by Jerome Betts

“Kamala Harris pledges to ‘chart a new way forward’ as she accepts nomination”
—The Guardian

All hail the victorious Veep
Confronting an odious creep!
May the heir of Joe B
Defeat DJT
The nightmare disturbing our sleep.

by Nora Jay

“All eyes on America’s ‘blue wall’ as Harris scrambles to woo key voters”
—The Guardian

Alarm seized Winfrey, Walz, and all
As Harris, sans preamble,
Forgot America’s blue wall,
And set off at a scramble.

It looked a touch undignified
(The Fox gang called it “kooky”),
But soon the rumors multiplied:
She’d spied a passing Wookey.

So much is spent to court so few:
Such sums on vain promoting!
I know already, as do you,
For whom we will be voting;

The die was cast a long time since:
It’s positively flukey
To meet a soul one might convince;
And hence the power of Wookey.

Those happy few, that merry band,
Unfixed in their positions,
Who can appreciate, or stand,
A range of politicians:

Those shining sitters on the fence:
Don’t call them strange or spooky;
With luck we’ll praise, some four months hence,
This scramble to the Wookey.

by Alex Steelsmith

Amateur fossil hunter Eddie Templeton’s “latest discovery may be the most unexpected…
[T]he tusk belonged to a Columbian mammoth… a first-of-its-kind find for the region.”
—CNN

Luckily, pluckily,
Eddie the amateur
picked up a fossil that’s
one of a kind.

Even professional
paleontologists
never expected so
mammoth a find.

by Marshall Begel

“To divert focus from atrocities on women, Taliban want outsiders to visit Afghanistan
for beautiful landscapes, food & hospitality”
—India Today

Come take the road that’s traveled least—
The theocratic Middle East!
Where Afghan history is kept
By Taliban decree, except:

Those Buddhist relics, we destroyed ’em,
Enlightened women, we avoid ’em,
Our civic neighbors, we annoyed ’em,
Professors… well, we unemployed ’em.

So book one of our roomy flights—
But please don’t mention human rights!

by Julia Griffin

“The scientists found that human aging does not happen in a gradual, linear way. Rather, the majority
of the molecules they studied showed accelerated, non-linear changes at the ages of 44 and 60.”
—CNN

Till I was forty-four years old, my molecules
Were youthful; ditto for my tresses’ folecules;
And then, with no forewarning or compunction,
Both started mitochondrial dysfunction.
I started graying and I started aging,
With damaged DNA and autophaging;
And then it all went quiet, till last autumn:
Time’s germs are loose, and now again I’ve caught ’em.
This year, to grow non-linearly older
Means less to grey and rather more to molder,
With age’s agents’ frightful inundation:
Beware spontaneous deamination!
What’s the next milestone? Science seems divided.
I’d hate to go before my time’s decided.

by Simon MacCulloch

“Energy bills to rise for millions this winter”
—The Sun

“Advanced alien civilisations, if they exist, could satisfy the energy needs of their home planet by
migrating near miniature black holes and trapping the potentially unlimited energy around them …
[A black hole] can be maintained by throwing small amounts of matter into it…”
—The Independent

Looking for a small black hole to tap the power round it?
There’s lots of them to choose from and you’ll know it when you’ve found it.
You have to bring some matter—say, a poem—to throw in, though;
They advertise themselves quite widely—search “Submissions Window.”

by Steven Kent

“Players using toy claw game surprised by live groundhog among stuffed animals”
—The Guardian

My cousin, Punxsutawney Phil, each year will make the news,
The biggest headline whore you ever saw,
And yet, between the two of us, who’s really paid some dues?
A shadow? Buddy, please—I faced the claw!

by Steven Urquhart Bell

“Switching off from job boosts productivity…”
—BBC

I take a break from working
Whenever I have time;
It makes me more productive—
It’s how I wrote this rhyme.

by Bruce Bennett

“For six years, [penguins] Sphen and Magic were devoted partners, adoptive parents
and queer icons. After Sphen died this month at age 11, Magic began singing.”
—The New York Times

Magic’s singing over Sphen.
Tell me, people, where or when
penguin grief could move us more?
Love is love and will endure.

Love is love, so let us praise
all the creatures, all the ways
Love exalts, again, again!
Magic’s singing over Sphen.

by Stephen Gold

“It may seem pretty unfair, but ugly people’s lives are shorter.”
—The Times

“What a piece of work is man.”
Although it’s oft been said,
Alas, it’s never said of me,
That’s why I’ll soon be dead.

I’m hunched of back, grotesque of eye,
My broken teeth are yellow.
You’ll hear no cry as I pass by,
“Oh! What a handsome fellow!”

Now tolls the bell to bid farewell,
And go to join the dodo.
If looks can kill,
It seems they will.
Yours ever,
Quasimodo.

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!