The sun fingers and prickles me,

And the dock creaks gray,

Floating on algaed styrofoam.

A silvery leap spatters

This drowsy morning,

Now tail-thrashed alert.

The trout flee weedbeds,

And sunken-log mysteries

For spring-fed depths.

My toes curve over the edge

Of wave-slapped wood,

And I dive,

In an arc,

Into their current,

Plunging below

Tepid-safe waters,

Desiring mute cool green

Until it presses

Hard on my breast,

And I push upward,

Bursting into white air,

Raining diamonds.

Credits

Leaping Trout by Winslow Homer

Underwater courtesy of Mikhail Vedyokhin

Drops of water courtesy of iamharin

Sometimes, it’s best to leave the jig saw puzzle alone –

for one never knows,

what life we breath and invoke when the pieces come together

____________ Copyright @ Eric Alagan, 2014 ____________

Elusive Chalices

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In August of last year, I gave a paper to the University of Melbourne’s Office of Research Ethics and Integrity research seminars, Tuesdays with OREI, on ‘Hyper-Anxiety about Research Integrity among library staff and RHD students’ that ended up doing two different things. So this is the first of a five part blog series, about who is anxious, why it’s unhelpful, and what we can do instead. The final posts will address ways of promoting ‘research integrity’ among cohorts who are not already fully signed up to the values of research integrity and academic honesty, because, according to the research, they are also badly served by a focus on plagiarism and punishment.

You can read the whole series by clicking on the category ‘Hyper-Anxiety & Academic Honesty’. 

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This is the first post of a five part blog series, one which will address ‘hyper-anxiety’ among those who are…

Inspired by a haiku written by JannaTWrites > Nature – Haiku

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Sorrel thrived in the city rubbish dump.

The kind woman, taking pity, uprooted and brought him home. She cleaned and trimmed, and removed the parasites that infested him. She placed Sorrel near the window, so that nourishing sunlight bathed him. Besides a clean soft bed, she fed him all sorts of nutrients which modern science had birthed.

However, after a week, Sorrel fell ill. He shrivelled and withered. No matter what the woman tried, Sorrel’s condition worsened.

Finally, he bent down in death.

“I wonder whether I should have simply left you in the rubbish dump,” whispered the woman, as she pulled out the dead plant and tossed it into a rubbish bin.

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Sorrel – A boy’s name but also a vegetable, eaten in soups, sauces and salads.

Notice, how some plants sprout spontaneously in the wild. Yet…