A Saturday Meeting. In Chinese.

No, not dead yet, just crazy busy writing my thesis. And then I get interrupted to go into college on a Saturday as some Chinese sponsors are coming to visit. Chinese sponsors who don't speak English, which makes my attendance a waste of time of chocolate teapotish proportions.

The meeting was taking place all in Chinese
The English girl agonised "just help me, please!
I'm now suicidally, desperately bored
I need a white knight with bright armour and sword.
A rescuing hero to help this fair maid
To storm this interminable meeting, invade
And take me away for adventures unique
In a world filled with magic, exciting mystique"

Just then there flashed lightning which blinded their eyes
The meeting erupted to panic and cries
The speaker now paused to ask "what's going on?
Quite where has this terrible light show come from?"
It seemed someone answered our heroine's prayer
To disrupt the talks and remove her from there
But after the delegates regained their sight
Presentations continued and on went her plight.

The scientists wittered in jargonish speak
Still mumbling in Chinese (or possibly Greek)
Our girl still presented a keen outward face
While silently begging to leave that grim place.
Then out rang a shot, all was chaos once more
And as all others ducked our girl turned to the door
But instead of her hero in armour so bright
Loomed a villainous creature in black dark as night.

"I'm sorry my angel," he said with a sneer,
"You're knight's battled monsters quite fierce to get here
But thanks to my tricks he'll arrive much too late
Instead it's in my hands that now rests your fate.
The lightning which earlier made the room shake
Was caused as he fought into this world too break
But I'm by far better at magic, you see
So I was the victor, now you'll come with me."

Surprisingly, though, she was hardly dismayed
Her total demeanour was calm, unafraid
"If you've come for me I'll go with you right now
I'm desperate to leave here and not fussy how.
Whoever you are you'll remove me from here
Remaining behind is my heart's darkest fear.
Wherever you take me [here granting a kiss]
My hero, your world must be better than this."

London Tube Strike

As each side the other condemns
We're tired of "it's not us it's them"s
To make London go
Let's lock up Bob Crow
And chuck Boris into the Thames

3WW: MTV Attire

When aiming to join pop’s elite
Avoid gowns demure and discrete
But rather offend
Those of volatile trend
By sporting a frock formed of meat

3WW:demure, offend, volatile

Sunday Scribblings: View

On a glorious day at Corfe Castle
We set out to the hills for a hike
When through all of the touristic bustle
Came a butterfly riding a bike

(In the works of mythologic masters
Think of Titian or Watts or Van Dyke
Is there such a surreal disaster
As a butterfly riding a bike?)

So we walked with all Purbeck before us
To the cliffs where the waves pound and strike
And the breakers themselves beat a chorus
Of a butterfly riding a bike

Now in Dorset pubs often they mutter
Of the legend all swear by alike
Maybe one day you too will hear flutters
Of that butterfly riding her bike

The Ballad of the Dispirited Research Student

There was a girl who lost the will
Her research work to do
Although she had the brains and skill
Her apathy just grew

Deep down she loved her project
The science in her bones
Ideas and problems to connect
Find truths about unknowns

There was a time when she would sell
Her soul to get this break
But now her dream has turned to hell
It's all a big mistake

It matters not how hard she tried
She can't debug her code
Her confidence, morale and pride
Continue to erode

She seems to achieve less each day
She's tired all the time
Her thesis stress won't go away
There's such a hill to climb

A mountain that she still must scale
It's peak still lost in mist
Her futile efforts can't prevail
No reason to persist

The funding deadline's just a joke
She's human after all
But missing it would leave her broke
Finances at a stall

And as she hates to ask for aid
Her problems just get worse
But all her troubles she'll evade
By writing foolish verse

Eluded by the Muse

A new blogger's ultimate goal
Is to write posts with talent and soul
But her hopes go astray
And she's sorry to say
That she's stuck in a limerick-shaped hole.

And her writer's block just seems to worsen
For while she sits angry and cursin'
She wastes all her time
On amphibrach rhyme
And refers to herself in third person.

Hmmm... maybe it's all my own fault.

