Ode to a Stranded Whale

A great poem using science from Kim M Russell:

writing in north norfolk

You beach your beauty
on the back of geo-
magnetic storms.

Spellbinding as pulsating northern lights,
you offered songs to the night
but were drawn by siren stars,

lured off course and hurled
through waves of coronal mass ejection,
fought hard to correct your navigation.

You collided with the shore
and now you lie, exposed
to the cosmos,

foamy flukes glinting in starlight,
your song echoing in the night.

Kim M. Russell, 2017

Image result for whale and stars pinterestImage found on Pinterest

My response to dVerse Poets Pub Meeting the Bar: Ode — Poem of Praise

Our host for this week’s Meeting the Bar is Frank Hubeny and the topic he has chosen is the ode, a poem of praise. He says that odes have been discussed in the past at dVerse but one motivation for this prompt came from reading  Peter Frankis’ ode to Emily Dickinson in a recent Open Link Night.

Frank read…

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An excellent poem using scientific imagery from Louis Faber:

an old writer and his words

We arose from water,
crawled forth and inhabited the land
and claimed dominion
and the land appeared
to cede itself to us,
knowing better
and caring even less.
We return to the water
feel its pull
but immerse ourselves
only partially, willing
to risk only half drowning,
the land and air
usually silent, knowingly
laugh for they know
that a fish
out of water
eventually drowns
in a sea of air.

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The blissful butterfly seems unconcerned,

while sipping nectar, flitting with its mate,

but it remembers everything it learned

when caterpillar seemed its only fate.


When it could only inch along and feed

to saturate its flesh with pungency

of bitter leaves – a deft defense, indeed,

from predators from whom it could not flee –

it literally was embittered by

its appetite and all that it consumed.

It never dreamt that one day it would fly.

While lacking wings, how could it have presumed?


Recalling its state before pupation,

its pulsing wings signal celebration.


by James Kotsybar

Originally published at https://causewaylit.com/masons-road-2/issue-11-joy/poetry-11/morphed/

NASA has selected James Ph. Kotsybar’s poetry for launch into Martian orbit — the first literature to another world. His poetry appears in the mission log of the Hubble Telescope, and has won honors from the Society of Classical Poets, Odes To The Olympians, Ohio’s Ingenuity Center and Balticon. Other publication credits include The Bubble, Askew, LUMMOX Press and Sixfold. Performances include The Los Angeles Performing Arts Center, Llhasa Club, Beyond Baroque Gallery, KCSB 91.9 FM, KDB 93.7 FM, and three cable television channels. He co-owns Chaotic&Exotics (orchid nursery) in northern Santa Barbara County, is an accredited judge for the American Orchid Society and breeder of over a hundred orchid hybrids.


Miroslav Holub — a reflection on accuracy

In science and mathematics, accuracy is key. In this poem, Mirslav Holub (an immunologist) reflects on accuracy. This poem was translated form the Czech by Ewald Osers.

Brief Reflection on Accuracy
    always accurately know where to move and when,
    and likewise
    birds have an accurate built-in time sense
    and orientation.
Humanity, however,
    lacking such instincts resorts to scientific
    research. Its nature is illustrated by the following
A certain soldier
    had to fire a cannon at six o’clock sharp every evening.
    Being a soldier he did so. When his accuracy was
    investigated he explained:
I go by
    the absolutely accurate chronometer in the window
    of the clockmaker down in the city. Every day at seventeen
    forty-five I set my watch by it and
    climb the hill where my cannon stands ready.
    At seventeen fifty-nine precisely I step up to the cannon
    and at eighteen hours sharp I fire.
And it was clear
    that this method of firing was absolutely accurate.
    All that was left was to check that chronometer. So
    the clockmaker down in the city was questioned about
    his instrument’s accuracy.
Oh, said the clockmaker,
    this is one of the most accurate instruments ever. Just imagine,
    for many years now a cannon has been fired at six o’clock sharp.
    And every day I look at this chronometer
    and always it shows exactly six.
Chronometers tick and cannon boom.
Mirslav Holub      



Pick-a-Poem: “Botany”

A fine poem about botany….

The Jet Fuel Review Blog


Welcome, folks, to another Pick-a-Poem post! Each week, we feature a new poem here on the Jet Fuel Review blog. These poems come from a really awesome site called Poetry Daily, which features a new poem every day and has tons of new material for you to read and discover. This week we’re featuring Botany by Sarah Holland-Batt.

According to her bio page, Sarah Holland-Batt is an Australian poet who has won numerous awards. Her first book, Aria, won the Arts ACT Judith Wright Award and was shortlisted for the New South Wales Premier’s Kenneth Slessor Prize. She is also the recipient of the WG Walker Memorial Fulbright Scholarship and an Australia Council Literature Residency. She is currently lecturing in Creative Writing at the Queensland University of Technology.

Botany by Sarah Holland-Batt

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caterpillar soup

Its hard to find good Biology poems, but here is one:

Paul Scribbles

exhale all hope

push it out

birth the death

of you

fall back


in one last act

of trust

into the embrace

of the abyss

sink now

into sweet release

inevitable darkness




an eternal shadow

not just blocking

but eliminating

the light

here in this



finally tested

and at this moment

no one

no one

will come

save your




to invite you



with demise

singing this song


let’s make

caterpillar soup

Notes: Poem inspired by an article in Scientific American

Here’s a snippet. For the full article follow the link above.

“But what does that radical transformation entail? How does a caterpillar rearrange itself into a butterfly? What happens inside a chrysalis or cocoon?

First, the caterpillar digests itself, releasing enzymes to dissolve all of its tissues. If you were to cut open a cocoon or chrysalis at…

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