace accelerates unceasingly.
In point of fact, at their farthest extreme,
they don’t obey the speed limit of light,
but this is only the way that things seem
and what we observe is not always right.
Though logical, it’s tough to understand:
Something into nothing does not expand.
We’re made of stuff that’s hardly even here
composed of atoms that are mostly space.
The solidity with which they appear
happens because their trapped electrons race
around the nucleus -- near light speed fast --
and always possess a negative charge
that wont let other negative charge past.
They also make the atom appear large.
Around the nucleus, that is tiny,
electrons blur to a far distant cloud.
Were we their size, we wouldn’t even see
the nucleus we’d remotely enshroud.
The percent of empty space that we define
is ninety nine point nine nine nine nine nine.
The universe is mostly abnormal,
if we accept that physicists aren’t wrong
and gravity remains uniformal,
otherwise galaxies couldn’t last long.
They’d spin themselves apart, unless, unseen,
missing mass resolves the disparity.
Dark Matter is needed to intervene.
Though not found, it can’t be a rarity.
“The clusters are like icebergs,” they patter,
“since Newton’s math holds true, so should be served.
There’s five times as much as normal matter,
or else momentum’s poise can’t be conserved.”
Though they’ll claim science is observation,
that’s often tweaked to fit the equation.
-- James Ph. Kotsybar
Four hundred and eight million years or more
ago, these mandibled arthropods were alive
left years to languish in the fossil drawer,
unearthed again, just crushed remains survive.
These natives of what would be Aberdeen,
by nearly thirty million years, predate
the oldest bugs that anyone had seen --
New York’s silverfish must now abdicate.
Their body shape seems to exemplify
what we today can still identify --
ancestors of our modern dragonfly --
and that they had four wings we can imply.
What does it matter? What’s it signify?
Once life emerged from seas, it learned to fly.
Faith is often blind, and that seems tragic.
It drops to its knees, humble and devout.
Science’s problem is lack of magic.
It can’t accept the mystical throughout.
Each sees light stream
through a prism of glass.
The pious think of stained-glass
and God’s bliss, and all but simplicity they let pass.
They have no need for a hypothesis.
The logical need to know how light’s bent,
and measure photon wavelength to decide
if particle-waves end the argument
or there are more dimensions to divide.
The first has all the answers that it needs.
The other must seek before it accedes.
Voyager 1’s “The Sounds Of Earth”
Eleven billion miles from the sun
a record, golden when it left these parts,
a runaway hit on Voyager One,
at Ophiuchus, sure to top the charts,
will introduce Mozart to other stars,
not to mention Berry’s “Johnny B. Goode”.
The knock-offs sold in alien bazaars
will knock their socks off or at least it should
make them extend their eyestalks in surprise.
They’ll soon begin to learn to sing along
to whales recorded and the baby’s cries —
adepts might even master Earth’s birdsong.
Should Beethoven not prove to be their fave,
Then Guan PingHu’s GuQin could be their rave.
Physicists are theorists so extreme
that they can get lost in speculation
and even lose track, or so it would seem,
of designated abbreviation.
They’ll say string theory has many parts
that are likely aspects of just one thing
they like to call “M,” but, with all their smarts,
when asked what it means, they start stammering.
“What does M stand for?” -- a simple query
that receives an obfuscating reply:
“Membrane, Mother or Master Theory.”
They really don’t know, and they don’ know why
nor grasp that they’ve lost their unified voice,
thus need to respond with multiple-choice.
Researchers assume they can trust their GUT –
that is their Grand Unified Theory.
This simple answer is close, they think, but
the resolution’s still a bit bleary.
They’ve linked electromagnetic with weak,
on their way to full unification
but, for final culmination, must seek
the gravity of the situation.
They trust they’ll find the graviton one day,
through their particle acceleration.
Without this carrier to show the way,
they’re lacking complete illumination.
And thus they hesitate to claim they know,
since, still in the dark, they may stub their TOE.
When life on this planet seems cumbersome
and weighted with serious magnitude,
delight dragged down by deep opprobrium,
I pad into the kitchen for some food.
In front of the refrigerator, I
see tacked with tacky magnets your sweet face ,
in the photograph taken last July,
and what was crushing becomes an embrace.
All the gravity of Earth seems flimsy,
it’s unyielding force demonstrably soft,
when refrigerator magnets’ whimsy
can anchor cheerful memories aloft.
Cold comfort may sound like a paradox,
but nourishment’s on both sides of this box.
Soon all things will owe themselves to progress
and nature will neither wane nor wax
accosted by bulbs and cog-laden streams.
Children in god-awful Christmas jumpers
gather around the May-pole to watch
the leaves become what they’re deprived of.
We are taught to fear puddles, duty free
purchases, and heroes speak in slant rhyme.
Thermodynamics washes the feet
of tired old gravity, entropic
kisses to keep loved ones close; parody—
if absence does what it does, we should leave
and never return to this place of progress
where bluebells can’t frost and starlings sing falsetto.
Researchers seeking solutions can’t say
things are the way they are because of God.
From Spirit, scientists must shy away
or risk their labors be seen as slipshod.
The fraction of them considered devout
must keep their studies apart from belief,
not daring to proselytize about
what brings their natures comfort and relief.
Faith remains outside their explanations,
despite convictions which may be affirmed.
No matter what profound implications,
their answers must be physically termed.
They want to know God’s thoughts, yet they resist
even acknowledging God could exist.
First and foremost stands in the hierarchy,
Testosterone that regulates sexual desire.
