So I learned from Festival Of The Spoken Nerd that technically purple doesn’t exist.

I say DOWN with this blasphemy.

Do you believe in purple?

Do you have faith in in the shade

That makes your eyes deduce

its presence in the space

Between red/blue/not red/not blue?

Do you?

I said do you believe?

Do you believe in purple?

They’ll tell you it’s not real

Oh those unbelievers!

They’ll say that your rods and your cones

Would deceive you

No!

Though you’ll never find

This colour sublime

On no lowly spectrum line.

You must

Put your trust

In the mauve

The violet

The lavender

The lilac

Yes even the heliotrope!

To see it, you have to believe

I said do you BELIEVE?

Because once the miracle enters you,

Here,

Right behind your cornea?

Oh, my children,

It’s here.

It’s here.

And it’s never going to leave.

Miss gave us cubes of cut up spud

Biology, year nine.

And said we had to drop them

Into beakers full of brine

I couldn’t do the science, though,

Cos Natalie nicked mine

And threw them at Aleesha’s head

So now she’s writing lines.

It wasn’t quite as good as when

We made stuff melt in acid

But it was pretty funny when

Miss Armitage said “flaccid”

I didn’t really care because

I’m not a saddo nerd

But still, I think “osmosis”

Is a really pretty word.

OK this is one of those times where science ties into philosophy and spirituality and stuff. Sue me,

When you feel as if the struggle’s somehow always getting worse

You fight and fight, and even so, you’re still under attack

Remember that the harder that you push the universe,

The harder the universe

Is pushing back.

I wasn’t sure what to do for my 100 Days Of Poetry this year, and then Stephen Hawking died. So now I’m doing 100 poems about science. Note, I am not a scientist. Peer review is strongly encouraged: let me know if I get the sciences wrong.

(Also Happy Birthday to me. And Einstein.)

You told us how the stars bend time and space

Around them, and we tried to visualise

A rubber sheets with weights on it, in place

Of what we couldn’t see behind your eyes.

You said black holes were once assumed to be

So powerful that nothing could get out

But you had looked, and found that you could see

Some particles escaping. Who could doubt

Your word? We knew you saw beyond the stars

And tried to show us what, to you, was plain,

To reach down and enlighten minds like ours

From your great height: it must have been a strain.

You’ve left us slightly wiser, in the end:

Gazing at stars we almost comprehend.

The last poetic answer is for the questions never asked.

It is, of course, as all these poems are, for Sam.

You never asked me, but I’ll always tell you:

That bird’s a heron. That one’s called a dipper,

And that’s the River Sheaf, and this is sorrel,

And these are hawthorn buds we would have tasted,

And these are bilberries that would have stained us

And foxes live round here. And so do badgers.

And we would have come out sometimes, at nightfall,

To look for them together. I’d have told you:

Those stars are called Orion, just like you are.

You’ll never ask, but I will always tell you.

I love you, and I love you, and I love you.

The sky is a whole lot of nothing

And nothing can never be made.

It’s a void full of great balls of fire

And there’s clouds to provide lots of shade.

The sky is so very enormous

It’s incredibly hard not to stare

At its colours and shapes. It’s not easy

To remember it’s mostly not there.

But the sky is just space with the light on.

You can see that as night starts to fall

Yes, the sky is a whole lot of nothing

The most beautiful nothing of all

The age old question posed whenever the bowel movements are more adequate than the plumbing. Courtesy of my friend Rosie’s son.

You ate your tea,

And you made me:

 I’m here.

You flush and flush:

I’m in no rush,

No fear.

Don’t mind the smell

Just look how well

You did!

And hold your nose

And maybe close

The lid.

Belatedly, a political question asked by a five year old during the U.K. General Election leaders’ debates.

And yes, I suppose I mean anarchism. But anarchy sounded better. Sod your rules.

There’s an idea called anarchy

That says that we’d

Be better without leaders.

Because responsibility

For doing right

Would fall on each of us.

And with no leaders there would be 

No followers. 

Nobody taking orders.

So we would just be kind, you see.

Considerate.

No countries, and no borders.

I like the thought of anarchy

But I don’t trust

Some people that I’ve met 

Not to choose to bully me

Without some laws

To stop them. Well not yet.

So do we need a hierarchy?

Someone in charge?

If so, who should we choose?

Theresa, or else Jeremy?

Or nobody?

What have we got to lose?

If there’s a fire, I will yell

Be scared, but try to help as well.

If there’s a fire, I will scream

Just like a siren. But it seems

A fire alarm is not like me

It does not feel, it does not see

There’s many things it cannot do

That I am good at, this is true.

But it could save us: that’s no joke:

It’s better at detecting smoke.

A pertinent question from the beautifully rainbowgender Elffin.

You were born into being a brother

But nothing’s a permanent state.

And if you find out you’re a sister 

Well, darling, it’s never too late.

But I’m not the one who can tell you

The person you’re going to be 

That’s you. And when you know the answer 

Please do not forget to tell me.