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Äŧül Sep 13

Just what science required,
Enticed by bioengineering,
Nucleotides it concerned,
Nucleosides it can fix,
Increasing the methods,
For editing genome,
Errors in the genes it fixes,
Righting some wrongs of mother nature.

Decoded by a wonderful lady,
On a day of helplessness,
Utilizing this tool we are now,
Debted by science and technology,
Neat-handed through practice we become,
Always we shall utilize CRISPR-Cas9 for good.

Few people notice that DNA is the suffix of her name.
A poem about something I am working on right now.

Jennifer Anne Doudna and Emmanuelle Marie Charpentier innovated CRISPR-Cas9.

My HP Poem #1770
©Atul Kaushal
Mary Shanti Feb 1
Everything I say
You whisper condolences
On my soul
On my spirit
On the very essence of who I am
Where I have been
You wait
Like pigeons
For that moment
I feed you the scraps
Tiny morsels
Of my being
Sit on the window sill of your life
Waiting
For patience
Promises unkept
That swept
Up and up
From cranberry filled faucets of life
Where we sat in
Now you
Pull the drain
And Swish swish
Where one you were my voiceless
Power strip
Now you are editing the very frequency of my being
I must now turn up the volume
Shout it loud
Leave this room of our lives
Leave the stereo at 10
Listen to my voice
On the headset
And walk the **** out
Darison Strange Aug 2018
Monday, March 19, 2018
1:04 AM

I once loved to laugh,
and though I still do,
hidden beneath the ripple of joy
An echoing scar,
A teardrop of pain.

Once So loud and so free,
things hilarious to me,
Were projected for all to hear,
But now I've reflected on my laughter of past.

Of how many times that laugh was a tool,
to cover the pain caused by all of the fools,
The cruel words that were spoken,
and jokes left me broken,
As they all fell so close to home.

Leaving me weary and wary,
And oh so alone,
I comprised a charm to protect me from harm:
"Fools cant hurt me if I laugh along",
I'll steal their power with one of my own,
I'll laugh the loudest,
and i will laugh last.

While all of the while leaving a piece of it there.
Until one day none was left,
An empty and broken and hollowed out laugh,
A cruel joke of it's glorious past.
A reflection on my childhood of boisterous laughter, and how over the years, I used it as a shield against self doubt, and cruel words, and cheapened my laugh.
ashley lingy Jan 2018
I write a poem.
I'm happy with it.
I post it online.
I get many nice comments.
Some fair critiques.
I make some edits.

And then you come along.

"The narrator is self-obsessed"
"I read it and forgot about it soon after"
"Give me a reason to care"

So I try.
I make heavy rewrites to the poem.
I post my edits.

I say to you,
"I made some edits after taking your feedback into account, what do you think?"

You say
My narrator is self obsessed because I use the word "I" too much.

You say
You don't know what the surroundings are
(they are there, they're just minimal, on purpose).

You say more.
And more.

I stop caring.

I DID NOT WRITE THIS POEM FOR YOU.

I wrote it for the person I love.
And this "self-obsessed" narrator wrote it for herself too.

But I do thank you for one thing.
You pushed me to make that final edit.
And the poem that I was happy with became a poem I was proud of.

But then, you **** all over that too.

I don't mind a friendly critique.
What I do mind is nit-picking and rude behavior.
What I do mind is feedback with not one encouraging thing to say.

So in the end, I simply say,
****. You.

Feel free to critique that all you want.
Nico Reznick Mar 2016
I recently had the great privilege of editing Mike Essig's latest poetry collection, THE BIOLOGY OF STRANGENESS, and I'm honoured to have been entrusted with such fantastic material. Putting together a book like this is every poetry geek's dream.

It's a beautifully textured assortment of poems, earthy yet lyrical, narrated by a voice that's uniquely grained with experience. There are pieces that will make you smile, think, wince; there are pieces that hit you in the gut out of nowhere; there are pieces that welcome you into them like old, worn-in shoes; there are pieces you will remember late some night when you're by yourself, and remembering them will make you feel less alone.

This collection of poetry makes you look at the banal and the everyday afresh; it finds magic and mystery in the mundane, and even Hawaiian shirts are poem-worthy when Mike Essig's writing about them.

The Kindle version is already available through Amazon.

A paperback edition is due out next month, and I can't wait to have a copy of this book on my shelf as well as on my e-reader.

Mike's previous poetry books, Never Forgotten and Huck Finn Is Dead are also available through Amazon and are excellent.  

From his author profile on B Star Kitty Press:

"Mike Essig is a veteran of Vietnam and a retired English teacher. He’s also been recruited by the muse as a poet, like he hadn’t already been through enough."

Sample poems, links to sales pages and more info can be found at the B Star Kitty Press website.  www(dot)bstarkittypress(dot)com.

Please do support this very talented indie author.
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