Poem number 36
I Love Science
It rains diamonds on Saturn
That’s just mental, I’m in awe!
Carbon dust falls from the sky
And down to Saturn’s floor
But the atmospheric pressure
Out on Saturn is immense
And it crushes all that carbon
In a way that’s quite intense
So before the dust has landed
It’s transformed to diamond rain
It’s amazing, awesome, wonderful
It’s Science, it’s insane!
Poem number 42
The Ultimate Answer
Thank you, Douglas Adams for the world of Frogstar B
Thank you for the monkeyman who’s always craving tea
Thank you for the Vogons, so un-bricklike in the sky
Thank you for the formula for learning how to fly
Thanks for Slartibartfast driving quickly, like my wife
Thanks for poor old Marvin and his disappointing life
Thanks for Zaphod Beeblebrox, for Trillian, The Guide
Thanks for Ford’s old satchel and the towel he keeps inside
Thanks for mice and peanuts and the number 42,
I wrote ‘Don’t Panic’ on my tablet, and it’s all because of you.
Poem number 143
Good Work Master Kenobi
A trooper patrolling Mos Eisley
Followed instructions precisely
“Your droids are ok,
You can go on your way.”
The mind-trick was working quite nicely.
Poem number 193
The Sun comes up (that’s pretty)
And it stays up all the day
The Sun goes down (that’s pretty)
Then the Moon comes out to play
The Moon is also pretty
Silver light upon the ground
The Moon goes down, the Sun comes up
And round and round and round.
Poem number 214
Two deaths beneath two mid-day suns
Two skeletons left charred
The smoke obscures the homestead
Luke is devastated, scarred
He vows to fight the Empire
Be a Jedi, be a man
Sells his speeder, hires a ship
Flies off to Alderaan.
And thus begins adventure
Legend, soaring twists of fate
New hope strikes back at darkened skies
Poem number 334
Survivors Of The Nostromo. Signing Off.
New Year’s Eve tomorrow
Christmas gone, defunct, kaput
Time to take the tree apart
And pack up all the toot
Stow the lights in plastic bags
Put baubles in their box
Fold up the Christmas jumpers
Store them with the Christmas socks.
Whilst far away, in Lapland,
Elves are cleaning factory floors
Packing up the woodwork tools
And closing all the doors.
The Grotto will be mothballed
‘Til the Summer’s had its day
(‘Til children feel the Autumn chill
And think of Santa’s Sleigh)
And the Elves themselves will hibernate
In cryogenic beds
With pulse and heartrate monitors
Taped gently to their heads.
An android doc will oversee
Their sleep, and see they’re sound,
Ensure they all wake up again
When Autumn comes around.
And Santa? Father C himself?
He’ll sleep the springtime through
But wake in time for summer
And a barbecue or two
He has no need for androids though
Or cryogenic bed
He’ll sit there in his armchair
With a cup of tea instead
And bit by bit his eyes will droop
He’ll slowly start to snore
He’ll breathe all deep and even
Drooling dribble on the floor.
And that’s it. That’s how the Christmas fades
To stasis, ’til next yule:
Boxed up baubles, sleeping Elves
And Santa’s bit of drool.
But oh! When Autumn comes again
The spirit will arise
Thoughts of Christmas greetings
Lighted windows, mincemeat pies.
So don’t be sad, no need to grieve
The spirit isn’t dead
Just resting with the baubles
In a cryogenic bed.
Poem number 349
Tim got tired of choppers
And applied to ESA
He won the race
To go space
And up he goes today!