The buttercup

Radhika told me something interesting the other day.

If you pluck a buttercup and hold it up under your chin you will know if you like butter or not.

If the sunlight reflects on your chin you like butter, and If it doesn’t, you don’t.

‘It is a silly game we used to play when we were little, Daddy’ she hastened to add.

I was very intrigued of course. Any opportunity to learn form your children is not to be ignored. 

I had never looked closely at the buttercup before, and sure enough when I pay attention now I see that it has shiny petals!

As if someone had carefully spread butter on them before holding them up to the light (oh, I see how the name makes sense now).

But why? came the question bubbling up from the depths of my mind it it’s annoying little voice as usual.

Apparently there is both a why and a how.

How first (in a tiny bite size):

There is a layer of epidermis in the petal, beneath which lies another layer of airspace which acts as an optical distorter, essentially reverberating the light that comes through, aided by an irregular deeper layer of starch granules to scatter it.

Details here:

https://royalsocietypublishing.org/doi/10.1098/rsif.2016.0933

And why?

Evolution and survival of course as usual.

1. The reverberating sunlight makes it glossy and attractive to pollinating insects from a further distance, better than other small flowers can achieve.

1. The satellite-dish shape of the buttercup makes the reflected light ricochet off the parabola of petals to bounce back into the centre where the reproductive organs are, again making it a more effective flower on cold spring mornings in temperate climates where sunlight may be sparse.

Apparently this layer of air tucked under the epidermis is not a big deal and is a common mechanism by which butterflies get their shiny wings.

What is interesting though is that the humble buttercup is one of the very rare examples of having this air layer in the plant kingdom!

None of the highly sought after, rich and famous celebrity flowers have this special feature.

Fascinating as always how nature beats mankind at every turn and how science allows us to acknowledge our irrelevance. 

 

I guess at least we have appreciation of beauty as the lone saving grace for our species:

https://youtu.be/FvluBVhfGcw

The heart of the matter

The visceral pericardium
is adherent to the heart 
Peel it away and the heart bleeds
And bleeds
And bleeds
———————————————————-

As it plunges head first
through life, often into darkness

The heart is peppered 

with scuffs and marks
Cuts and bruises and
The occasional 

round house kick 

Skewered and stabbed,
sometimes from behind
Wrenched and ripped 
from its moorings

But then, in the lull
Between storms
It pants alone in
A deep dark hollow

Licking its wounds 
Looking in detached
curiosity at every
pockmark and gouge

It tucks away
Memories of pain
Ripping through flesh
Raw and visceral

In the space 
between thoughts
Wrapped in cling film
For future use

Only to be brought to light
If you bother 
To get close enough 
————————————————-
The visceral pericardium 
is adherent to the heart 
Peel it away and the heart bleeds
And bleeds
And bleeds

Empathy

The grief of others

Is a pebble 

you chance upon

On your walk in the park

Under the cherry blossoms

Smooth and worn

And glistening softly

In dew,

or tears,

quiet and irrelevant 

Until you pick it up

when it turns into

a minor asteroid

Crushing your hand

and heart

And yet, as you hold

that molten lump

burning a stranger’s

soul shape

Into yours,

you wonder ...

how long could you bear

this bottomless thimble

of painful synonyms

brimming with

searing, burning, 

withering, sweltering, 

scorching, blistering,

exquisite agony  

To see if it wilts,

and droops,

and stains

your soul with

self-inflicted,

guilt-ridden,

yet carefully titrated 

Empathy

Until Selfishness 

kicks in and you toss

that impertinent stone

back into the undergrowth

What difference does it make

to know the name of the child

lying face down on that beach?

Or the limbless dreams 

drowning in sunken eyes 

in a land far far away?

(Now available in 4K Ultra)

What difference does it make

when a man in his twenties

tells you in a matter-of-fact tone

(his pain thankfully contained 

behind his mask),

now that his wife is dying

he does not have 

a Home anymore?

Let me pause -

an irreverent moment 

To drown another rock

In a deep dark pool

Somewhere only I know

To join that other one

Still whispering in my ear

After a decade 

A teenage daughter’s 

Question gone begging

‘Who will walk me 

down the aisle now,

Doc?’

