Global warming poetries – battle of the Algorhymes

WUWT regular “Pop Piasa” writes this in comments, and it is something worth sharing.

I am celebrating this repeating folly by reposting my Algorhyme, entitled,

Pinwheels and Mirrors.

A long time ago (in the 80’s or so),
Al Gore warned that warming would soon be alarming;
“Our children won’t know what it’s like to see snow!
Our atmosphere we must stop harming!”

He’d acquired in college, some greenhouse gas knowledge.
Then, over years of political careers,
He pondered this notion: The atmosphere and oceans
Are useful to raise public fears.

He made presentations to all the world’s nations.
His film (sci-fi trash) was a box office smash!
Academy sensation! Oscars, nominations
And copious currents of cash!

Then unto him fell the Peace Prize, Nobel…
Authority, on him was now vested.
(Debates he must quell, for he knows quite well:
Models failed when reality tested.)

So, grew the meme of anthropogenic extreme.
While insiders profited highly,
Those who objected were quickly subjected
To ridicule (and regarded vilely).

Pinwheels and mirrors now litter the lands…
Power lines, mile after mile.
On high plains, sea cliffs and desert sands
Our vistas, they now beguile.

But, collectors of government subsidies
Find them a beautiful sight,
These mechanical menaces… begging a breeze
Or a sunbeam to make their cost right.

Decades upcoming threaten cold’s icy numbing-
Nature’s cycles, in concert, are waning.
The slowness to warm should have cancelled alarm,
But Al never ceases campaigning:

“We humans are bad, with our fossil fuel fad,
It’s a fast-building carbon disaster!
And now it’s two-fold! It’s causing the cold
And the hotness to come so much faster!”

Yet, while he’s pleading that all should be heeding
His carbon reduction ambitions,
He hopes you’re not seeing his own footprint being
Hundreds of poor folks’ emissions.

Let’s hope he’s thought out, while jetting about,
The messages of his actions.
By far they outweigh any words he might say,
In the minds of the wiser factions.


Compare that to Al Gore’s “bleak” poem penned in 2009:

Here is the poem in full:

One thin September soon

A floating continent disappears

In midnight sun

Vapors rise as

Fever settles on an acid sea

Neptune’s bones dissolve

Snow glides from the mountain

Ice fathers floods for a season

A hard rain comes quickly

Then dirt is parched

Kindling is placed in the forest

For the lightning’s celebration

Unknown creatures

Take their leave, unmourned

Horsemen ready their stirrups

Passion seeks heroes and friends

The bell of the city

On the hill is rung

The shepherd cries

The hour of choosing has arrived

Here are your tools

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42 thoughts on “Global warming poetries – battle of the Algorhymes

  1. The other day upon my chair
    I read a threat that wasn’t there.
    It wasn’t there again today.
    Oh how I wish it’d go away!

    • There once was a man from Tennessee,
      Who kept crying, “Look out for the sea!
      The Ice will all melt,
      and flood where we’ve dwelt
      and then who will keep funding me?”

    • There once was a candidate Gore
      And some chads made him get really sore
      “I know what I’ll do!”
      “I’ll screw all of you!”
      “While raking in Greenbacks galore!”

    • There once was a man from Devizes,
      Whose balls were of different sizes.
      One was so small,
      T’were no ball at all,
      The other won several prizes!

      • “The limerick packs laughs anatomical
        Into verse that is quite economical;
        But the good ones I’ve seen
        So seldom are clean,
        And the clean ones so seldom are comical!”

  2. Boreious Goreious
    MostHypocriticly
    Talks of the dangers
    That frighten the clown
    He will be telling us
    UN Advisories
    Will dismantle the system
    And cool us all down

  3. The distraction of Global Warming
    CO2 gravy train claim is still Forming
    Too hot or cold for us humans in our Boom
    Blinds us to many Elephants in the Room
    Of Asteroids, Pollution, Supervolcanoes
    And more besides, who really Knows
    Trillions will be spent pissing in the Wind
    For you humans we have thus Sinned
    When really they are following the Money
    Beyond gross modelling it’s quite Funny
    Everyone has their own confirmation Bias
    Claim they know and we’re so flipping Pious
    Politicized scientists a new religious Group
    Lying and swindling, but how low will they Swoop?

