Gravitational Waves–Again

A wonderful poem by Merril D Smith  on Vita Brevis:


Gravitational Waves–Again


Physics Love poetry

Just in time for Valentines Day, we have found a treasure trove of love poetry using Physics over at Symmetry Magazine:

Exo-Atmospheres Send Photonic Clues

A brilliant poem about Exo-planets, thanks Kate!

Kate's Science Fiction, News, and Poetry

Exoplanets - check out Kate Rauner's science inspired poetryStars wobble in our telescopes,
Luminosities diverge,
And from such tiny signals
Their planets do emerge.

Thousands of stars host planets,
Giants of swirling gas,
And some that seem more earthly
In their orbits and their mass.

But each of these is distant,
Lifetimes away for certain.
How ever will we know if
There’s life upon the surface?

Light filters through their atmospheres,
When atmospheres they own.
Molecules split spectra
Into patterns that are known.

Life creates imbalances,
Whatever life may be,
However strange,
Points to biology.

And so we have a protocol
As we gather specks of light,
Photons that passed through planets’ air
On their interstellar flight…

Will tell us if there’s oxygen
Or methane, CO2,
Water vapor, nitrogen,
Or ozone in the brew.

And tease us with the knowledge
That beyond our current grasp
Creation may have left its mark,
A hand we cannot clasp.


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A gravity poem:



Rubber sheet 

“The Geometry of Gravity,”

reads the card of the museum’s display

where metal spheres are leisurely launched

along the lip of a parabolic funnel.


They eddy in a sort of perpetual motion,

their descent as imperceptible as inevitable.


Early on, they collide, kissingly,

as the longer rolling elliptically hoist themselves

into intersecting orbits.

Fresher launches define their fall

with ever increasing velocity

into accelerated, deeper orbits,

more stable, circular and unique.


Their increasing forward speed

diminishes their descent

till they blur into fevered coils

hung stationary at the funnel’s neck.


They vibrate aggressively

into ghosts that vanish into the mechanism

that invisibly replaces each along the lip

of this metaphoric model of the human condition.

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Einsteins Dice

in the tesseract
I came across
Rene Descartes playing
cards with the Devil

this was a quantum
environment, so

both were cheating
willing the
cards to change

is the sneaky nature
of consciousness

I win, I lose,
therefore I am
(and every
win-win a

from some
utterly paradoxical, diabolical perspective
ten-a-penny in
the tesseract)

by Damian Garside


Hv by Gilbert Stead

All black body radiations,
All the spectrum variations,
All atomic oscillations
Vary as “h v.”

Ultraviolet vibrations
X- and gamma-ray pulsations
Ordinary light sensations
All obey “h v.”

Here’s the right relation
Governs radiation
Here’s the new
And only true
Electrodynamical equation;

Never mind your d/dt2
V times e or half mv2
If you watch the factor “c2”)
E equals “h v.”

Even matters calorific
Such things as the heat specific
Yield to treatment scientific
If you use “h v.”

In all questions energetic
Whether static or kinetic
Or electric, or magnetic
You must use “h v.”

There would be a mighty clearance,
We should all be Planck’s adherents
Were it not that interference
Still defies “h v.”

Gilbert Stead (3 February 1888 – 5 July 1979) was a British professor of physics and pioneer in the development of radiology as a recognized medical specialty.

To be sung to the tune “Men of Harlech” (traditional Welsh tune)
With thanks to

Brief summary of the physics in this song

Veterans of the Big Bang: “the knuckle-atoms will not commingle with the drywall-atoms” scribbles the physicist…”

A truly original twist on atoms and the Big Bang:

Art of Quotation

the knuckle-atoms will not
commingle with the drywall-atoms”

scribbles the physicist in his

notes, pen gripped in a trembling
bleeding hand, chalky white dust
settling all over the lab

at the sub-atomic level everything
seems soft and fuzzy, uncommitted
to being, a penciled-in existence

but there’s a hardness to atoms
that makes you think they’ve
been through bad times, and… ”

continued here


— Paul Randall, poet, Texas yammerer.  Excerpt from the Starfish Sutra poem Veterans of the Big Bang

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