Meetings

Gosh, it's been a long time since I last posted. Lots of reasons for that, none interesting. I've been to a couple of important meeings lately, and in the boring ones came up with some limericks

For the delegates now we are waiting
And stress levels rise unabating
Prepeations are through
Now there's nothing to do
But sit here just procrastinating.

The talks are all thoughtful and deep
Intuition to make Einstein weep
The guy I can see
Just in front of me
Is so thrilled he's fallen asleep.

An Important Sunday

The streets are all empty of cars
The church pews today are deserted
The people are packed into bars
Emergency crews all alerted

What business can cause such a fuss?
What issue obsseses the nation?
The question on all lips is thus:
Can Palace avoid relegation?


Written this morning, before the match, but posted afterwards. A very exciting game ended in a 2-2 draw, which was all Crystal Palace needed to avoid relegation. Now all we need is a new owner...

Emily Bronte Cento

A cento is a patchwork poem, in this one every line is from a different poem by Emily Bronte.

Warm and bright on Arden’s lake
How beautiful the earth is still
Tonight there is no wind to wake
And curb my own wild will

Thought followed though, star followed star
I see Heaven’s glories shine
It seemed close by and yet more far
And they, perchance, heard vows of mine

Well, let them fight for honour’s breath
Thy love I will not, will not share
Time stands before the door of Death
To banish joy and welcome care

In life and death a chainless soul
But sorrow withers even the strong
A flood of strange sensations roll
Whispering, “Winter will not linger long”

Leaving Home

Today’s the day I’m moving out
from home. From old, I’ll move away
to freedom, so stand tall and shout:
Today’s the day

Although not meaning to betray
the memories of good times, no doubt
I’m sad to leave, but still won’t stay

The future’s readying to sprout
new wings and I’m keen to survey
fate, seizing what it’s all about:
Today’s the day

Spring Sunshine

For the first time in far too long
The sun beams in the sky
And though its warmth is still not strong
My heart wants to reply

I know its time is fitful still
A prisoner on parole
And yet it starts to thaw the chill
Brings sunshine to my soul

On the Election

a.k.a. Temptation to hibernate til May

The identified date’s been corroborated
And the media’s utterly saturated
But from vague, trite debate
Will not one deviate
So apathy reigns unadulterated

3WW: deviate identify saturate

The ballad of ... dammit, please don't sue me

Now here’s a tale to make you sweat
Which as you sleep may nightmares bring
A drama you won’t soon forget
The trial of Dr Simon Singh

A man who stood his beliefs
Who for science and reason fought
And for those views he came to grief
At the mercy of the libel court

As he researched his latest work
On chiropractor’s health careers
He found diverse, unproven quirks
And some claimed quite bizarre ideas

(If your kids suffer chronic ills
Like earache or asthma attack
Forget those nasty drugs and pills
It’s helped by massaging their back?)

And so he wrote of what he found
In order to start free debate
Discussion based on data sound
To reason and deliberate

But when this reached the BCA
Instead of defending with grace
They found a way to make him pay
And hit him with a libel case

The High Court Judgment then decreed
His written statements were of fact
He would need firm proof to succeed
This ruling had a huge impact

A verdict that would stifle speech
Allowing quacks to ply their trade
It limits open debate’s reach
No chance to argue, weigh, persuade

And though that’s now been overturned
(A task which cost 200k)
The lessons have not yet been learned
The law on critics still can prey

If libel laws are still so strict
To stifle science in it’s tracks
And don’t allow reasoned conflict
Well, surely then, that law still lacks?

But while there are before the court
More cases lined up, in a string
This verdict gives them some support:
The victory of Simon Singh

Monster

The monster rose up from the crypt
A creature straight from horror tales
From fangs, the caustic venom dripped
It plates its great hunched frame with scales
The slashing tail swung and whipped
And vicious talons stood for nails
Escaping from deep underground
It terrorized all those around

To save from being killed and maimed
The people chose to pay the price
That demon for their safety claimed
Which was a human sacrifice
No other way it could be tamed
(Forgive the hackneyed plot device)
It taxed them, to their great despair
The price of one young maiden, fair.

The girl they chose for this was smart
Could knit and crochet, sew and darn.
She prised the monster’s scales apart
She stabbed, without a hint to warn,
Her knitting needle in its heart.
So here’s the message of my yarn:
(Though clear to those with any wits)
You NEVER mess with girls who knit.

