Thankyou Sun, for shining heat and light and fun for so, so long:

you cooked the street’s pneumatic beat;

you blessed the coke, and loved the throng!

you scorched Ibiza’s nineties decks,

as Twentieth Century lovers kissed:

the planet’s pulse at solar max,

on febrile, shimmering, sultry mist.

Such galactic nuclear power – 

which breathes the oak

from seed to tower –

doesn’t know or give a toss 

what Al Gore says our fuel should cost.

Twentieth Century ice was melted

by the hyperactive sun:

not us, nor cars, nor gas emitted, 

nor by Bernie Ecclestone!

CO2 can’t warm the air – 

and blaming it just isn’t fair! 

Released by cars and warm conditions,

levels grow with each ignition, 

up and up – while temps now fall,

as brilliant Helios sets to stall.

As the fiery orb gets tired,

turns down its dial,

and chills a while,

the Earth cools, too,

as glaciers grow, 

and blizzards blow – 

through schools of fools, 

who scream and panic at the heat;

numbed to thought by group-deceit,

as fatal frost

now scores new veins through glass and ice,

confounding myths of sweaty vice.

1645 was cold, 

when shivers froze

the floods of old!

Decades died and winters grew,

with sunspots gone, and summers, too;

The Bank of Engand crept to life,

in frozen 1690s strife.

Now, round they come, untamed, again:

dank, summer lows and light-whirred snow.

“You’re all to blame”, shout Warmist priests. 

“We warned you of the Sooty Beast:

Until we steam in Hell (as planned)

Your life is cold — for summer’s damned!”

“… But this cold snap is just a trap, 

while the arctic leaves the map —

melting into murky depths,

thus cooling flows that warmed the West:

changing weather patterns, fast,

so ‘barbE’ summers never last!”

“You must”, they say, “pay carbon dues, 

and sponsor windmills, built on cue —

for now, the answer’s blowing in”,

(as birds are smashed by blades that spin):

power comes from ghostly towers —

unless it’s calm for several hours,

while UNocrats debate the fate

of the world they didn’t make —

“whatever happens, it’s CO2: 

it’s from your car — and so from you!”


They want your taxes — and your fear:

more and more of them, each year.

They’ve spun a yarn of humid sweat,

inflaming guilt and wretched sorrow.

“Now? The freeze — but soon the heat,

coming: ‘The Day After Tomorrow’…”

We knew extremist vicars quit

when they outlawed burning witches;

now coal-exorcists get hits

with oppressive science fiction.

Ignore their hogwash and rejoice! 

We’re Walking-on-the-Earth tonight!

See history made, as ‘Arctic blasts’

whisper bicentennial flight,

of Nordic flakes, to drifts that last,

like myriad sparkling Christmas lights;

which lift the soul, 

to twist and jive

through Solar Cycle Twenty Five;

which fly the flag for windblown white —

and heated soup and howling nights!

The Sun will chill for many years —

half a lifetime, it appears!

So sod the cheats who want your cash 

to fund their G8 climate bash —

their pamplets as from brothers grim:

fraud, through fantasies of sin,

from Western witchdoctors,

who need

to blackmail people to succeed;

who yearn

to make us all believe

in blame and debt, and more regret —

that we be cowed

to pay and bow: 

and never try to fathom how

a gas which once ruled frozen Earth

can now purvey a steaming curse:

or how the jetstream’s winding path —

that freezes Greece with Finland’s laugh,

as geomagnetised bends twist

from solar slumber’s cosmic waves,

and stoop 3,000 miles to kiss

Alaskan Frost to Everglades —

can vindicate said Man Made Warming,

when its models need stream flat

and pole-shifted, sliding storming

winds, from tropics, to cold lats;

in imagined, bake-faked scam,

that moves sea-lows a country North,

so counter-clockwise cyclone strands

the ‘Eastern Beasts’ on Arctic course —

and Europe sweats in Irish sauna,

West wind-washed, from system’s base:

drowning Christmas crystals, born to

sharpen land with frozen lace —

Yet even as the BEEB’s false heads

still blackmail joy with vulpine cries,

storm-lows are whipping South instead,

their East wind wake inviting glide

of feathered, Baltic gems that watch

the streets that, long, knew only damp,

which stamped the sleet to road-stained blotch,

and soaked, to dark, night’s moon-flaked lamp —

yet, frigid, marvelling, now inhale

the breath of Beast, as stir of white:

a silent cold that, vacuum-baled,

petrifies the coast with light —

whose herald-flakes skirt gravity,

and dance, as wind-larks of the morning:

crystal witnesses, that free

world consciousness, that cold is dawning;

swooping, bouncing,

soaring up,

as ghosts that hang in causal still;

Siberian dry, that lies, uncut,

in easy, fractal proof of chill,

as visitors from Starjik’s slopes,

whose flux is orchestra of truth,

and drawn, thus, West, by vacuum volts,

of #MiniIceAge patterns’ proof.

Showered with sparks of cold-lit ground,

a small ice-age is free — unbound!

So tighten walks with wind-rapped layers,

and dance with huskies’ bright eyed runs!

Diamond mist, for years, will flare

with frigid holograms of fun!

We’ll rejoice in Helios’ lore,

and surf the snow, and live the show,

of Solar Cycles’ gem-chilled claw —

go, go, go, GO !!!


Click to access An-Overview-of-Scientific-Debate-of-Global-Warming-and-Climate-Change.pdf






Copyright TruthExcites.com, 2018

One thought on “!!! FROM LAPLAND WITH LOVE !!!”

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