by Chris O’Carroll
“I was at the bottom of my class. I started doing heroin, and I went to the top
of my class. Suddenly I could sit still, and I could read and I could concentrate.
I could listen to what people were saying.”
—Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.
A shot is bad, the new health czar is keen
To tell us, when that shot is a vaccine,
But we can amp our grades if we begin
As he did, with a hit of heroin.
by Philip Kitcher
Renaissance nobles stocked a cabinet
with scientific curiosities,
odd objects from around the world—and yet
not half as curious as these.
by Ruth S. Baker
“Elusive deer spotted wearing high-vis jacket in Canada: ‘Who is responsible?’”
—The Guardian
Said Santa: “I’ve waited an eon
For deer to get jackets of neon!
A single red nose
Can’t do much in big snows:
And as for a logo, put me on.”
by Alex Steelsmith
“‘I practiced orthopedic surgery for almost 45 years and originally used plaster casts for fractures. Now, every orthopedist
uses fiberglass casts—an entirely different technique…'”
—BuzzFeed
Dated, fated,
casts of plaster
have at last been
cast aside.
Orthopedists
say the die is
cast; the plaster
cast has died.
*This is (to our knowledge) the second-ever published double trochee. The first is here, and Alex’s guidelines for writing one are here. — Eds.
by Steven Kent
“Leading Republican strategist rebukes Trump for bringing ‘chaos’ back”
—The Guardian
Such bad appointments—quite a trove—
And chaos, too, claims Karl Rove.
Election fraud, corruptive guile
Demand a certain sense of style:
It’s fine to trample every norm
As long as there’s a show of form.
Subvert the Constitution, yes,
But goodness, man, don’t make a mess!
by Nora Jay
“Female astronaut goes to space but can’t escape online sexism by ‘small men’”
—The Guardian
After William Allingham
Up beyond the airspace,
Past the oxygen,
We daren’t go a-posting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, he-folk,
Typing all alone,
Certain that a spaceship
Needs testosterone.
In their parents’ basements,
See them brood, distraught,
On that oxymoron:
“Female astronaut,”
We could post from Pluto
Or Orion’s Den:
Still we’d hear the hate from
Brittle little men.
by Dan Campion
“Here Is the Date When Life on Earth Will End, Long Before the Sun Explodes”
—Daily Galaxy
Long, long before the Sun explodes
(Five billion years or so),
Not even roaches, mites, and toads
Will thrive. Where can we go,
In several hundred million years,
Instead of being baked?
We’ll cook in place. As Hades nears,
We’ll say the heat is faked.
by Marshall Begel
“[P]olice arrest a cigarette smuggler disguised as a [hyacinth] water plant as he tries to cross a river
from Paraguay to Argentina.”
—Daily Mail
Sneakily, peekily
Paraguay snorkeler
Smuggling cigarettes
Ended up caught.
Is this a workable
Entrepreneurial
Business scenario?
Certainly not.
Officers saw through his
Invisibility—
Maybe the hyacinth
Captured their notice?
Modification of
Biomaterials
May improve camouflage—
Next time, try lotus.
by Stephen Gold
“Gin and tonic overtakes cup of tea as Britain’s favorite drink.”
—The Times
Tea used to be my drink of choice,
I thought of booze as sin.
But then I found (Rejoice! Rejoice!)
The wondrous world of gin.
My folks, of course, have cut up rough
That I have “gone astray.”
But why? I only drink the stuff
A dozen times a day.
Don’t ask me, please, to tea for two.
A glass of Gilbey’s, chilled,
Will always beat that feeble brew,
And that’s my view, distilled.
by Chris O’Carroll
The first AG the big guy designaetz
Has problematic habits when he daetz
(He and the boss might make ideal cellmaetz).
As word about his frat-boy traetz creaetz
PR nightmares, his case disintegraetz.
by Susan McLean
“Vladimir Shklyarov, Russian ballet star, dies aged 39 after falling from building”
—The Guardian
Shklyarov, a dancer of great talents
who had condemned the war against Ukraine,
died in a fall because he lost his balance
(as ballet dancers are so wont to do)
on a high balcony. You’d best refrain
from knocking what your leader does, or you
may find that you have lost your balance, too.
by Dan Campion
“Physicists Shed Light on Precise Shape of Single Photon”
—Sci.News
That science sheds new light on light
Should not surprise or shock us.
But “Some are Born to Endless Night”
And grope through ceaseless ruckus;
There’s more of them, it seems, these days.
However, hope shines bright.
Behold Aurora’s least displays:
Each photon in its flight
Conforms to laws and does not cheat
Nor sneak nor snarl nor sneer.
A photon’s true and strong and fleet,
A star by which to steer.
by Marshall Begel
“Thailand’s baby pygmy hippo Moo Deng now has an official song…”
—The Associated Press
They come by car, arrive in trains,
They sail by ocean ship-O,
To see the pup who entertains:
Moo Deng the pigmy hippo!
So I composed her special tune—
A charming, winsome trip-O,
And if you want to hear me croon,
Hold up your lighted Zippo.
Now everybody, sing along,
And let it really rip-O!
If anyone enjoyed my song,
Be sure to leave a tip-O.
by Iris Herriot
“California man arrested after climbing into hospital ceiling and getting stuck
Police say man, believed to be under influence of drugs, walked into ER restroom
in Upland and did not come out”
—The Guardian
He wandered into Upland
As giddy as a pup:
His limbs were very supple, and
He kept on going up.
“The ceiling’s where I’ll lurk!” he
Declared, all cock-a-hoop:
But then he went cold turkey,
And now he’s in the coop.
by Julia Griffin
“AI poetry rated better than poems written by humans, study shows
Findings suggest non-expert poetry readers who participated preferred AI works
because they find them more straightforward and accessible”
—The Guardian
Asked to write a sonnet (subject unspecified), ChatGPT instantly obliged. Half of its sonnet appears below.
It wrote the lines in roman font; the italic lines are my replacement for its originals. Full ChatGPT sonnet
available on request. (Or you could ask it yourself.)
—JG
With shades of pink and gold in soft embrace.
ChatGPT, does that look good to you?
The quiet whispers time’s unhurried pace.
I know it took no time at all to do.
The trees, like silent sentinels, stand tall,
Well, yes, they would. That is the thing with trees.
Each leaf that falls, a story to recall,
Not much, unless the tree had some disease.
Yet in the heart, a deeper strength remains,
And what makes you an expert on the heart?
Of dreams that rise and hopes that never fade.
Or hopes that rise, and dreams—don’t let me start.
So as the day unravels and takes form,
Say we’re not looking at the art’s new norm!