Snake Oil

 

He sells a prescription,
a medical fiction
that can't really cure our ills.

It comes from no science,
is but an appliance
of one who won't care whom he kills,

who hopes it distracts
from disquieting facts
about how he's exerting his will.

This fells his proponents
much more than opponents,
yet most of them vote for him still.

 

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Emergence

 

It’s dark here,
inside the chrysalis,
and cold.
Dreams come slowly
and dissolve incoherently
Into each other.
A dog barks, but it’s an owl
asking big questions,
now a whisper through silk.
But this new dream
smells different, breathes deeper.
A tiny dot of light
and she struggles toward it.
The light grows, she fights free.
Weakly, she extends muddy-hued wings,
one to north, one to south.
They dry into brilliant
red, orange, yellow.
Presently, rested,
the Dawn leaps into blueness
and dances into the sun.

 

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Cheap Grace

We get what we pay for, most of the time.
Yet folks look for bargains, dollars for dimes.
We buy one and get one, wanting things free.
But something for nothing? Too rich for me!

See, I've got a free thing, treasure for sure.
It's God's own forgiveness, Death's final cure.
It came to me freely, Jesus' true Gift,
else I would be hopeless, aimless, adrift.

Beside this, what "free" thing merits the term?
They all carry costs, just hard to discern.
The greatest such cost, though? Cheapening grace,
consigning the Gift to coupon-clip space.

I cherish the free things that truly are free,
like presents I get from those dear to me.
And God's perfect Gift, the ultimate case,
makes retail promotions seem only waste.

No, speak not of free stuff. Sell me your goods
and charge a fair tariff. That's understood.
I've no wish for shortcuts, not for my part.
So give me no free stuff, save from your heart.

 

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Commander’s Call

 

Evenings, the egrets return to base,
cruising in squadron formation.
At dawn, they deploy,
each to its own post.
But, early one day,
two dozen convened by our pond,
lighting in adjacent trees,
to hear the day’s ops plan.
From the topmost branch,
the Colonel briefed Alpha Flight,
then swooped to the other tree
to dispatch Bravo.
Orders acknowledged,
all launched, save the Colonel,
who glided gracefully down,
took command of the shallows,
and began solitary patrol.

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II
This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

Something to Believe In

Believe in something,

for living without must leave us in doubt,

insecure.

Believe in yourself,

the pundits will say. But what if the way

is obscure?

Believe not at all?

What then is life for? But there must be more,

I adjure.

Believe, then, in what?

Or should I say “whom”? Who pierces all gloom,

to assure?

Believe in the Lord.

Wherever you fare, He's already there,

true and pure.

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License.

I really like the music of the song of the same title, by the Irish group Clannad, in collaboration with Bruce Hornsby. The lyrics, though, say that everybody is looking but the search is hopeless.  This is my response.

How the Axion Might Have Got its Name

The newest thing in the particle zoo,

it needed a name, and a perfect one, too.

Profs and their students all thought, day and night,

but nothing they mentioned was perfectly right.

So, all of the Science Guys sent out a plea:

"Send us a name to which all can agree!"

They started a website where all could suggest,

then started elections to see which was blessed.

A child of but ten was the one who proposed

the name that had won when the counting was closed.

But Physics rejected his "Boozy McBoson",

glanced at some laundry soap labeled as "Axion",

and they just went with that.

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License


Okay, see, I was listening to an episode of the podcast "Daniel and Jorge Explain the Universe" -- specifically, the one titled "What is the axion?".  Daniel and Jorge started with some banter about how physicists name the particles they discover. After an  interesting discussion of just what this hypothetical axion particle is -- if it exists at all -- Daniel explained how it got its name.  The real story is not all that different from what I came up with here, except for the silly Internet voting idea.