"moseley" poems
August 10th, you seemed so distant
Not quite as distant as the barrel of one gun
The gun that fired the shot that would stun
The scientific world, from Rutherford to Niels Bohr
To find out esteemed fellow scientist Moseley was no more
But before that, in 1913
X-ray spectra was naught more than a dream
Before diffraction through crystals became the truth
The wavelengths needed a meaning, and there was proof
You developed a mathematical system without flaw
One so great, it was named "Moseley's law"
Mendeleev had the right idea, but not a plan
Could not arrange the elements the way that you now can
Without you, my sir, we would not have had this premium
To enjoy the elements technetium, hafnium, promethium, and rhenium
These gaps that like stars littered the periodic table
Were filled with ease, and the cosmos became stable
You had set the foundation for crystallography of x-rays
A method of determining arrangement that is still used in modern days
The first machines in use were those for which you had the design
But their widespread use you could not see as there simply was no time
For during a battle, as you made the phone set run
A bullet took your grace away, a scientist dying young
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:21 PM UTC
He shrinks to a hush
below purple sky – this air,
soft and beckoning,
carries a mute voice
that teethes at the brain, killing
the pull of his son’s
image. Now two eyes,
paled and tearing, watch the speck
of light grow greater
than the stars. His arms
raise to the light like a babe
grasping for papa.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
It’s a slow slide to somewhere else...
He shuffles, stumbles stammers and he sleeps.
He knows I am his brother.
I help him go for a wee in a bowl,
we’re standing by the commode.
He shuffles back to his comfy chair
but only with my help.
“Are you my brother?”
“I am,” I say.
Six years is a biggish gap between siblings.
‘Our Brian’ tolerated me...
”Take Chris to the pictures”...
”Aw Mum, I’m 18... he’s only 12!!!”
He headed on out with his mates, smirking,
waving a ciggie and a beer.
But, when he needed a whizzo batsman for his cricket team,
who knew?
I was strangely unavailable...
But, I capitulated and said “OK I’ll play for you!” We won!
At 81 he shuffles, he stammers, stumbles and he sleeps.
He employed 300 people in factories overseas,
spoke with authority, negotiating with emperors -
always with total ease.
Today he talks in whispers, his larynx squeaks;
clatters like a broken pipe, every time he speaks...
He shuffles, he stammers, stumbles and he sleeps
...for most of every day.
“
I am your brother aren’t I?”
“You certainly are”, I say.
He was the head of magistrates handing down the law...
I joked... I called him ‘hang ‘em high Bri’,
him judging slightly to the right of Atilla the ***
I remind him of his past... and we smile ...
(because of course it wasn’t true)....
The last thing to die will be his sense of fun.
He shuffles, stammers, stumbles and he sleeps.
He played prop forward for Moseley’s first fifteen,
maybe his problems started way back when...
too many head clashes, line outs, scrum downs...
That’s the last thing you’d think about back then.
But there’s long term damage you might do...by just ‘being’.
He stumbles, stammers, shuffles,
dummies
and scores in his dreams...as he sleeps.
He even went to garden parties at the Queen’s Equery’s behest
as well as, whilst in India, often - he’d be a Maharajah’s guest.
And, when you mention it, he just smiles wryly
and stares, with rictus grin. He IS in there!
But that’s the trouble though... sometimes he IS locked IN!
He stumbles, stammers, shuffles, smiles -
and he does love to rest.
But sometimes he will rally with a string of memories
all lucid and true... and, if there’s food involved
well, he’ll be at the table way ahead of you.
That’s the quick shuffle!
He makes good progress
through all his favourite stuff,
Then he’ll lie in his reclining chair
and enjoy that customary nap
You watch him closely - making sure he’s still breathing
- thank heavens for that!
He stumbles, wheezes when he talks -
and shuffles when he walks...
He shuffles, stumbles...then he sleeps!
“You are my brother aren’t you?”
“You know I am - for keeps!
Love you Bri!”
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 3:22 AM UTC
Sundays overlooking Bellah Field , parachutes of every color , like the kites we flew high over Asa Moseley Road , homemade ice cream , Grandmothers feast after Sunday school , choir voices of Bethel UMC in the distance , music in my heart , of cattle , rooster , guinea and Mothers piano ....................
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 11:41 AM UTC
*Adhesive memories with Sisyphean love
Where pasture , paddock and woodland divide
Where hickory trees have been carved with-
Old Timer pocket knives
Afternoon walks through soybean , corn and
sorghum , where the sound and colors of dusk are like
no other* ..
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 12:58 PM UTC
i dreamed of a boy
with eyes as blue as the pool we swam in.
and his soft blond hair—
he looked just like me, if i had been born normal.
i kissed him hard, hard enough to bruise,
hard enough to make him gasp—
he pulled away and whispered
“i’ve never been kissed like i was being punched.”
and i looked in our pool-blue eyes
and i pet our soft blond hair
and with a whispered apology i leaned in to kiss him again,
gentle this time.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 6:38 PM UTC