  4. It takes much more skill to create verse with both internal and end-of-line rhyming and a coherent theme than to scribble some jangled free verse imagery. Al, as usual, fails the competition.

  5. Vanity Fair calls Gore’s poems, “equal parts beautiful, evocative and disturbing.” I rather prefer the statement from Fox News’ Greg Gutfeld who says, “I call it equal parts “barf, barf and barf.”

  6. A Message in a Bottle

    Artesian
    The report on my imminent death is immature. I have been sloshing around in the basins on the crust for more than four billion years. I now cover nearly 71 percent of the planet. Since the last ice age, I have lifted myself out of the basin by 120 metres and scared the tribes of Noah to the higher ground. During deep time, I became the universal solvent for the volcanoes and the clouds. I have taken up as much salt as required by local circumstances and sometimes give it back in hot shallows and desert areas of my world. I have given man the salt in his blood. I have absorbed as much gas as I need to maintain balance with the organic world within me and on land. Your CO2 output is infinitesimally small. The exchange is so peaceful that science calls it equilibrium. I can absorb more CO2, if the plants do not need it, and it does not give me acid imbalance. My pH will remain basic no matter what you say. The variations you measure have come and gone many uncountable times on the planet and your baseline is too small to know the truth. What you do not get is that warming of the oceans releases CO2 and other gasses from my water, while cooling my water allows me to take up CO2 in vast amounts to nestle with the other molecules in my coldest most remote realms. I can absorb all that man can produce because your impact is feeble compared to my capacity.
    Please watch me with humility for you cannot change me. I am the ongoing sink for the planet, and I am huge and my heat content is beyond your estimation. Measure me here and there with your microscopes but know that I will never be that way in that place again. Open your mind to the infinite cycles of chemistry and physics and kneel on my beach. You can only hurt me by not respecting my infinite ability to change chemistry and temperature in all the corners of the seas. My CO2 feeds your plants and your plants provide all the oxygen you breathe. Your baseline is infinitesimally small yet your mouth is wide open. Stop sending me your plastic water bottles.

    Poseidon, the King
    ==================
    I am Aeolus

    I am mostly invisible, but not space. I am the wind you breathe, the 20 km thick shell around your sphere. I am bigger than Poseidon’s realm by many times. I am oxygen, and I am 80% nitrogen. I am both water vapour and humidity. I am carbon dioxide, methane, laughing gas and ozone. Argon, neon, helium, and hydrogen make my fireworks in the lightening. I heat you by convection like an oven, cool you with my wind chill, and bury you in my microscopic hexagonal crystal frost. From the poles to the equator and from your caves to Kathmandu, I cover you, feed, and water you and your plants: no wind, and there is no food worth eating, for plants or man. Over four billion years and more, I practiced my cycles. My ozone protects you from your sun’s blue rays; my methane warms your coldest nights. Your green plants whirl out my oxygen all night trading it for my CO2 in the sunshine. When you walk in your forest, be thankful for the bargain.
    Without my parts per million CO2, you would choke. Without my parts per million CO2, you would freeze. As your people grow in numbers and size, I need more CO2 to fertilize your food. In my opinion, the more fat children, the merrier, because the earth does not laugh enough. Do not pump my CO2 underground or earth will quake from the wrong as it did under Denver on August 9th1967. When you sequester, be prepared to scavenge for food, and perhaps burn your oxygen for warmth
    ___________________________________________________________________________

