World Poetry Day

Yes, I know, I know, World Poetry Day was a few days ago now, and as you read this it’s probably World Broccoli Day or World Make-Friends-With-A-Unicycling-Girrafe Day, but at the age of 59 and 11/12ths I’m a bit slow on the old unicycle release of calcium from intracellular stores uptake and it took me a while to retrieve this poem I wrote some years ago on the occasion of the confirmation of the existence of the Higgs Boson. So here it is. With apologies to Hilaire Belloc.


Clears throat.


The Boson is so very small

You cannot make it out at all

Though scientists have money on

Its presence in the Tevatron.

Notwithstanding the concern

Of colleagues working hard at CERN

Who hope the Boson might emerge

Triumphant, from a mighty splurge

of hadrons which, when they collide

Release their secrets, locked inside.

Why all this fuss, I say? Alas!

Without it, and we’d have no mass

We’d float away, like thistledown,

Drifting high above the ground.

The ground itself would fly away

And nothing much would deign to stay

Attracted to its bounden mate.

We’d be in such a sorry state!

But hold! We cannot be so free.

There is still much uncertainty,

For scientists tell us we must wait

For sigmas to accumulate.

Oh let us never, ever doubt

What nobody is sure about.


It’s OK, I’m going now.


About Henry Gee

Henry Gee is an author, editor and recovering palaeontologist, who lives in Cromer, Norfolk, England, with his family and numerous pets, inasmuch as which the contents of this blog and any comments therein do not reflect the opinions of anyone but myself, as they don't know where they've been.
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