3WW: Sacrifice, caustic, hunch

Swan Lake

Going to see Carlos Acosta in Ballet Nacional De Cuba's Swan Lake at the London Coliseum tonight. Very excited.

A young prince's heart is entwined
With a princess in swan's form confined
But he worsens her plight
Mistakes black swan for white
Now that's what you call colour blind.

3WW: Writers Block

Now, regarding the prompt words, I have to say frankly
Though I hunger for ideas my mind loiters blankly
And I’ve really no way to try solving the puzzle
Of a sensible reason to use the verb “nuzzle”
So I’ve brazened it out, I’m now anxiously waiting
For next week’s muse – hope she’s more accommodating

3WW: Brazen, Hunger, Nuzzle

The Alcoholic

The greatest star in all the land
A huge celeb, so famed and grand
He’s coming to our town, it’s said
The luminary named “Big Ted”

So what demands does he decree?
What satisfies this VIP?
Fine caviar and coats of mink
But most of all, our Ted wants drink

Ten bottles of top French champagne
And best Rioja straight from Spain
Tequila with fresh limes and salt

Plus Scottish whisky, single malt

The moment for his act draws near
They’re waiting for him to appear
The girls are screaming “where’s our hunk?”
He’s passed out on the bed, dead drunk

Sunday Scribblings: Demands

Some people are only happy when they're not...

So now spring has sprung and it’s fab,
Am I just an ungrateful crab
If, melting, I say
I wish there’s a way
To TURN OFF the heat in my lab?

The Pigeon

With apologies to Edgar Allan Poe...

One night I studied, weak and weary, over tomes of quantum theory
Trying to decipher what it meant for physics’s laws
While a migraine starting stinging, all at once I heard a pinging
As of someone gently ringing, ringing at my flat’s front door
“’Tis some drunken fool,” I muttered, “Ringing at my flat’s front door
Only this and nothing more”

No clue what was to befall me, how those ideas could enthral me
The breakthroughs and the struggles of researchers gone before
As I sat absorbed in reading, concepts through my head were speeding
Brain on crazy theories feeding, feeding on Einstein and Bohr
Avidly digesting works of Einstein, Planck and Bohr
Craving to learn even more

While my pulse beat ever faster, apprehending much disaster
Through the spell there rang the bell again of my front door
Like a shard cut through my dreaming, through the notions and the scheming
Twisting through my mind and streaming, streaming with chaotic roar
Over the confused abstractions crying with chaotic roar
Loud the doorbell rang once more

When at last my door I’d unlocked, when the entrance hall I’d unblocked
What a bizarre creature landed on my parquet floor
Serious as true religion, feathers ruffled up a smidgeon
Into my flat there flew a pigeon, pigeon with much filth and gore
Ugly as a gargoyle’s mother, stinking of trash cans and gore
Difficult, that, to ignore

Once that bird had found a free perch then my mind returned to research
To the world of physics I was longing to explore
“Now this obsession hath befell me, an addiction to enspell me,
bird, I ask you, won’t you tell me, tell me pigeon I implore:
How long will last this compulsion? Tell me pigeon, I implore”
Quoth the pigeon, “Evermore.”

“Though I know that it’s imprudent, I shall become a grad student
A creature that the working world doth distain and abhor
Though it fills me with misgiving that is how I’ll earn my living,
From the research unforgiving, unforgiving and paid poor
Bird, how long shall I be overworked and far too poor?”
Quoth the pigeon “Evermore”

So here I sit at my computer hiding from my college tutor
Trying to do research cutting edge and quite hardcore
Trying not to waste time moping, looking for new ways of coping
And forever I’ll be hoping, hoping that the end’s in store
Hoping that a PhD at last's what lies in store
Else I’ll be here evermore.

3WW: shard, pulse, weary

3WW: The kitten's story

By day she hides behind a mask
A veil of domesticity
And modifies her every task
To conceal her duplicity

By night, this image she'll reject
Prowls out to fuel her hunter's thirst
Docility's a dog's defect
Obedient? Never! Tame? Death first!


The 3WW words are modify, obedient and veil