The grief of others

is the promise of tears

that never break free

Ominous shadows 

under the waves

around your 

Paradise Island

that you choose 

not to see

Wrinkles

The ground sighs 

a green stick fractures 

underfoot I look down 

at puddles of sky

where schools of 

shadow leaves 

swim up to meet

their falling kin 

riding gently down on

air that smells of stale

raindrops clinging 

on for dear life to 

my old umbrella 

with ribs that nip 

at stray strands of

grey smoothed down 

by a careless left hand 

while Adam counts

colourblind crows as 

that red crest twitters

heavily down on a 

branch scribbled in shades 

of green slowly folding

into a scrunched up 

memory of a random walk 

curling up for the night 

into a coarse wrinkle

in my wandering mind

Genesis

 

she looked as him

As if he mattered

a tentative wish

fluttered down 

Seeding a shy nook

In his soul

If only he could  

Hold her hand 

To gently trace 

the turn of her fingers 

Forevermore 

Under this blazing maple 

Where once landed

A little whirligig

Of love

Rise and shine

But mother, please,

Just another minute’

Said the sleepy sun 

to Lady Time

‘I love my fog blanket

And my cloud pillow,

And surely the world 

can wait a while’

‘If only, my child’ 

said The Mother 

of all the 

has-beens 

and the 

maybe tomorrows

‘See that waiting tree

Wishing to be green,

And that tiny flower

Dreaming of yellow,

And that weary path

Longing for a journey?’

‘None can start 

without you,

nor do I hold 

any meaning,

elsewhere in my 

Eternity’

‘So go out and shine,

In blazing glory 

It is a good day

when you are around’

There is no hate in this world

Except in the hearts of men

Lockdown new year

As thoughts of love

gather in wrinkles 

of time and skin

Memories float

gently down - 

moon daisy petals

settling softly into

our smiles  

Our old selves

huddle close 

around campfires

making room 

for new faces 

oddly familiar 

behind masks 

Let us rejoice 

drawing lines 

In flowing water,

slowly wearing 

our soul stones down 

Let us pause

a lingering moment 

To look both ways

in our hall of mirrors 

Pondering the

End of old beginnings 

And the beginning 

of new ends 

Let us aim to 

Be less human,

better, kinder,

Less selfish perhaps

like other animals

Running wild and free

Until we pause again

To review,

Reassess,

recalibrate

Let us remember,

Looking out from 

Our little bubbles, 

Our non overlapping

Venn diagrams,

That in this world

of us vs them,

there are no others 

Have a happy new year

Anniversary bear

 ‘Happy anniversary sweet’

Whispered the forest spirit

Caressing his paw 

‘Grunt grrmmm grunterr’

Replied the Anniversary Bear

Sleep clinging to eyelids like

last night’s icicles

‘Groob grraah ggrruubuvursary’

He tried again 

chasing after the

frog stuck in his throat

The Anniversary Bear 

climbed out of bed 

and lolloped slowly 

down the stairs

‘Daddy! Have you got her a gift!!!?!!!’

A bushy tailed bunny rabbit 

bounced into view,

tossing a bagful of 

Prickly exclamation marks

At the Anniversary Bear

As he padded to the sink

‘No one will know’

He mumbled to the bear 

In the mirror, 

putting the unused razor down,

and pulled a flimsy mask 

over grizzly stubble

slowly turning itchy after

three days of neglect

Anniversary Bear played shop

grunting down the phone,

Pawing at keypads,

Clawing his keyboard,

His stomach rumbling

Along as he grumbled 

Through the day

On the way home he paused,

hunched over his wheel, 

looking balefully at

The empty buckets where other

Bears had rummaged for 

last minute flowers

The car crept quietly up the drive

Avoiding eye contact in

The rear view mirror 

Left over bean sprouts

steamed silently 

As Anniversary Bear

played panda 

on the couch corner

Lightning chopsticks 

chopping chop suey

‘Why are you here?’

He asked

The puddle of nothing 

Under his pillow

‘You found me under a rock’

It replied

‘I am yours now’

Anniversary Bear shrugged

And curled up against

The familiar shape 

Under the old duvet

‘Groob grraah ggrruubuvursary’

He mumbled in his sleep

As a vague smile flitted

Across his greying muzzle 

The scientific method

‘Yuk! cold tea?!’ and he slammed my cup back down after a quick sip.

‘Hari doesn’t like cold tea, Daddy’ piped up his little sister.

‘Aha! That’s what I call a blanket statement, and how you build your bias over time’ I said rather too enthusiastically, in a desperate exploitation of the opportunity to broaden minds, ‘and now I can prove why your statement is wrong Radhika - and then you will see how your thoughts and opinions change. You see the thing is you know Hari likes ice tea, which is also cold tea, so you see how your opinion was biased by recall of a recent event? This is how people become prejudiced, and in research we call it -‘

I got no further, for Hari shut me down with this as his sister erupted into endless giggles:

‘And then you get punched in the face for being annoying, Daddy!

 Welcome to the real world’

🤷🏽‍♂️

Misdirection

 

You come to me

Without pause for thought

Sometimes desperate

Sometimes rude

Ignoring those around you 

Sometimes drunk

In the middle of the night 

And yet I show you

The light 

And the righteous path

When you lose your way

You want me

To wear what you buy

Without question

Sometimes the way

You touch me seems untimely

And you lose your temper if

I do not respond

The way you want me to

You forget 

That I may have bad days

When I am weak

Or not so bright

And that sometimes 

I even wish 

To be wiped out

Completely 

And forever 

What am I to you?

Just your iPhone, I guess

😁

Departure

Self-isolating bubbles 

of love pop open

onto the sidewalk

spilling Youth,

sloshing about

wastefully as

Age looks on with

bemused restraint,

whittled to precision 

by Time passing

an idle hour.

Corpulent suitcases tumble out 

barely keeping up 

with rushed words 

of love and promises as

smiles ricochet behind masks 

before finding exit wounds 

in eyes lit up in excitement.

 

Comfy jumpers huddle close 

As dusk gathers in wrinkles

Of time and skin, bearing 

Sepia-toned memories

Just as they once held 

against shoulders, those

heads now vanishing into

the distance.

If only you could

unburst a bubble -

a wistful thought 

lingers as Time

blows playfully 

on a dandelion.

Dawn to dusk

 Haiku anyone?

Not your cup of matcha? Fine

Stick to sushi then

———————————————————-

Dawn is out hunting.

Scared shadows huddle under

the coffee table

Winter morning walk

snowy scrunches underfoot

fresh like green apples

Potholes in the road

The CD skips lanes again

Here’s a new story

Sun streams through the leaves

puddling golden on the grass.

Do the ants really care?

Tossed coin pauses

Pensive in the summer sun

it’s all downhill now

momentary rain-

bows on corpulent bubbles.

Beauty waits for none

Slouched down in my seat

Homer hisses through clenched teeth:

‘Red light turn green now!’

Mushing up colours

On this iPad in the sky

A naughty child, dusk

Night sets in quietly

dishwasher trundles on alone

thought stains rinse away

Pop-up ad

Strangers sing

Of ocean waves

And falling leaves

Star-struck lovers

And wilting flowers

Of wayward hearts

Chasing butterflies

Stringing rainbows

Hunting sundrops 

Riding moonbeams 

The loss of innocence 

And the guilt of loss

Of footsteps searching

dark corners of

dusty souls

The joy of Life

often shallow

And the peace 

of Death 

always deep

Voices in the void

Guitar chords and 

chorus lines 

A lonely piano

chasing a drumbeat 

Why then,

In all of this,

do I see 

your face?

A pop-up ad

I can’t get rid of?

Friendly faces

 That day as four boys 

who wanted desperately 

to be men fell into a 

strained silence drowning 

out the resounding crunch

of a blue car ramming 

into that rusty jeep, 

as I smoothed down 

my shaking hands with 

my tattered nerves,

He said it would be best

if we fished the Def Leppard 

tape out of the car stereo 

just so it doesn’t seem like 

we were careless 

- which we weren’t.

I thought that was a good day.

That day as I said out loud that 

I loved her, He gave me 

a hug, uncharacteristic for 

one who is not inclined 

to splurges of affection, then

asked me whether I was 

serious, as if, 

he would disembowel me 

otherwise with his quiet 

eyes passing 

effortlessly for daggers.

I thought that was a good day

That day when I thought

that all was lost after 

all that effort, but found

some unaccustomed strength 

of character, to put on a brave 

face and lean into the punches 

taking them all unflinchingly

on my double chin,He found me 

- the news was good after all - 

I was going places, 

more so than I ever dreamt.

I thought that was a good day

That day as I slumped,

fed up with

repetitive tasks on 

repetitive days fuelling

repetitive thoughts of failure, 

He said something surprisingly 

simple and misleadingly 

mundane, almost a platitude 

that made perfect sense 

and lent my soul some 

much needed latitude.

I thought that was a good day

That day as I sat in the car,

Loss and Darkness pouring out 

in streams leached of colour 

much like the world around me,

He muttered an Arabic prayer 

for the one I never knew 

but needed to fill a soul-shape 

in mine, the words made 

no more sense than the pain but 

the sounds washed away 

some of the darkness.

I thought that was a good day.

That day when toddler dreams

got tangled up on a high branch

out of reach of a failing father,

He climbed up above my 

futile incompetence, and brought 

down that purple dragon 

to the waiting 

boy with eager eyes open 

wider than arms.

I thought that was a good day

That day when He asked me to 

shed my excess weight and 

baggage, to be a better man, 

to run against the grain 

of anger and arrogance 

and insecurity, quietly insisting 

that I find a grain of something 

true and beautiful to keep up 

with her soft radiance 

and her smiles.

I thought that was a good day

This day when at last 

I sit down to flip through 

these faded freeze-frames, 

framed within the borders 

of my wayward dreams, 

I wonder if these men of 

shared history and scared 

moments, splattered with 

love and heartbreak 

and unexpected triumph, 

measure up to Her as I 

tote up their soul marks 

on mine unable to agree a 

fair trade price for Him 

and Him and Him of course.

I think this is a good day.