by Simon MacCulloch
“Stonehenge’s altar stone was brought all the way from Scotland”
—New Scientist
The Stonehenge altar stone’s a Mac!
But though it’s nice to source a stone
They’ll wish they’d left it well alone
For now the Scots will want it back.
by Julia Griffin
“Neighbours turn on each other in Portofino air-con crackdown
As the intrigue heated up along with the temperature, Corriere della Sera reported a ‘vendetta’
among residents involving tit-for-tat denunciations [of illegal AC units] between neighbours.”
—The Guardian
It’s hard to breathe in Portofino:
When their thermometers reveal
The temperature of Hell, or Reno,
Imagine how they feel.
They need AC in Portofino!
But units are against the law,
And all are scared that some vicino
Will see, and say they saw.
And so they sweat in Portofino,
If not for heat then for despair:
Vendetta fit for Tarantino
Is seething everywhere.
Let’s wish them luck, and well-chilled vino:
They may cool down, or they may not;
Just note: ACs in Portofino
Are hot.
by Alex Steelsmith
“[Hurricane] Debby was moving so slowly, Olympians could have outrun it…
What causes hurricanes to stall?”
—The Conversation
Whirlingly, swirlingly,
tropical hurricanes
have the potential to
dawdle and stall;
sometimes, although it sounds
counterintuitive,
hurricanes aren’t in a
hurry at all.
by Philip Kitcher
“Recent research suggests that moderate drinking may not have any significant benefits
for longevity, and may even increase the risk of death and chronic disease.”
—The New York Times
Dietetic education
Told me, “Sip in moderation.
A glass of red can keep you in the pink.”
Wine and I were bosom buddies
Till the latest killjoy studies
Revived the gospel of the demon drink.
My bruschetta’s charms are scanty
When divorced from a Chianti.
The insalata verde is a bore.
Mia sposa offers pasta—
My response is simply: Basta!
Desserts are not as dolci as before.
Now, without the Côtes du Rhône,
Each brioche has turned to stone.
My quiche aux épinards needs some Chablis.
As I munch ma madeleine
I can never feel again
That welling up of childhood memory.
Lacking wine, I’m feeling peaky
As I swallow my tzatziki.
The spanakopita has lost its taste.
Kyria mou answers “No”
To some Agiorgitiko.
Our Greek cuisine becomes a barren waste.
No more tapas con Rioja,
Life is sadder, grayer, slower,
Gazpacho’s lost its zest, and so has flan.
Mi amor, let us be gayer!
Tempranillo and paella!
Let’s drink and just accept a shorter span!
by Steven Kent
“Speculation rife about Banksy’s London murals after five appear in a week”
—The Guardian
“Banksy’s billboard cat removed as meaning of his London animals revealed”
—The Guardian
One week brings five new works, and that’s terrific—
How rare that Banksy’s ever so prolific.
This enigmatic artist makes a splash
With each reveal (though clearly not for cash).
We never seem to see him, some have written,
Yet cameras cover every inch of Britain.
It’s cool these little critters made the scene,
But who the hell can tell us what they mean?
Hold on, his rep now squelches speculation.
Well, that’s a shock—the right interpretation
Demands we shun interpretation. Yup,
He merely put them here to cheer us up!
by Eddie Aderne
“Mark Zuckerberg has raised eyebrows by commissioning a giant sculpture of his wife, Priscilla Chan.
… Chan is rendered in green and appears to be mid-stride, with a large silver cloak flowing behind her.
… Zuckerberg… recently post[ed] a video of him surfing while wearing a tuxedo and holding an American flag.”
—The Guardian
Behold Priscilla, in a goddess-attitude:
A towering spectacle of caryatitude;
Now mark how Mark, the Internet torpedo,
Bestrides the surf, flag raised, in full tuxedo.
These images are overwhelming. Which is
A finer sign of super-human riches?
