“A shift both routine and elysian; / A blend between wonder and reason… / Past winter’s endurance, / Returning assurance: / Repeated relief of spring’s season.”
“A shift both routine and elysian; / A blend between wonder and reason…”
With the shift to Bluesky this April, I found myself using photos to accompany some of the poems, and this was a case in point. As spring arrived in earnest, I had added three photos to this post from a walk in the nearby park: one of new blossoms on a tree, one of a bird silhouetted against the morning sky, one of new flowers and leaves. All three had been welcome sights to me in recent days, at the time, and all helped support the quote from Rachel Carson’s The Sense of Wonder, which celebrates close observation of several striking moments in nature, including the arrival of spring after winter.
A flowering tree in springtime. A bird silhouetted against the morning sky. Blossoms and leaves in the spring.
Carson’s quote states: “There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature: the assurance that the dawn comes after night, and spring after winter. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts.”
While it seems somewhat melancholy to write about this particular poem in September, since the calendar is now shifting slowly back toward shorter days and cooler temperatures, the transition from summer to autumn provides its own welcome moments. I noticed over a recent weekend that the maple trees along the same path were just beginning to be tinged with red.
Maple leaves just beginning to reveal their scarlet autumn colors.
While these are not the new leaves of spring, their autumnal turns are always a highlight; their appearances, to borrow Carson’s wording, provide similarly healing refrains.
“In intro chem classes, find note on / Identification schemes rote: yon / Wall-chart periodic / Yields info methodic— / Sorts matter by number of protons!”
The 3 April 2025 limerick addressed the organizational scheme used on the modern Periodic Table of the Elements (PTE), which depends on a property called atomic number.
This limerick builds on the introductory theme of the PTE by adding a more direct explanation of how it is organized. The poem introduces how to interpret the PTE most usefully: that is, with a view towards “identification schemes rote” and other reliably predictable information that the table can provide.
“…Yon /Wall-chart periodic / Yields info methodic— / Sorts matter by number of protons!”
As seen last week, the PTE organizes chemical information in two dimensions (represented in the rows and columns of this famous grid).
Dmitri Mendeleev’s version of the PTE generally arranged elements in order of increasing atomic mass, which is the average weight of an element. However, he noticed that this trend, seen today in the rows, occasionally mismatched the elemental order with respect to chemical properties, seen today in the columns. In those aberrant cases, he leaned more heavily on the latter. Perhaps most famously, since he knew the patterns in both elements’ chemical behaviors and properties, he shifted tellurium, even though it had a slightly greater atomic weight, to be ahead of iodine in his ordering.
This confusion was remedied, building on the experimental findings of Henry Moseley, when the elements were instead numbered in terms of their atomic numbers, which represent the number of protons in atoms’ nuclei. In this case, tellurium has atomic number 52 and iodine has atomic number 53, so that their order is logical in both dimensions of the PTE (both row and column).
The modern PTE (the “wall-chart periodic”) provides a wealth of data (“info methodic”) and is arranged in order of atomic number (“sort[ing] matter by number of protons”).
“Begin here by setting the Table: / Collection of hist’ry, trends, labels. / On chem walls by way of / One D. Mendeleev: / As theme, it’s a STEM-poem staple.”
“Begin here by setting the Table: / Collection of hist’ry, trends, labels…”
The PTE compiles a wealth of information on the history of chemistry, periodic trends, and elemental labels.
I’ve used the adjective “table-set” in a different attempt at the NaPoWriMo routine, but this was the first time I’d used the idiom of “setting the table,” which I appreciated for its connection to beginnings, early in April. The capital T demonstrated that I meant the most famous of tables, in terms of how a chemist would generally see it!
“On chem walls by way of / One D. Mendeleev…”
Most science classrooms display the PTE: i.e., it’s generally found “on chem walls.” While its full story is complex and fascinating, the most direct precursor to our modern version of the PTE was published by Dmitri Mendeleev in 1869. (Given that I’ve written about his story multiple times, it was fun in this limerick to look for new rhyme opportunities and to find one with his last name.)
“As theme, it’s a STEM-poem staple.”
This is a common theme for an early-April limerick for me, across multiple NaPoWriMo routines; thus, it is a “STEM-poem staple.”
***
Many legends around the PTE’s initial construction have emerged; one that I find striking is that Mendeleev was a card player, who enjoyed a game called Patience, similar to Solitaire. The PTE’s ability to organize information in two dimensions (atomic mass and elemental properties, given Mendeleev’s original rationale; refined slightly in our current understanding) mirrors the way that these card games organize information according to two dimensions (suit and number). This aspect of the story gave rise to the title for this post.
