Category: Poems

Cloud Magic

October 16, 2024

Poems
```
I am nothing but an aggregation
of millions upon millions upon millions of hydrogen and oxygen atoms,
bound up into millions upon millions upon millions of water molecules,
condensed into millions upon millions upon millions of tiny droplets.
Most, as I am sure you would expect, are warm and wet,
but those up high are frozen into crystals of ice.

And somewhere in my midst, where droplets and crystals mingle?
Well that is where the magic happens.
Where molecules escape from droplets
to rush towards their frozen cousins,
tumbling down the saturation concentration gradient
before crash-landing into the ice-bound surface.
```
```
Engorged by so many new arrivals,
those fattened crystals may clash with their neighbours
to splinter into yet more hungry shards
or, starting to fall, they drop into warmer air,
melting as they go
before loudly announcing their arrival in your realm.
```
```
How do you greet your visitors?
I see you rush to find shelter
and I hear you complain about my gift
as you try to deny the existence of those joyous, dancing drops,
each one a marvellous creation
of one of nature's spells.
```
```
Next time, do not forget what gave those drops
the supercharged growth that sent them raining to the ground,
that magic occurring in the midst of one like me.
Instead, try lifting your head and throw out your arms
to join their joyous dance.
For you too can be transformed by cloud magic.
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, October 2024

About this poem: At this time of year I teach a second year module on Meteorology. In this module, in addition to trying to give students some insight into some of the physical processes that occur within the atmosphere and act to control the Earth’s climate and give us our ever-varying weather, I hope to inspire an interest in, and dare I say it a love of, all things meteorological. Along the way I get to introduce some pretty amazing snippets of physics and one of my favourites of these is the amazingly subtle process occuring in deep clouds through which water molecules rapidly aggregate to form drops that are big enough to fall from the sky without evaporating back into water vapour before they reach the ground (i.e. to rain). This process is known as the Bergeron process after the Norwegian meteorologist who proposed its existence. This year I decided I would marry my love of this kind of physical process – which I unashamedly describe as ‘magic’ in my lectures – with my enjoyment of writing poems. This poem – ‘Cloud Magic’ – is the result. Next time you are caught out by a sudden heavy shower, don’t run for cover and don’t grumble, but embrace the rain is it falls around you and marvel at this example of nature’s magic (aka physics!) at work.
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The Thoughts I Have, The Things I Say

September 26, 2024

Poems
```
They rise like little bubbles of carbon dioxide in a glass of beer
and there is nothing I can do to halt their progress
even though I sense their motion
and am unsure
whether now is the right time
or whether I have already said enough.
```
```
Archimedes had it right,
for they are more loosely packed, lighter,
than the matter through which they travel.

So rise, rise, rise they must,
until arriving at the surface
it is all they can do to burst forth,
exploding into the world
whether I like it or not.
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, September 2024

About this poem: I attended the first virtual meeting of a new Book Club a couple of days ago – it was fun and interesting and as is usually the way with such things, I had a lot to say. This is something that I experience in all kinds of settings – meetings at work, conversations with individuals etc – my mind is always full of thoughts and ideas and I find it almost impossible not to want to make a response, add a comment, give my own thoughts, make a recommendation over and over again. It’s something that I am very conscious of and I frequently tell myself that perhaps I should speak less, share less and step into the background a bit more. I can imagine that I might come across as having an inflated sense of my own importance or simply a bit annoying because I just don’t shut up! Anyway, after the Book Club meeting I was reflecting on how it feels when I am in that kind of setting and I sense myself bursting to make another ‘interesting’ contribution. That reflection quickly turned itself into this poem in which I try to describe the way that even though I recognise and feel what is happening inside me I seem to be powerless to stop it.
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There Was A Bug In My Code

