I mentioned this some time ago when I posted my Fibonacci sequence poem. So, silly but here you go. My second response to an old math/science themed poem challenge, based on an even older promise my calculus teacher made that every calculus student was allowed to go and stomp on Isaac Newton’s grave.

Sadly this is no longer true. After the Da Vinci Code came out so many people were manhandling the monument that they roped it off. I paid to get into Westminster Abbey and never did get my stomping in. One more thing to hold against Dan Brown.


(Of course, Leibnitz is equally at fault, anyone know where he’s buried? I still owe him for having to read his philosophical writings, let alone taking calculus…)



A Visit to Westminster Abbey


The high arches stood aloof,

ancient and proud,

as if they knew

my words

were for the deceased alone.


Sir Isaac Newton 1642-1727


I spun, I laughed,

tripped over my feet in glee.

Righting myself again I danced,

I tip toed, I tromped

over those grim grey stones.


A few dignified men,

with silvered hair and

neatly pressed clothes

and shiny black shoes,

perfectly furled umbrellas

by their sides

looked at me askance,

as if to say

‘these Yanks.’


I talked to the grave,

I hissed at the dead.

Why’d he do it?



A few early morning tourists gawked,

Black cameras hung about their necks

like ill fitting ties

or slack nooses.

Their white sneakers gleamed,

brash on the worn floor.

They stood in yellow raincoats,

packs around their waists—

plastic lawn ornaments,

in a solemn stone field.

What the hell were they staring at?

I, at least, could mind my own business.


You ruined my GPA!


You made high school a hell!


I had to take a reasoning class to get a math credit!

(oh, the indignity of it….)


damn you!


What’s with this calculus crap?


I straightened my back, smoothed my clothes,

dropped a few pounds in the coffer,

and walked away.

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