Zed Sevcikova Sehyr, Ph.D.
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Science Poetry

This is where I post my poems about science. Poetry is a great way to communicate science to the public. There may be a collection one day. For now, I'm just dabbling with it. I'd love your comments and suggestions! Thanks and enjoy!

Hors d'univers

2/5/2023

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In the pungent medley of our solar system,
interstellar clouds filled with atoms
host a palette of scents,

of bitter almond in Jupiter’s layers,
rum and raspberries in the Milky Way,
sweet frosty notes of Enceladus’ glaze.

The Moon reeks with gunpowder and gas,
blackened barbecue steak wafts from Mars,
Neptune leaves nothing to the nose.

When astronauts take a walk,
floating particles cling to their suits
and hitch a ride to the base.

In the re-pressurisation chamber,
they blend with oxygen to unleash
a tangy celestial feast.

Yet we would die if we tried
to take unadulterated whiffs of outer space
to savour the breath of dying stars.

Published in Consilience Field Notes (Vol 1., Jan 2023) "Perceptions"
www.consilience-journal.com/field-notes

The Science

The Science What does outer space smell like? When astronauts return from space walks and remove their suits and helmets, they experience strange but familiar scents, often described as “smoky”, “gassy” or “metallic”. While we cannot have a direct olfactory experience of outer space, scientists have emulated interstellar odors via spectroscopy, which allows them to analyze the light from stars and objects in space and associate them with corresponding chemicals, e.g., cyanide gives a whiff of bitter almonds on Jupiter. A theory suggests that it’s the polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons – the star making compounds – which, when combined with air during re-pressurization, may be responsible for the unique tang of space. This poem is about how we engage our senses (olfactory, gustatory), imagination and scientific knowledge to make sense of our environment.
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Magma Madame (An Ode to Mother Earth)

3/1/2021

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I laid
on her soothing breasts –
the rolling hills of early world
her rib cage unyielding, consoling
the bedrock of memory
eroded by life
now covered in moss.
 
I collect her bones now and often wonder
about that mad mantle moving underneath
the rigid, yet brittle mask of her lithosphere,
and how, without her, I wouldn’t be here.
 
Magma Madame,
she mystified sailors at sea,
with glauconite eyes,
copper complexion, rhodonite lips.
She buried them too
when she capsized their ships.
 
Her black asphalt breath,
​the tenacious lava tongue,
I can still hear the lament of her cracking core.
She may be stone-hearted, yet benevolent,
her resilience is a gift to us all.
 
Every once in a while,
she still churns up the grit
with spew and volume
ash cloud renders her face ghastly
while the tectonic plates solemnly grind.
 
Her adamant mouth no longer blisters,
her cracks and quirks that once endowed her
drew fault lines to outline her solitude.
As a strand of her ashy hair settles down
she withers into a deep grave.

About this poem: A volcanologist draws a parallel between two familiar phenomena: volcanoes and motherhood. Due to their destructive nature volcanoes are often misunderstood. But they are another natural phenomenon just like human existence. By drawing parallels between volcanology and psychology, we can expose and celebrate the temperaments but also the vital, life-giving properties. The poem is a part of a series of poems in which two sciences that have no relation a priori are intertwined in order to consider sciences as they relate to our personal lives and to other scientific disciplines.
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Hunger for Awe (Blue Marble)

1/28/2021

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In a lava lamp, I first saw the truth –– my soul will never be satisfied,
will always hunt for knowledge, will die of hunger for awe.
 
Why are the stars like cosmic dust splattered on Devil’s nightgown?
 
Scratching star constellations on the classroom desk with my feisty claw,
eyes would rocket up those cirrus clouds suspended above our urban solace.
 
Clenched in the jaws of narrow bookshelves, I mothered my hunger for awe.
 
It’s 2024. I make paper planes now for a living and
wear a white cosmic dust coat to protect me against the ills of time.
 
Then, somewhere between the lava dream and three light seconds from here,
I find myself hurtling through the atmosphere. I see light like no other can see.
 
In your distance, I feel closer, in your presence I’m in awe.
 
For up here, time is nothing without space, my life is nothing without you.
I flourished in your heavenly soft blue.
 
Now, cradled by darkness, you’re just a marble spinning through.

​
The Earth seen from Apollo 17
About the poem:
"Hunger for Awe" is a poem about a young woman who follows her insatiable passion for knowledge and space exploration to become an astronautical engineer. The poem ends with a reference to The Overview Effect, a powerful cognitive shift in awareness astronauts experience while viewing the Earth from outer space, altering their perception of themselves, the future and life on Earth.

Image: The Blue Marble is a famous photograph of the Earth taken on December 7, 1972, by the crew of the Apollo 17 spacecraft en route to the Moon at a distance of about 29,000 km (18,000 mi). It shows Africa, Antarctica, and the Arabian Peninsula.

The poem received First Prize in "Love This" impersonal love poetry contest, edited by Gracen Croft and illustrated by Jenna Croftcheck
Buy anthology here ($14.99)
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The Lost Lakes of Titan

1/21/2021

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​Radio waves whisper tales
of unseen spectacular seas
on Saturn’s largest satellite.
 
Liquid lakes that once gathered
around its equatorial belt
rivers may have drained to the poles.
 
And when it rains, it storms,
but not the balmy monsoon showers
that nourish the lush life of ours.
 
These specular reflections hide
under dense hydrocarbon clouds
beguiling a treacherous mission.
 
Future is a two-sided mirage on Titan’s floor.
About this poem: Saturn's moon Titan is home to seas and lakes filled with liquid hydrocarbons. Apart from Earth, Titan is the only body in the solar system known to possess surface lakes and seas, which have been observed by the Cassini spacecraft. But at Titan's frigid surface temperatures, roughly -292F (-180 degrees Celsius), liquid methane and ethane, rather than water, dominate Titan's hydrocarbon equivalent of Earth’s water. Since 2000, astronomers using radio telescopes on Earth have detected particularly bright radio signals coming from Titan’s equator. Those signals, called specular reflections, occur when electromagnetic waves bounce off of a flat surface a bit like light bounces off a mirror. The most natural explanation for the reflections was that Titan had large bodies of liquid in its equatorial tropics. Previously, lakes have been thought to be mainly concentrated near Titan’s poles, not the tropics. The regions where the specular reflections show up are bafflingly dry. It is currently unclear what is responsible for these dry lake beds near the equator. And, if the reflections indeed come from lost lakes, where did the liquid go? One possibility is that it moved from the equator to the poles as part of a Titan-wide methane cycle. Another is that the liquid evaporated and was destroyed by sunlight striking Titan’s atmosphere.
Picture
Image credit: A composite image of Saturn's moon Titan taken by the Cassini spacecraft. Hard lines edited by artist Pablo C. Budassi.
​Source: Wikimedia Commons

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December 08th, 2017

12/8/2017

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    Linguist, mind explorer and science nerd. Conducts research into psycholinguistics, neuroscience and sign languages.

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