<< home  < usual suspects

So far there are three sections - verse of all kinds  with a connection to science, that produced by the contributors to the Science Matters forum, and the rare occasions when under the influence (of Hollywood, Bollywood or substances unknown) they burst into song.
 

The Member's Poems

Donald Lang's Haiku 

The most recent ones from the 2008 Health Affirmation picnic:

The form is easy.
Haiku has set word structure.
Art is much harder.

Expected faces
Spoke, ate and drank well by turns.
More soon would be nice.

Jann cooks up a storm;
Sinfully appetising.
Would fill those missing.

Window of blue sky,
Held until right time to go.
Then drops of warning.

Wedding from Japan
Black and white on a grey day
Gave us a farewell.

Back home at Haiku;
Divine disgust shown for work
A bolt from the grey.

Donner and blitzen
Farewell modem and router
In just a jiffy.

In Yahoo, save drafts:
When you send it, it is gone,
Even to go no place

Once hardware in place,
Son in Madrid takes over;
Software works with net.

There is more to say.
Some topics we spoke about
Need wider report

Agenda that day
Has unused topics in store
For treatment here soon.

Some others there be
Now germinating darkly
Waiting for more work

My time to sign off:
There are things to be done here
Now the net is back.

here are a couple of Haiku(s?) written for a nattering in Sydney in April 01. Daniel Roberts had just heard that he had had his PhD thesis accepted, and was returning about then from a posting in Japan.

<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

So: Improving on previous reporting:
 

Sipping of good beer,

Speech of natterers not there,

Orient Haiku.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Haiku to returning PhD.
 

Jet engines at rest;

Travellers from Japan land.

The list is closer. 

 A foghorn old geezer named Ziubhas
 Would scream out abiubhas like a miubhas.
 He pursued young Europa,
 Like a young bull no-hoper,
 And I'll censor the fate of his triubhas.

Sue Wright's Christmas offering, 2002

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the lab
Not a scientist was stirring.  In short ... it was drab.
Grand unified theories were hung by the chimney, immense.
In hope that a corpulent elf could make them make sense.

The geneticists were nestled all snug in their heads,
While crazed GM sugarplums danced on their beds;
The biologists in their PJs and the physicists in their caps,
Had just settled down to design flying reindeer traps.

When out on the lawn there arose such a natter,
They all sprang from their beds to see what was the matter.
Away to the window they flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash

The moon on the breast of the newfallen snow
Was just about to eclipse the sun and hence all the objects below,
When, what to their wondering eyes should appear,
Some science matters picnickers and a great deal of beer.

and ... then I ran out of ideas.

And Ian Musgrave, commenting on the hoary old urban myth "scientists have proved that bumblebees can't fly", penned:

The bumblebee is oddly wrought
aerodynamically it ought
to find it quite impossible to rise
but bumblebees don't know the rules
bumblebees don't go to schools
they flies.

Science Verse

Peter Macinnis posted this, the complete version of a poem by Sarah Williams,  who was  born in 1814 and died in 1868. She seems to be known only for one poem, often quoted or misquoted in a shortened form. This text is reliable. 

The Old Astronomer to His Pupil

Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, - I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then till now.

Pray, remember, that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data, for you adding as is meet;
And remember, men will scorn it, 'tis original and true,
And the obloquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learnt the worth of scorn;
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn;
What, for us, are all distractions of men's fellowship and smiles?
What, for us, the goddess Pleasure, with her meretricious wiles?

You may tell that German college tha their honour comes too late.
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant's fate;
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping?  You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You "have none but me," you murmur, and I "leave you quite alone"?

Well then, kiss me, - since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, - that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I "have never failed in kindness"?  No, we lived too high for  strife, -
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, "Patience, Patience," is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahe, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, 'twill disturb me in my sleep.
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars, -
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

It's not true that all limericks are "furtive and mean".  Some science ones encapsulate complex ideas in only five lines.
 

There was a young lady called Bright,
Whose speed was far faster than light.
She set out one day,
In a relative way,
And returned the previous night.

There was a young fencer called Fiske,
Whose ripostes and parries were brisk,
So fast was his action,
The Fitzgerald Contraction,
Foreshortened his foil to a disk.
(This limerick also exists in a "disorderly, drunk and obscene" version...)

It's a favourite project of mine,
A new value of pi to assign,
I'd fix it at three,
It's simpler, you see,
Than three point one four one five nine.

> when you are swimming near a coral reef ... and an eel bites you ... that's
> a moray.

I wondered what Dean Martin was on about.

When you swim in the sea
And an eel bites your knee,
That's a moray!

And a New Zealand man
With a permanent tan,
That's a Maori!

He tells jokes, he's a ham,
And his name's Amsterdam,
He's a Morey....

When George Bush says he's right
As our rights go to flight,
That's a moron.

When my second line
has far too many feet and doesn't quite rhyme --
that's a morass....

When in England you roam
And a truck takes you home
That's a lorry.

When Canadians stand
With a golf club in hand
That's a fore, eh?

When young Goldilocks swears
That they're 'ours' and not bears --
That's a forêt.

When an army comes through,
And they eat your left shoe --
That's a foray

When the requiem's sung
In a pure Gallic tongue --
That's a Fauré

I have received a small salve for my aged feeling:  haiku to describe the usual computer problems - see below.

Toby

In Japan, they have replaced the impersonal and unhelpful Microsoft error messages with Haiku poetry messages. Haiku has strict construction rules.

Each poem has only 17 syllables: 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, and 5 in the third. They are used to communicate timeless messages, often achieving a wistful, yearning and powerful insight through extreme brevity.

Instead of making you want to throw your computer out the window, they have a calming effect.  For example:

Sorry for answer my own response but couldn't resist forwarding this ditty.  
Author unknown.

My forgetter's getting better, 
But my rememberer is broke 
To you that may seem funny 
But, to me, that is no joke 

For when I'm  "here"  I'm wondering 
If I really should be  "there" 
And, when I try to think it through, 
I haven't got a prayer! 

Oft times I walk into a room, 
Say "what am I here for?" 
I wrack my brain, but all in vain! 
A zero, is my score. 

At times I put something away 
Where it is safe, but, Gee! 
The person it is safest from 
Generally, is me! 
 
When shopping I may see someone, 
Say "Hi" and have a chat, 
Then, when the person walks away 
I ask myself, "who was that?" 

Yes, my forgetter's getting better 
While my rememberer is broke, 
And it's driving me plumb crazy 
And that isn't any joke.