See two philanthropists to scare Attila:
Hail the united fortunes of Zuckzilla!
by Jerome Betts
“‘The dumbest climate conversation of all time’: experts on the Musk-Trump interview“
—The Guardian
(With apologies to Blake)
Fat cat, fat cat, posting shite
In the cybersphere at night
And exchanging ego-strokes
With the fan of Diet Cokes
Who scents more deals in “property”
In melting ice and rising sea.
X/Twitter boss, doyen of dumb,
The globe’s on course to kingdom come
From gas and oil’s bouquet of fumes,
Heat trapped beneath its toxic plumes:
What satiric hand or eye
Can match your folly as we fry?
by Dan Campion
“How Two Stranded Astronauts Are Camping Out in Space”
—Time
They’re “roughing it,” in Mark Twain style,
With grit, good humor, and a smile,
Where, were it you or I, we’d fold,
Complaining of the heat, the cold,
The lack of privacy, the grub,
The distance from the nearest pub—
Not Butch and Suni! Nope, they’re tough,
Two “campers” made of righteous stuff.
by Julia Griffin
“Technically, Thompson’s right hallux [big toe] was the first body part to complete this Olympic final.
But finish lines only recognise the chest. Lyles won gold by five thousandths of a second,
quicker than the time it takes to blink.”
—The Independent
The finish lines just recognize the chest.
They cavalierly disregard the rest,
Like Mr. Thompson’s charging dextral hallux
(It seems this word does not require italux).
It does make sense. However much diminished,
Until your chest goes still, you are not finished;
For Mr. Thompson, though, his brief elation
Must now appear a sad halluxination.
by Michael Calvert
“Italian gymnast Giorgia Villa has sent fans wild with her photos posing with Parmigiano-Reggiano (parmesan)
cheese taken when she had a cheesemaker sponsorship deal. …. The gymnast is seen in her leotard, sitting on a pile of giant
wheels of cheese, and doing the splits over a line of the wheels.”
—CNN
Grazie molto, signorina!
Truly, we have never seen a
handstand done with such élan
atop a wheel of parmesan.
Your agile leaps, your daring vaults,
and graziosa somersaults,
have helped Italia to grow
the sales of our formaggio.
Belissima! We never knew
cheesemongers came as cute as you.
(The lesson is, when selling parm,
a little cheesecake does no harm.)
by Paul Lander
Dow Jones roars higher
Trump’s Kamala Crash turned fast
To Kamala Cash!
by Steven Kent
“RFK Jr boasts of ‘a freezer full of roadkill'”
—The Guardian
If Bobby hasn’t wormed his way
Inside your brain to date,
He’s trying harder every day
(Though still not doing great).
That food now in his freezer’s not
The kind most want to eat.
What’s next? He owns a camel lot
And sells exotic meat?
His fauna tales are deeply odd,
The ones he dares to share—
You know there’s more, and worse, by God,
But those we couldn’t bear.
by Philip Kitcher
“King Charles III bestows royal title on rare golden goat breed.”
—The Associated Press
The Guernsey girls are sewing night and day to make the coat
To carry the escutcheon of their Royal Golden Goat.
A bovine baroness has been rehearsing how to bow:
The latest peer in Cumbria—a Whitbred Shorthorn cow.
Supporting aristocracy, the populace of Wales
Are seeking gooey mantles to adorn Llyn Tegid’s snails.
And Scottish hearts beat faster now the Manxshearwater flea
Has made the recent Honours List: it’s earned the CBE.
But pride in our nobility won’t reach its full extent
Till owls are picked as members of the British Parliament.
by Marshall Begel
“Fish That School Together Save Energy, Study Finds”
—The New York Times
Another school day, my life wasting away—
Two fins and a tail in the crowd.
Each day in the shoal, the sheer lack of control
Is leaving me weakened and cowed.
How I long to be free, to discover the sea,
From trenches to eddying reefs,
Ride seahorses’ tails, sing duets with the whales
And question my school-taught beliefs.
Today is my chance—I’ll embrace the expanse,
Before I’m completely stir-crazy!
Ah, who am I kidding? Those depths look forbidding
And frankly, I’m simply too lazy.