In Which We Kind Of Already Did Mother's Day But I Can't Let The Actual Day Pass By Without Saying Something

Shift work means that I'm missing Mother's Day.
We celebrated last week: Chinese food
(Which she can't get in Togie) goes some way
Towards pleasing her; no fete should not include
Chop suey when it's for her, this I know!
I felt for her at Lowes and other stores
Where pots of flowers, blooming, out for show
Kept tempting her. Her fav'rite springtime chores
All center on their planting. She and dad
Are good at raising things and taking care
Of what they treasure, even through the bad
Old frosty times like now, but she did spare
These hothouse plants; too soon for them, as she
Well knows and kindly taught to Kris and me!

February 15th

Those roses, so much cherished yesterday,
Clutched close and sniffed, then put in water, look
More than a bit diminished, though they may
Last days yet ere they're cast away. It took
A moment's thought to get them at the store --
A quick stop, mayhap, on the day's commute.
The hope still lingers, though, that they mean more
Than just some token holiday salute.
Have they been given just to keep the peace?
Would they appear without this odd mandate?
When they fade and are tossed does that release
An obligation for the year? Such weight
To put on fragile blooms, and yet we do
Keep using them to say that "I love you."

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!

In Which I Teeter Drunkenly From Lilac Intoxication

The DEA might confiscate my yard:

It's one great mass of heady blossoms there.

My tendency to sniff just might retard

My reason and mien. I am aware

That it is best that I not operate

Machinery, or speak in public while

I'm in this deeply interesting state --

As demonstrated over on this file.

I'm not a grammar Nazi, but I am

Quite mindful of those usage niceties,

Agreement, case -- oh yes, I give a damn.

And pay attention to apostrophies.

But lilacs and some other blossoms, too

May make me start to use "whom" 'stead of "who!"

In Which I Rejoice At Breathing Hard (And Tell You All To Get Your Minds Out Of The Gutter Right Now)

It's spring at last and time to ride my bike,
Deep Blue, to work whene'er I safely may.
The exercise is good but what I like
Is what I smell; a moving sweet bouquet.
It starts with lilacs in my own back yard,
In Cahill Park, and scattered all along
My route. Then others join, but they are hard
For me to name. A cherry? That seems wrong;
This is Wyoming. Dogwood? Maybe so.
The blooms are red and white and have a scent
That makes me glad to huff and puff e'n though
It's extra work to use my nose. Content
I am to pedal on, and deeply to inhale.
And love the Greenway's deeply scented trail.