DelusionApril 2023 Volume 11 // Issue 2 |
Contents
36 Works / 12 Contributors
Saira Ahmed, Sanah Arya, Melisa Clarke, Anna Dobbelaere, Clara Hinds, Ryan Huang, Alan Jian, David Lin, Lucia Liu, Ava Maghsoodlou, Andrew Park, Kensho Takahashi, Tiffany Yu
Saira Ahmed, Sanah Arya, Melisa Clarke, Anna Dobbelaere, Clara Hinds, Ryan Huang, Alan Jian, David Lin, Lucia Liu, Ava Maghsoodlou, Andrew Park, Kensho Takahashi, Tiffany Yu
Written
"Poppy (California)" by Melisa Clarke
Eschscholzia californica
Family: Papaveracea
California Poppies are everywhere. Their beauty managed to get them a ticket across the Atlantic to England in the 19th century. Once there they quickly became a garden favorite and were spread not just throughout the country, but the world. Now in California one can not differentiate between natives and garden escapees as here too they became a favorite for gardens, especially after being proclaimed California’s state flower. This is not the problem in other countries to those aware of California Poppies’ native range, but rather that they have escaped the limits around their choice of home and fled into the wild meadows where they may be free. However that freedom comes with a cost as they intermingle with the native poppies and new ecosystems.
Identification
Any sandy, grassy, or open area whether a natural meadow, vacant lot, or roadside is liable to have these adaptable flowers. The solitary, four-petaled flower’s iconic color is golden orange, a shade between yellow and orange; yet the poppies can also come in red, pink, or cream. Branches are arranged alternately along the single, central, stem with feathery lobed leaves of a blue-green shade. Similarly to other members of the papaveraceae (poppy) family, the california poppy has many curved stamens surrounding the stigma. Conversely, an onlooker would not see any sepals as part of the calyx when the flower is in bloom because they drop away when the petals unfurl. Any sandy, grassy, or open area whether a meadow or a vacant lot.
Family: Papaveracea
California Poppies are everywhere. Their beauty managed to get them a ticket across the Atlantic to England in the 19th century. Once there they quickly became a garden favorite and were spread not just throughout the country, but the world. Now in California one can not differentiate between natives and garden escapees as here too they became a favorite for gardens, especially after being proclaimed California’s state flower. This is not the problem in other countries to those aware of California Poppies’ native range, but rather that they have escaped the limits around their choice of home and fled into the wild meadows where they may be free. However that freedom comes with a cost as they intermingle with the native poppies and new ecosystems.
Identification
Any sandy, grassy, or open area whether a natural meadow, vacant lot, or roadside is liable to have these adaptable flowers. The solitary, four-petaled flower’s iconic color is golden orange, a shade between yellow and orange; yet the poppies can also come in red, pink, or cream. Branches are arranged alternately along the single, central, stem with feathery lobed leaves of a blue-green shade. Similarly to other members of the papaveraceae (poppy) family, the california poppy has many curved stamens surrounding the stigma. Conversely, an onlooker would not see any sepals as part of the calyx when the flower is in bloom because they drop away when the petals unfurl. Any sandy, grassy, or open area whether a meadow or a vacant lot.
Adaptations
These famous flowers have an interesting adaptation to increase the chances of their seeds. When the tiny, black or brown seeds inside are ripe the elongated capsule will split open and eject its passengers in all directions with the hope they will find a spacious sunny area. In this way if you aren’t careful, California Poppy could take away space and nutrients from your other plants by seeding uncontrollably. At one point my grandparents planted California Poppies in their backyard in the plot of dirt to the left of the door to enter the garden. Throughout the summer whenever I looked into the backyard the clump of California poppies could be seen to steadily enlarge, growing fatter as new plants grew to maturity on a diet of full sun, a bit of water, and lots of air. However for those with less space and are thus less inclined to let the poppies spread, there is an easy solution.You can clip the dry pods before they release the seeds inside and store them for later use, plant them into pots which naturally limit their space, or deadhead the blooms to prevent seeding and encourage more flowers. Another important consideration is where to plant California Poppies.
Uses
While not widely researched, proponents of California Poppy praise its analgesic, anxiolytic, antispasmodic, and sedative properties which seem to not cause addiction in the user unlike its relative, the opioid poppy. Multiple California native tribes drink an infusion of the root to relieve pain of various kinds or fix sleep patterns and insomnia. The root can also be cut up or soaked to become a poultice then applied to painful injuries including cuts and burns as a pain-killer. Other than its pharmacological benefits, the young green leaves of the plant are edible and may be boiled or steamed before eating.