    Vulcan – god of fire said, “All the gasses from the mantle of the earth drive my fire and push up my liquid rock. Water affects my temper. When I foam, I am deadly. My carbon dioxide is colourless, and difficult to detect. It is heavy. It sinks and has killed many camped near Lake Nyos, in Cameroon. My sulphur dioxide is a killer too. At more than 20 ppm, it irritates, burns your eyes and is dangerous to breathe. When inhaled, most becomes sulphuric acid. My hydrogen sulphide is easy to smell, like rotten eggs. People are generally able to notice the odour; it can kill you at 50 ppm. My radon is colorless, odourless, tasteless, and radioactive. It can creep into your basement. My hydrochloric acid is colorless, but with an ‘acidic’ odour and taste. My HCl is common around blowholes and in eruptions. It can and will destroy the ozone when it blows to the top of the atmosphere. Just like the liquid acid, my vaporous acid will burn anything it touches – especially the breathers. My sulphuric acid comes in shades of brown and is odourless; exposure results in quick burns and dissolves the outer layers of the teeth. However, my worst most painful acid is hydrofluoric. It is also invisible and will cause deep burns and permanent blindness if not flushed with water. Death by hydrofluoric acid is horrible. Ask the ghosts of Iceland in 1783. My chimneys are scattered around the planet and one big puff like Krakatau or Pinatubo can ruin your air and cool your world. Between expulsions, my gasses are usually scattered. You will never know when I will speak and kill you because your lives are too short. My CO2 is my most benevolent gas, and I have given you parts per million for you to feed your plants. Use it carefully and do not abuse it. It is weak to fear me and not prosper. I come when I want.
    I do not respond to human sacrifice.”

    Finally, Gaia – the earth element wrote:

    “Among the ancient elements of Aristotle, the earth element was both cold and dry. He thought I occupied a place between water and fire. Aristotle lived a short span, just a moment ago in deep time, and he did not ask me. I am wet and dry, hot and cold, light and dark in all the rainbow colours. Gaia is rich and overflowing with goodness. My sphere vibrates with the gravity of the solar system. I ring like a bell when I quake, and if gravity dropped me, my sphere would splash like a tear. When my skin slides, I create wealth and prosperity in your copper mines. You dress to match me at your atomic scale with treasures from your tiny mines.
    I must admit, your choices of where to cluster astonish me. I guess you do not know me yet.
    I condensed more than four billion years ago as stardust gathered at my core. In all that time continuing tomorrow, I am sorting out the stardust into separate useful solids and liquids. I give most of the vapours to Vulcan and Aeolus and most of the fluids to Poseidon and they all share. So far, you have found only enough gold to fill one house and enough diamonds to fill one truck. There is more where that came from. Find where I have hidden it in the mountains and under the waters. It is good for you to quest – good luck.
    Man is late to the life that began in the salty wet clay. You have the salt of Poseidon, the gills of fish, and the brains of monkeys; you have the muscles of babies and the lips of giants. Your eyes magnify everything and what you see scares you. You must place your optical illusions in the perspective of prosperity, health, food, shelter, and clothing. Please listen to your science and not your demagogues1. Your footprint is light. How many of you have seen a mine or a well? None! They are as rare as diamonds.
    Do what you need to do. Make all your people happy. You have wit enough to do it cleanly. Dig my coal and burn it; make it into plant food again and water. Pump my oil and burn it. There is more where you have not looked. There is much where you have already looked in trillion tonne layers of rock in Colorado. It is for man to use and recycle. Do not hesitate to scratch me; I do not bleed; I give.
    I do not want to be alone. Gaia and man belong together, and you do not know why. Much of my surface is empty of man. Perhaps illusions are the answer to the riddle. There is always more room for the children. Oh yes, the sunspots may come back when the lying stops.”

    1Demagogue – a political leader who gains power by appealing to people’s emotions, instincts, and prejudices in a way that is considered manipulative and dangerous.

