Treading water

I tread the slowly evaporating water,
Which concomitantly drains down the plughole.
Where the plughole leads, no-one is sure,
While clouds from the rising steam unfold
Into the vaguely blue, yet dullset skies,
As thoughts drift, and dissipate, like contrails.

Science can be trusted more than economics

The Economist,
Head in the mist,
Bereft of wits,
Get the gist?

A daft debate,
I read of late,
I can't relate,
To this pisstake.

Should we believe
In science?
We know you don't bereave
The climate.

Science is knowledge,
Based on proof.
Science isn't shoddy,
While your field is a spoof.

An economist
Knows nothing of economics,
You're a comic
If you think you're on it.

The global recession,
Predicted by no-one,
While scientists, already,
Have predicted an outcome.

Global warming,
Is not an empty warning,
It's truly appalling
That science gets this scalding.

The world gets hotter,
The economy looks a rotter.
Get your own facts straight
Before you pursue this laughable tirade.

Save our Veggie Cafe - University of Manchester

They're trying to shut our Veggie Cafe,
Some awful news to cause dismay,
For where on campus, may I ask,
Is there to get good food today?

The butties in Sainsbury's are not cheap
And there's bugger all for a vegan to eat.
There's a Morrison's next door, that's poor,
While Food on Campus is hardly a treat.

If you're craving meat, then take a seat,
But if you're healthy you'll face defeat.
There's a dearth of delicious, nutritious fare,
Beware, Manchester, beware.

The Veggie Cafe is often teeming,
Hundreds of students aren't misleading.
The soup is incredible, and readily edible,
Unlike the junk in the Tin Can-teen.

It's obscene and abhorrent this may happen,
What exactly warrants this order to skedaddle?
Whoever demands this, get back on your saddle,
It's preposterous to lead this moronic shambles.

Just go there at 1pm, take a pen,
You can measure the head-count of cock and hen.
I'll say it again, veggie fare is rare,
There's a reason they're there, not any other where.

It's an absolute travesty we could lose this place,
And the tasty sandwiches with olive paste.
It's pretty thrifty, for two pounds fifty,
If you can't see this you're a nutty headcase.

I wrote these words in quite some haste,
While this outrage seems to pick up pace.
But if this wondrous cafe were to waste,
It'd leave us many with a horrid, bitter taste.
(Like the crap which is doled in University Place...
Backtrack, kindly, and you might save face.)

The shale gas contradiction

For shale gas, they are burning off methane.
This contradiction is clearly insane.
They're using acrylamide,
And toxic glutaraldehyde,
And further polluting
    with carbon dioxide.

Fracking, alas

Fracking for shale gas

Leaves me aghast, as we drill

Through coal seams, alas

English - the beautiful language

English is the beautiful language,
Broader than any other.
More words to rhyme,
To strike a chime,
Within your heart and mine.

Enlightened England

It's a privilege
to live in Manchester,
where our library
is more impressive
than our cathedral.

Where stained glass windows,
instead of being devoted
to St. Winifred,
are adorned with Plato,
and Socrates, instead.

NB.  Thank you to Chris Addinsell for the stimulatory chat!

Pigeons (lament of the apathetic)

Like pigeons,
everywhere
they gather.
Carefree,
unaware.
Then scatter,
afraid,
but only
in the moment,
to return,
unfased,
to the scene
of their torment.

Lament of the climate change deniers

Who are these cretinous idiots?
These despicable morons.
These neuron-free vessels
With lungs between the ears.

More than a mere nuisance,
These playdough-minded fools,
Refuse, point blank,
To absorb the facts,
But stare, vacantly,
Disregarding the future,
No repent for the fury
We bestow upon our present.

A malevolent band
Of cold-hearted flagrants,
Chilling within themselves
A warming so apparent.

Soon to lament
This sorry, blind reticence
To that which is more
Than merely a fable,
But unyieldingly plunders,
While they stew, unable
To accept what will come.

What will be.

What is fated.

If we lie down,
Discreetly,
To injurious apathy.

Raftery

Raftery wrote poems that concerned the people.

It would cause him quite some gall,
today,
that folk are not concerned at all.