Welcome to GeoVerse!

This is a collection of original poems which began with some about geology, which is why it’s called Geoverse; but there are now poems on all sorts of things – life, the universe, and (almost) everything. Click ‘About the author’ (above) to find out who wrote them . . .
To meet all the poems, most recent first, just keep scrolling down the page (there were nearly 600 at the last count).
To find a list of poems on a particular subject, use the Index tab (above), or enter a term in the Search box (below right) , or click a Topic (on the right).
I  hope you find something you like! Gordon Judge

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Subordinate clauses

They’re annoyingly incomplete, as a Certain Someone has discovered . . .

I’m getting quite stressed, and the most likely cause is
My granddaughter’s use of subordinate clauses.
“Which I like to do” says the culprit with glee,
“To wind you up, Granddad. As much as can be.”

A subordinate clause makes no sense, we are taught:
It’s less than a sentence, an incomplete thought.
Which is why it’s annoying. (Was that one? Oh dear –
Subordinate clauses are catching, I fear.)

How I long for a sentence (a main clause would do).
I’m tired of subordinate clauses – aren’t you?
Perhaps one day soon, as an act of repentance,
She’ll talk to me using a complete complex sentence.

[Image:  icaltefl.com]
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In my youth

After a recent birthday, my daughter reminded me of something that happened “in your youth”. I thought the expression might benefit from further consideration . . .

Tomorrow, I’ll be older than the age I am today.
Then I shall say, tomorrow, “I was younger yesterday!”
But that is true for every day, you see; so here’s the truth:
It proves conclusively I’ve spent my whole life in my youth!

[Image: http://optimallifeseminars.com]
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Child power

As parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles well know, most children come with more energy than their bodies can hold. Here’s a possible solution:

Whoever invented children (not yet identified)
Made their bodies far too small for the energy inside.
The surplus oozes out of them as they run and jump and shout;
They bounce around and tumble over, and things get thrown about . . .

But what if we could harness this extra energy
By fitting them with Smart Clothes that charged a battery?
(Piezoelectric shoes1, worn hour after hour
With triboelectric underclothes2, could generate much power.)

Then, with a mains inverter, you’d plug the battery in,
And sell that stored-up energy to the Grid. It’s win-win-win!
There’s no-emissions, fuel is saved, and climate change is slowed;
And the Grid’s own Feed-In Tariff will pay you what you’re owed.

1. http://www.instructables.com/id/Electricity-Generating-Footwear/
2: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/272155901_Nanopatterned_Textile-Based_Wearable_Triboelectric_Nanogenerator

[Image: www.psychologies.co.uk]
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Dear Father Christmas . . .

He’s been driving eight reindeer across the Christmas night sky since 1823, when a poem by Clement C. Moore “A Visit from St. Nicholas” (also known as “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas”) appeared. Rudolf was added in 1923 in a poem by Robert L May. But time and technology have moved on . . .

Dear Father Christmas, a word in your ear:
It’s time you stopped using those worn-out reindeer.
Old Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen
And Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen
Have whizzed round the globe, led by Rudolph’s red nose,
Delivering presents, as every child knows,
Each dark Christmas night for year after year;
But it’s getting too much for them now, Sir, I fear.

I know they don’t use hydrocarbon-based fuel,
And I’m sure that you really don’t mean to be cruel,
But by my calculations, the speed that you need
Is nought point nine seven percent of light’s speed*.
It’s not fair to those animals to fly them so fast:
Retire them, Sir, now. Please make this year their last.
Replace them with a Warp Drive (from Star Trek Online);
Send your reindeer to live their last days on Cloud Nine.

* According to Tom Chivers, in The Telegraph, 20 December 2013

[Image: pngall.com]
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Part of Planet Six

On 15 October 1997, the Cassini orbiter and its Huygens probe left Earth for a 20-year journey to Saturn. Neither of them returned to Earth, of course, but a huge amount of data and some remarkable photographs did.

(Artist’s impression)

The craft they called Cassini looked very, very teeny
’Gainst Saturn and its rings, each one aglow,
Collecting lots of data so that, a little later,
It could beam them back to Earth, so far below.

NASA’s little star had travelled very far:
Round Venus, using gravity-assist
(The experience was so nice that it went and did it twice).
Then Earth and Jupiter were on its list.

Then came Saturn’s turn, and we were soon to learn
Of the next phase in Cassini’s grand campaign:
Through Titan’s atmosphere the Huygens probe would disappear
And land upon a pebble-strewn terrain.

Enceladus came next: we just did not expect
Its plumes of icy water, which contains
Methane, hydrogen and salt, CO2 and – who’d have thought –
There’s silica, as microscopic grains1!

There’s so much more to tell about other moons as well,
Some mini-moons, quite titchy little things:
Anthe, Daphnis, Pallene are just three Cassini’s seen,
And ‘Peggy’ being ‘born’ among the rings2.

There she is – the blip on the outer edge of Saturn’s outermost ‘A’ ring!

Then Cassini, all alone, took a photo of its home,
The planet Earth within a ring-gap framed.

But NASA had intended that the journey would be ended
With a final death-plunge at the planet aimed . . .


It’s such a crying shame that, despite its world-wide fame,
Cassini had to end its quest of pics.
But its NASA-planned demise – to crash through Saturn’s skies –
Has made Cassini part of Planet Six3.

1. See https://saturn.jpl.nasa.gov/news/2529/
2. It seems that ‘Peggy’ might have fragmented since her first sighting, perhaps after a collision . . .
3. On 15 September, 2017. RIP.

[All images: NASA]
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No fly-tipping

“No fly-tipping”, the sign ordered. A problem for Mr W Stickers’ Fly Removal Service.

I’m trundling round the country lanes
In a truck piled high with flies.
The people at the roadside gasp –
They can’t believe their eyes!

The truck says “William Stickers,
No Job Too Great Or Small:
However many flies you’ve got,
Let Bill remove ’em all”.

And business has been good this year,
The weather’s been so sunny
That plagues of flies are everywhere.
And plagues of flies ain’t funny,

I’m doin’ a social service, see:
I ought to be supported!
But no-one wants the end result,
I’m always being thwarted.

Trouble is, the place I’ve used
To dump things hitherto
Has got a “No fly-tipping” sign.
But what else can I do?

I takes away yer pesky flies,
And yet I’m always taunted:
“Bill Stickers will be prosecuted” –
I feel I’m just not wanted.

[Image: environmentjournal.online]
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Motor ways

I wondered why so many cars pass me on the motorways of Britain.

My speedo’s in need of attention.
It seems to be reading too fast:
When it indicates I’m doing 70,
There are dozens of cars hurtling past . . .

So the question is: how can the speedos
On the other cars all be so wrong?
Well, maybe they’re unmarked police cars
Each chasing the other along . . .

The first one is on an emergency,
But the others can’t tell – they’re all thinking:
“He’s over the limit! I’ll nick him,
And check him for drugs and for drinking!”

Or perhaps my speedometer’s right
And all of the others read slow?
Well, I thought of a way I could test it,
To make very sure that I’d know.

So I drove very smoothly at thirty
Towards one of those signs that display
The speed that you’re actually doing;
And it proved that my speedo’s okay.

(Well, it’s 10% fast; but it’s wrong
In the right way – the way that I need,
For it means I’ve a margin of error
As I whizz up the M1 at speed.)

Which means – well, no, surely it can’t be –
That most other speedos read slow,
And everyone sticks to the limit?
Of course they do. Maybe. Dunno . . .

[Image: highwaycode.co.uk]
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