  7. Our minders and binders,
    Whose blinders betray,
    Be fault-finders, stem-winders—
    No truth-finders they.

      • I have a regressive memory that hillary groped and sexually assaulted me when I was in high school. I can’t remember when or where it happened but it might have been her. Every time I see her face I’m terrified what it did to me. I don’t want to live in a house without at least two doors now. I told all my friends at the beach bar last week and they believe it probably happened and that I should get a lawyer specializing in porn queens. 😉

        /sarc

        • me too.
          a blonde woman molested me for 20 years.
          i tried bravely to resist her- but my body betrayed me.

  8. Many thanks Anthony, but it appears there’s plenty of poetic talent among the good folks who comment here.
    I had never seen Gore’s poetry, maybe they taught him that in Divinity School. 👨‍🎓

  9. I see that Gore is a man who likes free verse. I’ve noticed from watching the Grammys that rich folks really like free stuff. especially taxpayer funded stuff in his case.
    The last line has me wondering if he stole it from a Dark Brothers skin flick.

    • The family fortune was greatly enhanced by the acquisition of coal and zinc mining royalties in Tennessee by his dad the Senator during the Great Depression. There’s a zinc mine under one of his properties today. Poor boy, his entire career he has suffered champagne guilt.

      Similar story for the Pew Charitable Trust. Grandfather pushed the road to the Athabasca oil sands. The spawn have felt the guilt ever since.

  10. Flannery of the Underflow

    I had written him a letter now the weather’s getting wetter
    Asking why he felt so certain we would never more see rain.
    He was ranting when I met him so I sent a note to get him
    To reply to all my questions, just in case he’d grown a brain.

    Flanners, tell us all, I pray you, why you chose the scary way you
    Once announced that all of Oz would soon be nothing more than dust.
    It’s been piddling down for days now and I can’t describe the ways how
    You perverted western science in a wicked breach of trust.

    And an answer came directed in a way quite unexpected
    (And I think the crayon used was all the nursing staff allowed)
    ‘Twas his Climate Council buddy, Andrew Stock, as thick as Ruddy:
    “Flanners flew to Cancún Sunday where his climate facts are wowed.”

    In my fancy I saw planners lapping up the threats from Flanners
    As they pondered how to use them to strip punters of their dough,
    And they dreamed of windmills turning (just ignore that big one burning)
    For the planners run the media so the punters never know.

    I am sitting in my drippy little shed where a nippy
    Draught of frigid air is goosing pimples up and down my arms,
    And the chilly wind and drizzle turns my whinging to a grizzle
    As I hear the news of cresting dams and waves on flooded farms.

    And in place of dust and dryness there is mould and temps of minus
    And the puddles on the lawn have all conjoined to form a lake,
    And the language oh so slighting of “deniers” is inciting
    Me to punch my television and scream “Flannery’s a flake.”

    And the scheming warmers daunt me, and their threats of horrors taunt me
    To retort: the cyclone count is down and temps refuse to rise!
    But their models and their theories and their clear distaste for queries
    Mean their true belief reduces science to “denier lies.”

    If I fancied tossing spanners I suppose I’d swap with Flanners,
    Swanning ’round the warming circus while he’s raking in the dough,
    While I face the round eternal of the absence of infernal
    Global warming – what a bastard, Flannery of the Underflow.

    • 👍Wow! What great lyrics to sing to an Irish Reel. Could you write a chorus to it? I can already hear it in my head…

    • Excellent job, Mark.
      A sixteener, and trochee to boot. Many consider this notoriously difficult. I’ve a good mind to paste a printed copy in the back of Paterson’s complete works – he surely won’t mind.

      • Yes Mark and all (except the gorackle) wonderful stuff.
        If Anthony would indulge us with a separate poetry section, I have several bits and pieces I could contribute.

  11. An amoeba named Joe and his brother
    Were drinking a toast to each other.
    In the midst of their quaffing,
    They split themselves laughing,
    And now each of them is a mother!

    I learned that limerick in high school, ostensibly written by a classmate; if he didn’t write it, I know not the source. Regardless of authorship, that limerick makes more sense than Gore’s effusion above, and it has the advantage of stating a scientific fact, verifiable to this day by direct observation (names, of course, have been changed to protect the guilty).