Otherwise California Poppies are mainly used as a showy wildflower to brighten up any garden or attract visitors to view them in the wild where they may cover the hills in orange during spring. The bright beauties enjoy a climate with moist winters and warm dry summers. California poppies are resistant to drought and heat, but require well drained soils and love receiving full sun. They are not very hard to grow as any average well drained soil will do and they can even thrive in rocky and sandy soils. In gardens some find it easier to treat the plants as annuals, yet truthfully they are in fact short lived perennials. Their flowering season starts in February and ends in September. This beautiful hardy native is a great addition to any garden, but there are some things to consider before cultivating the wildflower.
Don’t love California Poppies to Death
Originally native to Mexico and the United States, California Poppies have been brought out of their range to numerous places around the world. One could take this as to mean that it is fine to grow California poppies anywhere in Mexico or the United States, but that could not be further from the truth. Such a statement fails to take into account that not all areas within those borders are fit for the plants as there are small sub ranges within those confines where the various native populations reside and other areas where they do not naturally grow.
As an example, envision planting California poppies in a foreign area of California. In small numbers the California poppies could die before reproduction, their adaptations not developed for the new area’s environmental factors. On the other hand when planted in large amounts cross breeding between the California poppy and other native poppies would lead to unsuitable offspring for the environment. In the end the offspring die out, killing the natives and the California poppies en masse. In short, California poppies are native to the United States and Mexico, but that can not be taken to mean that they can be planted in all the habitats and areas of their range without immense repercussions, not to mention the rest of the world. If anything, local seed collected from the area should be used in reseeding the parks, meadows, woods, foothills, or other habitats they come from.
Suitable places to grow foreign plants like California Poppy would be urban areas, sidewalks, and gardens where native plants don’t grow and cross breeding can be precluded. Along with these guidelines, planters, especially those living near a natural zone should still be wary as many invasive plants come from gardens. Plants have a way of being sneaky and propagating themselves or their descendants in the most proximal natural zone. At a volunteering event for Watershed Day one of the stations in a circuit was weeding invasive periwinkle. Periwinkle is a pretty vine with lovely purple flowers, but it's also a garden escapee who is now wreaking havoc on various habitats in California. Besides planting foreign plants in urban areas where they can’t cause harm, introduce native plants to your garden which will be easier to grow due to their adaptations to the climate and will benefit your neighborhood pollinators.
"Sunsets and poppies" by Melisa Clarke
Blue sky painted orange at sunset
Fluffy clouds surround
The sky and sun’s once a day duet
Fleeting, yet gorgeous
To see another day
Blue sky painted gray at sunset
Gray smog confound
Air pollutions’ deadly sign
Forever, yet ugly
To see another day
Green hills painted orange in bloom
Feathery foliage abound
Plentiful rainfalls' once a year boon
Fleeting, yet gorgeous
To see another year
Green hills painted yellow in drought
No water around
Global warming’s steady incline
Forever, yet ugly,
To see another year
Fluffy clouds surround
The sky and sun’s once a day duet
Fleeting, yet gorgeous
To see another day
Blue sky painted gray at sunset
Gray smog confound
Air pollutions’ deadly sign
Forever, yet ugly
To see another day
Green hills painted orange in bloom
Feathery foliage abound
Plentiful rainfalls' once a year boon
Fleeting, yet gorgeous
To see another year
Green hills painted yellow in drought
No water around
Global warming’s steady incline
Forever, yet ugly,
To see another year
"Home" by Clara Hinds
Memory composes flesh
for the person you are,
rose-tinted overwrought
obsessively thought about
faulty recounts of
painfully confident mistakes,
Birthday cake candle lit dream states
and days stripped of their feeling
that leave you to adlib frantically,
all days apparently falling
in the latter category.
Still,
your floppy disk of a hard drive
remains a warm pillow
at your back because it contains
the life you are supposed to own,
magpie-ish and cherry-picked as it is,
with all your bad science
small sample size surveys,
those sequined anecdotal trinkets
spawned from funhouse glasses
strangers’ scraps left carelessly behind,
ripe for plucking up and stashing
alongside your other
bent crooked delusional detective
evidence selectively collected
for the quality of person
you are.
