Wednesday, May 28, 2025

God's breath

The Oh-My-God particle

was an ultra-high-energy

cosmic ray detected

on October 15th, 1991

by the Fly's Eye camera


at the US Army Dugway

Proving Ground, in Utah.

As of 2023, it is the

highest-energy cosmic ray

ever observed. A single particle


with the energy equivalent

to a baseball falling toward

the centerfield fence

at fifty-six miles per hour.

Easy catch for the Say Hey Kid!.


When lower energy particles,

flung by the Sun’s stormy eruptions

collide with our atmospheric gases

they get pushed and sculpted

by Earth’s magnetic field.


The result is the shimmering

green and purple curtains

or cloven tongues of fire

of the Aurora Borealis

dancing above the polar sky.


The cosmic wind released

from the furnace of the sun

and Cassiopeia’s dying breath

spawn the cosmic gift,

the photons and nuclei,


the building blocks of flesh

and blood and bone.

Fish and fowl, frogs

and flowering trees;

butterflies sipping nectar.


God’s breath gave life

to the dust that became Adam,

the atoms of carbon, calcium,

iron and oxygen, themselves

the breath and ashes of stars.


When Jesus breathed

on the twelve disciples

he called it the Holy Spirit

and charged them to spread

the spirit in his name.

Thursday, May 8, 2025

When T. Rex wasn't quite extinct

I can hear the song,

T.Rex pumping out

the door:

the pelvic thrust


“You’re so sweet,

you’re so fine.

I want your all and ev’rything

just to be mine…


But the doorman

at the entrance to the club

says nicht GIs, no GIs.

He’s all fashioned-up

in a powder blue

bell bottomed suit

and wide-collared shirt

open at the throat.


I’m not quite so disco,

at least I'm not wearing jeans.

I’ve been mistaken

at times for Italian.

But not tonight.


I say, OK, I know you

don’t want trouble,

I’m not like that,

I know how to behave,

be polite, respectful.


He won’t look me in the eye.

Nicht GIs, no GIs.

I could try to pretend to be

a tourist, from Vancouver

if I had the right haircut.


But I’ve been emulating

my literary hero, Samuel Beckett

with buzzed sides and spiky top.

My grandpa Smith

had hair like that too

in the 30s. Nope.


All these German guys

look like they go to

the same stylist.

Well, so do the girls

for that matter,

without the mustaches.


I don’t really care,

it’s just an observation.

I just want to hear some music,

have a drink and dance.

I know how to dance,

especially to songs like

what’s coming out the door.


Is it because of the war 

in Vietnam I wonder,

there are demonstrations

every week or so.

I’d go to them too if we weren’t

locked up on base those days.

I’m a conscientious objector

for God’s sake. Literally.


I don’t think

that’s the reason, actually.

It’s all the assholes who have

come before me.


Loud and proudly

showing off their

ignorance. Expecting

the girls to be wowed enough

to enthusiastically spread their legs.


That’s not me, I want to say

I just want to enjoy the music,

a drink and a dance or two.

Nicht GIs, he says and

looks away.


Inside the DJ is playing

another T Rex cut:


“Friends say it's fine

Friends say it's good

Everybody says

it's just like Robin Hood


...


Well it's plain to see

You were meant for me

Yeah, I'm your boy

Your 20th century toy.”


Apparently this 20th century

isn’t quite the one for me.

I’ll just go back to base

and read some more

Nietzsche, Mao or Beckett.