Election Fever

“Voters head to the polls on 5 November.”—news report

I’ll head out there despite my fears

For several hundred million years,

Right on through the long Jurassic.

Laurentia is in a spin,

No matter who might seem to win.

In Gondwanaland I’ll take my stand—

Not where Kozyrev† beats the band

And enjoys a Golden Shower

Every payday on the hour.

The Tethys Sea would be for him

A footbath, perhaps a sexy swim?

Bidding adieu to online seers,

Pangaean mountains I will climb,

Fracking's source in later time.

Of the Panthalassic Ocean

I'll surely get a better notion.

No doubt my journey will be classic!

When we get to the Triassic

New fossil polls will spring to life.

In the muddle of this year, this life.

Envoi

“Far too many innocent Palestinians have been killed,” Kamala Harris said in her CNN interview yesterday. How many innocent Palestinians would it have been desirable to kill? Might just a mere thousand or so have sufficed?

† https://www.google.com/search?q=kozyr+in+russian&oq=kozyr+in+russian&aqs=chrome..69i57j33i160l5.5457j0j4&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8

The Screaming Meemies, 2

"Els catalans de les pedres en fan pans."—Catalan saying*

When I have thoughts that life may cease to spark,

That love has lost its fervor and its gleam

And wake up trembling in the neutral dark,

I tell myself that things aren’t what they seem,

That after all I’m just a comic quark

Teetering on the sunlight’s quantum screen.

Risible hypochondriac, you hark!

Pathetic whinging spoils a fine day’s feast.

A guardian angel has your foolish back

When s/he can sort the human from the beast.

If all the wretched world seems out of wack,

Bread from the stones is what you get, at least.

* "The Catalans make bread from stones."

Sonnet 13: The Screaming Meemies

In imitation of Milton’s Sonnet XII, "I did but Prompt the Age to Quit their Clogs"

“The lessons of history don’t suit our wishes: if they did, they would not be lessons, and history would be a fairy story.—Clive James, “Adolf Hitler”

I only ask that we reflect a bit

As philosophers did in former days.

Then screams of ennui surface from the maze!

Philosophy, I fear, is now best fit

For bitcoin buyers (plus the odd Trump twit)

Who gabble trendy trash, and trail ways

That will not medicine our idiot daze.

Help may not turn up in a doctor’s kit.

Console yourself, you almost get it right:

For who loves Earth must be both smart and kind

With blind ambition put far out of sight.

For all our squandered wealth—and peace of mind—

Of those great aims, how small the part you own.

A baker's tip: sourdough is not got from stone.