It moreover holds your place
on some construction
of the path you’ve beaten,
informing the delusion
that your remembered past
and self exist in the same
plane as your now,
such that you might own a home
within the intact
continuous You that
spans whole seconds.
for the person you are,
rose-tinted overwrought
obsessively thought about
faulty recounts of
painfully confident mistakes,
Birthday cake candle lit dream states
and days stripped of their feeling
that leave you to adlib frantically,
all days apparently falling
in the latter category.
Still,
your floppy disk of a hard drive
remains a warm pillow
at your back because it contains
the life you are supposed to own,
magpie-ish and cherry-picked as it is,
with all your bad science
small sample size surveys,
those sequined anecdotal trinkets
spawned from funhouse glasses
strangers’ scraps left carelessly behind,
ripe for plucking up and stashing
alongside your other
bent crooked delusional detective
evidence selectively collected
for the quality of person
you are.
It moreover holds your place
on some construction
of the path you’ve beaten,
informing the delusion
that your remembered past
and self exist in the same
plane as your now,
such that you might own a home
within the intact
continuous You that
spans whole seconds.
"Sliced Free" by Clara Hinds
The present is fleshless and plain,
though it remains morbidly obese
next to your only evidence
of the past that felt so full.
The present is your only home,
where your only backrest
is the void which tickles
like a lip licking molester
with cold slimy hands
at the instant you relax
from your distraction,
so you will lurch far towards
some hazy oasis,
bowing, repentant,
feeding the proper
objects of your affection
to your roll of the dice deity
in order that the gravitational pull
tipping you further forwards
might be counteracted by
the frantic tiptoeing of your
numb ballerina feet.
The present is so repulsive,
but the shrieking cold of its violently
opened window will strike you
as refreshing until you drain
its clarifying elixir, that is,
until dread sets,
coagulating and trapping
you within the notion.
You will then notice
that your skin and its
construction papery loosening
accompanies your
growing hoard of trash
in calling back to
your old favorite food
tasted too many times,
flavor fatigued, habituated,
semantic’lly sated, resigned,
you meanwhile clawing wildly
to meet only water and oobleck.
The blandness outlives you,
and though the thought’s
disordered birth
canary-sings its rot,
canaries are not known for credibility.
Invariably when you retire
it is with the self disgusted
not-quite satisfaction of an addict,
your body diseased,
tattered, skin pulped
scratched tender by ragged nails.
You will then know yourself
as a warm red shaving of meat
newly born into the acid rain,
owning nothing but
however many years
are scribbled sloppily in your
rotting wet book of a brain
that shakes like a heavy weight
in your cramping hands,
and know you are entirely alone.
Though that may be;
as anonymous meat
you have no need for
memories or dreams
of if only if I had x,
success, excellence,
or better than.
You dandelion snow
untethered seafoam thing
can tumble as you please and
thus regard the happenings
below as spider meat and
demon mediocrity will flash
and die on our blue messed up pea
for he is but a fabricated word
you do not need;
to do a thing but be,
as well as you can.
though it remains morbidly obese
next to your only evidence
of the past that felt so full.
The present is your only home,
where your only backrest
is the void which tickles
like a lip licking molester
with cold slimy hands
at the instant you relax
from your distraction,
so you will lurch far towards
some hazy oasis,
bowing, repentant,
feeding the proper
objects of your affection
to your roll of the dice deity
in order that the gravitational pull
tipping you further forwards
might be counteracted by
the frantic tiptoeing of your
numb ballerina feet.
The present is so repulsive,
but the shrieking cold of its violently
opened window will strike you
as refreshing until you drain
its clarifying elixir, that is,
until dread sets,
coagulating and trapping
you within the notion.
You will then notice
that your skin and its
construction papery loosening
accompanies your
growing hoard of trash
in calling back to
your old favorite food
tasted too many times,
flavor fatigued, habituated,
semantic’lly sated, resigned,
you meanwhile clawing wildly
to meet only water and oobleck.
The blandness outlives you,
and though the thought’s
disordered birth
canary-sings its rot,
canaries are not known for credibility.
Invariably when you retire
it is with the self disgusted
not-quite satisfaction of an addict,
your body diseased,
tattered, skin pulped
scratched tender by ragged nails.
You will then know yourself
as a warm red shaving of meat
newly born into the acid rain,
owning nothing but
however many years
are scribbled sloppily in your
rotting wet book of a brain
that shakes like a heavy weight
in your cramping hands,
and know you are entirely alone.