Phenyl ethylamine makes a person catchy,
Its effect is time-bound but not entire.
A love interest is signaled by Dopamine,
Your attention on the person is alright.
Your blood is set racing by Norepinephrine,
And prompts you for action ‘fight or flight’.
The control of moods goes with Serotonin,
And violent behaviour is almost set light.
Released at the moment of orgasm Oxytocin,
Influences bonding between the two alright.
So many gods and so many paths that wind,
If you don’t mind call me in case you find.
April 5, 2014
I gaze upon the vast night sky
And I saw a star that caught my eye
I watched the star as it twinkled bright
And wondered about its ancient light
Obeying only the universal laws
Unconcerned by the effect and cause
Destruction and creation are sublime
And exist in the very same moment in time
I wondered if it had ceased to be
And only its past is to be shown to me
From a million eons long ago
I am blessed tonight by a brilliant glow
But I know if it ever seems to be gone
It is only evolving and ready to move on
Man and feather from Pisa may fall same
Yet higher than Pisa's leaning fault, time
Defying gravity honors your name
And I disdainful of vital ooze, chime
The coming of the beast, the invention
Of your kind. I hail the focus of mind
That turned the heavens around the station
Of the sun, and made the West Bible blind
Straying from their own interpretation.
Indeed you proclaimed on sight, but Newton
What he could not see, followed your action
Inventing causes for effect, the sun
Cannot fall like feather or man, instead
Upheld, by the uninvented and dread.
So once the heavens to criticism jarred
By the magnified reflection of light
The hand of God upon creation marred
Set you apart to make the gospel right
By twisting nature too, and both you claimed
Wrinkled by interpretation now quails
And you embellished, rise still bold, untamed
Reason replacing faith in the blind sails.
Yet something human brings me to your throne
And make me laud even errors explained,
And mind that God at Babel fain condoned.
What bright acolytes pant now in your train
To move not only sky, but God away
By man Enlightened who shall yet decay
I saw the Sun and the Moon take a stance in the universe.
And an unknown Star placed over them was put in charge.
The whole entire inhabitants scattered themselves at large.
And all the lands and seas became separated by a diverse.
The Sun Shined brightly in the west never to set in a curse.
The Moon gleamed fully bright to the east as the surcharge.
The door had been widely opened and many came by barge.
The stress was great because the world went into a reverse.
Fate and destiny was being dished out like a deck of cards.
Skies lit up and the Stars came back out like never before.
And the palm trees took up to the seas like standing guards.
And from this stemmed growth from that one opened door.
The Sun and Moon are exalted above and beyond you all,
And so is the Star in charge of those that flaw in its thrall.
® Registered: Ann Rich 2008
I am a piece of reinforced concrete,
I can withstand a lot of punishment.
I am frequently used to make pavement,
Since I can absorb the impact of feet.
My bones are parallel prestrained steel rods,
Placed along my body to add more strength.
Steel becomes stiffer when you stretch its length,
And my flesh mixed of ground rock and dirt clods.
In modern times I have many a niche,
Into any shape I am pourable.
I serve the needs of the poor and the rich,
Being strong, versatile, and durable.
Bridge, foundation, and irrigation ditch;
For any project I am feasible.
papered dipstick of today's measure
will words be too acidic or too base
budding our tongues to sour or pleasure
a tinge of breath exhaled paper chase
our empathy in hues of blues, our anger
bright crimson of hot-blooded emotion
hypothalamic firings line up with danger
counterbalancing truer feelings of devotion
emotions of one or all together as a whole
governed by what lies deep in our brains
unable for our free will to take control
so logically, we're helpless to abstain
both in-the-pink and pie-in-the-blue-skies
measure of our civility, as always, applies
© Goode Guy 2011-11-04
I put up the barriers and molded the Great White Stone.
I searched all written doctrines that embodied my light.
It was a remarkable journey let me tell you of my flight.
I even went through DNA of every strand of every bone.
I matched all the genetic linage to kind energies ingrown.
It was like an open door after door where all turns bright.
The misplacement that followed is truly way out of sight.
Seeing it all made me search my truth and I wasn’t alone.
I felt like I am the only one.
There was just me to believe.
There was too much undone.
More than humans conceive.
This was an origin unknown and not of this world.
This is timeless intelligence appropriately swirled.
“The fate of individual human beings may not now be connected in a deep way with the rest
of the universe, but the matter out of which each of us is made is intimately tied to the
processes that occurred immense intervals of time and enormous distances in space away
from us. Our Sun is a second- or third-generation star. All of the rocky and metallic
materials we stand on, the iron in our blood, the calcium in our teeth, and the carbon in
our genes were produced billions of years ago in the interiors of a red giant star. We are
made of star-stuff.”
I am a scion of the Milky Way
Wholly unique to the highest degree.
My soul is as old as light-years away
My provenance stems from cosmic debris.
I need not religion to guide my life
My quintessence antedates mankind’s creeds.
The brief time walking beneath starlit nights
Imbue my soul more than mankind’s prayer beads.
Every thought, all that I am is akin
To these heavenly designers birthplace
The very essence, my soul within
Began eons in interstellar space.
Knowing who I am and where I came from
Is a greater joy than what I’ve become.
A creative mix of oil and blood,
for it only matters whats under the hood.
And the smell of gas,
and the smell is good.
Eight pistons tunring,
the rich fuel burning.
The need to race,
the urge thats churning.
The stretch of open road,
to only go fast, I make an ode.
The acceleration that stops,
the blood that once flowed.
Driving is not a sin,
it just shows where I've been.