Maharaja Blues

Poems by Maharaja Miku the Bard Bear BBC News Article - Victorian Shoes wash up on Ogmore Beach She walked the Ogmore shore at dawn, her breath a silver thread, Christmas sun spilled molten gold where sea and sky were wed. She paused to hear the quiet waves hum soft, familiar tunes, When something in a rock pool glowed like tiny sunlit moons. She leaned in close, her heart amused at what the tide would choose  A nest of ancient, salt kissed shoes dreaming in the pools. The Causation Maharaja Rich of Ogmore, patron saint of period swagger, Had long dreamt of Victorian finery, frock coats, cravats, the works. But tailors were slow, and patience was not his strongest chord, So he did what any self‑respecting eccentric would do: He converted his old brass resonator guitar Into a time machine tuned to open wormholes in open D. One wrong strum , a slightly flat F# ! And the machine hiccupped. Instead of summoning waistcoats and top hats, It tore a shimmering rift across the centuries. Th...

On Christmas morn in Ogmore fair,   The Maharaja rose from his royal chair,   But doom befell the festive plan.  The oven died with a wheezing fan.   No turkey roasting, no gravy steam,   Just seven souls and a fading dream.   Yet Rich, undaunted, stroked his chin:   “Fear not, my friends, this feast begins.”   Two chariots revved in the winter light,   A convoy born of culinary plight.   Seventy‑five miles through wind and frost,   With sprouts and stuffing carefully tossed.   To Nano Maharaja’s distant hall,   Where pots were mighty and ovens tall,   They bore the bird like sacred gold,  A Christmas quest in legends told.   The turkey sizzled, browned, and sang,   The kitchen filled with festive clang.   They carved and feasted, laughed and cheered,   For victory tasted richly seared.   Then back t...

AKA, How to Uncook a Quark with Style In a palace of wires and soya stained chrome, Maharaja Rich made his particle home. With a crown of equations and goggles askew, He built a collider from kettles and glue. The goal? Quite absurd: disentangle the mess Of bosons entangled in ramen’s finesse. “They’re hiding,” he cried, “in the quantum udon! My Higgs is too chewy—my gluons are gone!” He stirred with a ladle of neutron delight, While photons escaped in a spiral of light. A muon went rogue in the lentil array, And a tau lepton tangoed with strands of sorbet. Carmen, unimpressed, sipped her chai with a sigh: “Your quarks are al dente. The soup’s far too dry.” But Rich, undeterred, flipped a switch with a grin— The noodles collapsed, and the bosons gave in. A burst of spaghetti, a flash of pure spin, The Maharaja danced in his lab made of tin. “Success!” he declared, “with Tonkatsu flair— I’ve split the mesons from angel-hair!” Now CERN sends him postcards, and MIT weeps, For Rich cooks w...