"apoptosis" poems
****
Consume
Propagate
Transmutate
Apoptosis
"Thought,"
...is the perplexity of the five...
...in the Animal Cell. *
Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
Myth
"Observable phenomena's effect on the human condition."
Mythology
"Utilizing knowledge acquired during human existence to better understand the inexplicable through language."
History
"The perception of past events or knowledge altered by the present human condition."
Technology
"Mankind's attempt to eradicate God and Nature in order to determine whether or not there is life after death."
APOPTOSIS
"Programmed Cell Death." *
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
nobody likes the full name.
the class is known simply as "Cell."
stephen king is just as lazy with his titles.
that fool fears blood.
i was listening to rain washing out the gutters
when our teacher called on me,
asking me to explain in my own words:
"How is molecular transportation so highly organized?"
i posited that organelles are not organized.
they are only civilized:
self-governed by apoptosis and a blueprint of proximal culture,
their manuals inefficient, but honed for cooperation through trial and error.
"I'm predisposed to disagree," he said with a tangible glee.
knowing we all adore his berating honesty.
his question stuck with me.
perhaps because i was working
for the office of sustainability
becoming regularly incapacitated
by the shame and exhaustion of preaching.
leading an uprising through the power of teaching.
i decided the only organized transportation
is an axial conduit to the electorate's war,
always social and hierarchal
because that's what culture is for.
at 19 i was loaded up with a sticky elixir
to be protected from being called a *****
i will never forget how I spotted lightly for three days
-stopped for one week-
and then for two straight months, it was a downpour.
we are only tearing apart the bitty ants
and there is still blood on our hands.
i believe blood looks best on our hands.
but we were taught to meticulously detach
and to prepare our matching bargains
beneath the atmosphere's volatile dance.
poison is in the body and the air
ready to be bottled and batched.
even when i find my friends
whole and happy in France,
my key stays clotted in the latch.
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 5:13 PM UTC
I have died many times. My body hung next to Jesus at Golgotha. I was once decapitated in the French Revolution. I’ve had my eyes gouged out at Gettysburg.
I have died many times. My chest was riddled with bullets on the beaches of Normandy. My lungs dissolved and I had a stroke in Auschwitz. My skin baked, bubbled, and blistered from Hiroshima to Nagasaki.
I have died many times. I bled out from a ruptured heart during Columbine. On 9/11, my rib caged cracked and I even stopped breathing.
_______________________________________________________________
I have died too many times. I shot myself in the head last night. Dream-spells dripped out from the void and so I shot myself through the heart, stuck my fingers in the hole to see if it hurt and it stung a little.
I have died too many times. I took an ax and split my head open; a flock of pigeons were pecking at my cortex. They flew out and church hymns rang from my cerebellum.
I have died too many times. I lit a bonfire in my brain; the light burst from my eye sockets and now my head is a paper lantern. I clawed at my chest till I ripped my heartstrings; they sung happy birthdays in Arabic so I blew out the fire.
I have died too many times. I took a baseball bat and busted my face open; I was swinging for the fences and swallowed my teeth on accident.
I have died too many times. I tore out my stomach, drank the acid, and ****** myself. I tried pulling my lungs over my head just to suffocate.
I have died too many times. When I discovered my spinal cord, I plucked it out, wrapped it around my neck, and hung myself from the tallest redwood I could find.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:54 PM UTC
fifty trillion of them,
give or take an exponential few,
programmed to replicate, then die, ad infinitum
spawning perfect copies to ensure
molecular harmony
their perfection could not keep
their host from huffing on tar sticks,
gobbling bacon by the kilo, or worshiping the sun's crisping rays
until one of their eternal days, a perverse mutation occurred
one at first, then two, then four, then more
forgetting that all were once destined to die,
in a crimson clockwork fashion
apoptosis
the new invader would hear nothing
of this strange word, for it was the emperor of maladies,
its geometric procession a spinning spectacle to behold,
purloining space from the mortality hobbled trillions
evicted by cancer's kangaroo court
it will have its reign,
this galloping ghost maker, until
the host gives up the fight, and
that which fed its gluttony
will starve it as blithely
as the body gave it
******* birth
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 11:19 AM UTC
I am Zen master's tea 1130 window sun
I am HanShan's eternal mountain gladness
I am Des Cartes mapping out antineuroses
I am Blue whale sinking beneath blue sea
I am Red archean hot volcanic fissure bed
I am Dead cell apoptosis disintegrated
May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 at 11:47 AM UTC
Our nation is
a living organism.
Alive with biochemical
pulsating cells.
Apoptosis,
a cell death
of our nation
are set and
already unwittingly
programmed.
Takes a
multicellular effect
if not checked.
Cell changes and
death is eminent.
Changes includes
blebbing,
cell shrinkage,
nuclear fragmentation,
chromatin condensation,
chromosomal
DNA fragmentation,
and global mRNA.
Apoptosis ,
a falling off occurs.
Our nation is
threatened and going
through same
process as above.
Our acts must
be put together.
