In Which A Cave Creature Finds Us Tasty

O Nature, e'er experimenting! Now
We find a swimming cricket in the dark
Of Venezuelan caves? So tell me, how
You think you're going to top this. I'll just park
Myself and wait; this poser's sure to beat
Your ingenuity a while -- what? You
Aren't done with just this creature? It eats meat?
Carnivorous cave crickets. OK. Phew!
You had me worried for a moment -- Oh!
It's human flesh it seems to crave? Well, there,
I hadn't been expecting that, although
I shouldn't be surprised; I'm well aware
That as we take up all the living space
We'll soon be food for each remaining race.

In Which Ants Show Their Colors And We Are Most Pleased

The insect world is full of wonders, true,
And beauty, and of things so passing strange
As make us wonder who is fooling who
(I know that should be "whom" but I must change
The case to fit the rhyme scheme sometimes). Take
These ants, who show we all are what we eat.
Three cheers to Dr. Babu (I can't make
A name like that up!), for his passing sweet
Idea to show their abdomens take on
The colors of their food, and also bring
Some loveliness to all of us. I'll fawn
O'er these great images until something
As pretty catches my attention - though
'Twill have to be a marvel, even so!

In Which @Bug_Girl And Her Camera Make Me Smile

Bug Girl hath learned today: it does not take
Too great an effort to earn a hoorah
From me; indeed all it took for to make
My day, to make me smile, to send my jaw
A-plummeting toward my chest was this:
A snapshot from her garden -- but not just
A plain old plant shot, no, for that's to miss
All buttons on my keyboard. No, you must
Provide me with some insect porn if you
Would seek my fond devotion. And, what's more
While a Manduca's always welcome, due
To my weird standards, braconids will score
Much higher on my charts. And here are both
In one shot. Here's to those coccoons' quick growth!

In Which Monarch Mothers Medicate

To grow up sick with parasites is bad,
To pass them to one's offspring just seems worse.
But somehow, Monarch butterflies who've had
Ophryocystis bugs just know to nurse
Their caterpillars, in a fashion, by
A-laying their eggs on a milkweed type
That makes cardenolides that help to fight
The protozoans. When those eggs are ripe
And hatch, the larvae get their medicine
With ev'ry meal - and yes, it's proven, too,
That butterflies who simply haven't been
Afflicted don't do what the sick ones do.
We're not the only ones, then, who do drugs.
In this we are no diff'rent from the bugs!

In Which I Cheerlead Some Last Minute Procreation

Boxelder bugs, you must be frantic to

Begin another generation, for

Quite suddenly, I'm seeing more of you

Than I can count, in my front yard. The score

Is like this: winter's coming. Time, it runs

Out swiftly for you, little ones; a freeze

Could happen any day now, so the ones

Most near to you will have to do. Now please

Get on with it. It would not be the same

Without you when the summer's back, my friends.

As things go now, you're pushing it; your claim

To make a legacy runs thin, soon ends.

If I don't see you busy making eggs

I guess I'm gonna have to tear some legs.

In Which Destruction Looms Complete

My love for beetles may not quite exceed
The love of Haldane's god for them, but might
Were they not also party to a deed
That haunts me with ill dreams in darkest night:
My fav'rite place on earth is dying fast.
Unlogged, unburnt (that part's our fault), it serves
Now as a beetle banquet. In the past
The trees stood green and tall, now -- this unnerves
Me vastly; red and dead, awaiting fire,
E'en as the barkies thrive, twig beetles join
The party. They'll kill off the rest entire;
Then fire will finish. We have now no coin
With which to bargain. Ah, my Snowy Range.
We have destroyed what we tried not to change.

In Which The Grasshoppers Lie Heavy

There still is something missing as the spring
Morphs into summer. While the days are long
And lovely, and the noisy blackbirds sing,
As do the larks and mourning doves, it's wrong
To call me pleased, who pedals past and through
The grasslands and the marshes, breathing in
The scents of plants and flowers on Deep Blue.
The Greenway still is lonely with no din
Of insects. Barely hatched and tiny, they
Still hide within the earth, can barely crawl
Forth from their refuge; they'd be easy prey
In early instar stages, for 'most all
Those chirping birds. Come out soon, friends, and play,
And jump to herald me along my way.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

In Which I Ponder Bees Social, Solitary And Invisible And @Agent139 Is Partially To Blame

Today's been a fine day to think of bees,

Though I'll not see them for some time as yet

Here in Wyoming. This morn it did please

My RSS feeds to tell what I'll bet

Should not be a surprise: a social queen

Of Megalopta genalis, her brain

Learns better than one who has quit the scene,

And chosen solitude. Then one I'd fain

Know better, James Curcio, brought to light

Invisible bees, minions which attack

Malevolence alone, but picked a fight

In saying they do not have drama. Back!

A Queen Bitch, now you see her, now you don't,

Will always bring the drama, if you won't.

Sonnet Dare: A Dote Upon The Honeycomb

Geometry is with us ev'rywhere.

We've need for order bred into our bones.

Nor are we near the only ones who care,

As witness hymenopt'ran honeycombs.

Small hexagons in wax, so tightly packed

As to make structures of surprising strength

Within which grubs mature, safe and intact --

And other stuff is stored there, too, at length:

Sweet honey and raw pollen. Dizziness

Must sure confront one, wandering among

These structures -- but the builders always guess

Just what is where; the food and fed, the young

And old maternal queen. What's more: surprise!

The cells are viewed therein with compound eyes.

SESTINA SATURDAY: A Sketchy Offering

Sing gaudeamus; notice them and watch
Their movements and their natures when they're still.
There's much they can reveal; and careful eyes
May linger long on details. Just those wings
May fascinate with their venation, form
And color, all together in one line.

A kind of prayer it is, within my line,
Observing insects is. I keep a watch
For them where'er I go and form
A judgment of a place based on what still
Is there, take my delight in what takes wing
Around me, an intruder in their eyes.

Minute and captivating, how my eyes
Are strained to take in each and ev'ry line
Of these small aliens among us. Wing
And tarsa, spiracle, cerci - just watch
Each tiny miracle emerge, and still
There's more to see within this strange life form.

My love for them takes on, now, this new form:
I sketch one ev'ry day. Before my eyes
My pencil conjures them, though I am still
A duffer at this art. Each shaky line
That firms up is an offering. I watch
This happen e'en as all my thoughts take wing.

That entropy increases, says this wing
Beneath my gaze, must be a lie. This form
So intricate and tiny; the innards of a watch
Are not more orderly. These compound eyes
Assembled of mere proteins, all in line
Embody order. Hush now, and hold still.

As yet I still must work from just a still,
Unchanging photograph. Gone are the wings,
Just eggs and nymphs sleep underground. Each line
I make is secondhand, but soon each form
Will be there right before my own two eyes
In nature; all I'll have to do is watch.

Till then I must keep watch through the long, still
And wintry chill. My eyes long for those wings.
For now I am content to form these lines.

In Which A New Strategy Is Entertained

pinebeetle, originally uploaded by qatesiurade.

The use of sound in war is nothing new --
Just ask ol' Noriega -- but now we
May see its workings elswhere. Now those who
Like I do, fear for lodgepole stands, may see
(Or rather hear) some hope for them. Their foe,
Dendroctonus, a chatty beetle, makes
Agression, and/or mating sounds that, lo,
May drive the beetles well apart. This takes
Imagination! Kudos to the lab
At Northern Arizona U, who've tried
This out. If we can keep these tiny, drab
But devastating creatures checked, those fried
And dying trees up in my Snowy Range
Won't come back, but we may stop further change.

In Which I Commemorate A Very Important Nap

The ISS oft makes me crane my neck
To see it passing overhead at dawn
Or dusk. But now up there upon one deck
A new experiment is going on
Combining the two things I love the most
(That's space and entomology if I've
Not been too clear on this here blog)! A toast:
To Butterflies in Space! Well may they thrive!
And just today a caterpillar formed
A crysalis, the first in micro-gee!
It's been many a day since news has warmed
My heart as this has. They could hear my squee
From orbit, I am sure. And now we wait
To see the butterfly ere it's too late.

In Which A Flickr Pool Absolutely Makes My Day

Stag Beetle(Dorcus titanus), originally uploaded by Nishida Shatner.

I deeply miss the grasshoppers who flit
Around the Greenway as I pedal through
Their congeries in summer. Sometimes it
Was my best moment all day. How I rue
Their passing and the odd mantid who hid
Among them. But today I found this pool
With help from Bug Girl - she's the one who did
Call my attention to it. All my cool
Escaped me in one squee to look at these:
So many origami arthopds!
E'en entophobes among you, if you please
Will find one to delight you. Oh, ye gods!
The internet's a true, great treasure chest.
But I love all the insect pr0n the best.

In Which I Geek Out On Some Cool Objects

Those who have seen me 'round know how I love

Two pieces of odd jewelry that I've got.

Each morning these days I dither: which of

These two artworks I'll wear and which I'll not

(The two of them together would not work;

They both are necklaces). The Earth and Moon?

The grasshopper? Sure, you may smile and smirk

But get some Surlyramics of your own

And see how good you are at choosing which

To wear each day! If science turns your crank,

If skeptic witticisms flip your switch,

Then you'll do well to click over and thank

Me later for the tip. I was not paid

To write this, mind. I just like what she's made.

BONUS SONNET: In Which I Long To Be Outdoors All The Time In Autumn

It cannot be the smell of slow, cold death,
That drives me e'er outdoors this time of year
To exercise and draw in one deep breath
And then another, can it? Yet I fear
Sometimes that my deep love of Fall's just that:
A love affair with all that does decay,
Dry up, fall off, freeze, rot and then go splat,
Or just detach and gently blow away.
But summer's sun pins me down like a bug,
It burns my bare skin, gives me headaches, brings
Unwanted gawkers out who'll see me. Ugh.
Now as it wanes I think not of those things,
Just climb aboard my bike, relish the chill
And see how quickly I can climb that hill.

In Which I Watch A Strange Convention From The Sidelines (And No, It Is Not Bacon-Con)

I really just don't understand the birds!

Cheyenne's entire population of

American Tree sparrows, or two-thirds

Of it at least, are, for all love,

Now congregated tight in my backyard.

What's drawn them here to me? I cannot guess.

I simply watch them hopping, jostling hard

Against each other in the grass -- unless

The brand-new chilliness has caused

A mass die-off of insects? Winter's change

Makes these birds switch from bugs to seeds. I've paused

Now in this writing because something strange

Just happened: they've all flown up to my fence,

Then flown back to my lawn again. What sense?

In Which I Feel The Approach Of A New Season

The leaves, still green, could have blown off the trees

Today, instead of twisting to point out

The wind's direction. We've not had a freeze

As yet, to make my neighbors rush about

And cover their tomatoes, but, this week,

When I get on my bike, the sky's still dark,

For that first morning ride to work. Soon bleak

And cold this trip will be, lonely and stark --

Already my hands need a pair of gloves.

But for right now, the grasshoppers, my friends

Still bask in afternoon heat, but my loves

Grow sluggish, and more of them meet their ends

'Neath walking feet and skates and, yes, bike tires.

And with them soon the summer, too, expires.

BUG WEEK: In Which I Share A (Sort Of) Secret

When I was young, e'en to my eighteenth year

I had a weakness easy to play on:

For nothing in the world gave me such fear

As insects, in the house, out on the lawn,

Once memorably in a campground sink -

Saturniid, there, I picture in my head.

The merest sight would make me scream. You'd think

Me stabbed. Now, "phobia" was never said

Though surely it was thought, as I could stand

A dragon- or a butterfly all right.

By college time it was, though, out of hand

And Bard is a most buggy place at night.

My cure? I took a course and learned each part

An insect has, and thereby lost my heart.

BUG WEEK: In Which We Prepare To Copy An Orchid's Strategy

A Vespa's more than just a motorbike --

It's also, first, a hornet who'll attack

'Most anything it nears that smells just like

A honeybee in fear, it's fav'rite snack.

There is an orchid, a Dendrobium

Which uses just these triggers for its own

Devices: pollenation. They succumb,

These hornets do, to a faked pheromone

The orchids make, that honeybees employ

To warn of danger lurking, and they dive

In search of food - but there's none to enjoy.

This knowledge soon may benefit each hive

Of honeybees that humans keep. We'll make

A trap that preys on this Vespa mistake!

BONUS SONNET: BUG WEEK: In Which I Dwell Upon Japan's Bug Buddha

I am no Buddhist but I know a bit,

That loss of self is something to be sought,

That meditation is one way to it,

And that such things cannot be sold or bought.

Consider then the man who made this shrine:

Inamura Yoneiji, just for love

Collected o'er six years for his design

All manner of insects, all kinds thereof

(But mostly beetles, like in Haldane's quote).

Collecting does mean killing, as he knows,

But hopes to bring them peace as they promote

Deep thoughts on life and time, death and repose.

Their beauty in themselves, there for us, too:

Admire their intricacy, shape and hue.