I once had a pound, and I thought I would use it
to pay for a pint or to drink a wee dram.
I once had a pound, and I worried I’d lose it—
it now buys so little, I don’t give a damn.
I once had a pound; though I struggled to earn it,
it took me some way to my purchasing goal.
I now have a pound, but I might as well burn it.
I’m giving up work. I shall go on the dole.
“Lidl ordered to destroy its Lindt-like chocolate bunnies by Swiss court Ruling on trademark case suggests German retailer could melt down and reuse the offending rabbits” —The Guardian
Ah, poor Lidl bunnies! How have they offended?
Though sweet as the Swiss, they had never pretended:
Their makers, perhaps, were impetuous riskers,
In painting their aureate wrapping with whiskers,
But this latest ruling is bitter to swallow.
Let Lindt have a melt-down—no bunnies should follow!
“Nanoengineers have developed microscopic robots… that can swim around in the lungs, deliver medication and be used to clear up life-threatening cases of bacterial pneumonia. In mice, the microrobots… resulted in 100% survival. By contrast, untreated mice all died
within three days after infection.” —UC San Diego Today
What’s the kind of medicine
That’s made for you and me?
M-I-C-R-O-S-
C-O-P-I-C.
Feeling weak and wheezy, kids?
Just call UCSD.
M-I-C-R-O-S-
C-O-P-I-C.
Micro-bots! Micro-bots!
Forever let us raise our coughless cry
Cry cry cry!
Come along and sing our song
And join our CDC:
M-I-C-R-O-S-
C-O-P-I-C.
“A pet owner who lost one of her cockatiels is carrying around its mate in a transparent backpack in an effort to lure the absent avian home.” —BBC News
“Why didn’t you say au revoir before Hightailing it and leaving me to pine? You didn’t even tweet me—though you swore, Devotedly, you’d be forever mine. I‘m made to look a proper turkey now, Displayed inside a cage as Emma walks, Not able to disguise my furrowed brow To hide its grief—instead, all Yorkshire gawks.”
“You lovesick feather-brain, you should have flown Off too. Forget old Emma, who just ties Us down, and flee—she won’t be on her own, She’ll buy new cockatiels to patronize. And think before you chicken out again, You—faint-heart cock has never won fair hen!”
“Cleaners at Amsterdam gallery ordered to let insects run wild in name of art Spiders and creepy crawlies allowed to colonise Rijksmuseum to show how perceptions have changed through the ages” —The Guardian
Their perceptions have changed
In the land of the Dutch;
Though it might seem deranged,
Their perceptions have changed;
Are the cleaners estranged?
No one’s certain how much Their perceptions have changed
In the land of the Dutch.
Now insects run wild
For the purpose of art;
For ages reviled,
These creators, so styled,
Hold viewers beguiled;
For disgust plays no part
Now insects run wild
For the purpose of art.
Some arachnids display
Around Rembrandt van Rijn;
They’re working away
In their palette of grey,
So beware, or you may
Find you’re on, or else in,
Some arachnid’s display
Around Rembrandt van Rijn.
“A new, improved [weather station] has been deployed at the roof of the world… about 131 vertical feet below the [Everest] summit… Though the trek to install the station was not without risk, it would yield direct benefits… Tenzing [Gyalzen Sherpa, one of the climbers who installed it] puts it simply: ‘We save more climbers’ lives.’” —National Geographic
Hazardy blizzardy,
weather technology
perched in the death zone is
put to the test;
manifestations of
meteorology
pummeling Everest
don’t everrest.
Supery dupery
Tenzing the alpinist,
risking his life on a
lifesaving quest,
sums up its benefits
apothegmatically;
Sherpas who summit can
summit up best.
