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
Devonian birthed an innocent beach
down at the delta of a river great.
Compressed and oppressed by sediment weight,
sand became stone hidden far from life's reach.
A northern ice-angel came to impeach
the cloak of silt atop the stone's pate.
Leaving exposed in a fixed angry state
labyrinths and crevices bred of the breach.
But soon upon the sedimentary,
dampened and moist facing east and north,
spread verdant moss and ethereal fern.
The friendlier integumentary
fed roots of cherry and beech bringing forth
flight that ascended to Holocene's turn.
Ann Silverthorn 1995
This poem is about Panama Rocks, formed by a glacier, in upstate New York.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.