Suess & Biodiversity

Written circa December 2000 for extra credit for a biology class. In college.

There once was a kid, in a grand university,
And what that kid did was study biodiversity.
That kid looked at texts; her brain muscles flexed,
But though she read texts, she got more vexed with the next and the next!
“Where’s the fun in this? These books are for schnooks!
These make this Miss hiss!” And she gave them dirty looks.
But then her T.A., who was admittedly odd,
Gave her and her fellows a book that was not flawed!
“'The Lorax', by Jove!” she cried in delight,
“Why Seuss’s stuff’s brilliant! Mike must be quite bright!”
She read the tragic tale of the Once-ler’s encroaching,
Of the environment he ruined with his Truffula Tree poaching.
“Well, clearly,” said she, “That’s urbanization.
Those Once-lers began curbin’ the population.”
“They started with trees, but there’s always a chain;
When they cut down the Truffulas for personal gain,
A domino effect was set into motion,
A little wave comes crashing down as an ocean!”
“So long Truffula, so long Bar-ba-loot!
With no food or shelter, those suits get the boot!”
“Those critters were solely dependent upon
The Fruit of the Truffula, and when those were gone, they had to move on.”
“Now think you on this, just for a mo-
If the Bar-ba-loots ain’t here, well then where did they go?”
“Did they take up a new spot, shoving out some others?
Did they die out quietly, all those mothers and brothers?”
“A Bar-ba-loot invasion would muck up the equation,
But Bar-ba-loot extinction; why I can’t even think, then!”
“And what of the others: the Swomee-Swans, the Humming-Fish?
Did they see what was coming? I wish!”
“Polluted by smog and gluppity-glup in the pond,
Well, there was really only one way that they could respond,
They packed up and moved on, just like the Bar-ba-loots.”
“Sickened and weary, they went off dragging their boots.
Then closed the curtain on that once fine habitat,
Down went the last Truffula and, it seemed, that was that.”
Then the Lorax, who’d warned him, again and again,
Went off, in his sadness; left only the Once-ler and then-“
“Well then,” said the kid, “The tale takes a twist,
There’s hope all a-hovering, if you get my gist.”
“The Once-ler has left one small seed, in his sorrow;
Just one, for a Truffula tree for somebody’s tomorrow.”
“This tale’s full of caution: ‘bout greed and natural imbalance.
And this Lorax, well, he’s full of some int’resting talents.”
“But he’s best on perception, on cause and effect;
And maintaining biodiversity’s his major project.”
“He failed to stop the Once-ler from causing a mess
But he left him a chance, one last UNLESS.”
“The biodiversity in this tale is real clear.
Seuss made his point well and the evidence is here:
He was warning us all to clean up our act,
Or that’s how our own habitat’ll react.
’Cause all things in a habitat interact; it’s a fact.”
The kid thought the Lorax was valuable reading.
Just the thing, in fact, she was needing!
“Now this is a Thneed; indeed,” said she,
“This is all that a bio text should be!”
And she wrote up this project, quite creatively,
Thought she, in all modesty.

Cigarette angels

Cigarette angels
light the night,
lazily wafting above the pavement
- inches from your lips
inhaling stale, hot breath.
Glowing with celestial fire
closer, closer
flames drawn to the moth
the mouth
Tempted too close by mortality
& all it represents
- cigarette angels all
fall.

*This one came from a small cousin coming up to me, informing she and her fellows were "cigarette angels". Turns out she said "secret agents". Poor hearing is a continual amusement and inspiration to me.

'Fell into Love

Fell into Love,
Who gave me a shove-
Said DON'T EVER DO THAT AGAIN!
Fell on my ass,
Said "i'll give it a pass"-
What was I to know then?
Me and Love 've 'met' after that-
I’m clumsy, what can I say?
Knocked into Love more than enough-
Maybe Love likes to get in my way...

