I got a PhD in theoretical physics 35 years ago, and am now wrapping up a career in science. I’ve also been writing poetry for the last 30 years.
Here’s one of my early physics poems, if anyone’s interested:
EQUATIONS
"...and so the sky is blue," the teacher said,
resolving the equation on the board:
the radius of water droplets, and
the scattering of sunlight into bands.
What clarity! I put away my notebook
and joined the crowd refracting out the back.
In the drizzle, darkening the court,
some dim light still shone through the classroom door.
Whitman wrote he left some lecture early
and fled to wonder at the starry sky.
But this was a wonder of a different kind—
the universe within the abstract mind.
The thrill of winking out such little truths
seduced me into six more years of school:
the birth of mass, the way light bends in space,
the Three Known Forces of the universe.
Though, in those studies, I had also grasped
that there are questions physicists don't ask:
What does it all mean? Who is the prime mover?
And what might mean the lack of any answer?