Problems of time travel, by Peter Shilston

 Agent F2X had been trained always to obey without question orders from the Time Lords, so when he was ordered to travel into the past and blow up a certain designated building, he set his co-ordinates to an appropriate time and place and set out. 

  On arriving there, however, he was surprised to find merely a shallow crater, which was already being colonised by a few weeds. Clearly, the building had already been destroyed, probably some weeks or months earlier. While he was standing there in puzzlement, a man approaching him, and after a few casual comments about the desolation before them asked, "Haven't I seen you here before?" Covered in confusion, Agent F2X recalibrated his return to his own space/time location and made his report to a Time Lord.

   "The mistake was yours," came the reply. "Your co-ordinates were set wrong. You arrived at your destination fifty earthdays later than you should have done, after the building had been destroyed. So now you must return there, but at the correct date, and carry out your task as instructed."

   "But," replied F2X in confusion, "surely the task has been done? I saw with my own eyes that the building had been destroyed!"

  "In that timeline, yes; but only because you returned. So proceed with your orders."

  "But the building might have been destroyed by someone else!  And why do I have to return now? Surely the task can be done by anyone, and at any time in the future?"

  There was no reply.  

Rote, by Annabelle Jane Palling.

 ROTE

There are no words but words

And lightning-shattered skies

And torrents crashing by.

There are no sounds but these

A secret whispering wind

And howling gales of joy

And earthquakes thundering.

This is more than just more

And never quite enough

My pleasure in surfeit

My skin that sings your touch.

There are no words but words

And lips and tongues and eyes

And gifts that cost us naught

And you between my thighs.

But.

Clichés are all around

Some hide a whit of truth

And even when they don’t

We tell ourselves they do.

Broken rap, by Stephanie Spiers

 Broken Rap

When it's weird on the ward, waiting for the locum.

Keep fingers crossed, 'cause everything is broken.

Phone-box all messed up, some old biddy with a token.

Life slips away, bleeding, 'cause everything is broken.

Blues and twos took too long, not a word was spoken.

Kids carry blades, 'cause everything is broken.

Slicing and dicing, mouths full of hokum

Turn your face away, 'cause everything is broken.

Sisters staying safe in packs, keeping wide eyes open

Remember y' never saw nothing, 'cause everything is broken.

Nowt paramedics could do, another momma heartbroken.

Don't say a word, 'cause everything is broken

Bridges, by Peter Morford

 .I can be impressed by a noble building; a cathedral, a pyramid or a monument. I admire the skill of its design and construction and its aesthetic beauty. In this secular age, I ask – “What practical use were they, other than to enable the clergy to secure their place in their imaginary heaven?” Nowadays we are more down to earth. We want to spend our money on things that work for their living. I confess that I’m more interested in beautiful structures which do something useful. Like bridges.

This unlikely structure is the Arkadina Bridge in Greece. It looks like a hole in a wall but it’s a real bridge, built around 1300 BC to carry charioteers to war. This dry-stone masterpiece is Europe’s oldest working bridge for pedestrians and cars still furtively cross it.

Bridges are different. Can there be any artefact which is as useful from the start? Or, to put it another way, imagine the world if there were no bridges. Where can we ford the river? Where’s the ferry?

I remember the first time I went to Skye. It was Saturday evening and we knew if we missed the ferry we’d be stuck because, at that time, everything stopped for Sunday. What we needed was a bridge. After an anxious wait a shaky little car- ferry. we persuaded a reluctant old salt to take one more trip. We arrived in time for dinner.

A few years later, there WAS a nice new toll-bridge. Of course, the community was divided on the matter. The ferry folk were redundant. The islands feared the invasion and the Sabbath was defiled as shops and pubs opened. Sassenachs like me admired its sleek lines and revelled at the new freedom.

Just think of the wonderful variety of bridges. It might be few tree-trunks across a narrow stream or a slab of rock resting like a table on two mounds. From these simple things have emerged some of the most impressive objects in the world. Ironbridge; the overgrown Meccano set of The Forth Bridge; suspension bridges of steel and concrete crossing the Severn; the Chesapeake Bridge-Tunnel.

Then in France, the Millau Viaduct standing on legs as tall as the Eiffel Tower. You ask yourself “Does the music of the spheres play in the wires on a windy day?”

There’s also a majesty in the more prosaic. Where several ways meet there is an excuse to weave a three-D pattern of roads. I’m thinking of Spaghetti Junction. Look at it objectively. Forget for a moment your worries about pollution. Remember how easily you navigate what would have been an almost impossible confusion before there were overpasses.

How to write, by John Steinbeck

 I really don't see how this advice can be bettered. It no doubt applicable to other fields too

...........................................................................................................................

.

The motor-bus in Oxford, by Alfred Denis Godley

(This famous comic poem was written around 1941, and is here dedicated to all those who remember having to learn Latin at school!) 

What is this that roareth thus?
Can it be a Motor Bus?
Yes, the smell and hideous hum
Indicat Motorem Bum!
Implet in the Corn and High
Terror me Motoris Bi:
Bo Motori clamitabo
Ne Motore caedar a Bo---
Dative be or Ablative
So thou only let us live:---
Whither shall thy victims flee?
Spare us, spare us, Motor Be!
Thus I sang; and still anigh
Came in hordes Motores Bi,
Et complebat omne forum
Copia Motorum Borum.
How shall wretches live like us
Cincti Bis Motoribus?
Domine, defende nos
Contra hos Motores Bos!.

Squares, by Michael Carding

 

Forty five times forty five

Equals twenty twenty five; (20+25) X (20+25) = 2025

This year, so rare, a perfect square

Unique in years I’ve been alive.

The last was nineteen thirty six

Now wait until two one one six

Rejoice! It’s good to be alive

Square up to twenty twenty five.

Our Queen Elizabeth the Second

Reigned seventy years, or so it’s reckoned , Elizabeth 1952 – 2022

In all those years upon the throne

Not one was square, not one alone,

Yet Charles her long-awaited heir

Reigned just three years and got a square, Charles 2022 – 2025

Tiberius Caesar, greedily,

Was not content with one, but three. Tiberius 14 - 37

Pythagoras would doubtless muse

The square on the hypotenuse, 272 + 362 = 452 = 2025

But sum three squares (does that seem naughty?)

Try five and twenty, lastly forty. 52 + 202 + 402 = 2025

Square of five, fourth power of three,

We’ve met the product recently; 52 X 34 = 2025*

Or integers to nine from one

Add them up and square the sum. (9+8+7+6+5+4+3+2+1)2 = 452 = 2025

I’m still not done, please pay attention,

We’ll rise into the third dimension:

Cube one, cube two, then three then four,

Carry on and cube five more,

Add all these cubes from one to nine

The sum, a number for our time.13 + 23 + 33 + 43 + 53 + 63 +73 + 83 + 93 = 2025

With special properties to cheer

Embrace! Enjoy! Happy New Year!