Though that may be;
as anonymous meat
you have no need for
memories or dreams
of if only if I had x,
success, excellence,
or better than.
You dandelion snow
untethered seafoam thing
can tumble as you please and
thus regard the happenings
below as spider meat and
demon mediocrity will flash
and die on our blue messed up pea
for he is but a fabricated word
you do not need;
to do a thing but be,
as well as you can.
"5:00 AM" by Clara Hinds
My bedroom is obscene like gluttony
my too thick walls align
too straight profane
I peek outside
appalled to find
I’m woven in
that freakish hide
of pavement and time,
tubes and lines,
dollars, lives,
too much is obscene.
Vulgarity
resides for me
inside my dreams
my eyelids can not shelter me,
I leave,
and so I face
too many shades of green
and far too many things,
winding paths wind my insides
like foods I ate too many times
In pain I run away to find
more path.
I eschew analysis of dreams
I think subconscious is a
wicked submarine
that fights you every
way you turn
and can’t be cleaned
because it’s made of
loose packed trash
a rorschach mess
it could never make sense
except in smearing sleep.
In my worst dream
a daisy loses petals
one by one,
blink, gone,
clicks like sounds that eyelids make
just faint enough to
stir my appetite
for sharper things
in Tartarus
I would be made of eyelids
squish squish
trapped inside an anechoic chamber,
making fair my anhedonic state
forever tickling
like tape on skin
or joints that will not pop
I want to tear my eyelids off
it’s time for school.
I wish my life were Kind like AP Physics C
a single thing so simple clean
with no mashed brain to complicate
a perfectly livable state.
my too thick walls align
too straight profane
I peek outside
appalled to find
I’m woven in
that freakish hide
of pavement and time,
tubes and lines,
dollars, lives,
too much is obscene.
Vulgarity
resides for me
inside my dreams
my eyelids can not shelter me,
I leave,
and so I face
too many shades of green
and far too many things,
winding paths wind my insides
like foods I ate too many times
In pain I run away to find
more path.
I eschew analysis of dreams
I think subconscious is a
wicked submarine
that fights you every
way you turn
and can’t be cleaned
because it’s made of
loose packed trash
a rorschach mess
it could never make sense
except in smearing sleep.
In my worst dream
a daisy loses petals
one by one,
blink, gone,
clicks like sounds that eyelids make
just faint enough to
stir my appetite
for sharper things
in Tartarus
I would be made of eyelids
squish squish
trapped inside an anechoic chamber,
making fair my anhedonic state
forever tickling
like tape on skin
or joints that will not pop
I want to tear my eyelids off
it’s time for school.
I wish my life were Kind like AP Physics C
a single thing so simple clean
with no mashed brain to complicate
a perfectly livable state.
"The Game" by Clara Hinds
Let’s play a game
I know you’ll love it
It’s my very favorite thing.
One quick note
Just so you know
The object is to A and B,
And the rules are XYZ.
I’ll go first, now it’s your turn,
No you can’t just copy me.
That is strange and very creepy,
A violation of rule G.
Good move! Aren’t you happy?
You got closer to goal B.
Another decade and you’ll be there,
That’s exciting, can’t you see?
Don’t forget to work on A,
It’s important too, you know.
What was that?
Gosh, you ask such funny questions,
Of course you need to do A;
That’s a part of how you play the game.
What? Again? Stop asking to quit,
That’s not a part of this,
You were having fun, I saw you,
Put your heart back into it.
Try harder then you’ll like it,
That was how it worked for me.
Give it a bit more time,
then you’ll see.
I’m sorry, did you have a better idea?
Because the last time I checked,
This was the only game we had.
There isn’t another option.
I know you’ll love it
It’s my very favorite thing.
One quick note
Just so you know
The object is to A and B,
And the rules are XYZ.
I’ll go first, now it’s your turn,
No you can’t just copy me.
That is strange and very creepy,
A violation of rule G.
Good move! Aren’t you happy?
You got closer to goal B.
Another decade and you’ll be there,
That’s exciting, can’t you see?
Don’t forget to work on A,
It’s important too, you know.
What was that?
Gosh, you ask such funny questions,
Of course you need to do A;
That’s a part of how you play the game.
What? Again? Stop asking to quit,
That’s not a part of this,
You were having fun, I saw you,
Put your heart back into it.
Try harder then you’ll like it,
That was how it worked for me.