“A new metric month-long ambition! / This seventh attempt at tradition, / With change in the scen’ry / In midst of new green’ry: / A first try as Bluesky edition.”
Classes are now off to their Autumn 2025 start here; with the academic year underway, I’ll return to my weekly posts, translating the poems from the previous April’s National Poetry Writing Month (commonly abbreviated NaPoWriMo).
“A new metric month-long ambition! / This seventh attempt at tradition…”
The first few poems in each NaPoWriMo are generally consistent in theme, especially the first, which simply sets out the month’s goal of writing thirty science-themed poems for the thirty days of April: a “metric month-long ambition.” Since I completed this routine for the first time in April 2019, the 2025 poems marked my seventh attempt.
“With change in the scen’ry / In midst of new green’ry: / A first try as Bluesky edition.”
The April 2025 poems constituted the first set that used Bluesky as the website for the original postings (“first try as Bluesky edition”); they thus reflected “a change in the scen’ry” in the midst of springtime’s “new green’ry.”
This particular poem is quite straightforward, so I’ll keep the word count short, for once. The new set of 2025-2026 essays will provide “August company” (as well as that of September and onward, throughout this new school year!) to the April 2025 poems.
“The month and its practice now closing: One last set of lines here composing; The April routine, As the poems convene, Yielding busy month’s moments engrossing.”
The 30 April 2024 Twitter limerick marks the end of NaPoWriMo2024, and we have reached the last week of spring semester classes here.
“The month and its practice now closing: / One last set of lines here composing…”
Reaching this landmark each spring always means a shorter translation essay than the last few, since it’s a fairly transparent topic! April 30 marks the end of National Poetry Writing Month, so this limerick was the last in 2024.
(It is also my last Twitter post entirely; I shifted to Bluesky as of December and have been working towards this month’s routine in that new location.)
“The April routine, / As the poems convene, / Yielding busy month’s moments engrossing.”
2019 was my first year in completing this April routine. I have learned a great deal in continuing the practice over the last several years: it has provided good chances to finally resolve vocabulary questions I always wondered about; to finally learn the stories of the scientists whose insights formed the substance of the textbooks I’d used for years.
April also lines up with a particularly stressful time of the school year, so that I welcome any “moments engrossing” that can be distinct from year-ending responsibilities and tasks.
***
Along those lines, as in previous years: while I look forward to writing some summer essays, I will take a break here for a few weeks, to celebrate the end of another busy spring semester.
In art form creative and elegant, A use of chem properties prevalent… If error avoided, Then product ovoid is Example of wax resist, eloquent!
This non-Twitter/Bluesky poem commemorates a fascinating art process I was introduced to last spring: the technique behind making pysanky. (Since the concepts are still relatively new to me, I doubt my ability to be succinct and remain clear: I’ll plan to keep my word limit at 560 words this time.)
“In art form creative and elegant…”
I was lucky to attend a pysanka workshop on campus in Spring 2024 to learn about this creative and elegant artwork from Ukrainian culture. (Pysanka is the singular form of the word; pysanky is the plural.) To sum up any process in an introductory blog post does not do it credit, so I’ll add in somepertinentlinkshere.
In brief, a design is painted on the egg in beeswax, using a stylus that can deliver the wax in a thin line, and the egg is then dyed a color. These two steps are repeated over several layers. At the close of the process, all the wax is melted off, ultimately yielding an egg dyed in a variety of colors. My own amateur attempts are shown here, but I recommend seeking out other images, as the resulting designs can be astoundingly intricate.
“A use of chem properties prevalent…”
I was quite interested in exploring the underlying chemistry that made this possible. While I am still learning, it has seemed likely so far that the dyes used are examples of acid dyes: they are water-soluble and contain functional groups such as carboxylic acids or sulfonic acids that can donate a proton in water, so that the dye molecule takes on a negative charge. Opposite charges attract, forming strong ionic bonds: thus, the negatively-charged dye then works well with protein-based compounds, which are also water-soluble and can form positively-charged species in the acidic dye bath.
Eggshells consist of calcium carbonate and proteins, so they work well with acid dyes. However, beeswax is resistant to such interactions, because it has a primarily hydrocarbon structure, being made of long-chain esters. It is not water-soluble, and it does not have functional groups that can react with water to form anything charged, so it does not bond to an acid dye.
“If error avoided, / Then product ovoid is / Example of wax resist, eloquent!”
I was intrigued throughout the evening by how challenging and invigorating this “experiment” was.
It was necessary to continually aim to create a negative image: the first area covered with wax would preserve the white of the eggshell. After the first dye layer was applied, the second area covered with wax would then preserve the color of the first dye. After the second dye layer was applied, the third area covered with wax would then preserve the color of the second dye, and so on.
I found myself strongly reminded of the retrosynthesis problems I had worked decades before in Organic Chemistry, thinking backward one step at a time, all the way back to the starting material: here, the egg itself. (My own endeavors were quite simple, but expert pysanka artists use a variety of symbols and designs with a wealth of meaning.)
This was in addition to the many practical challenges involved in working with the set-up, since it relied on eggs, dyes, wax, and flames, all providing ample room for error! However, even in my initial attempts, I was quite pleased to see the “product ovoid.”
In researching the technique afterwards, I have likewise been interested to learn more about wax resist generally, seeing the principles that make such processes work from an artistic perspective. (The “wax eloquent” phrase has been on my mind over the past year, given the intricacy and beauty of the sample pysanky that were shared at the 2024 workshop.)
“A myria-myrio mystery— Some prefixes, lost now to history: These factors, past-metric, Deemed over-eclectic In measured decision’s delivery.”
The 29 April 2024 Twitter limerick summarized what had been a newfound discovery for me last spring– that the list of metric prefixes commonly used in science used to be longer. As ever, I find it frustrating that time constraints and coverage expectations preclude the discussion of such points in coursework, but it is a good opportunity to explore the story here.
“A myria-myrio mystery— / Some prefixes, lost now to history…”
The metric prefixes are enormously useful aspects of scientific communication, allow us to easily communicate measurements expressed in the International System (SI units) on a variety of scales. Distances between towns on a map are generally expressed in kilometers (km), which means 103 meters; the metric prefix kilo stands in for 103, or 1000. Atomic sizes are expressed in picometers (pm), which means 10-12 meters; the metric prefix pico stands in for 10-12, so showing that order of magnitude would otherwise, inconveniently, require eleven zeroes before the 1.
The prefix myrio, also expressed myria, indicated the order of 10,000 (104). While it was used with the SI units for several centuries, it was eliminated from usage at the General Conference on Weights and Measures in 1960, where the SI units were adopted internationally. Such prefixes are “lost now to history,” as the accepted metric prefixes now jump from kilo (103) to mega (106).
For myrio specifically, the reason for its removal seems to have been aspirational clarity in metric abbreviations. The prefix myrio/myria had historically been abbreviated as my. As the metric prefixes were standardized, scientists moved towards abbreviating all the metric prefixes with single letters for simplicity (as noted above, kilometers are km, and picometers are pm). The letter M is already used in both its capital (M for mega, or 106) and lower-case (m for milli, or 10-3) forms, so that myrio and myria would be “over-eclectic.”
The discussion at the pertinent metrology conference could presumably be characterized as a “measured decision” in a few ways.
“Musical, chemical: Alex P. Borodin’s Ideas, composed, Address multiple goals. Aldol reactions, Symphonic protractions, With staged reenactions As kismet unfolds.”
“Musical, chemical: / Alex P. Borodin’s / Ideas, composed, / Address multiple goals…”
One of my common themes here is the unexpected difficulty in a typical chemistry curriculum of learning about the underlying stories of the scientists or concepts involved. This poem celebrates a case in point.
Alexander Borodin’s findings were foundational to much of the organic chemistry I learned as a student. He also composed several musical works. However, it was only years later, in listening to a classical music radio station, that I first heard Borodin’s name and the fact that he was also famous as a chemist.
“Aldol reactions, / Symphonic protractions, / With staged reenactions…”
The chemistry concept for which Borodin is most remembered is the aldol reaction, for which he is cited as an independent co-discoverer (along with Charles Aldophe Wurtz) in the late nineteenth century.
The aldol reaction forms a product that contains both ALDehyde and alcohOLfunctional groups. Since the aldol reaction also forms a new carbon-carbon bond, it can significantly expand the size of a molecule, a fact which is exceedingly useful to organic chemists working to build important compounds or replicate them in the lab. Many scientists have used this synthetic step towards various targets.
The musical works for which Borodin is most remembered are compositions of significant length, such as symphonies and operas (“symphonic protractions, with staged reenactions”).
“As kismet unfolds.”
The most unexpected detail I learned in brainstorming for this poem last year was that the musical Kismet, which won the 1954 Tony for Best Musical, is based on melodies from Borodin’s compositions. Just as the aldol reaction casts a long shadow in organic chemistry, Borodin’s musical legacy has inspired several subsequent generations.
“I think that verse shall never serve To summarize botanic verve With which the trees persist, delight— But: given day, four lines I’ll write.”
The 26 April 2024 Twitter poem was an homage to Joyce Kilmer’s “Trees,” which famously begins: “I think that I shall never see/ A poem lovely as a tree…”
“I think that verse shall never serve To summarize botanic verve…”
I originally wrote this quick verse simply as an Arbor Day celebration, knowing the original lines themselves and imagining some additional rhymes possible with their memorable meter.
Botany is a field I wish I knew more about, but I’ve greatly enjoyed and appreciated the eloquent writing for general audiences in Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, Beronda Montgomery’s Lessons from Plants, Hope Jahren’s Lab Girl, and other books. Moreover, in an intriguing inversion of the way chemistry vocabulary can keep many challenging chemistry concepts doubly hidden, it is inspiring how the “botanic verve” of newfound spring weather keeps the trees themselves front and center, defying the layer of technical jargon.
“With which the trees persist, delight— But: given day, four lines I’ll write.”
Along those lines, one of my early memories of science classwork is of collecting and classifying specimens for a seventh-grade leaf collection, many years ago.
Looking through it now, my first thought is of the significant preserving power of contact paper! My second impression is the rueful memory of the points missing for my failing to italicize the Latin names of the trees from which these leaves came. But finally, more lastingly, I also can appreciate that in the decades since this project, I have been far more likely to remember the shape and color of Quercus rubra (northern red oak) or Acer saccharinum (silver maple) than the grade deduction: indeed, the “trees persist [and] delight.”
***
As often happens in revisiting the poem for these essays, I found the story behind the scenes to be more complex than I initially would have guessed.
Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918) was an American writer and poet who died at age 31, fighting in World War 1. “Trees,” which had been written in 1914, remains his most famous poem, and his name is commemorated by forests, schools, libraries, and parks across the United States.
Consisting of several distinctive rhyming couplets, the poem itself is famous enough to have its own Wikipedia page. Many locations have apparently claimed “the” tree that inspired the famous work, but Kilmer’s son Keaton later wrote to a researcher: “Mother and I agreed, when we talked about it, that Dad never meant his poem to apply to one particular tree, or to the trees of any special region. Just any trees or all trees that might be rained on or snowed on, and that would be suitable nesting places for robins. I guess they’d have to have upward-reaching branches, too, for the line about ‘lifting leafy arms to pray.’ Rule out weeping willows.”
I found it surprising and moving to contrast the longevity of Kilmer’s poem with the brevity of his own life. As ever, similarly, it is striking to consider the difference in lifetimes between human beings and trees: the vastly different timescales present every time anyone takes a walk in a forest.
“Consider the protein as topic Of int’rest most etymologic: A vocab-themed mission Reflects first position Through protean path biologic!”
The 25 April 2024 limerick examined the etymology of the word “protein,” highlighting a topic from biochemistry in honor of the annual celebration of DNA Day.
“Consider the protein as topic / Of int’rest most etymologic…”
I was interested last April in exploring a question of biochemistry vocabulary, which quickly became more complex than I expected. After much internet searching last spring, I also found a helpful overview in Isaac Asimov’s Words of Science, in composing this essay.
“A vocab-themed mission / Reflects first position / Through protean path biologic!”
Asimov notes that British chemist William Prout classified three kinds of food-related substances in 1827: what would ultimately become known as carbohydrates, lipids, and proteins in subsequent years were originally deemed the “saccharins,” the “oily,” and the “albuminous,” respectively.
The albuminous compounds (so named because they were a cloudy white, from the Latin albus for “white”– think of egg white, for instance) were seen to contain nitrogen, unlike the compounds in the other two categories. Dutch chemist Gerardus Johannes Mulder more clearly defined the albuminous compounds, citing in 1838 their common properties and elemental compositions (percentages of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and oxygen). He corresponded with Swedish chemist Jöns Jacob Berzelius, who suggested the name “protein” for this type of substance, building on the Greek for “in the first place,” since parallel studies were showing the immense (“first-place”) importance of proteins for nutrition.
The last line of the poem likewise notes the centrality of proteins to the complex discipline of biochemistry. It features the similarity between “protein” and “protean”; the latter term also comes from the same Greek root for “first” and highlights the connection to the Greek god Proteus, famous for changing forms. (This became a quite appropriate allusion, considering how challenging it was to track down a concrete answer to this seemingly simple question.)
Chemphasis 
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