Lincoln
Hills Astronomy Group
Poems by Jim Fulcomer
Old Sol, by any Other Name
Our puny little nearby star, seems to like us where we are.
Located in an orbital spot, that’s not too frigid or too
hot.
He blasts us constantly with radiation, regardless of our
choice location.
And “constant” seems to be the key, for he shines on
dependably.
But careful study has revealed that he has cycles, well
concealed,
which vary in longevity and affect us accordingly.
The longest is the cycle “Maunder,” when quiet seem to
linger longer,
but other cycles far more brief, can cause us no end of
grief.
When Solar Flares erupt our way, Astronomers know there’s
hell to pay,
as Protons energetic, spill out in manner most frenetic.
Then electrons in torrential rains, overload our power
trains,
tripping massive circuit breakers; bad for movers and for
shakers.
We now start cycle twenty-five, while solar-watchers strive
to figure out what’s going on, within the sphere of old
Aton.
Could it be his middle age, or a show of inner rage?
Will the Parker Probe reveal, the answer to our, “what’s the
deal?”
For times when Solus seems quiescent, but just as always
luminescent -
then the result is greater cooling and ice returns to Polar
pooling.
The seas begin to shrink once more as glaciers rise in
frigid score.
An ice-age now descends to prove that Nature mocks our every
move.
But there isn’t much that we can do, if the sun decides to
spew
a gout of particles our way. It certainly could spoil
our day.
For there is almost no protection from this solar
interjection.
And we, like dinosaurs before us, together sing our final
chorus.