Give it a bit more time,
then you’ll see.
I’m sorry, did you have a better idea?
Because the last time I checked,
This was the only game we had.
There isn’t another option.
"Starting Over" by Anna Dobbelaere
A memory, a friend who once was, end
Abyss so red, in sheets and shades of blue
Surrounded new, lost ones will not amend
Alone at peace up high, the world in view
It will all change, complete, exist no more
A whispered voice confined in darkness calls
Without the end, so pale, no start can soar
Still, fear intense creates defensive walls
Red sky blue light, all empty sights take flight
A small shift and a world anew begins
Abrupt connection—someone new—what might
To lose what’s closest in a blink, a sin
The past, what once was home now gone—so long
Ahead—a destined light written in song
Abyss so red, in sheets and shades of blue
Surrounded new, lost ones will not amend
Alone at peace up high, the world in view
It will all change, complete, exist no more
A whispered voice confined in darkness calls
Without the end, so pale, no start can soar
Still, fear intense creates defensive walls
Red sky blue light, all empty sights take flight
A small shift and a world anew begins
Abrupt connection—someone new—what might
To lose what’s closest in a blink, a sin
The past, what once was home now gone—so long
Ahead—a destined light written in song
"i went to the bridge" by Anonymous
i went to the bridge
because i needed an escape
so i stood up and walked away
walked away
no one noticed
how could they?
a cool stroll in the bright sunlight
so cruel it feels on my skin
because no matter how hard i try
it cannot reach within
so i walked up a slope
until all i could hear was the wind
looking down, i saw all of it
everything
so small and insignificant
the cars and wind so loud
i feel my bones rattle
it’s good to decide what to do.
so i watched a car pull over
a man got out and checked his tires
he looked tired
as i walk back to class
an old woman smiles
and i smile too
because i needed an escape
so i stood up and walked away
walked away
no one noticed
how could they?
a cool stroll in the bright sunlight
so cruel it feels on my skin
because no matter how hard i try
it cannot reach within
so i walked up a slope
until all i could hear was the wind
looking down, i saw all of it
everything
so small and insignificant
the cars and wind so loud
i feel my bones rattle
it’s good to decide what to do.
so i watched a car pull over
a man got out and checked his tires
he looked tired
as i walk back to class
an old woman smiles
and i smile too
"fromage" by Anonymous
i used to believe
that love was
a fluttering in the heart
a fleeting moment
agitated and abrupt
but my love for you…?
it makes everything stop
even my brain cedes to function
you make me feel at peace
but peace rarely stays unbroken
you make me feel like a butterfly
in a hurricane of my own creation
but you also make me feel so alone
--
“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” - Dr. Seuss
that love was
a fluttering in the heart
a fleeting moment
agitated and abrupt
but my love for you…?
it makes everything stop
even my brain cedes to function
you make me feel at peace
but peace rarely stays unbroken
you make me feel like a butterfly
in a hurricane of my own creation
but you also make me feel so alone
--
“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” - Dr. Seuss
"Hallowed be thy name" by Andrew Park & David Lin
I come before you;
Your humble servant at your feet.
In you alone, my soul finds comfort.
Guide me with your loving hand,
As I sing your praises. Lord,
I am yours to command
Thank you for the years spent at your side:
The battles fought, victories won.
Shielding your children with your light,
I carry you to the souls now saved.
Yet I wonder if I am enough--
Are these wings worthy?
My lord, I know you love your people
But man and angel both your creation,
Eyes to see you, lips to sing for you,
Hearts that beat for you.
Yet I’m simply the messenger for your love,
Never the recipient.
My God, can you hear me?
Perhaps you are too busy for me, listening to
the prayers of the children of man.
What will it take?
Shall I shed my wings, bind myself to the ground,
like the humans you so love?
My lord, my love, do you see?
My wings on an altar, smoke reaching heaven--
My back burns, but it is an offering to
Your naked body on the cross,
Your beautiful blood oozing out for me to see.
Now, finally, finally, do you desire me?
Your humble servant at your feet.
In you alone, my soul finds comfort.
Guide me with your loving hand,
As I sing your praises. Lord,
I am yours to command
Thank you for the years spent at your side:
The battles fought, victories won.
Shielding your children with your light,
I carry you to the souls now saved.
Yet I wonder if I am enough--
Are these wings worthy?
