A year ago, Mei Xiang and Tian Tian’s trysts Produced a little miracle: a son— According to esteemed zoologists, Not one percent of such old couples’ fun Delivers baby giant panda bears! At National Zoo, devoted keepers say This cub is fond of apples and of pears, Unhurried but creative in his play, Remarkably observant, and astute: Not built for muggy metro weather, he Skedaddles for the nearest AC chute On dog days—so he proves himself to be No dummy! … Now it’s time to join DC, Exclaiming: Happy Birthday, Xiao Qi Ji!
“Life coach sent in to calm Wally wars on Scilly isles … Lizzi Larbalestier specialises in helping her clients develop ‘compassion for yourselves, others and the planet’ … [She] was flown in … to keep the peace between Wally the Walrus and some rather irate boatmen“ —The Sunday Times
“Pontoon built to help Wally the walrus rest” —BBC News
Folks, here’s a story ’bout Wally the Walrus:
He had a face quite dour and dol’rous;
He was a rubbery, blubbery male,
And he crashed on boats with the weight of a whale.
Ho-dee ho-dee ho Ho-dee ho-dee ho
Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi
Hey-dee hey Hey-dee hey
Whoah Whoah
He messed around near the Isles of Scilly
(It felt like home though not so chilly):
He boarded all the boats he found
’Cause he just loved throwing his weight around.
Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi [etc.]
Soon the boatmen, turning testier,
Called a lady called Larbalestier,
An arbitrator who taught compassion,
To stop poor Wal from fish-boat-crashin’.
Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi [etc.]
She didn’t offer him gold or palaces,
She didn’t bother with psychoanalysis,
She gave that walrus his own pontoon,
Which saved his hide from a sharp harpoon.
“‘We Don’t Need Another Michelangelo’: In Italy, It’s Robots’ Turn to Sculpt” —The New York Times
Take note, young sculptors, Venice to Milan—
Your genius and your skill are no more needed,
For these machines work harder than you can
And don’t complain when they get superseded.
They may not have a vision, style, or grace
Or any other trait that art requires,
But we can fit a dozen in one space
And run them round the clock—how this inspires!
And who’s to say a hundred years from now
(For those of us who might be down-the-roaders)
That we’ll recall what art was anyhow—
By that point all the “artists” will be coders.
“Billionaire Richard Branson, the founder of Virgin Group… became the first person to reach space using his own ship in this historical space race, beating Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk.” —Fossbytes
“Sic itur ad astra.” (“Thus one journeys to the stars.”) —Virgil, the Aeneid, book IX
Whammily bammily
Branson the billionaire
had to be first, as he’ll
surely explain:
“Riding my rocket felt
predestinational;
sorry, boys—space is a
Virgin domain.”
“Ritz leaves internet ‘speechless’ after explaining reason behind cracker shape” —Fox News
The toothsome crackers known as Ritz
Are shaped for slicing cheese to bits,
Or so the Web has just divulged.
The eyes of countless foodies bulged
With shock and serious distress:
A trait ascribed to prettiness
Was really a serrated tease
Designed for brutalizing cheese!
Though some might groan and others screech,
The Internet was robbed of speech,
Which, little though this tale befits,
Should win some amnesty for Ritz.
“‘Neptune’ appears in the waves during storm in Newhaven” —BBC News
Neptune himself appearing in the storm?
Few ever hoped for it—the god ascending,
Divine locks pluming out, a spectral swarm,
His whole head thrusting upwards, daylight bending
Around the wild white undulating form,
Through grief, some say, at never comprehending
A god’s gift, always soaring, always ending.
“Prince Charles says cheap food and industrial farming are ruining the planet” —The Washington Post
Your future king is on the radio, Objecting to cheap monoculture fare: Unless you eat organic food, there’s no Redemption for the planet we all share— Forget that I own more of it than you! … Unfettered large-scale farming industry Tears down the web of rural life I knew, Upsetting nature’s ways. The heart will be Ripped out of Britain’s countryside if your Eccentric-farmer types go out of biz, Knee-deep in what makes agriculture pure … I‘ve waited eons to succeed mum Liz— Now I’m concerned that if Big Ag ordain, Great Britain won’t be worth the wait to reign!