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Showing posts with label whales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whales. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Today's Peculiar News

Thanks to my garden for a bouquet in November.

So between breathing treatments for pneumonia, I found these snapshots of life on our planet in today’s newspaper:

Two gargantuan bubbles have been discovered erupting in the center of our Milky Way galaxy, NASA scientists say. With the energy of 100,000 supernova explosions, the bubbles might be a “belch” from the black hole known to be at the center of the Milky Way. “Wow,” said one astrophysicist.

The world’s whales seem to be suffering from severe sunburn, indicates a study out of the Gulf of California, and the thinning ozone layer might be the cause. Whales spend lots of time on the ocean’s surface, said a study author, and they can’t put on clothes or sunglasses to protect themselves from ultraviolet radiation.

A little more of Pompeii crumbled on Saturday with the collapse of the gladiator barracks. Surviving the explosion of Vesuvius 2,000 years ago, the ancient city struggles with modern life. Said an Italian spokesman, “We’re tired of commenting on the continual collapses and damage to the archaeological heritage of our country.”

Regarding the worst oil spill in U.S. history, former BP chief Tony Hayward told the BBC this week, “What was going on was some extraordinary engineering. But when it was played out in the full glare of the media, of course, it looked like a lot of fumbling and incompetence.”

Creative cuisine: On today’s menu for the powerless Carnival cruise ship adrift off Mexico following an engine fire, a head-to-head chef cook-off might make something fabulous of the U.S. Navy food supplies ferried to the ship’s 4,500 passengers: Pop Tarts, crab meat, croissants, and Spam.

Finally, today’s quote: “It is a stupidity second to none, to busy oneself with the correction of the world.” (Moliere)

Monday, September 28, 2009

The Great Spirit of God

He said he was like the ocean, a surging white-crested wave
of power sucked from moon and sun, the currents and the undercurrents
all arriving at this place, at this time, by the design of God himself.

I walked the beach shooing away the sandflies and scuffing through
the dried-up seaweed, sending up showers of sandflies that clung
to my lips and my hair. No tide had brought unbroken shells.

He said he thrived on the backs of whales, that he could speak
with the humpback and the sperm, that he knew whalesong
was a way to communicate the great potentiality of God.

Sand dragged at my shoes, not good shoes for walking in sand
and with a terrible foreknowledge I kicked over a mass of kelp
where beneath there lay the bedraggled corpse of a gull

He stripped off his shirt and he looked like a brown crystal vase
from a shop in Beverly Hills. Watch me, he ordered, knowing
his physique was riveting, though expensive, and no one turned away.

I watched as he would have me watch, in semi-sighing awe
as he gathered up his board like a girlfriend and padded to the sea,
that mystery girl I never was nor believed in as I scuffed the beach

But I was turned away when the 20-foot swell took him and his board
that power sucked from moon and sun, the currents and the undercurrents
all arriving at this place, at this time, by the design of God himself.

Chris Alba (c) 2009
Photo courtesyRyan HelmWeslshSurfNRG