My lord, I know you love your people
But man and angel both your creation,
Eyes to see you, lips to sing for you,
Hearts that beat for you.
Yet I’m simply the messenger for your love,
Never the recipient.
My God, can you hear me?
Perhaps you are too busy for me, listening to
the prayers of the children of man.
What will it take?
Shall I shed my wings, bind myself to the ground,
like the humans you so love?
My lord, my love, do you see?
My wings on an altar, smoke reaching heaven--
My back burns, but it is an offering to
Your naked body on the cross,
Your beautiful blood oozing out for me to see.
Now, finally, finally, do you desire me?
"Breaking" by Anna Dobbelaere
Sometimes knowing how
To keep going is knowing
When it’s time to stop.
To keep going is knowing
When it’s time to stop.
"a love letter to the person in my mind" by Andrew Park
here is what i say to him, in the spaces of silence
i say,
won’t you come back to me? you are so far away, and i cannot feel the warmth of your body or the rising of your chest.
i say,
i dreamt about you, and the dream was good, and we were good, and i woke up with tears on my cheeks and bedsheets.
i say,
i don’t think it would be that bad, actually, to be crucified; if you nailed me to the cross, i would let you
i say,
darling, sweetness, beloved, eighth wonder of the world, you with beautiful hands and beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile and a beautiful soul and a beautiful mind,
do you know, that you hold my heart in your hands?
and in these silences, when i have not opened my mouth,
he responds,
yes, dearest,
and i will move closer to you so you can cling to me and i to you,
and i dreamt about you too and i woke up with a smile,
and i could never crucify you because your only sin was loving so much,
and i hold your heart in my hands, but you have mine.
but i look up, and i see his face, and i have not said anything and thus he cannot respond.
in these silences i afford myself the luxury of unbounded imagination
but instead, i say
hey, did you do the math homework? that shit was horrible.
i say,
won’t you come back to me? you are so far away, and i cannot feel the warmth of your body or the rising of your chest.
i say,
i dreamt about you, and the dream was good, and we were good, and i woke up with tears on my cheeks and bedsheets.
i say,
i don’t think it would be that bad, actually, to be crucified; if you nailed me to the cross, i would let you
i say,
darling, sweetness, beloved, eighth wonder of the world, you with beautiful hands and beautiful eyes and a beautiful smile and a beautiful soul and a beautiful mind,
do you know, that you hold my heart in your hands?
and in these silences, when i have not opened my mouth,
he responds,
yes, dearest,
and i will move closer to you so you can cling to me and i to you,
and i dreamt about you too and i woke up with a smile,
and i could never crucify you because your only sin was loving so much,
and i hold your heart in my hands, but you have mine.
but i look up, and i see his face, and i have not said anything and thus he cannot respond.
in these silences i afford myself the luxury of unbounded imagination
but instead, i say
hey, did you do the math homework? that shit was horrible.
"An empty cocoon" by Anna Dobbelaere
Eyes shut tight
And the song of noises screeching together
Sets the ears on fire
A strained breath
Metallic and something wet and rotting
Try not to breathe
Within so much noise,
A space for silence emerges
A cocoon of safety
Shaky breaths
Sweet sweat and the only way to describe it: Dad
Eyes shut tight
Unfold slowly
And the song unravels
The beautiful, well-versed song of busy and tired and worn-out tracks
That cocoon of safety has vanished
Only to be replaced by real sight
The determined light refuses to peel away
Intent on absorbing everything in its path
But beyond it is darkness,
An empty cocoon.
And the song of noises screeching together
Sets the ears on fire
A strained breath
Metallic and something wet and rotting
Try not to breathe
Within so much noise,
A space for silence emerges
A cocoon of safety
Shaky breaths
Sweet sweat and the only way to describe it: Dad
Eyes shut tight
Unfold slowly
And the song unravels
The beautiful, well-versed song of busy and tired and worn-out tracks
That cocoon of safety has vanished
Only to be replaced by real sight
The determined light refuses to peel away
Intent on absorbing everything in its path
But beyond it is darkness,
An empty cocoon.
"All Lost" by Anna Dobbelaere
It’s when the white clouds whisper over cool slopes throughout the dark green and yellow
hills and flower petals drifting in the air and the wind
so softly blows
violent yet at peace
And it’s all at once, in harmony.
The sun is glowing from behind the gloom above the endless
sea of blue gray steel--
Pink and Orange Yellow Gold.
And we are so small in a broken-down car running
running and running through a life that will
Not stop.
