Bridalflies

Bride seen from behind wearing a butterfly-embroidered wedding dress in a garden
AI has done it again…

Bridalflies

I can see the romcom now…

Felicity, a scatty dreamer,
Known as Flick, a rose-cheeked beamer,
At a wedding in Californ-aye-ay.
And after vows before the priest,
A thousand butterflies released
Bring gasps of awe, as the band strikes up with My Way.

Flick is spellbound, Flick is smitten –
She’s never seen the like in Britain –
How can she bring butterflies back home ?
And think – how much she loves attending
Summer weddings never ending,
Circling-round the brides as flit-wings roam…!

But a Google on her return flight
Soon puts her zigzag thinking right –
The monarchs and mormons and morphos are def’nit’ly out !
She has to stick to native species,
Has to find our cutest beasties –
The ones to make the congregation shout !

Brimstones ?  Yellow beauties – great !
But Flick will learn they hibernate,
And that is why they’re rarely captive-bred.
And swallowtails may look so regal,
But to capture them’s illegal –
No chance she can raise some in her shed…

And I can picture well the scene
Where Flick is sure she’s found her queen –
The gleaming, bridal-dancing cabbage white.
She doesn’t understand the panics
From the guests who grow organics –
How can such a small thing cause such fright ?

Or how about she comes to learn
Hey best bet for the least concern
Are admirals and peacocks – at a price.
Her flower garden trades it’s petals
Into beds of singing nettles
Just to raise the caterpillars nice.

And oh, what hijinks they’ll create
When Flick hears of a heavyweight
The elephant of hawkmoths – what a stag !
But noisy wings attract a buzz,
And hairy bodies ruffle fuzz,
And spiral mouthparts set some tongues a-wag.

But hey-ho, here’s the happy ending –
Emo goths with nuptials pending
Love these bugs with a heavy-metal twist !
And so she spends each wedding do
In vintage black all Summer through,
Until the credits roll – you get the gist…

Persuading the usually crepuscular elephant hawkmoths to fly during the daytime is not impossible, but after the initial burst into the air, they probably won’t flit around for many minutes before wanting to settle down.  If Flick is written as smart, she’ll have numerous pots of honeysuckle / jasmine / red valerian / fuchsia dotted about the guests, perhaps supplemented with sponges soaked in sugar-water, to draw the moths back down, and become an attraction in their own right.  She could even stray scented sugar-water onto the palms of guests for an even closer approach.

But if she wants a proper day-flying hawkmoth, she could consider the hummingbird variety – but it comes with its own headaches.  Natural England considers it a non-native, but frequent visitor and suspected resident.  So, she might fall afoul of Section 14 of the Wildlife and Countryside Act (1981) for the wilful release of a non-native species (or, more specifically, “not ordinarily resident in and not a regular visitor to Great Britain in a wild state”).  The trouble she will face is that the Act does
not supply a designated list of native species and does not simply declared any species not listed as illegal…

And does the law consider a species that arrives every year, and increasingly so with climate change, to actually be non-native in the first place ?  If she made a point of collecting her breeding population from individuals in Britain herself, and then contacts Natural England for clarification, they might tell her that they don’t think she’ll need a special licence – but this isn’t the same as saying her action is definitely lawful when the law has never been tested in this specific grey area.  Good content for a romcom, but likely to be pricy if she ends up in Crown Court as a test case  Perhaps she should just stick to the elephants…

Meanwhile, whoever organised this wedding was deffo breaking the law…

Chrysalis Cartographers

Photo by John on Pexels.com

Chrysalis Cartographers

When Luna Saturne hears her Dad
Complain of moths at work,
She wonders why this makes him sad
And not be quite the perk –
Because his line is publishing,
She somehow understands,
They must be atlas moths, whose wings
Are wider than her hands.
Their caterpillars take their chance,
As fat as sausage-rolls,
By hiding on the Swiss-cheese plants –
That’s why they’re full of holes.
She pictures them about the lift-shaft,
Drinking ink and glue,
And beating wings with such a down-draught,
Papers fly askew.
They’re dancing round fluorescent tubes,
And hogging AC vents,
And stealing wayward sugar cubes
For shredder-paper tents.
But soon her Dad must cut her cloth –
They’re smaller than she wished.
So now, it seems, both dream and moth
Must be downsized, and squished.

Stomach-Flies

Photo by Andy Lee on Pexels.com

Stomach-Flies

Only a dozen-ish species, I promise,
To look for around the park.
Well, maybe a few more, that we won’t spot,
Nor moths in the after-dark.
Some are only seen in the gardens,
And some underneath the trees,
And some won’t stay still long enough,
So best not sweat over these.

I tried to pay attention to you,
To ev’rything you said –
But your butterflies just flew around my head.

See, it isn’t so hard to tell them apart,
Bar the Whites – those two are close !
But ev’ryone know the Brimstones in yellow,
And Peacock will chime with most.
And the Red Admiral is red and black,
And the Holly Blue, well, that’s blue,
And the Orange Tip has bright orange tips,
And the Gatekeeper, eyespots two.

How I tried to pay attention,
To your fluttery, zig-zag crew –
The trouble was, I only had eyes for you.