August 26, 2024

Poems
```
There was a bug in my code -
deeply hidden and able to do its dirty work unbidden.
The outputs, seeming to match my yearnings from the start,
and made sense of by my brain so smart,
despite being unknowingly based on numbers shuffled out of line
still formed a picture that, at first sight, looked absolutely fine.
But my logic had been melted by a processor that ran too hot
which meant, in fact, that it was not.
```
```
I had to stop and pull the plug,
before devoting every scrap of my energy to hunting for that pesky bug.
```
```
There was a bug in my code,
buried so deep to extract a price from me that was far too steep.
I had to break the code apart to follow step-wise, line-by-line
and chip away with care, avoiding damage to the spine
until I caught a fleeting glimpse of an evil face,
though familiar to me, for I was the one who had dropped it into place.
Fighting pain and shame so great they made me numb
I teased it out and burst it open between one finger and my thumb.

There was a bug in my code,
and though it now lies shattered in the dust, I cannot fully trust.
For there is one thing I have gleaned,
that no matter how much I have checked and cleaned
and reassured myself that my code is good
there may still be dangers lurking underneath the hood.
And every time I go to flick the switch,
a tiny unseen flaw could cause a glitch.

I must never let myself feel smug.
There may be other secrets hiding in my code, just like that sneaky bug.

(c) Tim O'Hare, August 2024
```
About this poem: In my professional life I am, in part at least, a scientist, and the kind of science work that I do revolves around developing and writing computer models to explore the behaviour of different systems. Usually that work has been related to the movement of sand by waves and currents in coastal environments but over the last few months I have been developing a computer model to explore how and why different strategies that animals deploy in contests for resources have evolved. Several times recently, including last week, I have been excited by the results that my model has generated only to complete further test runs with different initial parameters and unexpected/anomalous results leading me to the realisation that somewhere in my carefully handcrafted lines of computer code there is an error (or bug) that needs to be hunted down and corrected. I had been mulling over the idea for this poem for a few days since the last such occurrence and then this morning, whilst out on a run, I shaped the basic form of the first two verses of this poem, rehearsing them over and over in my head so that they didn’t slip out of my mental grasp. The final form of the poem holds a deliberate ambiguity about the nature of ‘my code’, which could refer both to the computer code of my work and/or the internal ‘code’ that controls my own actions and behaviours.
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In The Long Run