Witnessing the glimpses of the world in ways
we cannot explain and feelings we cannot
understand
And it’s all lost in beautiful chaos
It’s so easy to lose sight of the sun.
hills and flower petals drifting in the air and the wind
so softly blows
violent yet at peace
And it’s all at once, in harmony.
The sun is glowing from behind the gloom above the endless
sea of blue gray steel--
Pink and Orange Yellow Gold.
And we are so small in a broken-down car running
running and running through a life that will
Not stop.
Witnessing the glimpses of the world in ways
we cannot explain and feelings we cannot
understand
And it’s all lost in beautiful chaos
It’s so easy to lose sight of the sun.
"Tiny Birds On Green Stalks" by Melisa Clarke
Little birds in forest diving
Verdant ground never arriving
Black beaks angled down
yellow faces wear white crowns
Magenta wings striving
Verdant ground never arriving
Black beaks angled down
yellow faces wear white crowns
Magenta wings striving
"Padre's Shooting stars" by Melisa Clarke
Primula clevelandii
Family: primulaceae
As I walked outside I saw little light brown and orange butterflies on top of bright purple lantanas, enjoying a feast of nectar. They flitted between the flowers, never staying for very long, quickly visiting several flowers in a few minutes. This is a quintessential form of pollination in which some insect alights upon a flower and in feasting upon the provided nectar, pollen attach to their body and is carried to the next plant. Pollination like most things has an image first summoned forth when thought of. Yet again similarly to most things, that first image does not represent the variability within pollination. Padre’s shooting star is one of those flowers that doesn’t fit the mold and its pollinators have had to adapt with it.
Identification
The plants appear as a rosette of basal leaves in an open grassy area during winter. These leaves are pointed towards the base and broaden towards their rounded end with often wavy edges. Thereafter in spring they will shoot up a thin hairless and leafless stalk from seed or rhizome which further divides into several branches from which nodding flowers will hang. The flowers come in 5 petals and may be colored white, pink, lavender, purple, or magenta, while the base (closest to the stamens) is usually yellow. Underneath the yellow ring the corolla continues in a magenta/mauve color before the stamens start. When the rains end, the stalks and flowers will disappear and eventually the basal leaves will also die away with the arrival of summer heat. When their preferred grassy areas and open woodlands become moist again, the cycle will begin anew.
Commonly the 5 brown-yellow stamens will point downwards, converging to a point while the petals point straight upwards or up at an angle. This is very different from the usual flower where the stamens and corolla point the same way and the reproductive organs are otherwise partly hidden by the flower’s petals. For this reason the panoply of flowers have been termed shooting stars as their structure is reminiscent of one in which the stamens are the star and the petals is the tail. If you can’t picture a shooting star with this imagery, then perhaps a better analogy would be that of a diving bird where the stamens are the beak and the petals are their body and wings tucked close for aerodynamicity.
Family: primulaceae
As I walked outside I saw little light brown and orange butterflies on top of bright purple lantanas, enjoying a feast of nectar. They flitted between the flowers, never staying for very long, quickly visiting several flowers in a few minutes. This is a quintessential form of pollination in which some insect alights upon a flower and in feasting upon the provided nectar, pollen attach to their body and is carried to the next plant. Pollination like most things has an image first summoned forth when thought of. Yet again similarly to most things, that first image does not represent the variability within pollination. Padre’s shooting star is one of those flowers that doesn’t fit the mold and its pollinators have had to adapt with it.
Identification
The plants appear as a rosette of basal leaves in an open grassy area during winter. These leaves are pointed towards the base and broaden towards their rounded end with often wavy edges. Thereafter in spring they will shoot up a thin hairless and leafless stalk from seed or rhizome which further divides into several branches from which nodding flowers will hang. The flowers come in 5 petals and may be colored white, pink, lavender, purple, or magenta, while the base (closest to the stamens) is usually yellow. Underneath the yellow ring the corolla continues in a magenta/mauve color before the stamens start. When the rains end, the stalks and flowers will disappear and eventually the basal leaves will also die away with the arrival of summer heat. When their preferred grassy areas and open woodlands become moist again, the cycle will begin anew.
