ambi-mag-blog

[ambi-mag-blog]

A Gem

Now for the actual poem:

You are a gem

The most vibrant of them all

The spectrum of your light

Bedazzles my eyes

Like a sapphire that shines like the sea

Or a diamond whose star-studded beauty endures forever

Words cannot describe

Just how stunning you are

“’Spectrum” is a chemistry related word. So is “diamond” because it’s made of carbon.’“

- Grace Hobayan, University of Pittsburgh Swanson School of Engineering

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Severed, Broken Bonds

Now for the actual poem:

You crushed by soul

Like a pestle on a mortar

You left me to drown

In an endless ocean of sadness

Of my tears

Of my despair

Of my regrets

Of my pain

Overwhelming hurt

Aching, aching

My love is no more

Lost

You have cut the ties

We separate like pieces of a shattered plate

Torn apart

Severed

Broken bonds

The pieces of what was once our puzzle

Never fit together to begin with

“There are literally two lines in this poem that relate to chemistry: one has to do with mortar and pestle, and the other has to do with breaking bonds.“

- Grace Hobayan, University of Pittsburgh Swanson School of Engineering

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Love in Earth

Petaled hearts hang from the gaze of vines-

Flying with the wind

Floating to the sun

Strands of Earth tangled into twisted twirls

The soft wind swallows the stalks

Into the unknown

Once vines of the rich soil

Now dissolved into nothing

I trust in you

For the vines that run through your pulsing veins

Never die

I trust in your return

But for now,

Enclose me in my dreams

Entangle me in the garnished greens of nature

Lose me in your sanctuary of life- healing

Beauteous weed, your mist reminds me of the time we first kissed

Lip to lip folded into one

Simple and silent for a moment in time

I wish that our love, your curly hair, would last

But I fear the whirling winds

They hunt the purest-

Crush, swallow, snap good life.

“I crafted a poem about nature and people and the chemistry that can both be found in the love of a relationship and the love of the natural world.”

- Meredith Ivy Bernstein, University Of Pittsburgh.

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The Flowers That Bloom

Matthew brushes the tips of my fingers and weaves his through mine. Though large and strong, his hands feel kind and dainty. We walk through the path of purple flowers that just gave way to life and, together, we dare to imagine. I watch Matthew think, as he always does before he speaks. His chin raises to the sun, his eyes squint to a quick close, and his thumbs sway back and forth with the purple petals planted beside us.  

“Family,” he proclaims, “family is the most important.” Matthew goes on to describe the family he will grow one day with such poise and assurance: “Three kids, two golden retrievers, and you as my wife.” I believe him.

I look up and watch his dimples dent the corners of his mouth, as he makes his way to that familiar and beloved smile. I chuckle and grab his arm with both of my hands.

You see, Matthew just can’t help himself. Much like a mathematician, he takes out all the unnecessary variables of doubt and fear and deduces the correct answer in its simplest term. “A nice house, but not too overdone. The most important thing is that it feels like home, not some untouched museum,” he assures.

I remember the time he told me about a kid. The kid stood at an unassuming height of four feet six inches with no boost from his razor- shaved head. His thorny words pierced each of his friend’s skin. His heart, racing against itself, sprinted to obtain a runner’s high- only his high came from the final gash. Matthew described a kid who spoke out of anger and boredom. With no place to channel his racing thoughts, he was brimming with emotions from every which way. Aside from the occasional brawl, the kid did have a knack for mathematics. He just wished that his teachers and friends would notice his talent. “Frustrating, it was frustrating to live inside his body,” Matthew finally admitted.

The tight folds between Matthew’s eyebrows began to loosen, and I could sense his release. I remember that story like he told it just yesterday. He felt ashamed and embarrassed, but I promised that I could never judge his past. “The past is so far removed from the present, anyway,” I explained. But is that how I really felt?

If I knew that Matthew, there’s no way I’d ever be with him- at least that’s what he always tells me. “It’s like flowers,” he says. I can’t help but glance at the two caterpillars that rest on Matthew’s face. They begin to wiggle up his forehead, almost terrified of what’s to come. Stealing all of the oxygen nearby, Matthew soaks up the courage to possibly scare me away.

Matthew started to recount his first experience at the florist. The shelves dripped in the most heavenly shades of blue, green, purple, and yellow. Matthew handpicked the most perfect flowers: three deep-red roses, two orange zinnia’s, five purple bellflowers, and a few bunches of hypericum berries to fill in the empty spaces. He was surrounded by beauty, and all the while he was crafting beauty himself. It was a lovely story of his. However, there was more.

“The point I’m trying to make,” he exclaimed, “is that I would never buy you a set of flowers before they have bloomed. Everyone wants flowers when they are at their brightest and most beautiful stage, just like everyone wants people in their greatest success and beauty.” I begin to understand, even though I don’t want to. For the shortest second, I let myself imagine. Would I have ever picked Matthew if he wasn’t a fully blossomed flower?

“This short story is an expression of true love and the inevitable questions that arise when we are honest to ourselves. We can question if soulmates exist, or wether we are more attracted to flawed people or perfect people. Nevertheless, we seek to understand and quantify love. “

- Meredith Ivy Bernstein, University Of Pittsburgh.

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Phosphorylation (A Sarcastic Freestyle Poem)

Phosphorylation, dephosphorylation

Phosphoprotein phosphatase can dephosphorylate

All these phosphates be in phosphorylation nation

What are these phosphorylases phosphorylating for?

Can’t dephosphorylate nor phosphorylate a fossil

Did he phosphorylate?

Did dephosphorylate?

Diddy phosphorylate?

Call it P-Diddy

Phosphorylase is in a haste

‘Cause its phosphoryl’s late

Gonna phosphorylate for real

Four phosphatases dephosphorylate

For four late phosphates’ creation

Can’t phosphorylate? Phosphorylation damnation

This phosphorylation incantation

Abrasion of phosphorylations

Phosphorylation allocations

Phosphate applications

For interpolation and extrapolation of phosphorylations

Foreign phosphate?

Phosphoryl-Asian

Invasion conglomerations

Tore away the phosphorylase

Imma eat RuBisCo now

“It has to do with biochem. ‘Nuff said.”

- Grace Hobayan, University of Pittsburgh Swanson School of Engineering

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“The first time I visited Arizona, I fell in love. There was something mystical about the energy of the state and I was eager to absorb everything it offered me. I distinctly remember my initial encounter with a saguaro and being amazed by its tenacity in the already 100-degree April weather.”  

-Helen Richard, Junior, University of Pittsburgh 

[ambi-mag-blog]

Autumn

Do the whorls of leaves try to whisper to me, a

junior observer? Perhaps it is just

a stray breeze, but there’s evidence. 

Dry leaves scratch, itch, my tickling ears, once, a

brush on the windowpane. I find them in

my morning coffee, the tops of my boots, 

in keyholes. Half brown paper, half scarlet felt, 

they creep behind the chill hustled sunset

before they stroke my cheek on the pillow. 

But it doesn’t stop there; acorns find their way

behind the piano’s hammers as I play nocturnes, 

pumpkin stains my dog’s wee pawprints, and the 

smell: A woodsmoke whiff prowls near

the old house in cold autumn sun. 

 “Within “Autumn,” my goal was to transport the reader to a world of fall delights and seasonal imagery. I live in a rural area of Central Pennsylvania, so much of the inspiration for this poem stemmed from my beautiful experiences of fall in the countryside. This poem was composed after “Nocturne” by Li-Young Lee, and the source material is referenced in line 11 with the “…nocturnes” at the piano.”

Mercedes Nebroski, University of Pittsburgh, Freshman 

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Bloomfield Saturday

And I take my new red coat

    New red coat

For a walk

    New to me but worn by arms

Not mine

    Wool-lining once the pelt

Of another’s back

    Sheep, then person, then person

Most likely a man

    Eddie Bauer maybe

Must be a rich boy

    To have his initials scrawled on the inside

Of so many coats, claiming his uniform

    Or maybe it belonged to a mother

After her son

    A thin boy

With stupidly large feet

    She kept it until his scent had faded from it

Donated it with trembling hand

    A ghost passing in a plastic Aldi’s bag

Red is the color of my new coat

    Of the sweatshirt that I gave you

Of the sweatshirt that you died in

    My last gift to you

A funeral shroud

“This poem is centered around a coat and a sweatshirt - both red, a primary color. It also relates to the theme of ‘primary’ because it discusses the first real loss of my adult life”

- Samantha Bastress, Junior, University of Pittsburgh 

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“Color composition is something that I love to photograph, especially on film. Here is a picture of mostly primary colors, taken on my primary camera.”

- Emery Schoenberg, University of Pittsburgh, Senior 

[ambi-mag-blog]

carrot cake

Note: This recipe is slightly changed from the original that appears on the King Arthur site because I hate nuts and raisins in my baked goods, so I didn’t add them. If you want to add them, check their website for proportions!

CAKE

1 1/2 cups vegetable oil

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon salt

4 large eggs

1 tablespoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon ginger

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

2 teaspoons baking soda

2 cups all-purpose flour

3 cups finely grated carrots

FROSTING

1/2 cup (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter

one 8-ounce package cream cheese

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons vanilla

2 1/2 to 3 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar

DIRECTIONS

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Lightly grease two 9" round layer pans, or one 9" x 13" pan.

Beat together the oil, sugar, salt, eggs, spices, and baking soda. Stir in the flour. Add the carrots and nuts, and mix until just blended. Pour into the prepared pan(s).

Bake the cake(s) for 35 to 40 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted into the center comes out clean, or with a few moist crumbs clinging to it. Allow the cake(s) to cool completely before frosting. If you're using round layer pans, remove the layers from the pans after about 15 minutes, and place them on a rack to cool.

To make the frosting: Beat the butter and cream cheese together until smooth. Add the salt and vanilla. Beat in the sugar. Add a teaspoon of milk or cream if the frosting is too stiff to spread; add additional sugar if it's too thin.

Frost the sheet cake right in the pan. For the layers, frost the top of one layer, top with the second layer, and frost the top and sides of the cake.

Recipe based off of the “primary” text: https://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/king-arthurs-carrot-cake-recipe

“This bake was a special milestone for me because I always thought of carrot cake as an advanced cake. Making it was pretty spur of the moment and I had to call the baking hotline at one point to be calmed down, but it turned out to be the best cake I’ve maybe ever made” Caitrin Bogart, Senior, ambi- Vice President

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primary

Hello all,

Our last theme of the semester, which will span both March and April, is based on firsts: “primary.” 

They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, so feel free to send us any of your pieces that are based on a primary text. If you have a poem, short story, short film, playlist, painting, or cupcake that inspired by/based on another person’s work, we would love to delve in to your riff on the original.

 Or, maybe get inspired by primary colors these next two months. Like Joni Mitchell’s Blue album or Maggie Nelson’s Bluets, let color take you over (either blue, yellow, or red). 

You could also think about your firsts, the primary time that you kissed, spoke your mind, ran a marathon, wore a suit, dyed your hair, fell in love, cooked a meal, got your work published, failed, or triumphed. 

You could get political and think about the primaries, what their outcome has meant for the last two years, what they mean to you now in hindsight, and what you’d like the primaries to look like in the future. 

So, please submit! You’ll have first place in our hearts. 

With love, 

Victoria

[ambi-mag-blog]

Failed Love Poem

Aphrodite must have been laughing

at US—

And Cupid— choking upon that ONE-BIG

perfect Arrow— ever-emitting

a hum like the buzz of blood—

his bow-string quivering wedged-up

right against his knotty-rump

of which he must have shoved

that arrow (of his) up—

that unreliable LUST

GOD

that blood-drunk mosquito

All night— in a not too well lit room

scented candles farting out flower-nectar-perfume

we invented ourselves (together) painting on our body parts

genitalia much too LARGE—

we create ourselves within the marble-fracture

of a collage: each NOSE, LIP, DICK, CUNT, TOUNGE

fingertoenub knocked-off

            you fingering around in my plaster-pot

            searching for some botox 

            to perk-up our nipples which have gone soft

Everything ERECT— we stand there

chiseled too smooth fro touch

—and when our bodies lean in to bump

we crumble— the CRUSH-DUST of our plastic romance

falling like glitterglue  

                                    upon a red-cardboard Heart

        “For the Month of February

And Hallmark Love.”

Demetre Lardas, University of Pittsburgh

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“Crush Collage. Girls on girls on girls.”

- Olivia Lazarchick, University of Pittsburgh

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Flutter

Perhaps there was a moment you caught them scratching their leg in the sun or felt their gaze brush something mutual. You saw them standing near the kitchen sink and thought, I would like to write them a letter, an aid to guide the words from my brain to theirs. Sometimes when you see them, your mouth gives out. Or the sphere that conducts the feeling in your chest begins spinning counterclockwise. Because when the two of you talk, your throat contains Atlantic Ocean water, churning foam.

The image of an ordinary person swaying in the corner of a room can suddenly leave you paralyzed. And whose fault is that? Is it yours for noticing? Is it theirs for moving to the rhythm of life so instinctively?

Sometimes you can’t help but want to scream at them.

Please help to occupy this small house you built inside of me!

The way you reflect light is tinsel and blinding!

You start seeing hydrangeas everywhere, as if they were planted to mirror your newfound energy. But you find yourself reaping the benefits of brain lonely. Just the thought of another person, ignorant to infatuation, can tie ribbons through your rib cage. Compress and expand.

If you get the chance to look into their eyes for a second or third time, notice if you spend extra seconds searching for your own.

 "I wanted to write about the ways a crush can occupy your body. Love can be a tool for rejuvenation. Although everything seems like it’s about the other person, sometimes you only end up gaining energy for yourself."

Joanna Medofer, University of Pittsburgh

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“I guess you could say this short poem I wrote blends together ‘crush’ and the previous theme ‘spark.’”               - Matthew L. Walker, University of Pittsburgh, Senior

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self-love potion

Self-Love Bath Potion Recipe ***

- 30-45 minutes of time to yourself

- A bathtub 

1 cup of apple cider vinegar

- 1 cup of salt 

- Rose petals (or flower petals of your choice)

Optional:

- Rose quartz 

- Candles 

----------------------------------------------------------

Self-Love Playlist (optional but recommended)

- Willin’ - Linda Ronstadt

- Sorrow in the Wind - Emmylou Harris

- Recite Remorse - Waxahatchee

- Sparks Fly - Waxahatchee

- Night So Long - HAIM

-Stormy Weather - Billie Holiday

- Case of You - Joni Mitchell

- Hard Feelings/Loveless - Lorde

- Liability (Reprise) - Lorde

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Directions

Fill tub with hot water and listed ingredients. After 30-45 minutes have passed sit in the tub as the water drains and imagine stresses, anxieties, regrets, and resentments running down the drain. 

*** Based on a “QUICK FIX AURA PROTECTION BATH” by The Hoodwitch

http://www.thehoodwitch.com/blog/2016/7/7/coming-back-to-life-healing-through-crisis

“This potion helps you focus on yourself and your needs, which is a great way to crush on yourself.”

- Victoria Stevans, Senior, University of Pittsburgh

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crush

Hey cuties, 

Our theme for this February is “crush.” To be completely honest, when we chose this theme we were mostly thinking about the well-known, love-themed holiday that falls on the fourteenth day of this month. And, whether you’re someone who thinks Valentine’s Day is a Hallmark holiday or not, the holiday itself tends to get people thinking about who they are crushing on. And, all arguments about Valentine’s Day’s validity aside, the first sparkling inklings of a crush are worth writing about! That pink-cheeked, bottom-of-your-stomach excitement doesn’t happen all the time, so soak it in if it’s hitting you hard. Put it on paper, on film, in a pie, and send it in to ambi-. 

And, to those of you out there celebrating Galentine’s Day – or any other friend-centric Valentine’s Day celebration – tell us about those platonic honeys that you have crushes on. Friend-love is a foundational love. It steadies our structures, it improves our lives, and its worth exalting. Make your gal pal a playlist or a face mask and share the love with her (or on ambi-). 

Valentine’s Day can also be an important time for some self-love. Maybe you’ve been crushing it lately and you haven’t had time to take a moment to congratulate yourself. Write yourself a poem, write yourself an anthem, cook yourself a dinner, and share it with us. We want to know the ways you’re showing self-love so we can follow suit! 

Maybe you want to spend some time thinking about some of the loves in your life or days in the past couple months that have crushed you. Looking back on hurts and failures is worthwhile as long as you’re learning from them/being kind to yourself. So, by all means send us work about your crushing blows. It’s all part of the word, the theme, and living. 

Everyone here at ambi- is already crushin’ on your work and we can’t wait to see it. 

Much love,

 Victoria