Published: 18 November 2025

Love song for a scientist

Speak not of proof, 
tell me not your base of data,
rhythm of algo,
expose of ponentials,
count your toes, touch your nose,
spare me predictable formula.

Let me hear your poetry,
sing your song of science,
persuade me without facts,
thrill me.

More Poetry:

Mom on deck

Call for Mom.
She’s needed on deck;
no one else will do.
Who could possibly replace her?
Santa Claus or God?

Epochs of taste

Paleocene had a light tawny appearance and a semi sweet palate.
Eocene was the name of donkey in a play by Sophocles that became an eponym for stink.

silver

some people say
black is the colour of chic

ode to D. H. Lawrence

this evening, my neighbour’s red brick chimney,
lit by the dying sun, glows brilliant carmine
against a pure black blue sky that penetrates my blood
and fills me with insensate ecstasy

the perfection of spring

the moment before the rain
after the garden has been planted
while children play, the air riven
with silver laughter, let them be
soon it will rain

the frequency of spring

the frequency of spring
tunes in on any radio, any
electro-static device including
the nerve network of all operating
bio-chemical self aware systems

Related

Epochs of taste

Epochs of taste

Paleocene had a light tawny appearance and a semi sweet palate.
Eocene was the name of donkey in a play by Sophocles that became an eponym for stink.

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