In Physics, nothingness has weight
Which leads to some disquiet
Among the more dense who debate:
So, why then do we diet?
Mass Hysteria
Tag: galaxy
You Can’t Be Sirius
The push is on to get to Mars
Because down here we’ve blown it
I’m just not sure if Mars is ours
For who’s to say we own it?
Maybe its own inhabitants
Will greet us when we cruise in
In tiny, shiny disco pants
And shout We’re all called Susan!
We’ll tell them all about the Earth
Its sky, its seas, the land
How right from birth we know the worth
Of taking someone’s hand
Of running jumps into a lake
To beat the summer heat
And hopes that Grandma’s gonna bake
Our favourite thing to eat
The satisfaction we derive
From finding the right gift
And pulling over when we drive
To give a friend a lift
Why monkeys make us laugh out loud
While spiders make us shriek
How lovers can tune out a crowd
When dancing cheek to cheek.
Of course, they’ll think us all absurd
Forsaking paradise
But why come here? Haven’t you heard?
We’ve only rocks and ice!
Dumbfounded we would roam so far
They’ll note down in their book:
Good Lord, these Earthlings really are as stupid as they look…
Constellation Prize
The figure on the mountain knew
Far higher than the eagle flew
Beyond the sun and past the light
Were men who crossed the sky by night.
Soon after dusk their fires appeared
Then slowly, once a course was steered
Their caravan set out en masse
To make its empyreal pass.
Like beasts migrating on the plains
Like swarms that form to greet the rains
He found no word for the amount
Of travelers he sought to count.
A gallery would pass him by
Whose outlines seemed to signify
Proud emblems of a noble clan
Led by an even a greater man.
The bearing, always east to west
Suggested they were on a quest
Or maybe searching for a door
They’d passed through in a time before.
Each night the figure danced and prayed
Around the fire he had made
In hope his kin might see its glow
And teach him all he wished to know.
Then with the last beat from his breast
Great Spirit granted this request
And drew his outline in the sky
That men as he should never die
Sphere Anxiety
Those folks who claim the Earth is flat
Can’t tell us where the edge is at
Perhaps a flat brain can’t absorb
As much as one shaped like an orb
Comet me, Bro!
“Trump’s building a Death Star,” Laverne announced whilst reloading. “Good for him.”
“For building a Death Star?”
“For keeping busy during lockdown.”
“Is it a family affair?”
“He’ll fly it and Melania’s going to serve the drinks.
“I imagine there’ll be a launch…”
“By invitation only in the Space Force Lounge at Mar-A-Lago Int’l Airport.”
“Tickets won’t be cheap.”
“You could just buy a hat.”
“There’s a Space Force hat?”
“And a ring.”
“How do you know all this?” I was amazed.
“Forewarned is forearmed,” Laverne replied coolly, smelling the air. “They’re coming for us, so you and me need a plan.”
“Two tickets?”
“One-way.”
“I just have one question.”
“Shoot.”
“Why are you firing anchovies into that tree with a catapult?”
“Because the squirrel currently residing in it ripped open our garbage bags during the night and left a putrid mess for me to clean up this morning.”
“And?”
“Two can play that game, my friend. Now get me Mar-a-Lago on the blower because he’s going to need a Rear Gunner.”
Mr Ormsby At Large 