Neutrinos oddly go..

Neutrinos created from  pulsed Muons at Cern
aimed at a cave below fair Italy’s Gran Sasso,
pass through leagues of rock without concern
as if it were just glass, their passing so
unhindered.  But with puzzling oddity, they
get there much too early, faster than light,
and, as if bouncing in a mirrored way,
change sex promiscuously..  It’s not right,
upsetting Physicists! Anomalies they shout!
But maybe it’s just refraction, just as light
must bend into density, neutrinos may bend out,
changing speed to keep its wave coherent.
Sleep well dear Einstein it’s only a curiosity
in our random,   weird quantum particularity.

Kent Bowker
Oct. 16, 2011

An Angry Economic Sonnet

The pain of restriction, austerity, runs deep
Into the marrow of our bones, switching
Up to down, while pompous rentiers creep
‘round declaring our multitudinous sinning
Shaming us as hollow men who work not well
Who malinger when ill, don’t want to win
Who hinder progress and perpetual growth.
But the ceilings have been reached, and we’re in
Trouble.  We’re the last frontier, the candy jar,
The last source of profit a cannibal economy
Of less can feed upon, as if an unfeeling glacier
Were to come and scrape everything away.
Must we have catastrophe before old belief,
Capitalism, die, and our souls have relief?

A Season Ended

The sunbathers and their umbrellas, water skiers
And their power boat packs are gone, summer is over.
Moorings are empty, cottage windows, boarded up.
We venture alone into the waving marsh sea.
Beating out, our cat boat climbs a wind ladder
Into the gold-grassed sea-covered marsh land
Rounding the islands of dark pine and crimson vines
Seeking passage through the white Heron’s grasses.
We all fly here, over the waters, white wings and sail,
And fold into this melancholy season beyond summer,
Before the storms to come whip the waters black..
We feel the world here as it has always been
Before mechanical man’s use changed it.

About Love Sonnets

The sonnet asks for more than simple wit,
A crafty wish for love, a scented glove
To hold the sharp rose thorns that bite
The heart away, breaking all hope of love.
A story to tell ourselves all is right.
But knowing each other may be enough,
Far better than wispy vain wit, bright
Enjoyment of time together, not rough
Words of suspicion, or honeyed explanation
But tender exchange, a kiss, an embrace
Hands that seek company, deep connection,
And words honoring each other’s infinite grace.
The sonnet is but a gloss, mere  embroidery,
Love’s banter, bright tomfoolery.

From F to G

Thoughts in the fog of waking up

Four Twenty is a sailboat,
Four Forty is  detergent,
Forever is lying awake before dawn,
Fruits are for breakfast.

Fuel is our necessity,
Filling our tummies,
Following our desires,
Finding our way to loved ones
Folding them in our arms.

Frolic in the pleasure of
F   , morning, noon, or night.

Forebear the critics in us,
Free the emotion, laugh…
For next will come

Grinning, garrulous gophers,

Kent Bowker
1 October 2011