August 18, 2024

Poems
```
Do not fret…
 about the choices you have made,
  and whether they will all work out…
 about how long it might take,
  and whether you will come out on top…
 about what more you could have done,
  whilst always fearing that you will fail…
 about how you will feel…
  in the long run.
```
```
Just sink in…
 as a buzzard swoops low across your path,
  and the clouds scuttle away to reveal a blue sky…
 as a friendly dog trots by your side,
  and grass-munching cows share your field of play…
 as you emerge from the darkness of the woods,
  and a stunning new landscape comes into view…
 as you immerse yourself…
  in the long run.
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, August 2024

About this poem: This poem combines two of my favourite activities – pondering the ways of the human mind and its struggles with living life and long-distance running. Unsurprisingly, the idea for the poem emerged while I was out for (or should I write ‘in’?) a long run yesterday morning – just the simple notion that in life as in my long runs it is vital to try to stay immersed in the experience rather than focusing and probably worrying about how things might turn out. In the end, a long run successfully reaches its destination and (I think) so too will life if you can just let it unfold whilst enjoying whatever it brings your way!
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Spin the Spinner – Roll the Dice

August 12, 2024

You do not have to Go Directly To Jail
or be forced to spend your hard-won money on little plastic houses,
feeling despondent because you only finished second in the beauty competition,
before facing bankruptcy from an unplanned stay in a Mayfair hotel.

You do not have to advance each pawn just one square at a time,
or face being skewered by that pesky bishop
and threatened by the leaping assaults of the white knights,
before losing as your King falls (even though your Queen remains standing tall).

You do not have to play with the rest of the world,
following unwritten rules so carefully designed
to give the impression of fairness and even that you could win
whilst guaranteeing that you will always lose.

You can choose to play a different game,
with different rules or perhaps no rules at all.
Turn the first card - spin the spinner - roll the dice.
Play in the world at your own game.

(c) Tim O’Hare, August 2024

About this poem: The essential idea for this poem had been rattling around in my head for some time. In fact, I’d say that the seed of inspiration for it was probably planted in my brain back in February 2023 when I listened to the audiobook version of the excellent ‘What Works’ by Tara McMullin. As often happens, I worked out the basic structure and form of a good chunk of the poem while out on a long run so that the process of sitting down to write the whole thing out was very quick and easy!

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Reckoning? / Beckoning?

February 22, 2024

Poems
Note: This poem has a three column structure so if you are reading it on a small screen device you should switch from ‘mobile’ to ‘tablet’ view to see it properly…
Reckoning?

It is time to rid myself
of
reckoning

The harsh
interrogation of
"How did it go?"

Checking off the actions
against
all those on my list

Only really noticing
the many
I have missed

Assessing my
progress, comparing
with my plan

Keeping track of
distances,
measuring their span

Monitoring my
output so I always
know the score

Emerging with the
figures, highlighting
my flaws

Counting up the wins
and losses,
totaling
to find their sum

I feel kind of
useless when the
reckoning is done
or

and

or

or

or

or

or

or

or

or

so
Beckoning?

Instead, I will try to see
what's
beckoning

A gentler
introspection
of my flow

Seeking the resonant
vibrations that prove that
I exist

Keeping mind wide open
so that
nothing is dismissed

Reminding myself
that all the time
I'm doing the best I can

Recognising that
what matters is
simply that I ran

Realising the damage
done by
always wanting more

Noticing the many things
born deep
within my core

Dispensing with
judgement,
to prove the worth
of all I've done

I embrace my
beckoning question
"What has come?"
(c) Tim O’Hare, February 2024

About this poem: This poem has its origin in the conversation that took place during my last coaching session a couple of weeks ago. I was recounting how terrible I am at following the plans I make and how this generates an intense feeling of frustration and results in me being in a constant spiral of planning, frustration, planning, frustration and a pervading sense of uselessness. I was challenged to come up with an alternative non-judgemental question that I could ask myself and responded almost instantly that I could replace “How did it go?” with “What has come?”. We played with this idea for a while – focusing on how my “What has come?” question would naturally lead me to draw out achievements, output and activities that had emerged from within me without triggering my natural tendency to measure progress, evaluate success and generally judge myself against the completely unnecessary and arbitrary ‘success criteria’ that I carry in my head. My coach loved my question and referred to it as my ‘beckoning question’…

The poem is written as two verses, one relating to the ‘reckoning question’ (on the left) and the other relating to the ‘beckoning question’ (on the right), but it is also possible to read the poem taking one line from each verse in turn and adding the additional bridging word (‘and‘, ‘or‘, ‘so‘) shown in italics between the two verses. I suspect that this layout won’t work very well if the poem is viewed on a small screen (mobile) device but hopefully it works well enough!
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(Another) Four Quartets

January 15, 2024

Poems
```
Quartet No.1 in C Major
I. Exceptional (maestoso ridicolo)
II. Growing (allegro vivamente)
III. Discovering (allegro con abbandono)
IV. Fearful (moderato sostenuto)
```
```
Quartet No. 2 in E Major
I. Interested (scherzo giocoso)
II. Hopeful (andante sognando)
III. Exploring (allegro impetuoso)
IV. Indecisive (adagietto dissonante)
```
```
Quartet No. 3 in A flat minor
I. Struggling (largamente melancolico)
II. Puzzled (andante misterioso)
III. Frustrated (allegro incalzando)
IV. Trying (allegro spiritoso)
```
```
Quartet No. 4 in D sharp minor
I. Disappointed (andante con dolore)
II. Angry (allegro furioso)
III. Overwhelmed (andate lacrimoso)
IV. Capitulated (largo perdendosi)
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, January 2024

About this poem: Over the last couple of days I have felt a growing sense of inner doom and then today I woke to find myself the recipient of another visit from The Hollow Man. The result was that despite having a mountain of work things to do I found myself stealing time to construct this poem. It started out as a list of words chosen to express something of the way I was seeing different stages of my life and then as these settled naturally into four groups of four I could not resist the reference to T.S. Eliot and the idea of representing the list as a set of musical works complete with accompanying musical terms for tempo and associated emotion. Perhaps it is all a little dark and almost certainly it is a lot contrived but writing this poem seems to have done its job and I can now start to move on again.
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Foundations

