"cloned" poems
The first buffalo IVFed in India,
And the world is named Pratham.
It was produced by Hand-Guided Cloning technique,
By the Animal Biotechnology scientists here at NDRI.
High precision was not enough,
100% accuracy was the need here.
But now they have developed techniques using micromanipulator,
Still it requires expertise and it's only a tad bit convenient & easier.
The youngest cloned buffalo born is named Rajat,
It is both alive since July 23, 2014 and also kickin' its keepers.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
They say follow the rules
There's a predetermined path
Disregard the heart
Obey the minds morality
But choose your own destiny
No more cliched love stories
No xy algebra , but 1+1 math
Go back to a more simplistic start
Monopoly of cloned society slaves
Working for similar goals until their graves
Discrepancy is rejected
Individuality gets neglected
Pour your soul into the ocean now
The deeper it goes
The safer it gets
Watch it fall as the sun bastes on the waves
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 2:17 PM UTC
The play is written to be staged in a pub or a large cave like yurt in Cardiff. Its action and dialogue provides characterisation, with sound and lighting being used to establish context. The setting a darkened pub corner that is modelled on The Bunch of Grapes in Pontypridd. There are only 6 characters, five speak in haiku-ed verse with the exception of the Drunk who acts as my 'Greek Chorus'.
- Hand-in-hand she enters to **** her thumb in a corner
- Chocolate ice cream soda demanded from Daddy
- Joking banter ceased slowly as the regulars all begin to quaff their brown pints
“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”
- Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling
“ ***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”
- The cornered hero of two Afghanistan tours is seen regressing into childhood**
The set darkens slowly then after 30 seconds a spotlit conversation in lines and stanzas begins.
Haiku and tanka that inspired the coming play include:
*********** -
thoughts sought, taught and wrought,
testosterones
Fighting aggressive games,
Afghanistan camouflage
Globalism and War -
cloned greedy conspiracy,
that third tower
Titled selfish-self-grandiose,
deliver warring terror
Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window*
.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
Let's face it
its more ******** warfare
culturally they are used to faking it
as thimbles and chipolatas in ninety seconds
do not reach first base much less seeing stars on cloud nine
hence they woke and fake the reality they chose be it feel or fright
in woke solidarity against frustrations they cloned their made-up foe
what better than sturdy shining Mandingo loaded and tied up
there for the having to your heart's content
presented to you the untamed beast
the wild moor tooled hot and ready
raw animalistic unfettered passion
rock hard we can name him Rocky
that goer that delivers every time
the one that is all your men aren't
and can never be cause he's gifted
sleek like dolphin in rhythmic glide
tasty like fresh clean mushroom
Arabian stallion if ever there's one
with absolute pedigree and class
take a break from the mediocre
from the wham bangs no can dos
from the floppy quick-draws saps
imagine the dark horse with the most
in smooth soft pink leathery velvet
tis your secret your guilty pleasure
tis the obsession you made into a war
the fantasy that plays in your heads
tis behind fervours that haunts you
that you so well disguise in hatred
telling metaphors slip out Freud
hold him down, grind him hard
wear him out, let's wreck him so
the sado masochistic 'punishing him'
give him a hard time, it all says a lot
you twist innocent sentences into
****** innuendos and innocent actions
are falsely given ****** meanings
as morn noon and night you toil
you troll and agitate for attention
yes you twist turn bite and nibble
in Freudian throes you talk love
you glaze unrequited love relentlessly
you close your eyes and dream sweet pain
yeah! get real, its no psyche warfare
its a flutters obsession, it's the classic '
"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."
its how you float your boats and and get yer thrills
you better face it you're all addicted
It's an ******** War-fare and you all know so.....
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
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.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
*magdalene just wanked off st. peter, and i’m like...
magdalene just wanked off st. peter.,
the pope was caressed by tabloid headlines...
and jesus did a miracle streak of shit-smear in leather,
gagged the dsm iv into s & m translation;
i used to play the guitar once... but i got choreographed
into a back-up dancer / mimer role -
and then i sold 1million singles in the first hour of the realese.*
self-love amiss is a potato patch of the revelatory,
self-love quotes from what the greeks missed
in threes: the furies stagnated into the eye of the graeae;
i can write about my **** life
in the same way you write to idealise your **** life,
9/5 on the black mustang... who ran out from the better’s
sardine packing of expected, tight...
he’s got life... not a reminder of a cloned bricklayer
for a bricklayer just to suggested a bowtie of an accent:
i will not make england my home just because i can speak it...
i’ll speak english so well i’ll make the english feel
like lower class... if not migrants;
and i did... some boy from cyprus thought i was posh
enough to practice conservatism at a private school teaching
that mathematics using a, b c, d, semi-colon... ah... grammar;
unless of course it was all rather unnecessary,
then i abide by the law of knock down ginger...
and walking beneath the a12’s batty man’s legs sign for gills.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Venomous retina
Attracted me like a trap
Brillo copper in the glass
Seventeen on the couch
Call my best friend
Share the minds thoughts
Curiosity got the best of me
And the trust
I put into my idles hands
Heart beat
Vanes thumping
Down down down
Mind is up
Thinking what the ****
This is my life now
Future you crying
Hanging his head low
Cooks up rocks in the *** death reborn
Resurrection of death
Being cloned over and over again
Yellow cake on the menu
As the flame kisses the pan
Ain't supposed to be done
But not for the father
Not not for a mother brother sister or son
*********** smoke
Heart dancin
Tunnel vision
Two steppin
Jaw gliched like a movie disc
Crack walk
Leg locked in this ****** house
Home is if this is where the cake is...
Home is if this is where the cake is...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 11:07 PM UTC
She had a tongue that could open a wine bottle.
Razor-sharp articulation.
A fine art, some might say.
Living sentences on a knifes-edge.
It started in a unblunted manner,
The force hit smacked splintered minds like a hammer.
Honed in cuspate motions,
Incisively smashing the nail on the head.
She wasn’t wrong often.
Vivacious wit vivid oscillating witch,
some might say.
Not I.
I followed in the downstream of her resonance.
A quivering wreck,
soaked from head to toe in her libretto.
She marched in stilettos,
locomotive tip-toe motion,
devotion to the traverse.
Deviating as s he ambulated across lurid cobbled paths.
How she manages, alas.
Evades my comprehension.
She had this brunt agitation,
as if,
she couldn’t hear the words you say to her.
Maybe it was her nescient nature.
A think naive conversant,
If only it was that simple.
Those dimples on her cheeks were like craters in the moon.
That cheesy laugh fractures.
She escaped from Alcatraz,
Caught only by the dereliction,
of her minds conviction.
Infamy lapsed,
as she collapsed in a pretzel of marvellous contortion.
She radiantly turned to stone,
a statuesque stanza.
Cloned in allure,
that never found answers she was looking for.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
OK. Today may be dull. It happens. Sure.
But tomorrow remains rife with possibilities.
Podcasts of Trump on on the value of modesty.
Street fights in several extinct languages.
Hillary wins at Detroit poetry slam.
Jihadists explode poodles in crosswalks.
Island countries wave & grin as they sink.
***** flicks found starring Merkel and Putin.
A sane, reasonable presidential election.
Angry cats with opposable thumbs rebel.
Men & women speaking & understanding each other.
Brock Turner announces *** change operation.
God announces: No More Mulligans!
Gender wars conclude. Everyone’s dead.
Debut of lost Bach Partita for Electric Kazoo.
New, hip-hop production of Treblinka: The Musical.
Shakespeare cloned. Buys poetry anthology. Dies.
End-up, instead of start-up, launches in Palo Alto.
Smart phones install apps with annoying ads on users.
Common sense becomes common again.
Victimless rhymes decriminalized.
This is America! Never two dull days.
Take Heart! Tomorrow, there be Wonders…
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 10:04 AM UTC
Frayed after many rains
the knotted rope struggles to hold its own
like a wilted fern before the first frost
subdued but predictable
veined designs trace the cloned leaves
drawing the complicated rails of
Manhattan’s underground
Hugging closely woven for warmth
dried leaves untwine. Released.
Driven by a light breeze
like tendrils sun kissed on a May vine
Curled up at setting of the sun
Mortared avocado green
The fern resilient but serene
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 2:00 AM UTC
Women should accommodate for men
Watch life through their lens
Follow the latest a trends
But most of all accommodate for your boyfriends
On men's magazines you see a body builder
A pillar, a vacuum, ******* in space
Toned and cloned
But women must have grace
On a women's magazine you see weight loss
Clearly we cannot be the boss
Go apply your lipgloss
My advice is reclaim your thrones and space
Apply your war paint
**** restraint
Do not let them encase you
In a glossy magazine
Do not let them erase your face
Climb up this staircase
Pick up your mace
Smash the glass ceiling
Do not accommodate for their feelings
Make them beg your forgiveness kneeling
Women should accommodate for their ego
Like a snake it wounds around your body
Tightening and restricting
Constricting your opinion
To give way for their dominion
**** them
**** all who stand in your way
Make them pay
For the way they made you purvey and obey
This is a new day
Today women should accommodate for the their own ******* selves
Not placed on bookshelves
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
Just a whats rumblin' through my mind
I now have the space and the time to reclaim whats mine
I don't worry about those who don't know me
If you are an iron to sharpen the mind--then show me
Otherwise you just missing out on what is divine about my being
Its my life that I am livin', and oh the things I am seeing
Got me happy that I can share the way I live
and when I got it, you know to a friend I will give...
Give me a token from your mind, and call yourself a true comrade
But your affection is as explosive as the bombs were over Baghdad
Your ill reprieve is your number one ingredient
So I wrote that *** off-- to the Queen you fail to be obedient
Therefore there is no use for the waste that is You in my presence
Unless you can cherish my essence-- mind, body and soul so effervescent
I hope my words ***** your spirit, because you know your *** is fake
But its all good-- sit that *** on the curb-- stop trying to perpetrate...
I regulate the things that come and go out of my life
They don't know who I be--I don't lose no sleep at night
I got my life on the path I chose, and love those that have been able to stand by
So now I will share with them a piece of my Life pie
Goodbye to all that ******** of the past, I am blessed with no stress
And my legion of Angels protect me while keeping me at my best
No contest
Can't see me even if you had the light of His Holy Spirit
Dem cyant get close to the Queen I am, and so they fear it
But they hear it
Beating in the pulse, inhaling my energy is in the air
You could never replicate who I Am-- not even if you cloned my DNA from my hair
Effervescently vivacious
Yeah-- I am all the way live
And when I see you on the street-- best believe I'll walk on by
I bump up the volume as I dance to my life track
Peace to all you haters, losers and fakers
Because this Queen ain't lookin' back...
Apr 12, 2010
Apr 12, 2010 at 5:48 AM UTC
You'll always be at rainbow's end
Eternal *** of gold
A fairy tale told long ago
Forever I've been sold
I try so hard but out of reach
With each hand would grab hold
No need for words so please don't speak
Would never let you go
But when I give up in defeat
The cycle getting old
The hill to climb becomes too steep
Turn down 'Yellow Brick Road'
The Wizard who I wish to meet
Told he can take me home
I hear the scurrying of feet
New shadow is well known
But like they say it's "Trick-or-treat"
And both will I be shown
With me you stand here in the street
No longer I'm alone
Now found; forever I had seeked
But actions had been cloned
Reached out but this dream could not keep
Like that; I'm turned to stone
You laugh and turn off in retreat
A call without a phone
A diet forced myself to eat
These actions had been sewn
This game of love again I'm beat
And tossed like trash I'm thrown
You stole from me just like a cheat
This life I live alone
No tears to cry but inside weep
My head, the space I roam
No need to hide; Escape don't seek
From now on is my home
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 11:49 AM UTC
The silver shorelinings break waves of thunder against the sand.
An electric ocean pulling me with its magnetic current.
Mountains in Mumbai and bellowing valleys in the Chilean drop.
Scattered soles, cloned from mud and dirt and snow prints.
India bubbles and burns and
Spain tramples my chest.
Italy wavers voices of the ghosts of the canals.
My soul is burning for the countryside and the delicate embrace of my mother earth.
I can feel the sunset whispering my bones into full sprint.
-P.S.
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 7:51 PM UTC
Globalism and War -
cloned greedy conspiracy,
that third tower
Titled selfish-self-grandiose,
deliver warring terror
.
Apr 28, 2010
Apr 28, 2010 at 12:28 AM UTC
1.
Diaphanous dragons disgorge a deluge of diamonds
into the shadowed crevices of cumulus clouds.
Ruby-red sapphires overpopulate the glistening sky
like carbon-hardened locust: gorgeous messengers of the gods.
The Earth wears a crimson helmet, shielded from
the odious absence of ozone above the North and South poles.
Near Minneapolis, John Berryman's wizened body shatters
on the frozen riverbed below the Washington Avenue Bridge.
Angels weep to see him jump, as he waves a vaudevillian goodbye.
The sapphires blanch, then turn an angry, violent violet. Black holes ahead.
2.
Shakespeare and Mr. Bones **** on mortality's skimpy
skeleton of life. Will this broken body be resurrected?
Does it deserve such distinction? Better yet, does its daring,
drunken destroyer? Four hundred Dream Songs nod yes.
Berryman toddled ticklishly toward the last traces of transcendence.
Love & Fame broadcast how terribly his faith failed to trade
daily delirium tremens for the mysterium tremendum.
The God he prayed to demanded a syntax pure, plain.and perfect.
With jolts of jest, He jimmied paradoxes into koans. Berryman
howls for the sound of one diamond scratching the outline of his body on ice.
3.
He left a legacy broader than liquor, lechery and the love-struck ladies.
Lust seeded his fallow lacunae and lazily broke his wife's heart.
Scholarship scooted him to the squeamish, secluded top
of his Shakespearean class: Signal student turns trusted teacher.
Poetry cloned the Oklahoma clown in him. No successors,
no schools, no savvy peers, save Lowell. his fellow manic-depressive.
He dreamed songs of hilarity, humility, history, dehumanization.
Poetry proved serious business until it learned to laugh at itself.
Sapphires crackle under the weight of the creaking sun. They spin a kaleidoscopic rainbow of colors onto Berryman's obituary. Somehow, he has won:
An irreplaceable jewel of the sky.
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 4:01 PM UTC
Two lads, I'd say, of thirteen, just passed;
One in barefoot with a backpack;
One in shorts, shoes and black socks,
Pulled up over bloated calves.
One athletic, lean and gearing;
One more leaning towards academia.
Both waiting to enter high school.
They met in JK.
They slept on their towels, in their tents,
At each other's house on weekends.
They served together, lived as one;
Their mothers loved them as sons.
That's how close they'd become.
Their worlds will change,
Once this season's done.
One will be the talk of his circle,
The other, the talk of his;
But there's a Venn where the rings entwined
Before they turned thirteen.
Their hybrid youth,
Their cloned friendship,
Memories already determined.
Around fires and bells,
Or a covered porch on a rain - washed day;
They'll dig up some old moments
Of the other when they were young.
Buried treasures for days of leisure,
Apart, yet part of their sum.
Jul 17, 2019
Jul 17, 2019 at 11:21 AM UTC
I am in a city of admirers admiring admirers, a city cloned from a rough sketch, that has been traced in disappearing ink, a producer of diluted DNA in its quoting of the quotes within the tattoos across its face.
Its people walk in pace like sheeple, but at-least the sheep have their fur, as the people scurry in synchronicity from the burr.
Its cold outside, and getting colder.
Ill stand right here, and observe.
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 12:10 AM UTC
I inform you if you knew Emily before,
she is now gone, she is now dead.
We found her lifeless body on the dusty floor;
ink injected in veins and mouth choking on lead.
All that was left was coloured poems,
the pages only lacking a shade of grey.
The same messages repeated and cloned,
and written out in several different ways.
May 10, 2017
May 10, 2017 at 9:20 AM UTC
I’ve shifted again
cloned to this moment
movement saturated with magnetic attraction
Birds clothed with daunting spiral screeches
dives
into
black berry pie
Grandma’s hands veined with my spirit
called me to the pitchers mound
I see a possibility and I aim,
my spine speaks the diatribe of loosing
but my heart is snickering like an older brother
laughing out loud, copying my every word
( I am confused and a bit angry)
this a proven tactic my world seems to set loose on my
Learning.
