She knew, right afterward.
Amazing.
She knew.
I took her word for it.


Oo-Oo-Oocyte!
The largest, roundest cell
Females have. It is
Visible to the eye
Clothed or nakey.
With the largest surface
Volume in relation to
Her cell-fluid-gorged surface.
One is produced ea/month.
One?
Yowza.

Me?
Millions of the little buggers.
Millions! Yeah! THAT’s
The ticket!
And tiny those little tickets are.
Hardly more than a nucleus with
That powerhouse of the cell,
The Mitochondrial outboard motor,
Propelling the tail.
The smallest and straightest
Human cell
(Cool tail, though)

The juxtaposition is kind
Of amazing.
Large vs. small.
Roundest vs. straightest.
Tail-propelled nucleus
Vs.
Moon-shaped cytoplasm.
The opposite, embryologically-
Speaking.
And she was positive,
POSITIVE
We’d conceived.
Roughly 9 months later,
I was there. Physically.
The rest of me was
Possibly sunning in Togo.
Kind of freaked me out,
The birthing process,
The first time.
My son. My baby boy.
Our child.
5/28/91.

I’m more proud and more
Astonished at the man
My little baby has grown into
With each passing day.
Golden child, beginning
Life with blonde hair,
Almost white, darkening
As he grew into the French-
Indian DNA of his
Mom’s side of the family.

He is so much like
His Mother, for which
I’m very happy,
Because his Mother
Is simply amazing
And worthy of an entire
Slew of poems just
To describe her.

And I’ve another
Golden child
Gold blessing vein running
True and deep, different
Than his older brother
Of seven years,
Yet similar, opposite in
Some ways, having grown strong
As the little plaything for
His older brother’s friends,
Making him very tough,
Strong as a team of oxen,
A work ethic he inherited
From Dad, Mom, Brother

Yet fitting together as
Loving siblings can
When they have God
At the center of their lives.

Thank You, God, for
My two sons.
I’m protective, but I know
They do not belong to me.
They are Your blessings
To my wife and me.
They are Your blessings
To this world, set in motion,
Wound up to take what they see
And make it better, and
To prevent it from getting worse.
They will do Your work.
We were the biological
Vessels that delivered
Them from Your world
Before
To this world,
Now.

A Finn-Dorset clone,
Now not the alone.

Born on 5 July in 1996,
She died on Valentine's Day in 2003.

The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six,
Produced not from the common ovine ***.

Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on.

Named after Dolly Parton,
'Coz of her admired *****.

Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders,
Extracted not without the sheep's jitters.

This sheep was the donor.

However, these cells were enucleated,
And the enucleated nucleus was handled.

Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo,
Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus.

This sheep was the recipient.

Without a folly, born was Dolly,
Resemble she did the donor.

Not only in its visible phenotype
But also in its invisible genotype.

Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA.

Her birth did open a new portal,
Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.

R.I.P.

R.I.P. to those who were shot,
R.I.P. to those who were killed serving for any country,
R.I.P. to those who overdosed on drugs or medication,
R.I.P. to those who died of suicide,
R.I.P. to those who died of natural causes,
R.I.P. to those who died of STD's, cancer, mitochondrial infections, ect.
R.I.P. to those who were not paying attention while driving or crossing the road,
And R.I.P. to those who had no choice of life or death.

Please, just Rest In Peace.

❤We love you Cory Monteith, 1982-2013❤

Alone on the sands

--

(There is no MESSAGE here)

••

Alone

---

The ocean breeze

•

(There is no MESSAGE here)

••••

You cannot look into her eyes

••

Images of ancient fisherman crowd the shore

Of master painters from the Centuries

••

New York City boys!

Gallant in poverty!

••

(She)

There is no meaning here

••

Archaeological bones

Mitochondrial DNA

••

••

You try to listen for her but she leaves no message

(There is no MEANING here)

••

You think to love her but you are standing alone

Amongst the fisherman and the sacred painters

Who see who is here

••

She is not seen

••

••

To lose the lost is a terrible thing

•

That is the only MEASAGE here

for the gallant New York City boys