There is a
suffocating,
crippling misery,
and destitution.
We are desperately
sliding both into
chaos and despondency.
We must get
out of this
cloud of frustration,
with a profound
physical presence of
sour people grieving
daily,
Don't let them
become too rotten
to infect everyone.
It may be
contagious.
All ships must
sail in one direction,
Or very soon
we all go down.
©2019,Emeka Mokeme. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 19, 2019
Apr 19, 2019 at 10:55 AM UTC
My crimson carnation
Bleeding red beauty
Into the rain
Falling from heaven
Ready to make earth it's home
Here in the rain
Flowers wilting away
Love so deep that death was but
A small patch of brown
In a field teeming with lilies
The alabaster field will shout out your name
Like the death and rebirth of a single scarlet tulip,
So was your sacrifice
Never for a moment fearful
That this apoptosis would never return it's beauty
Grace
Never ceasing grace
Can't be twisted and torn
By wind or storms
It will hold when weak are we
Glory to he who redeems
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:32 AM UTC
Tell me about the garden again,
tell me this is our last night on earth and you just want to know that it's real
tell me fairytales. Tell me
this is everything you've ever dreamed of
and more.
Kiss me with whiskey lips and cigarette teeth
kiss me like you'll never have a chance to kiss someone again. I want to feel you. I want to taste callous remarks
on your tongue
give them to me, give me everything and then give me more. Sing to me
write me ten thousand sonnets and recite them
ignite everything we've ever been.
This is your chance. Tell me about
the vines.
Tell me a thousand things, and more, and more. Drink me in, like this,
sprawled out on your bed, laughing like it's the end of the world. We don't have much time.
Let's end it all, hangman's rope and a burning will,
or let's stay a little longer.
I want to hear your voice again. Tell me how we're ruined.
Tell me how I'm ruining you,
and how you love it.
Tell me about tomorrow.
It's the only one we have left.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 2:41 PM UTC
As we flow imagining we motivate
our selves to go on,
crack the whip,
try oomph-ala
like… take and read the little book, or swallow
what you're told…
for any mind a thinking thing is companion,
welcome the strange
little light leading on,
for minded beings do not live by bread, alone.
Inside, we see alone.
Outside, I see all one. Am I enlightened,
I ask my closest confidant.
Ah, I utter
as a sigh, slack jawed awe, a we is made
right now --
me and thee, dear, dear reading being thinking
do you mind?
Did I capitalize on your confusion to stick
a point into a bubble you believed?
How would you know?
{1.
Omphalos is the hub of any bubble of being,
center of gravity, if I may
make that assertion
as certain as
may be in these days of knowledge expansion.
May is you word, now. You know.}
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
when the spoon bangs up against my teeth i feel it reverberate through me, like my frequent spasms that wrack my entire body. it goes down hard. i am hacking up pulmonary blood and half-digested puzzle pieces in yet another failed attempt to **** my system. it feels like 1,000 needles trying to enter a single spot on my skin.
apoptosis; programmed cell death. it's a poor god that can't save everyone. when i press my eyes i see colors, and shapes, and stars that slam into me like a tractor trailer. my thoracic cavity caves underfoot. i bruise like a peach. i'm like a peach in a lot of ways, actually. don't ask me how. that's disgusting.
Mar 30, 2017
Mar 30, 2017 at 5:05 PM UTC
She was buried in walls of pitch and snow,
shunned by the moon which she holds dear.
She stretches out her hand every night
to reach her innermost desires.
She stretches out and cry
for nights and nights, through sun and rain.
She stretches out and cry.
Words once trickled from her fingertips -
letters, of every shape and size,
dance eloquently on stone and sand.
They bathe in ethereal curiosity at dawn
and sanguine discovery at dusk.
Now nothing drips from her fingers, long and slim
but soot as dark as her gleaming eyes.
She smeared the walls with hatred and grief
and sorrow seeped from within its cracks.
Agitation wells from deep within her.
It overflows and spills into her cup of tea.
The bitterness that it brings
is rivaled only by her fear of staying alone.
There is no end to her suffering, and she knows
the walls she made were too steep and too high
and yet the moon expects such a fragile frame
to reach the pinnacle of this ordeal
and stares blatantly at her demise.
And so she rests under the shade
of mounds and mounds of pitch and snow.
She lays supine while cursing the sky,
bereft of words, letters, and ink,
with soot trickling from her eyes.
Jul 23, 2016
Jul 23, 2016 at 9:41 PM UTC
Crinkling anhydrous
I contort to shapes described by Pythagorus.
My shell collapses
Livings a burden heavy to break the camels back
Words for me are needles in needle stacks
You can't get out with out cutting your throat
Every time you leave I'm wringing my hands in my car
Every time I see men I reach towards the bar
For another beer
I'm sitting in my own belly full of bile and I need to ***** out these tears
And I need to cleanse my spirit
And I need to shine my gears
Cause I am rusting shut. My mouths left in the forest and the tin mans oilcan hands cut
Back in my truck I tuck and hide the thoughts yet want a concrete wall to spill my mind upon
And make a canvas out of the windshield of glass covered in grey mass
The endings more poetic then a **** with a crown extending.