Right then?
I care for naught; my heart nor my head
So then I think
Who am I?
I am suspended above likeness
Above suspicion
Above the ‘norm’
I am loose and I fit into groves
like extended membrane of rats
inside the crush of cellophane noise
four years old at christmas unwrapping gifts
freely expecting life to deliver
but a father, a mother, a friend, a stranger
warps my view
black like blue
Clothed in sound
It is almost assured the sun will shine today
It is almost assured the grass will grow
It is almost assured I will become more
Scene 2: I am back on the pitchers mound
the screaming errupts
such unruly delight from the crowd of my memories
going back seems deafining
I throw the ball
I hear a crack
my within and without
assembles like crosswords on Sunday
sound becomes me
the life I know
knows me
(we’ve been friends thoughout time and beyond)
all at once I catch up to the knitting of dreams and beliefs
Into something ‘not known before’
**Pearls made from sand
ENTIRE STRAND**…
I understand there is more than mind and heart
( blasphemy?)
I understand there is space between the moments
between breathing in and out
Oh sweet spot transition!
Crack….
Here I am
Right where I am
using the substance between the seeming separation
as starting point
of all I deem real
Linaji 2011
Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 2:54 PM UTC
Life into variant classes is made
Demarcating first from economy,
Where many fills up the cabin
Tail, who don't have pretty penny.
Same flight, but distinct delights;
One world, yet peculiar living.
Each exists by their own ticket
With cloned greetings and grin.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC
We know there's a world within one drop of water.
Like God's tear, a trillion ton ice-cube dropped
in the drink, heating the oceans over time,
submerging man's false-ego and polluting cities,
some say sublime. Swim or sink people,
as acid red rain, falling from your closed eyes,
for they only see grey,
washes it all away. What do climate crisis
denialists snort in retort,
who cares about holes in the clouds,
melting ice-cubes at the poles?
We also know there's a universe in our seas,
yet, only 2 global fisheries are left,
what of humanity bereft of that food?
When bees are extinct so will we be.
Seldom is a lone tear's story told,
yet Gandhi knew, laid out how the future unfolds.
Atom should not be split, Adam should not be cloned,
"the root of oppression lies in (supposed) science",
he foretold, 'from his lips to God's ears'.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 11:28 AM UTC
Your breath held undying
Cloned eyes
Gazing a solitary entrance
Loneliness sequence
Capturing a scarab in synesthesia
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
I've thought many an hour
Of the perfect image of the one
I wish to join hands with
In matrimony
Perhaps my thoughts are blinded
By the brightness of your light
But who I wish to be with
Is a clone of you
But can one like you be cloned?
So perfectly amazing
Bringing awe to me
In new ways every day
Can someone else be bestowed the responsibility
To hold such beautiful grace
Such sweet thoughfulness
Such unprecedented beauty?
No, they cannot
Not because the human body is incapable
You clearly stand before me
With your gorgeous emeralds glowing
No, it isn't that
It's that you're so amazingly unique
You're so one of a kind
And I'll be ****** if I don't love you
with every fiber of my being
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 11:22 PM UTC
I am Monster:
rough hewn spent and jaded
a loaded revolver
the dark harbour
an improper conduct sponsor
the acerbated and saturated
sympathy and empathy terminated
smarter, harder and sharper
sense of honour departed
a cloned armoured martyr
an existence where love has faded
or simply overused and left degraded.
I am Monster:
shaped by unfortunate events
a life of sharpened steel
etched with the scent of malcontent
chaotic defiance and suicidal descent
the rise of the paragon of zeal
masked in the stench of the surreal
lurking in shadows dark
that leaves its presence felt
like a silent tsunami watermark.
That voice in my head
speaking in tongues
his tasteless insipid breath
fills my lungs
the only respite
is prescribed medication
and meditation dictates;
navigate the monster
and his origin appellation
will have to wait.
The sorrow I borrow
and the chaos I bring
like liquid will eventually
rescind like the pulse of a wasp sting
the poison will dissipate
and then evaporate
in the predisposed
wrath of tomorrow.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC