We walked into the lab full of science. Promise for work, excitement, and discovery awaited We had an experiment to do We picked a plant, pink, purple or green We went up in groups refining it Turning it to powder with a crackling and squelching The nitrogen froze it brittle we ground it mortar and pestle We put it in bottles, filling it with a forest scent But then we destroyed it, with acetone yet It turned from transparent to green, But soon it was ready to be changed yet again More bottles were assembled, silica, acetone filled We then…
The Science Creative Quarterly
From creative
HIS PURPLENESS
Shining. Draped in purple. The fresh smell. It calls to me. Mortar and pestle. Grinding. Crushing. Destroying the beauty that once was. Beauty lost, never to be regained. A last chance to recover: Acetone. Bringing back what once was? Purple to brown. Beauty to hideousness. They say we have gained, but forget about what we have lost. The beautiful coat of His Purpleness. On the outside, a gleaming pharaoh. On the inside, a murderous thief. Alter egos are his undoing. – – – (Written during a Science Creative Literacy Symposia – more pieces can be viewed here)
COLUMN CHROMATOGRAPHY
It started with an empty tube Filled with a murky green liquid, Clumps of plant clung on to the sides. Left to settle, the plant material and liquid eventually separated, Like oil and water. Extracting the liquid from the test tube, We mixed it into a combination of ethanol and silica. The solvent tore it apart The greasy, darker liquid sank to the bottom, While the lighter, purer liquid remained at the top. In the dark room, the UV light coated the mixture, Reverting colours never seen before. Neon! Red! Bands of colour! Who knew that a purple light could…
RUBBER GLOVES
This poem is a collective construction from one of our symposia days. Each student wrote one line about the topic they chose (rubber gloves), and then the students put the lines in order to create a poem. The instructors let the students have free reign over their collective creative process, and they wrote it and put it together within five minutes. More pieces from the day can be found here. – – – God! How do you put these ON?!?!?!?!? The rubber glove is blown up like a balloon, used to whack people. They snap! They really help nurses save…
COLLECTED WORKS FROM TECUMSEH ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, MAY 8th 2008
Part of our Science Creative Literary Symposia. During this day, students from the Grade 7 class extracted compounds from various plant and flower samples, which were then loaded on a silica based chromatography column for characterization. – – – THE DIAMED FLOWER The DiaMed flower Magenta petals, Slightly browning, Texture of satin, In a single row. Varnished, stiff leaves, The colour of pine needles, Pointing up walls. Thin sheet of ice, Crackled and sizzled like afire Pestle ran over the helpless plant. Trampled on, chunks all over the place. A victim of the evil white smog. Out of the freezer,…
ODE TO A WHOPPING URN
A rap song – audio file here If the haze in my brain is smog what do you call the apathy of the cog inside the giant corporate shell. But truly I know this isn’t hell. So global warming may make us all blond, ironic the hockey stick will close my ponds And where did I put my CO2 sponge? Isn’t this a sponge-worthy monde? Now I listen to wisemen less to prophets out to spread amen but if this is apocalyptica maybe we should dig into our lexica find words to talk to those not in the choir. But…
A PROCRASTINATOR’S GUIDE TO THE UNIVERSE (OR IN DEFENSE OF DELAYING THE INEVITABLE)
Empirical research would suggest that almost 90% of people are chronic procrastinators, with acute exacerbations occurring most frequently in student populations[1]. Given the incidence of this condition in the general population, it appears possible – even likely – that this behavior confers selective advantage, and since this trait enjoys continued popularity and prevalence in our society, one could suggest – as I will – that there is an evolutionary basis to its existence. Furthermore, as a procrastinator first and scientist second, I feel I can speak to some of the overlooked benefits of this type of behavior. To procrastinate is…
INNUMERACY
White pear blossoms blurring on the downhill stride; cloud veins branching, bursting blue-blood lights and streaks; marmalade fractal-smudged bites in a Sunday; points on the mounts’ horizon, range upon range dipping over the edge of the world; angles drawn with straight lines on that world, bending Euclid, because they can, because they must – no limit to truth when the paper crumples, crumbs of calculations dropping off like forsythia-yellow stars.
A LITTLE HIKE
FADE IN: Dialogue in Mandarin with English subtitles. An impoverished rural village in contemporary China. EXT. A SMALL WOODEN HOUSE – – DAY MAMA, a single mother of three children in her mid 30’s, walks along a dusty dirt road into a meek wooden house lugging a heavy pail of water. A shabby cloth hangs in the doorway in place of a door. INT. MAMA’S HOUSE – – DAY A one-roomed house furbished with a couple of fold-out chairs and a few pieces of old wooden furniture. One large wooden bed is in the far corner. WEI, Mama’s youngest son…