Please please may I have my own bumblebee bat?
Who would perch like an angel on the rim of my hat,
And flutter and fly and scare my dog, Nat,
That I’d cuddle and spoil and pet like a cat,
And save from his vanishing Thai habitat,
Cause endangered he’d love my cramped little flat,
Where I’d feed him cold mozzies and warm butterfat,
…or should I just get a turtle and leave it at that?
—
New Prompt: Hope — with a poem
This illustration of Epitome, a database of “structurally inferred antigenic epitopes in proteins, i.e., known antigenic residues and the antibodies that interact with them, including a detailed description of residues involved in the interaction and their sequence/structure environments”, is for me the epitome of specialized science: opaque, brilliant, obscure, necessary, esoteric, and curious. Scientists from all over the world contributed (and still do?) to this epitome.
This is not a criticism or a joke. How I would love to have a Masters in Bioinformatics with Systems Biology, for example, instead of being a good speller and able to do some crosswords in pen, can draw a little, and studied geophysics once, among other random topics that interested me at the time, logic be damned. My life is a failure, as far as specialized science goes.
I know enough to know that I hardly know anything at all. And I know that because I don’t understand this science, or parts of it might be unpleasant or scary, doesn’t mean I can dismiss it. I believe in believing the experts. (Hear that, climate-change deniers?)
Schematic representation of two antibodies interacting with linear and conformational epitopes.
Converted to a poem by me:
a.
Linear epitopes
are short and continuous
like dachshunds.
After denaturation
the linear epitopes may still
be able to
bind
the antibody.
I have hope.
b.
Conformational epitopes
are domains
of proteins
composed of specific regions of
protein chains.
Never alone.
After denaturation
the discontinuous epitope
can no longer
bind
the antibody.
Love conquers all.
Prompt: Impossible
A scruffy black dog runs across the court, black on blue
Sniffs the crotch of the ball boy
Takes a lap
Tongue lolling
Looks for me
She serves
An ace
The black dog scoops up the green ball
Looks for me
He flies over the net
Lands softly
On soft pads
Looks for me
It is his dream
I am there
Find me.
Prompt: Save
Dear Agony Ant,
My boyfriend is a Neanderthal.
He keeps himself relatively clean, but has the worst teeth, as in some are missing, some are loose, and some are sharp. This means that our love-making is perilous and often painful and bloody, though is quite spectacular in other regards.
Yes, he should see a dentist, but is deathly afraid of them. He is also afraid of small spaces, lightning, automobiles, cats, plastic, and electricity.
He is also not much of a conversationalist, choosing to “do” rather than “say”. I can’t claim he doesn’t communicate well, but I am a bit of romantic, and love poetry. I really wish he would one day say in words how he feels about me. He has never told me he loves me, but I suspect he does.
We are trying to decide whether to live together. I am a bit of a neat freak, and he is quite the opposite. He rabidly sticks to his paleo diet, while I am vegetarian.
I am no spring chicken, and he might be my one shot at true happiness, commitment, and baby Neanderthals.
How can I tell if we should move in together?
Yours truly,
Sentimental Lover
Dear Sentimental Lover,
That’s quite a catch you have there. I am kidding. The heart has reasons, and all that.
If you are willing to overlook the little quirks, like his lack of speech and fear of plastic, because you love each other, then all the power to you. I’m sure he overlooks your flaws, like your use of electric lights and toothpaste.
But, he owes you some proof of his true affection and romantic feelings. Demand that he write you a love poem. If he can overcome his shyness about communicating his feelings, then I believe you can be a brilliant match, despite your differences in diet.
Peace and love,
Dear Agony Ant,
He did it! He wrote me a love poem. It made me cry. Do you think it proves his sincerity?
I am hunter
You are womb
You are beautiful like skinned moose
Pink
Juicy
Fill belly.
Yours truly,
Sentimental Lover
Dear Sentimental Lover,
It made me cry too. Anyway, the sincerity is definitely there.
Good luck as you start your romantic adventure cohabiting, and possibly, marriage, children, and growing old together.
May I suggest you relocate to a city with legalized marijuana?
Peace and love,
—
Prompt: Autobiography
Ups and downs
Cheese and clowns
A moustache here
An Afro there
Homemade wine
A Bartlett pear
An orange van
A string of lights
Tea-stained days
Neglected nights
The Marseillaise
A drop of sweat
A barren page
A private jet
A vacant stage
A patron saint
To paraphrase:
Fingerpaint.
This was, I think, the first weekly 100-word challenge that I submitted to an online group a while ago. The prompt was “Rhymes with Itch” and I remember the group leader being surprised that I took the challenge so literally.
Rhymes with Itch
Sneaky Footsnap was a snitch,
He had a plan to make it rich.
Bertha Cussmore was a witch,
Who made a fortune selling pitch.
Sneaky dressed up like the bitch
Certain none would note the switch.
His clever ruse had one small hitch,
Sneaky Footsnap had a twitch.
By virtue of this telling glitch
Sneaky wound up in the ditch,
Lifeless, cold, without a stitch.
—
Prompt: Identity
Dear Wednesday,
Who the hell do you think you are? Or, more calmly, do you think you possess a reliable self-awareness, or are you kidding yourself?
How do we gauge our level of self awareness; how do we crack the code of what our “identity”— the fact of being who or what a person or thing is; self, selfhood, singularity, uniqueness— actually entails?
I think we all should be able to express our singularity in a western haiku poem. What, you are more complicated than that? No, you’re not. You have more similarities with the billions of other people in the world than you have differences. You like walking in the rain, Red Bull, sardines, Persian carpets? You loathe hypocrisy, mistrust the medical establishment, secretly love dogs more than people, admire those who don’t give a shit about what others think of them? Congratulations! You’re not unique.
English haiku is a three-line composition, broken down into 5-7-5 syllables, and featuring a lean, elegant style which often references nature or an unexpected juxtaposition of subjects (according to Wikipedia, if you need a source). But the western version is flexible, should anyone find the constraints too difficult.
Opaque surface pierced
By sunlight and forgiveness
Empty shell beneath.
That’s me after a five-minute attempt. I found it hard. Try it?
Meanwhile, cartoons about the topic and prompt identity are not abundant, though the first (and maybe second, least likely the third, but possible) of today’s selection of some of my favourite cartoons is tangentially so related:
Nanowrimo is coming soon, so off to prep. Happy week!
~~FP
Prompt: Moxie
There once was a doxie named Moxie
Who lived in a town called Biloxi.
He liked to play Yahtzee
While hearing Tchaikovsky
Then read a nice pamphlet by Trotsky.
–
There was a young doxie named Moxie,
Whose foxy young bitch was called Roxie.
He gave her a necklace,
She threw it in his face—
“I want diamonds, I don’t want Swarovski!”
Prompt: Hyperbole
Day 5 of NaNoWriMo brings both hyperbole and humility.
So true… unless that child is Donald Trump.
Humility, empathy, charity, tolerance, and respect are important for children to understand, too.
Vote if you can, pray if you can’t!
In case you can’t view the image:
HYPERBOLE POEM
What am I?
I’m bigger than the entire earth
More powerful than the sea
Though a million, billion have tried
No one could ever stop me.
I control each person with my hand
And hold up fleets of ships.
I can make them bend to my will
With one word from my lips.
I am the greatest power in the world
In this entire nation.
No one should ever try to stop
A child’s imagination.
Prompt: Fragile
He is as fragile
As a baby untended.
He watches my eyes.
The above is an attempt at haiku and is similar to the real style of haiku poetry only by virtue of its structure, which in English consists of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, and 5 syllables. Haiku is meant to be original and evocative, or to capture a moment in time in a uniquely simple way, and actually not to present a simile. Haiku form is easy to learn (as they say about every game app ever) but hard to master.
The haiku above was inspired, for better or worse, by my black dog, who was staring at me this morning as I brushed my teeth. I was touched by his tentative yet steady gaze and the way we both unthinkingly acknowledged my absolute power over him. The powerless are vulnerable and it was a strangely sad moment.
I also came across this unconventional haiku while googling around for information:
A wise man once asked,
“Why, pray tell, is the sand wet?”
…Because the sea weed
Fluffy Pool 