Green - Beginning

I went to the hall of noble knights,
They who hold honor and glory their rights,
I went there with axe and with no ill intent,
To gaze, all awed, at those of beneficent bent
I stood in their courtyard, was hallooed and harassed,
I strode through the hallways, derided, outclassed
I towered in that throne room, no Round Equality seen;
They gasped and trembled at my emerald sheen
Wroth, I gave challenge, derisive in turn,
And I was proved right; ‘could no courage discern.
The king took my hatchet, manner most grim,
Then, o! Lo, then! Then up stood him.
The lord’s noble nephew, the pure and the true
He would take up what no other would do.
I greeted him sneering, for all my delight,
He took over my blade, swung with great might,
His expression of horror, so pale was his mien,
When away rolled my head, chopped off quite clean.
But nothing ‘twas to what followed next,
When up I bound headless, that token annexed!
I charged that knight to find my lair,
To receive my blow, if he would dare.
Then home I fled, with severed head,
To bide the year, ‘til the knight drew near...

Sleepless Beauty (2)

[...cont'd]

The Queen was all but pulling her hair out with frustration. Sweet breath was all well and good but why? Why grant her such a mundane gift when he could easily give her fame, fortune, (rather, fortune even greater than her father’s, which, while not paltry, was only middle-class, as far as royalty goes) or – best of all – the surety of a really good husband? Queen Blanche was on the verge of demanding that the final fairy, a girl of, to all appearances, ten years, grant Princess Rosebud just that when a shadow swept the room. The temperature seemed to plummet by ten degrees and none of the guests were able to suppress a shudder. The doors to the veranda swung slowly open, creaking, as they had never done before. A tall, smooth-faced woman strolled in, pausing just inside to smile blandly at the crowd. The doors swung shut again behind her, absolutely noiselessly this time, and all the more ominous for it.

The King was the first to break the frozen silence, with a cheery greeting.

“Meredith! We were beginning to wonder if you’d ever show! I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten your old cousin!” He strode forward all smiles and open arms. The onlookers cautiously began to smile a welcome, but their tremulous goodwill shrank again when the formidable lady did not alter her expression or stance as the King approached her.

“Were you now, dear Freddy?” Her voice was even, but the faintly mocking undertones brought the King to a halt. He frowned in consternation at the still, smiling lady. Behind him, the Queen was pale and panicked-looking.

“What d’you mean by that, Merry? I’d thought that you hadn’t R-S-V-P’d because you were too busy, what with being the top fairy consultant in the three continents, but you didn’t even come for the cake. I’d started to think you weren’t coming at all!” King Frederick’s hurt tones echoed in the otherwise silent hall. The Fairy Meredith, Consultant to the Tzars, frowned at her cousin, now. He did not cringe away from her evident displeasure but met her gaze with a plaintive expression. The Fairy’s own expression and tone softened slightly as she spoke.

“I would have like to R-S-V-P and to have been here for the cake, dear Cousin, but I’m afraid I could not do so, as I was not invited.” On the last word, her face tightened again and the crowd began to murmur and exchange glances. The Fairy – the King’s own cousin – not invited to the princess’s naming day? Unheard of!

The King was now truly distraught.

“But I sent you an invitation! I printed the address myself!” Gesturing to the majordomo (who was really a rather minor one, but he was the Queen’s third cousin and had gotten the job with only a little fudging on his application) for the guest list, the King continued.

“You recall, I told you I thought an enchanter’s dozen would be a nice number for magical representatives, especially as it covered all the near family and friends who practiced. Blanche and I talked it over and we each wrote up half of the invitations and she gave them to young Gary to post. Everyone else received theirs, are you sure-?” Meredith cut him off.

“No invitation came to my manor. No invitation came to my apartments at Dalas Palace. Nor those at Crumdon, Zatavia, or Pragambi. In fact, I cast a spell just to see where an invitation to me could have possibly been posted to and I found that none had ever been posted at all.” By the end of this, every word came out quick and crisp. The King stared at her in total confusion and incomprehension. At this point, the majordomo shoved the guest list into one of King Frederick’s upturned hands. The King grasped it and worriedly peered at it. His eyes ran down the list once, twice, then a third with his finger to accompany them. He looked up helplessly at the Fairy.

“I can’t understand it but you’re not on the guest list. But I know I wrote up your invitation and gave it to Blanche and –“ The King stopped.

[Cont'd...]

Apples

I dreamed there were apples
A finer red than anything real
Glistening, gathered, waiting for me to reach out
I dreamed that I could taste them without touching them
And that I watched them
For a good long while
But never sought to grasp one.

Forgiving

The crime was unpardonable
So he was set to the rack,
Twisted, wrenched
Then sliced, skewered, and skinned
Flayed alive, feasted upon by foul fiends,
Beaten, bloodied, broken-
He died a long, agonizing death
Behind her eyes
While she smiled, gently, calmly,
And forgave.

"Existence!" cried the Universe

“Existence!” cried the Universe,
  And came into being.
    “Light!” cried the Universe,
      So there could be seeing.
“Movement!” cried the Universe,
  And the stars began to spin.
    “Bound’ries!” called the galaxies,
      To keep the starlight in.
“Solidity!” called the systems,
  And rocks revolved around.
    “Atmosphere!” called the planets,
      And it was possible for sound.
“Growth!” asked the Earth,
  And plants pushed out towards space.
    “Life!” asked the Earth,
      And creatures filled the place.
“Beautiful!” cried the Universe,
  And crowded ‘round to see.
    “Madness…” whispered a voice,
              And humans came to be.

Chapter One: [draft]

She’d been sitting there for a long time. She’d stopped counting after several hours, but much more time had passed. Days, at least. Every now and again she’d get an urge to pace, but fear would take hold and, close on its heels, despair. That alone would weigh so heavily on her she couldn’t imagine standing up. She cried, on and off. She could feel the hot tears slipping down her cheeks and dripping cool off her chin, but they never so much as dampened the spot of carpet onto which they fell. Observing this usually caused her to cry harder. Sometimes she felt like she couldn’t breathe, she was suffocating and no one cared. That was her mantra, playing over and over again in her head. No one cares, no one cares, they should have noticed but no one cares.

Finally Mr. Torpino came to the door. He’d come and knocked – called, too – about five times, since - She didn’t complete the thought. She couldn’t deal with it, right now. Today, though, now, he was opening the door. Something like hope quickened her pulse; ha, there was a thought…

Harold Torpino, the superintendent for Hesperia Groves, gave this statement:

“She hadn’t paid her rent yet and she’s usually pretty punctual, so I called a couple times and stopped by and knocked on the door – not going in, mind you, just knocking, you know, to see if she was in. All in all, I gave her an extra week. Then I said ‘enough is enough. I’m going in there and if she’s not there, I’m leaving her a notice of eviction.’ Telling her ‘you pay or you’re out’ sort of thing, you know? I liked the lady okay, she’s – she was – always polite, but enough is enough, you know?

So. I opened the door with my key and the minute I get that door open I’m thinking ‘that stink-!’ I think, ‘maybe she’s got a pet in here, I got it on the lease no pets, so what is that smell?’ And she’s just sitting there on the couch… Everything looks dusty and I hear flies. I’m getting plenty mad, then she just raises her head. I swear she only looked at me for maybe a few seconds, but it sure felt like a long time! You know, you hear that stuff about somebody’s heart skipping a beat or something, but mine skipped more than a few. ‘Felt like it just up and stopped. I thought I was having a heart attack, which is not a thing I want to start doing, I’m not a young man, you know. But she looks down again, actually squeezes her eyes shut. Like she saw something was wrong with me, like her looking at me was what was causing it. I tell you, that scared me almost as much as looking at her. Well, looking at her eyes. You look at the rest of her, she seems okay. I’m not one of these ‘sensitives’ or whatever they call them, but I could see her, plain as day.

I say ‘Miz Cantel?’ I was planning to say more, like about ‘there’s this rent you owe me, a week past due’ and ‘what’s that smell?’ and, real big in my mind right then, ‘what’s wrong, that look you gave me, ‘felt like I was having a heart attack, just now!’ But she just points, over by the door, near me. Her face just crumples up, like she’s crying, but I don’t see no tears. I start to take a step toward her ‘cause I don’t like to see no woman cry like that, be in that kinda pain. I say ‘what’s wrong there, miz?’

Or I start to say, ‘cause then I look over my shoulder where she’s pointing and there she is. Or maybe I should say there she was. ‘Cause ‘was’ is definitely the word you use for a person in that state. I’ve seen dead people, well, not dead people, like that kid in that movie classic, no. I mean I’ve seen corpses. And this was not the most ripped up or anything. But I think I would say that this was the deadest I’ve ever seen anyone. It hurt to look at it, to tell the truth.

Deadest? I mean she’d been dead a good long time, and pretty well preserved at that. Sure, it smelled, but parts weren't fallin' off her or anything. Sure, yeah, there were a few flies on her, on her body, I mean. I think they came in with me, actually. But her, she just looked – Good Lord…

Her throat, it was cut. Pretty badly cut, but like I said, I’ve seen worse of that kind. Her eyes were half-open, like she’d started to close ‘em, or blink or something, and just died. So I wasn’t looking at that blank gaze you get from corpses, you know? Well, of course you do, you’re a Homicide cop, aren’t you? Right. So, she didn’t look so bad, as corpses go. For live people, she wasn’t looking so hot. Sorry, that was in poor taste. I didn’t mean any disrespect to the lady.
So I look back over at the her on the couch, ‘cause it wasn’t really getting through to me, what was going on here. I’m thinking ‘is that her there or that her here?’ and looking back and forth. Then she opens her eyes again, but she’s looking toward the window. She says something, but I don’t quite catch it, so I say ‘what was that?’ She closes her eyes again, turns her head toward me and says, clear as anything, I’m telling you, ‘I’m dead, Mr. Torpino. That’s my body; my corpse; me, there on the floor. This is me, also. I think I’m a ghost, Mr. Torpino.” Then she starts that crying again, without the tears. I think I didn’t react real well, there. I think I said something like ‘holy shit’ or ‘mother of christ’, one of them, and I ran out of there real fast. I left the door open at first, then I thought better on it after running halfway to the elevator and went back and closed the door. I heard her start to wail or something when I went out the first time and it really kicked up a notch after I closed the door. I ran right to the phone and called you guys.
Here’s the thing, she’s got family and all, I’m sure of it. Is she going to keep living – excuse the phrase – there or what? I’ve heard where that happens, families pay for the, well, passed on but still around, if you know what I mean, to live in some house or apartment or something. How’s that going to work, I’d like to know?”

[cont'd]

A ring

I want to be given a ring
with a cracked glass stone
that catches the sunlight in lines of fire,
that chimes upon metal with a faint broken sound,
that leaves a band of new-leaf green to circle my finger,
just above my knuckle,
that I’ll wear on a chain ‘round my neck
when the giver has left me –
along with the rest of my rings
with cracked glass stones.

Position

Well, I stand.
I stand corrected,
I stand to reason,
I stand over and understand,
I stand without and withstand,
I stand in and am outstanding,
I stand down and am upstanding,
Eventually, I’ll sit.

Strike

Strike thyself upon thy head
And play the role that thou art dead.
Still thy heart and freeze it fast,
That it pulse no more; beat its last.
Catch thy breath within thy breast,
Hold it calmed and silent lest
Thou betray that once thou lived,
A pain that thou hast ne'er forgived.
And for thy ache thou'lt receive fair price:
Thine eyes to stone, thine heart to ice.

Chapter 1 : Butte (2)

"Boys! Boys!" Madame clapped her hands together for the three brothers' attention. “Your Mama and Papa are coming to see you today. Surely you can be more studious than this?” Her rising tone made what should have been an admonishing statement into a question.

Heath looked up from his position on the scoured stone floor, where he'd pinned his younger brother, Polder. A young man of boundless energy, he exuded cheer and health. His tunic pulled tight across broad shoulders and his golden hair fell only just past his ears, earning him admiring glances from women, both young and old, of the town. He grinned in good humor and let Polder up. His first-younger brother, by contrast, was thin and lanky, hardly stretching his clothes at all. There was more of an air of fierce intelligence about him than one of heartiness. His brown hair was longer, but tied neatly back, so not a strand fell onto his pale face. Polder pushed Heath away, scowling – hardly even causing him to sway – and scrambled to his feet, straightening his clothes.

"If Master Groth were here, we would have cause to be studious. However, there is only Master Tellims, who can teach us nothing we don't already know." Polder snapped, crossing his arms and giving Madame a disapproving look, as if she were the pupil, and a slow one, at that.

Madame refused to be intimidated. Though a woman of sharp tongue and strict dress, she looked no more formidable than she actually was. Nevertheless, as the only constant disciplinarian to the sons of Sir and Lady Chersonese, she persisted in trying to curb the various enthusiasms of her charges. She looked around the classroom for the youngest brother and spotted him curled up beside the hearth, a book in his lap.

"Butte! Whatever are you doing! Your Mama and Papa are to arrive at any moment, and you are sitting - slouching - among the ashes!" Whenever Madame addressed Butte, she seemed to make every sentence an exclamation. To look at the youngest Chersonese, there was much to exclaim over. His clothes, sturdy yet fine, were smudged with soot from the fireplace, as was his hair and face, for he had leaned against the fireplace, unmindful of the effects upon his state of appearance.

Heath leaned back on his elbows and continued to grin as the plump, matronly governess fussed about his younger brother. Butte allowed himself to be stood up and dusted off with his usual quiet patience, but he clung steadfastly to his book. Madame knew better than to try and take it from him, but she scowled and fussed all the more for that reason.

Even Polder smiled at the bemused and dreamy expression on his little brother's face. Give Butte a book and a moment's peace, and he was lost to the world, he reflected. Though all three brothers were of drastically different temperaments, there was no loss of affection among them. The younger brothers submitted to the eldest’s enthusiasm for competitions testing strength and endurance, the eldest and youngest accepted lectures and challenges of mental exertion, and the two elder exercised as much patience as they could muster for the youngest’s apparent inattentiveness.

Madame was still fussing over Butte, Heath was still lolling on the floor, and Polder was still trying to reclaim his dignity, in order to haughtily oversee the proceedings, when a tall, nervous-looking man peered around the door. Dressed in a style corresponding to Madame’s, in quality, his clothes managed to look rumpled and dingy, though they were as freshly laundered (if not as thoroughly starched) as her own. He blinked at the scene, his forehead creased with worry, and ran a bony hand through his thinning brown hair as he cleared his throat.

Madame's head snapped up at the sound.

"Master Tellims! Thank the sweet Provider you're here! The Sir and Lady will be here at any moment!" She patted at her hair and smoothed the skirt of her dress, anxiously, while frowning at her recalcitrant charges.

"Ah ... Well, the fact is ...," Master Tellims began unhappily. The door was pushed open completely in a forceful manner and Master Tellims stepped to one side, embarrassed.

"The fact is that we are already here," Lady Terrene Chersonese finished for the flustered tutor. Sir Agrar Chersonese stood at her side, looking about the room in mild disapproval. Heath hastily stood up, drawing himself practically to attention, while Madame surreptitiously pushed Butte towards Polder, who, stepping forward, caught his arm and pulled him into line beside him. Butte hid his book behind his back.

Within

Rattling about in this self-made cage
of ventricle walls,
whose unsteady motion
churn vision into darkness,
which gathers for each rush
from chamber to chamber-
This temple is too tight,
constrained by bone and flesh,
held back by fear and froth that fill
the bars, branched and winding, that bind
the body from within.

Rhymes and Reasons

Lips bloody red,
Eyes black on blue;
His kisses were sweet
And so were you:

Sheryl, Sheryl, quite imperil'd,
How do your injuries mend?
With hospital trips and I.V. drips
And grim-faced nurses to attend.

Mama had a little girl
Her trust as pure as gold.
When Mama lied with fist-split lips
She did as she was told.
She followed in Mama's steps one day,
Which wasn't wise to do,
She didn't know another way
So she bore beatings too.

"Why did the girl put up with this?"
Her couns'lors all did cry
"She said he won her with a kiss,"
Friends would wearily reply.

Little Sheryl Evans
Looks up to the heavens,
Gazing unhappily.
She'd stuck in a knife
And ended his life
And now asks, "What'll happen to me?"