The Comma looks ragged around the edge,
While the Ringlet is full of rings.
But Painted Ladies and Tortoiseshells, mind,
Have the self-same orange-black wings.
The Speckled Wood is a blur of brown –
But hang on, that’s thirteen…
Let’s leave it there, and come back noon tomorrow,
If you’re keen ?

So I’ll try to pay attention,
Give your fascination due –
While the butterflies ignore us, as they do.

Morning Glory, 3AM

Photo by Akshaya Premjith on Pexels.com

Morning Glory, 3AM

The night is still too warm, North of twenty –
Far too warm to sleep,
And through my open window, all the scents
Are on the rise.
The Moon is full enough, the curtains open,
Birds are yet to peep,
So I slip-on a tee-shirt, vaguely hoping
I can catch a prize.
In the kitchen, dregs of last night’s wine
Are worth a swig,
Then out into the garden, free of sunshine –
Less oppressing…
A hawkmoth buzzes audibly around the trumpets –
Wow, it’s big…
Now this is how Summer should be – less a slump,
And more a blessing.

Industrious Insects

Industrious Insects

The busy bees of Manchester
Are busy hoverflies –
They flit about the branches there,
In black-and-gold disguise.
Perhaps they’re all more working-class,
Republicans in tile and glass,
Who swing their clubs to earn their brass
Across the smoky skies.

They may not make the honey,
And they may not make the wax –
But they pollinate the money,
And they pay their aphid tax.
They have no queens, they have no hives,
They live their solitary lives –
But close together, each one thrives
On cotton, silk, and flax.

Cryptids

I asked AI for an insect blending-in, but I don’t think this one could stand-out more…

Cryptids

AI is a stick insect,
That’s dressed in camouflage –
It sort-of looks correct
When we first glance its new collage.

But it doesn’t understand
That it is in disguise at all –
When it’s evolution’s secret hand
That’s caused its overhaul.

A thousand new mutations
Strut their stuff for all to see –
Just a few will be foundations
For the next-gen family tree.

Those that have too many fingers
Get plucked-out toot sweet –
While the one with better digits lingers,
Ready to compete.

And the carnivore consumers
Quickly spot the wonky test,
But the better-letter bloomers
Reproduce to code the next.

These critters still are random strays,
But now they feel designed –
It’s simply how they look these days,
To parasite our mind.

Hedge-Light

Keeper of the Flame by Daniel Cassity

Hedge-Light

This firefly is all a lie –
He has no flame in him !
The light that’s seen
Is cold and green –
And most of all, so dim !
Flashing out his Morse,
Of course,
To bring the ladies in.
At least he does emit a bit,
And pimps his abdomin –
Unlike the many lads in other species,
Where the dads
Leave all the glow-up to the dames.
And some have given up entirely,
Never even slightly fiery,
In defiance of their names.
I guess he’s earned the term,
When he’s been sparking since a glowworm,
Putting-on a show.
But boy, he’s still a slacker,
More a squib than fire-cracker –
Just a pin-prick in the black,
Who’s turned his wattage way down low.
Or maybe it was all because his loneliness
Was all a sign –
A cry of fading prominence,
A dwindling from the present tense,
His species in decline ?
They used to fly so thick, so dense –
And even now, beside the fence,
They sometimes congregate and look so fine !
Alone, he hardly glorifies –
But when the fireflies fill the skies,
That’s when they really shine !

Sting

Four of Diamonds by Tony Meeuwissen

Sting

The hornet laid her sting in my leg,
Injected her toxic egg –
Her ovipositor dripping with yolk,
As if to joke how childbirth hurts.
The pain began in rapid pangs and spurts,
But at least, I said in spite,
At least it’s just a sting, this thing,
And not a hatching parasite…

Dancing Gnats

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com

Dancing Gnats

Time is short, perhaps a month or two,
Since they were just an egg –
But now the gnats must boogaloo,
To swarm a wing and shake a leg.
They gather round a random patch of air
Just as the eve’ning falls –
And jink and jive until they pair,
Attending countless black-fly balls.
If love is on the cards for them tonight,
It leaves them out of breath –
Exhausted from their swaggered flight,
Too soon they’ve danced themselves to death.

Quad-Ops

I found this image on the following Facebook page, which itself appears to have taken illustrations from A Novel Vertebrate Eye Using Both Refractive and Reflective Optics

Quad-Ops

Spiders have eight, and box-jellies twenty-four,
Scallops have hundreds, and dragonflies thousands,
And digital cameras even more !
But vertebrates make do with two,
Plus the odd ocelli peeping-through –
But only a couple of retinas –
A pair of light-bucket dishes –
Well, except for a few strange fishes !
And I don’t mean the four-eyed anableps,
Who see through both the water and air,
And focus the light through diff’rent steps
But onto the same old patch of cells,
That parallels the ones we chordates share.
No, I mean the brownsnout spookfish –
They may not look as swish as barreleyes,
Until we realise that here may be
The ancestor of a whole new tree
Of multi-looking vertebrates to arise –
That one day may just populate
The future Earth with their future eyes.