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
(written for and with apologies to Ken Pepiton)
(A-pop-TOH-sis) A type of cell death in which a series of molecular steps in a cell lead to its death. This is one method the body uses to get rid of unneeded or abnormal cells. Also called
programmed cell death.
~
Ken Pepiton “I found a word, apoptosis and I used it on some old bubbles that claimed to hold true love. You might find it useful for other crazy-makers common to mortal moments”.
Sep 2020
<>
a rich commission this;
aged by being overlooked
for two years more,
reconciling it, if it were even possible
this mixed drink of crazy,
programmed cell death
&
old bubbles claiming true love holding!
flummoxed by the symmetry and the inherent
contradictory of these dual dueling notions,
struggle for a course of unification
<>
and then:
Having known and lost true love,
more than once,
recall too well,
months when my heart cells died daily by the billions,
years of paining bubbles bursting,
till the heart at last purified,
by the emptying of
mortal moments.
the desperation of a grown man wondering if
peace and satisfactions would elude him forever,
deluded by weight of iron alternating currents of
hopefulness § hopelessness,
a sharp pain
morphing way too slowly
into a
dull ache heartburn
so well.
that yet persists
as a just below the surface swelling in my memory
even now
crazy it made me,
no cure cute for this uncommon cooling
of heart and soul,
lines on my face
witness attest
to where tears and failings eroded skin
by marking lines on my face.
”I was unrecognizable to myself”(1)
no joke this
craziness,
a grown man despairing
like a teenager’s lament,
robbed worse by the adult knowledge of the scarcity
of finding
the only true treasure humans could actually
possess, keep and nurture…
yes, Ken,
I find these world of words
you gifted me
useful
useful in ways untold,
but take this telling,
this one here,
with grace given
and knowing
that it only took
from me
about 10 to the 11th power power(2)
of heart
cells
4:36pm
Wed Feb 1
2023
Feb 1, 2023
Feb 1, 2023 at 4:40 PM UTC
METABOLIC LOVE
Behold the strength in your weakness
Which is capable of giving vigour to my membrane
Chlorophyll in chloroplast makes the green plant blossom
You make the smile on my face radiant
Come, let's mix the right nucleotide sequence of our desired RNA
And build the sequence of our desired protein
So that the expression of our gene
Will be the desire of friends and relatives
Amidst thousands, you're the only one I chose
Your hotness could denature enzymes
There exist a thousand of competitive inhibitor
But by the words of my mouth;
None would fit to my active site
I want to fly on your wings to the horizon
Regardless of the barbaric thought of men
For I know;
All unwanted functional unit of life
Will die by apoptosis.
-'Bintan Ola
[email protected]
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 10:32 AM UTC
my cell phone, my Kindle, my desktop
if I die intestate?
what will willfully addresses the solemn secrets of silicon?
(and woe be to me if my last call is a wrong number, my last Facebook entry an unanswered political jab)
will anybody bother to delete my files
after I am deleted?
or is that the new immortality--for apoptosis does not apply to photons,
electrons and "lol"s
I bet when limbo, heaven and hell were conceived, not a soul would have believed, a hard drive in the sky would one day keep us all alive, indefinitely...
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 11:26 PM UTC
Each subsequent process of cell division
I.e. mitosis sans the biological parlance
Erodes chromosomal cap
re: telomere if u can envision
at some juncture senescence prevails –
apoptosis no chance
To prevent this natural degradation
and the alternate decision
Per opting to bail from etching
chronological age – averse at a glance
To this mortal male,
who decries that death breed’s frisson
Thus disallowing healthy discussion
once end of the figurative dance
Delivers the curtain call on existence –
where grim reaper jeers with derision
At attempts to thwart cessation of life
whereby scientists seek to en-hance
Longevity – even exhuming the grateful dead
and experimenting with incision
To rewind expired meter fostering
demise without spectacles
after staying alive – with lance
A lot chock full of chemical concoctions
to revive corpse as the ultimate mission
Yet, any effort to transcend
genetic bulwark
engendered from bulge in pants
In tandem with merging with ova –
based on each coupling favored position
Ought not be tampered
with lest havoc t’will be
rent asunder and rants
From rabid quest per course ala collision
Inscribed within DNA blueprint
from extinct cousins of uncles and aunts
Prepping monster
to burst from Ray Kurzweil laboratory
Whereby to halt recalcitrant
zombie spells FRUITION!
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 5:01 PM UTC
But...
I wanna wrap shoelaces around my throat or slit my wrists and i dream of taking acid and climbing up a building & feeling so whole within the universe i can jump with euphoria.
This world was never small enough for me or maybe i just wasnt ready for the rebirth. Perhaps i am a genetic flaw & did you know cells in your body will target themselves or engulf their bodies because they know they dont belong?
Apoptosis
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
We are not well
So we destroy ourselves
Falling off
We vanish and are forgotten
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC