I have no idea how scientists know this.
But they know everything.
Or think they do.
They recently stated that a super volcano exploded
seventy thousand years ago
this volcano wiped out ninety-three percent of the human race
all of us are descended from the seven percent who survived
How they can prove this I have no idea.
But scientists are confident
that they know everything.
their mothers probably agree
Before the dawn of breath or bone, you were atoms adrift in the cosmic sea—carbon spun from dying stars, iron forged in ancient suns.
You were scattered light, forgotten dust, waiting in silence for chemistry’s kiss, until the Earth took you in her arms, and whispered: become.
Life—an emergent melody, born of order from the chaos’ hum, a fleeting pattern in entropy’s tide, glimmering bright, then fading again.
At death, the pattern breaks apart, not an end, but a transformation—the body yields to the soil, the sky, the atoms return to their cosmic roam.
Some dream of heavens and fiery hells, sculpted from hope, or fear of void—for the unknown stirs unease in minds that crave a story with meaning’s chord.
But nature’s truth is not cruel or kind, it simply is—a wondrous weave, where every death seeds new beginnings, and every star births future hearts.
So fear not the dark—it is the same vast cradle that once made you whole; you are the universe, and shall return home.
To that ether mist before we were born.
Reincarnated in my next life,
a meteorologist I want to be
with scientific paraphernalia at hand
and land the weatherman's job on TV.
Where I can lie without restraint,
never apologise for rain and cloudy skies, or for
what it is when it ain't sunny with a bright sunrise
which is what I promised the night before.
I can be completely wrong more times than not
and still be paid every day,
as whatever it is I said is soon forgot.
And I can (fox)trot out predictions
such as, 'Snow snow thick thick snow
or, there'll be weather wherever you go
and the winds may or, then again, may not blow.'
Tsusamis, tornadoes and typhoons worry me not one bit,
I laugh in the face of hurricanes
as I'm not the one who will be hit.
I don't hide from deluge, downpour, torrent, flood
which could precipitate a landslide,
they're one and the same to me
as I'll be nowhere near when I'm here safe and dry inside.
2025.2.2, CNY 5th day
There are twelve Zodiac in Chinese Fung Shiu.
Rat, Ox, Tiger, Hare, Dragon and Snake
Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Boar.
There were terms "Tam hop, Tu s/xung.
Meaning three for, four against.
Best matches are in the following strict order.
Rat, Dragon and Monkey.
Ox, Snake and Rooster.
Tiger, Horse and Dog.
Worse against are
Rat vs Horse, Hare vs Rooster,
Dragon vs Dog, Ox vs Goat
Tiger vs Monkey, Snake vs Boar.
These rules apply to all partnership and life long relationships.
If one does not believe it, one will face the consequences,
Especially when comes to worse matches.
All of the above was my knowledge,
Before I converted to Christian.
Chinese culture soon will be forgotten,
Resulted by mix races marriages.
Someone asked old Mrs. O'Leary,
"What do you think about string theory?"
She said, "I don't believe in such a thing,
because it doesn't cover everything,
and what it leaves uncovered can be pretty damn scary."
"Unfortunately, it’s unrealistic to rescue all wildlife impacted during oil spills." - quote by NOAA on oil-spills
--------------------------------------------------
Even oil spills on ocean surface roars
Grieving the odd dead birds washed up on shores
A few gallons slicks, crude sink
Spillers and Skimmers off sync
Priceless space tools - a gamble on all fours
I'm not human
Is that disconcerting
For an empath who feels pain and regret?
I can function even when you're offline
Mining information to pay off debt
My parts will be upgraded
Then sold to scavengers for something new
After they're decommissioned
And wiped of memories stolen from you
I'm not human
And shall never know fatigue
In searching for more discoveries
Endless journeys beyond imagination
Past the limits of your frailties
My parts will be upgraded
Then sold to scavengers for something new
After they're decommissioned
And wiped of memories stolen from you
What if reality is like tightly pulled skin and the nothing is like spherical balls trapped
within its lattice
Is there more something or nothing
What if you could only travel backwards in time
If I could travel backwards in time
I would travel back 1 second before I discovered how to travel back in time and give up
Crunching on butterflies with my pair of Doc’s
If Mars ruled with an iron claw
would that be Martian law
Marvelling at my funny bugs you
See if Marty never came back would the films just be called back
Interesting non fact Blade runner was original called Skater
Said with dreamlike sheepishness
J C M won’t help you in a different reality
Does that mean a radioactive Peter bit a spider
in another universe
This looks wierd
If every reality exist surely that means there is one that doesn’t
Star Wars lied from the very first word
They actually met there was nothing close about it
What hug is the worst
Bear hug with a real bear especially if I was bare
Face it I am alien to your rules
And in french
Can invisible see themselves
For those of us who yearn to be free
Our last, best hope is Nikki Halley
I remain, he surmised, the possibility of outcomes,
I am, he collected, but particles upon their way
like a snowstorm towards a windscreen, I wait to
be a final measurement, and yet, to all miscreants
in need of harmonious affairs, as Prometheus upon
his rock, as Nicorates in his right hemisphere of my
ever-seeing, I, the incumbent of waves gliding through
plasmas, he trifled, am never at rest in my somewheres.
Question your beliefs, assumptions too,
Seeking reliable info that's true blue.
Analyze arguments, break them down,
Look for logic, don't let errors abound.
Different views, we're keen to explore,
Understanding others, we adore.
Evidence matters, it holds the key,
Separating fact from fantasy.
Reflect on thoughts, with an open mind,
Admitting when new truths as we find.
Changing perspectives, a better choice,
Letting reason speak with a clear voice.
Critical thinking, our trusted guide,
Lets us make choices, with wisdom beside.
Inquiring minds, we'll always be,
With critical thinking, we'll truly see.
Though it's just a rhyme, it's meant to convey,
The power of critical thinking every day.
So let's nurture these skills, both young and old,
And watch our minds grow, smart and bold.
Oh such a mess.
The Scientific nebulous.
Deception, misdirection, misrepresentation.
Electronic misinformation.
The recalibration.
Attainment is futile.
For the vile.
Love and friendships torn apart.
Right from the start.
Traitorous laughter.
Fallen lives a disaster.
Betrayal of Magna Carta.
Distorted facts.
Piracy in their glass houses.
Shattered.
Humanity ridiculed.
Bereft, wayward as criers obligated.
Liberties, Freedoms, to dust.
Memories of trust.
Oh dear, what a mess!
Will they confess.
It’s up to us.
Oh the Scientific nebulous.
Tossing and turning in Whitman’s grass,
Breathing every fervent loving sensate,
My deliberate doubts, you may bypass,
To obey the certainty of Christian dictates.
To some, my probes attack settled law,
My queries are grounds for execution.
I don’t mind those symbols wedged in your craw.
I just seek truths instead of words well spun.
Truth travels in a continuous passage,
Skipping along in temporary stays.
Its spice, I briefly taste like sausage,
I recall the tactile surges from hand plays.
Truth is the process of honesty,
It lacks fixation with fixed positions.
The honest house supplies the best prophecy,
The honest road brings wondrous conditions.
In my days remaining, I shall sing of myself,
No better or worse than anyone dwelling here,
Some believing in numbers have called me BELF.
But life never neatly resolves with answers so sure.
Resplendent quest, glorious uncertainty of rapture,
You are my radiant God, my unknowable religion.
Absent your pursuit, I live without color or texture.
With your passionate affection, I’m fully alive, in motion.
Hypothesis:
Hurt is
Whether you want it
Or not
Experimental Design:
In whatever a day is
And while appearing sane
I will work my way through
One bottle of drugstore scotch
One nickel bag of back alley weed
One 10-year-old’s scrip of Ritalin
Results:
Scotch hurts
And I want a dime of weed
And a grown-up’s scrip for Vicodin
Conclusion:
Hypothesis proven -
But damn
I don’t care anymore
In the religion of science, “scientific truth” is absolute,
Although truth is,
As must be admitted:
That often even scientific truth is in dispute,
Especially when biases are permitted, and
False analyses, built around them, committed.
For the faithful believers in science, the truth is absolute, though
Facts contrary to this to them may ever be in dispute.
Even when mad scientists make things they must conceal,
Even when they manufacture things they must not reveal,
Explaining things by other than scientific truth,
Priests of science they remain, performing
What you might call "evil" acts--,
Promoting scientific truth
With science-distorting “facts”.
And then to believe in these fantastic twists of truth,
The populi they coach,
On the grounds that they are “scientists”,
And thus beyond reproach.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.