  12. Here’s one I wrote a year or so back when the Canadian Minister of Climate Change was seen warming up in Cancun during the heart of a cold Canadian winter.

    Climate Barbie was getting quite snippy
    Would have pressed had it not been so nippy
    but fortunately a COP
    was scheduled atop
    Mayan ruins and not in Poughkeepsie

  13. This was my entry into the “Battle of the Algorhymes” posted on WUWT sometime in late 2009 or early 2010.

    THE DODO (aka The GOR’CLE)
    A Takeoff of THE RAVEN by Edgar Allan Poe
    (with apologies to Mr. Poe)

    Once upon a storm front dreary, while I pondered, cold and teary,
    Over quaint and curious e-mails of computer lore,
    While I nodded, nearly snoring, suddenly there came a harping.
    As of someone loudly harping, harping at my igloo door;
    “Tis some peddler,” I so cursed, “harping at my igloo door;
    All of that but not much more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in a bleak December,
    Cursing cold and wanting heat all the more.
    Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to burn
    All the poems of Albert Gore.
    For the grim and depressing shepherd whom the devil named Al Gore.
    Truthless here forevermore.

    And the warming sad crackling of each glowing ember
    Made me dream of warmth galore.
    So that now, to still the chatt’ring of my teeth, I stood repeating,
    “Tis the Gor’cle entreating entrance at my igloo door,
    Some half boar entreating entrance at my igloo door.
    That it is, and nothing more.”

    Presently my legs grew warming, hesitating then no longer,
    “Sir,” said I, “or half bear, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is, I am freezing, and so loudly you came harping,
    And so loudly you came harping, harping at my igloo door,
    Through my frozen ears I heard you. “Here I opened wide the door,–
    Darkness there, and nothing more.

    Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, freezing,
    Doubting, cursing, thinking thoughts no mortal ever dared to think before;
    But the harping was unbroken, and the loudness gave no token,
    And the only words there spoken were the shouted words,
    “It’s frigging cold.” This I chattered, and an echo murmured back the words,
    “You got that right!” Merely this, and nothing more.

    Back into the igloo turning, all my blood within me churning,
    Soon again I heard a harping, something louder than before,
    “Surely,” said I, “surely, that is something at my igloo door.
    Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
    Let my frozen bones get moving, and this mystery explore.
    “Tis some hot air, nothing more.”


    Open here I moved the ice door, when with many a lie and bluster,
    In there stepped a portly Gore, of the V.P. days of yore.
    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
    But with mien of lord or saint, squatted by my igloo door.
    Squatted by the bust of Earth, which he set upon my floor,
    Squatted, and Squatted, and nothing more.

    Then this Gor’cle beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
    By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance that it wore,
    “Yes, thy lies be shown and proven,” I said, “you are losin,
    Ghastly, grim, and ancient Gore, wander from the frozen shore.
    Tell me what thy curs-ed name is on the coastline’s receding shore.”
    Quoth the Gor’cle, “Fear for sure.”

    Much I marvelled this ungainly foul to hear discourse so plainly,
    Though his answer little meaning, little relevance bore,
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was cursed with seeing lies next to his igloo door.
    Lies and lies upon the sculptured bust beside my igloo door.
    With such name as “Albert Gore.”

    But the Gor’cle, squatting lonely by the bust, spoke only
    Those three words, as if his soul in those words he did outpour.
    Nothing further then he uttered; not a halo then he fluttered;
    Till I scarcely more than muttered. “Please you DODO, close my igloo door!”
    On the morrow he will leave me, as my warmth has flown before.”
    Then the Gor’cle said, “Fear for sure.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so dumbly spoken,
    “Doubtless,” said I, “what you selling, you debunk-ed boor?”
    Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
    Followed fast and followed faster, till his lies one burden bore,—
    Till the dirges of his lies, his “settled science” burden bore
    Of “Fear for sure, Fear for sure.”

    But the Gor’cle still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
    Straight I wheeled a cushion seat for his massive behind sore;
    Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to thinking
    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what a load of bull$hit more –
    What this grim, obese and humorless V.P. of yore
    Meant in croaking “Fear for sure.”

    Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
    To the foul, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
    This and more I sat divining, with my frozen head reclining
    On the cushion’s velvet lining that his halo gloated o’er,
    But whose halo brightness glowing with the halo gloating o’er
    He shall press, ah, fear for sure!

    Then me thought, the air grew warmer, perfumed from an unseen gas
    Wafting from his big fat a$$, floated to the frozen floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath
    Sent thee respite by the heat of Earth’s million degree core.
    Quaff, O quaff this carbon bull$hit, and forget the cold of yore!”
    Quoth the Gor’cle, “Fear for sure!”

    “Prophet!” said I, “think of evil!–prophet still, if God or devil!
    Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
    Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this frozen land forgotten–
    On this home by icebergs haunted–tell me truly, I implore:
    Will burning be my fate forevermore?–tell me–tell me I implore!”
    Quoth the Gor’cle, “Fear for sure.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “think of evil-prophet still, if huckster or devil!
    By that heaven that bends above us–by that God we both adore–
    Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant future,
    You shall clasp a painted maiden, whom the Danish call a höör–
    Clasp a poor and sullied maiden, whom the Danish call a höör?
    Quoth the Gor’cle, “You got that right.”

    Be that word our sign of parting, foul or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting–
    “Get thee back into the tempest and the land’s declining shore!
    Leave no smoke plume as a token of that lie thy mouth hath spoken!
    Leave my frozen bones unbroken! — quit thy evil by my door!
    Take thy nose from oust thy butt, and take thy lard a$$ from off my floor!”
    Quoth the Gor’cle, “Fear for sure.”

    And the Gor’cle, never flitting, still is squatting, still is squatting
    By the burning bust just beside my frozen door;
    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is scheming.
    And the halo light o’er him streaming strains to reach the frozen floor,
    And my soul from out that shadow that lies frozen to the floor
    Shall be lifted — when you leave, you GOD DAMN BOOR.

    • Sorry I missed that Algorhymes Post! here was mine.

      The sun was shining on the earth,
      Dimming with all his might:
      He did his very best to make
      Mans reason really bright–
      And this was odd, because it seems
      At Starbucks there’s no light.

      The profs were griping sulkily,
      Because they thought no one
      Had got business probing them
      After the fraud was done–
      “It’s very rude of Steve,” they said,
      “To come and spoil the fun!”

      The sea was huge as wet could be,
      The deserts still were dry.
      The winds were swirling
      Just the same,
      As reason passed us by.
      The questioners were honest,
      The scientists would lie.

      Hippie and the Corpulent
      Were surfing on the net
      They wept like anything to see
      That Wall Street’s just a bet.
      “If we could only scare the world”
      They said, “we’d get their debt!”

      “Oh greenies come and surf with us”
      Hansen did beseech
      A simple trick, a mindless trip
      In Google Earth’s fake reach.
      We cannot do with more than four
      To give a mil to each.

      The sober thinkers looked at him
      But not a word they said
      “We need to get off foreign oil.
      Who cares what’s in his head?
      I’m sure our ends are similar,
      But we’re not easily led.”

      But four researchers hurried up
      All eager for the trick
      Their thinking stoned, their tactics honed,
      Their ethics mostly sick–
      And this was RIGHT, because you know,
      belonging is a kick!

      Four other dreamers followed them
      And yet another four,
      And thick and fast they came at last,
      The media and more!
      All looking for a Brand New Car,
      And dreamily at Gore.

      Hansen and the Goracle
      slouched on a year or so.
      And then they stooped down from the heights,
      Conveniently low.
      And all the little acolytes
      just waited in a row.

      “The time has come”, the UN said,
      “To pay for many things.
      For sycophants and secret clubs
      To fly and live like kings.
      And private jets and conferences,
      Rapt groupies in the wings.”

