Wednesday, 16 December 2009

Climate Poetry

Al Gore really must be right into this whole climate change thing.

After all, what else could inspire someone to turn one's hand to poetry?

Here's Al's climate poem:
One thin September soon
A floating continent disappears
In midnight sun

Vapors rise as
Fever settles on an acid sea
Neptune’s bones dissolve

Snow glides from the mountain
Ice fathers floods for a season
A hard rain comes quickly

Then dirt is parched
Kindling is placed in the forest
For the lightning’s celebration

Unknown creatures
Take their leave, unmourned
Horsemen ready their stirrups

Passion seeks heroes and friends
The bell of the city
On the hill is rung

The shepherd cries
The hour of choosing has arrived
Here are your tools
Oh, bravo! Bravo! The talent! The wonder! Magnificent!

Can you imagine the screeching scorn from the cultural elites if George W Bush had written such drivel?

I think that The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy needs to be updated.



I might have a crack at some climate poetry, too...
Tracking brave souls
Data inconvenient
An abacus to use

Water ebbing up and
Down across endless
Stools in the night

Belching cars go
By jingo I say
These graphs are not

Round and round they
Go to the dogs
Stars shine down dimly

Half a degree
One degree
Two degrees upward

All in the Valley of Death
Predicted the Six Hundred
Climate Models

I can no longer continue
A crisis befalls us
Not of climate but of poetry.
How'd I go?

Al Gore, as they say in The Simpsons, eat my shorts...

(Nothing Follows)