by Dan Campion
“A Swimming Dinosaur? Maybe Not, Study Says”
—The New York Times
Did Spinosaurus swim, or not?
The experts don’t agree.
Their backs are up. Their discord’s hot,
As “prickly” as can be.
I only know, were I a fish
Sometime in the Cretaceous,
It would have been my fondest wish
To dodge its jaws predaceous.
by Julia Griffin
“Tube of Ancient Red Lipstick Unearthed in Iran… The lipstick dates to between 1936 and 1687 B.C.E.,
according to a study … [A]nalysis revealed that the powder is made of hematite…, manganite, braunite, galena,
anglesite and plant-based waxes. This mixture… ‘bears a striking resemblance to the recipes of contemporary
lipsticks.’ … While researchers now know more about the vial’s contents, its owner remains mysterious.”
—Smithsonian
A thousand years and more before great Cyrus,
Beauties in Persia murmured: “Come admire us!”
And, seeking something sensuous yet zippy,
They summoned forth the world’s first scarlet lippy.
Cyrus was born and died. His Empire followed;
Conqueror Alexander’s soon was swallowed
By Rome’s. It fell. So, later, did the British.
Now, with America on top, this skittish
Adornment is unearthed, and how we prize it!
Solemn researchers rush to analyze it,
And find therein, through their exacting praxis,
Galena, anglesite, and plant-based waxes.
“How like,” they cry, “how curiously similar
The wares today of Revlon and of Rimmel are!”—
And all experience the reassurance
Evoked by tokens of our own endurance.
Still, there’s a warning, too, that time’s dispensing
For those today whose trade is influencing:
Those Persian belles: we know their lips were glowing,
But who they were, we have no way of knowing.
by Marshall Begel
In Limerick, Ireland, a judge tosses a woman’s £650,000 injury claim after she was “pictured winning
a Christmas tree-throwing contest”
—Telegraph
Her ill-gotten settlement bought
A comfortable life—so she thought—
Until it was blown
When spruces were thrown,
And she was the one who was caught.
by Philip Kitcher
When a benefit’s bestowed
Fair returns are always owed:
We should thank him for the favors that he did,
Grant his plea, allow a stay,
Help his efforts to delay.
Every quo should have some corresponding quid.
If we violate this norm,
We shall summon up a storm.
He will know we knew what actions he’d forbid.
He’ll annul the Constitution
To exact his retribution,
For each quo must always have its proper quid.
by Stephen Gold
“Peppa Pig accused of turning American children into brats”
—The Times
You know how pigs aren’t meant to fly?
Well, here is one who’s fled her sty,
And landed in the USA.
We wish that she would go away!
So far from being heaven-sent,
She’s grumpy, rude and truculent,
With manners way across the line.
What is it with this surly swine?
Oh Peppa, had you been discreet,
And taught our children to be sweet,
Offense would never have been taken.
Grunting, dear, won’t save your bacon.
by Ruth S. Baker
“The Eurasian eagle owl named Flaco, which escaped New York City’s Central Park Zoo last year,
has died after crashing into a building in Manhattan… [Some] speculate that the bird was in search
of love whenever he ventured away from Central Park.”
—The Guardian
It’s news to make New Yorkers choke:
Their owl’s disastrous fall;
He soared in search of love, and broke.
Oh, Flaco! Don’t we all?
by Simon MacCulloch
“[T]he evidence for cogitating pond scum grows daily.”
—Scientific American
Indeed, and I think I have found
A method infallibly sound
To advance its detection:
Just call an Election
And scum that can think will abound.
by Dan Campion
“A man sues Powerball after being told his $340M ‘win’ was a mistake”
—NPR
Oops, sorry. What you saw online
Was just a typo, Mr. Cheeks.
Forget the El Dorado mine
That every ticket buyer seeks.
The world works this way. AI too.
What’s shown on-screen is often wrong.
As Plato said, what humans view
Is shadows. We’re all strung along.
So, John, please know, you’re not alone.
By all means, sue, and press your plea.
But if they don’t pay, laugh, don’t groan.
That’s how to win the lottery.
by Steven Kent
“Sloshed, plastered and gazeboed: why Britons have 546 words for drunkenness”
—The Guardian
Though soberly some Yanks might mock us,
Brits maintain a lengthy list
Of terms we coin to honor Bacchus:
Plastered, papered, pickled, pissed.
Five hundred forty-six exactly—
Most impressive, don’t you think?
To this I say (and not abstractly):
Mate, let’s have another drink!
by Alex Steelsmith
“Six months after the devastating wildfire that consumed much of Lahaina,
the landmark banyan tree shows signs of recovery…”
—The Honolulu Star-Advertiser
Prominent, eminent,
beautiful banyan tree,
symbol of hope amid
ashes and grief,
issuing oxygen
photosynthetically,
are you exhaling a
sigh of re-leaf?
by Julia Griffin
A cat was cute sometime this week.
A timid child began to speak.
A widow found a grateful pet.
A pauper learned an old barrette
Was actually a rare antique.
Though Congress seems a broken clique,
And globally the outlook’s bleak,
Somewhere not far from you, I’ll bet,
A cat was cute.
It’s true that Donald popped his beak,
In his accustomed state of pique,
And called himself Navalny—yet
Remember: on the Internet,
A cat was cute.
by Jesse Anna Bornemann
“A New Orleans Man Wants His Opossum Back. Thousands Have Joined His Plea.”
—The New York Times
Wildlife agents, bend the law some—
Let the man keep his opossum!
It doesn’t bite!
It won’t defy you!
Can’t it just enjoy the bayou?
by Bruce Bennett
“A collapse in microbe diversity puts… French cheeses at risk”
—Vox
“Say a prayer for Camembert!”
Is it in trouble? Oui!
And as you do, remember blue,
and do not leave out brie.
That world we’d face would be a place
too barren to survive in!
So gird your curds. Direct your words.
“May microbes stay alive in
This Brave New Age. Don’t turn that page.
Don’t make us quit this treasure.
Dieu, show restraint. Please, please, don’t taint
our aptitude for pleasure
With something vile. Let us still smile
as, savoring, we eat a
small tranche of bliss. Dieu, spare us this:
a mouthful of Velveeta!”
by Marshall Begel
“[Methodist] pastor has been arrested on allegations that he sold crystal meth out of his church’s rectory”
—ABC News
Methodist cleric had rash
Methods for pulling in cash—
Methodically working to hawk
Meth to the ministry flock.
Methinks such a dangerous course
Methuselah would not endorse.
by Steven Kent
“Reeling From $450 Million Penalty, Trump Hawks $400 Shoes”
—The New York Times
A defendant in Dutch (name of Don)
Needed revenue quick and signed on
For a footwear convention.
How fitting to mention:
The name combines sneaker and con.