Commonly the 5 brown-yellow stamens will point downwards, converging to a point while the petals point straight upwards or up at an angle. This is very different from the usual flower where the stamens and corolla point the same way and the reproductive organs are otherwise partly hidden by the flower’s petals. For this reason the panoply of flowers have been termed shooting stars as their structure is reminiscent of one in which the stamens are the star and the petals is the tail. If you can’t picture a shooting star with this imagery, then perhaps a better analogy would be that of a diving bird where the stamens are the beak and the petals are their body and wings tucked close for aerodynamicity.
Uses
Plants are oftentimes a cornucopia of edible and medicinal uses, but this is not the case for Padre’s shooting star. Nonetheless we have still found use in its peculiar blossom’s charming beauty which have given it a place in our gardens. Padre’s shooting star does well in partial shade or full sun and is a great addition to any shady woodland garden. The plant can be propagated by seed or by division of rootstock. Growing from seeds requires more patience as the gardener must wait four or more years for the seedlings to mature and flower. Moreover the plants need moisture while growing during winter and fall and a dry period during their summer dormancy. These conditions may make the alternative of buying an already grown plant or growing from rootstock more favorable.
Rootstock should be divided in fall if you wish to use this method and then what is essentially a clone will grow from the roots. In nature this occurs when a large root is detached from the main stem and results in dense clumps of the same specimen. Unfortunately, finding large clumps of Padre’s shooting star in bloom can be hard due to the conditions it needs and its flowering season from winter-mid spring. Those who stay inside and don’t begin to hike until fairer weather comes again will find only a few flowers while the rest have already begun fruiting. As the foliage dies away during its summer dormancy, Padre’s shooting star should be planted near other plants with spreading foliage that can cover the bare path it leaves while asleep.
Adaptations
As to why shooting stars have this peculiar composition: the answer lies in their particular form of pollination. Flowers “nod” due to how the upside down flowers exclude pollinators other than bees as many do not have the athletic capability of pollinating while hanging upside down. Nonetheless, the plants take this specificity even farther through how they control when they release pollen. Many shooting stars rely on a technique known as “buzz pollination” in which they will not release pollen unless vibrated at a certain frequency by bees. A bee will hang upside down from a flower, pressing its body to the stigma and thus transferring pollen. Subsequently it will vibrate its wing muscles without actually moving its wings in order to get the tasty treat of pollen to fall. Some of its pollen will be eaten by the bee and the larvae at the hive, but having already achieved the goal of pollination it is a small price to pay.
Not only shooting stars, but other well known crops like tomatoes depend upon bees that can perform buzz-pollination. Almost half of all bee species are capable of this pollination method, but this group does not include the commonly employed honey bee. This places importance on native bee species and other pollinators for the balance of an ecosystem, especially in regards to the angiosperms with selective pollination methods they are adapted for. Honey bees are outcompeting and replacing many native bees, but a future with only honey bees is without important biodiversity. Both honey bees and other native pollinators are needed not only to support the environment, but prevent our human population from starving. Just like Shooting Stars we can not live without the help of the pollinators around us. We are dependent on the plants we consume and consequently the pollinators that they have a symbiotic relationship with. Pollinators are not pests to be swatted or poisoned, but instead appreciated as their monumental role demands for giving us the crops and flowers we use.
"grow up." by Frontier members
growing up is realizing you are not the same
like looking back on a broken mirror room
i can’t drink orange juice without
the bitterness of lost time
growing up, I ate grass.
grasshoppers are green.
I saw a bee and it was really a bee's knees.
I just watched the new Kaguya-Sama movie,
and it hit so hard to realize -
I was older than all of them.
Growing up is where inside jokes become stories.
driving at night and remembering you are alone
being hit in the gut by a being unknown
I’m tired.
I stare into the face of fire,
but falling in love feels so painful.
so, we beat on boat against the current.
Even though I'm growing up, I feel like I'm throwing up.
Less days with nothing to do
The time that passes is
fast yet slow, painful yet full of joy.
like looking back on a broken mirror room
i can’t drink orange juice without
the bitterness of lost time
growing up, I ate grass.
grasshoppers are green.
I saw a bee and it was really a bee's knees.
I just watched the new Kaguya-Sama movie,
and it hit so hard to realize -
I was older than all of them.
Growing up is where inside jokes become stories.
driving at night and remembering you are alone
being hit in the gut by a being unknown
I’m tired.
I stare into the face of fire,
but falling in love feels so painful.
so, we beat on boat against the current.
Even though I'm growing up, I feel like I'm throwing up.
Less days with nothing to do
The time that passes is
fast yet slow, painful yet full of joy.