December 28, 2023

Poems
```
Do not start at the top
With no foundations
For another shattered dream
Built in a rush
One of many
Born from a momentary spark
To lie in tatters
As it tumbled down
During a hurried build
When mistakes were made
And no-one saw
```
```
The monument to creativity.

All can see
The fruits of careful labour
With no mistakes made
BLOCK after BLOCK after BLOCK
Then BLOCK after BLOCK after BLOCK.
BLOCK after BLOCK after BLOCK
Then BLOCK after BLOCK after BLOCK.
BLOCK after BLOCK after BLOCK
In even layers
With staggered joints
Placed with special attention
Positioned just so
The slab sitting level
The piles well bedded
With strong foundations
Start at the bottom and work upwards
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, December 2023

About this poem: This is another poem that took shape in my head while I was out for a run. It is inspired, at least in part, by the film ‘Locke’ that I watched a few years ago and has stayed with me ever since. The film follows a single character Locke (played by the actor Tom Hardy) as he drives home from work – a building site – the night before a huge delivery of concrete that will form the foundations of the building. Months of planning and preparation have gone into getting the build to this stage and it is Locke’s job to oversee the complex process of the concrete pour. The story takes place almost entirely within Locke’s car and consists of a series of telephone conversations during which events unfold to leave all of his best laid plans in tatters. For while he was focusing all of his attention on the getting the foundations of the building right he neglected to consider those that underpinned his life. It’s a great film and one I often recommend whenever a conversation turns towards the subject of foundations.
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What If? | So What?

December 12, 2023

Poems
```
Sometimes I find that I simply cannot move forwards
To follow the path I want to take.
The gears whirr noisily inside my head,
And the controller shouts “STOP. What If?”,
“STOP, What If?”
Again and again, at the top of his voice.
```
```
Racked by doubt and paralysed by fear, I
Find that I have lost my will
To continue and grind to a halt - frustrated, cross
Until stillness descends and I remember that
However wide or deep the chasm, I can build a bridge
That even only spanning imagination offers a moment when
A step can be taken and, slowly, I
Make progress once more, to come
Closer to where I want to go and am able to
Scream at the top of my voice “So What? To hell with it.”
```
(c) Tim O’Hare, December 2023

About this poem: This one came quickly. I was writing in my morning journal about how I had not found any time for poetry writing for several months and starting to wonder whether perhaps this might be an indication that the well had run dry. At the same time I was thinking about the value of just putting my poems ‘out there’ without any expectation that they might ‘land’. Suddenly I found that I was writing again and this poem emerged. I wasn’t sure what to give it as a title but settled on ‘What If? | So What?” based on a phrase that I vaguely remember hearing the singer Tom Jones use in an interview years ago – something along the lines that “we must always try to turn ‘what ifs’ into ‘so whats’”.
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Blue

September 26, 2023

Poems

What is blue?
And is whatever it is the same for me as it is for you?

A scientist might state that blue describes:
'colours perceived by humans observing light with a dominant wavelength between approximately four-hundred-and-fifty and four-hundred-and-ninety-five nanometres',
Which may well tell us how blue can arise -
In the human mind, when a certain type of electromagnetic radiation enters the eyes.
But this does not, I think, tell us what blue really is.
For how can we be sure
That the imagined colour that my mind selects in its constant rush
To paint upon its ever-changing canvas
Comes from the same small pan into which you dipped your own brush.

You can say that blue is the colour of the sky (by day at least),
Or of the vast expanse of open sea (mostly),
Or the shirt worn by the best team (certainly not).
But what if you see all of those as I see green?
(and then we agree - those shirts belong to by far the greatest team the world has ever seen).

So what is blue?
To me, or to you?

To complicate matters further...
Blue could refer not to colour but, rather, to the tone of my thoughts.
But if I tell you that, just now, the thoughts inside my head are blue,
How do you know whether I am simply feeling a little down on my luck,
Or whether my mind, unleashed, is filled with images of a naked couple
?       
Again, we come unstuck.

We must agree then, I think, to put aside all ambiguities
And to take the definition, with all of its nanometres, at face value.
Then we can label the sky as blue and the sea as blue.
We can assume my mood is melancholy even if it is really full of sauce.
And we can move on.
(although, we will never agree about those shirts of course.)

(c) Tim O’Hare, September 2023

About this poem: I’m not entirely sure where the idea for this poem came from but I guess I just liked playing with the words and the rhymes and bringing together some threads from different aspects of my life – science, perception, atmosphere, ocean, sports.

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