      “But wait a bit”, the public cried,
      “Before we pass the hat,
      We all are in foreclosure
      And the future’s fallen flat!”
      “Panic!”, said the Goracle,
      “Steve’s nose can smell a rat!”

      “Hockey sticks and subterfuge
      Are what we chiefly need.
      Disable all reality,
      This hoax we have to feed!
      Some geeks are adding all this up,
      Prohibit all that screed!”

      “But don’t tax US”, the public said,
      “We have to think this through!
      Our math, so bad, but we can add,
      Our earnings go to you!”
      “The ice is gone!”, Jim Hansen said,
      “Next summer, we’ll be through!

      Real Climate thanked the remnant
      and silenced all the rest.
      For what use are the numbers,
      when Gaia serves you best?
      It failed to pay upon the day
      the geek had fouled the nest!

      “It’s such a thrill”, the thinkers said,
      “To roust them from their dumps,
      Of simple tricks and media
      That kicked us in the rumps.
      We will not stop until their ilk
      Has taken all their lumps.”

      “We laugh at you”, the people said,
      “We do not sympathize!
      Unearthing all your data
      Has opened up our eyes.
      The blogosphere is EVERYONE
      you need a good disguise!”

      “Oh peons”, said the media
      You fail to see the light,
      “The hoax goes on, the stocks are pawns,
      the planet’s in a plight!
      If we can’t fool you one more time
      we will resort to might”.

      And then the savior stepped up
      to cover all our sin.
      “The planet first, the world is theirs,
      we never planned to win.
      I think that math and all that stuff,
      are subject to my whim!”

      The people saw the UN
      had made a secret scheme
      to grab it all in pretense
      of waking from the dream.
      When really all they wanted,
      was our financial cream.

      The rest is up to you, dumb geeks,
      the battle almost won.
      Will we surrender common sense
      or thank the quiet sun?
      Thank EVERYONE who looks around.
      and Watts is number ONE!

  14. Some have drifted away from odes of Al.
    Here’s my old drift.

    Stopping by Yamal one Snowy Evening
    By “The Mann”

    What tree this is, I think I know.
    It grew in Yamal some time ago.
    Yamal 06 I’m placing here
    In hopes a hockey stick will grow.

    But McIntyre did think it queer
    No tree, the stick did disappear!
    Desparate measures I did take
    To make that stick reappear.

    There were some corings from a lake.
    And other data I could bake.
    I’ll tweek my model more until
    Another hockey stick I’ll make!

    I changed a line into a hill!
    I can’t say how I was thrilled!
    Then Climategate. I’m feeling ill.
    Then Climategate. I’m feeling ill.

    • I’ll never forget ‘You’ve seen one tree you’ve seen Yamal.’ I have forgotten the attribution, though, who was meteoric in his poetic blogging career. I’m pretty sure I never saw another contribution from him[her?], but that one shone.
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  15. Here’s one I wrote for a competition last April. Rules were:-
    1. Subject must be one of the seven deadly sins.
    2. Seven words per line.
    3. Seven lines per stanza.

    Avarice they plan, to take your wealth
    Lying to you, they trained by stealth
    To save the earth from falsified threat
    By wasting trillions on a hopeless bet.
    Break your back while you shovel snow
    And blame Global Warming for you know
    All is true. They told you so.

    Lie through your teeth on Tokyo treat
    Tell the people they shouldn’t eat meat
    Fly to Paris for a smash-up nosh
    And Switzerland on the taxpayers’ dosh.
    While you froze did the oceans rise ?
    Don’t let go of your waterfront prize
    Just be sure to maintain the lies.

    Wouldn’t do that? Then know you this:
    Their best interest is not your bliss
    For consensus science is just a frame
    Holding the sheeple in a political game.
    The industrial nations, they all must roll
    New World Order is the primary goal
    And a single hand with total control.

    • Back when Maurice Strong still lived I used to wonder whether he was in China rightfully advising, or being advised of his rights.
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