the weekly poem.com

Black Hole

 

When you get up really close,

Reality begins to bend –

Everyone seems more morose,

Life seems like it has no end:

Everybody throws their wobblers.

Everyone is talking cobblers.

 

Every whisper in your lug-hole,

Every glint in every eye

Takes you down a massive plughole.

Might be better if you die,

Than to hear the voices go on

(Taking back control, and so on).

 

Here it is, a snap from space,

Lots of heat, and eff-all light,

A monster with a hidden face –

No, it isn’t very bright:

You can sense the cosmic ruction.

Gravity. No loss of suction.

 

Here’s a swirling mass of matter

Gorged on by a bunch of spivs

Hell-bent on six months of natter,

Seeing if there’s something gives.

Give the black hole more to eat –

And later ask it, Trick Or Treat.

 

 

 

 

Click here for a Guardian article

 

 

 

 

 

 

Black Hole

The Brexit process has been extended to Hallowe’en. Scientists have published the first photograph of a black hole.


11 April 2019

POETRY KIT WEBRING

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