"cloning" poems
*Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall
I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."*
- Matthew the Apostle
I
Seventy-seven bottles of gin
lie in the guts of sensuous men;
seventy-seven I forgive you's dissolve
in a fanatical mind's resolve.
II
What offence occurred under Saint Constantine's priggish eye?
Was it specious as a Samian's thigh?
Or Sumerians receiving alien diplomats?
Maybe somewhere far under Moscow Putin's massing cloning vats...
III
Whatever discursive and belligerent milieu
church authority finds most tried and true
seems to be the most important decider
in the future of things like the Large Hadron Collider.
Perhaps, unfoundedly, they find it funny that Higgs
(though it seems much like calling the Liberal Party "Whigs")
is a name shared by a man and a theoretical particle
(though it be libelous in any journalist's article),
and thus label similar advancements as "blasphemous".
I guess that this is what it is: believing just because.
IV
Who can know blasphemy from piousness?
Maybe all Luther did was obfuscate a prior mess.
V
Seventy-seven palm-branch-adorned, donkey-riding kings:
an automatic-ring-making-machine beleaguering proselyte rings.
Sep 19, 2012
Sep 19, 2012 at 1:40 AM UTC
Freedom At Kannyakumari
“The destiny of India is molded in her class-rooms”
Kothari had no confusion; no vision on the fusion-
of the East and the West, as Swami Vivekananda’s vision,
“The comingling of the East and the West will dawn a new Era”.
As tissue culture, transplantation or cloning
we Indians imbibe the Western Culture;
or as G.M cotton or brinjals,or tomato
Indians are produced, transmuted
destroying the very indigenous genus for material growth.
Ayurveda is preserved not in Sanskrit but in English letters, now !
Followers of Lord Maccaulay as obedient servants,
by experiments,bring up Indians only in blood and colour-
in every other respects-Europeans
(using imperialist - capitalist media);
poor sycophants ,for a visa,
the Indians: now , turn to the West for light,
leaving the bright light under the Urn;
cry for a way of progress, safety and food;
and beg:once self reliant nations as cells of a body
No retrospection or introspection,
only putrefaction, hence , no resurrection.
On August 15th ,at Kannyakumari beach , beside me,
a bare body of a woman(my sister?) lay asleep;
I witnessed at the starry cold mid-night:
the surging sea spitting frothing snow
upon the black rocky *******
protruded, greasy, mossy. bare but fair ,
ever young at the feet of Bharat-matha.
Wet in the salty breeze , from the foul smell of death,
I walked and walked searching shelter,
but no room for a single son with meagre wealth.
The tourism net -workers with the thirst of mosquitoes
hummed around me with highly rented room offer-
source of tourism exploitation- I bargained,
till, morning red balloon rose up in the Eastern horizon
cleaving the vapours of the sea,
when , thousand tongues chanted Gayathri;
then , the locals thronged around the woman on the shore;
somebody among them, staring blear eyed
as the police jeep and the ambulance arrived , bewailed
“O! Gayathri, my darling, O! Gayathri…” Unsoothed.
The chanting and the yelling dissolved in the breeze
that passed by the Vivekananda rock, afar, south
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 3:50 AM UTC
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 Call It Heresy,
We Call It Genuine Science
We designed the genes' primers,
Ordered them along the oligomers.
Our aim is an elaborate one,
It involves molecular cloning,
Sequence characterization, and
Relative expression analysis of
Bovine Trefoil Factors.
Now we hope to clone the gene,
The gene which is of a bovine origin,
By extensive working hours input,
And bearing in mind the risks,
Of not getting the desired output,
The possibility of failure always therein,
But pregnancy, healing & immunity it's governing.
Three types of trefoil factors there are,
TFF1: It suppresses gastric carcinoma,
And also helps in pregnancy,
TFF2: Helps exclusively in cancer research,
TFF3: Helps exclusively in pregnancy maintenance,
And also our prime interest.
After cloning the genes,
We have to sequence them,
And after characterization,
We have to analyse them,
After relative expression.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 12:40 PM UTC
It was chemistry
Like cloning
I could feel our souls recognizing each other
This wasn't the first time
We've met before
I was your slave in ancient Egypt
Your sister as we burned, accused as witches
I stole you from your bethroved
As we sailed away on my pirate ship
Over the centuries we have found each other
As sisters
Friends
More than often lovers
Today they'd say we were
"Meant to be"
While poets call us
Soulmates
Jan 31, 2013
Jan 31, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
Moments, each like a drop of rain
That is the continual movement
Of the Omniverse
Forming, falling, breaking and rejoining,
Inhaled back up to the skies
And starting all over again,
Eventually, even the Gods,
Like energy into matter
Like electrons and protons and neutrons
Like atoms into molecules,
Like those bodiless strands of DNA
Floating in magnificent soups of matter,
Cloning themselves,
Like the cells they formed connecting and creating life,
Systems of energy making machines,
Like the bodies that wasted away
When their brains became their graves
Breaking away into pure information,
Finding each other
In the vast expanses of space
And reconnecting like the broken lines of a puzzle
Finally piecing together
To make the image of a single universal being…
They too shall join and make one,
For many are the plains of the multiverse
And many are the gods that stare out
Into its infinite dimensions.
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 1:43 PM UTC
I see you
I see others
I see everyone
And, I see you again
Time after time,
I ponder
What lures you apart?
Is there something?
Is there anything?
But time after time
I conclude
That cloning has surely begun.
I deduce
That no man is diverse
No woman either
No children, no parents.
We’re all similar
We’re all striving to be identical
Indifferent to the essentials of our soul
Indifferent to the necessities of our individuality
We endeavor to be parallel, analogous
To be the flock
To be the herd
To be the pack
Mar 3, 2013
Mar 3, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
1.complete th bridge to the moon started by
Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus..
2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec.
3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones
Farm apple wine with him and Emelia.
4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a
Little cloning project that I have been working on.
5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider
Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses..
6. Resurect the cold fusion argument.
7. Run a sub 2 minute mile.
8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied.
9.mix the perfect martini
10. Start all over again.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Son, do you know why I pulled you over
Because I noticed that your lungs collapsed
And you were choking begging pleading for
one single breath
So enjoy the air while you got it...
Go ahead take a moment
For a good deep breath
Feel that clean country air just tickling your insides
Son, do you know why I pulled you outta class?
Cause your bein a *****
Every time we try to bring up a good topic
you start crying
****** ************ mutation, abortion, cloning, ****** violence, masochism
Stop bein a ***** boy, everybodies daddy gets drunk and beats them at night
Son, you know why I'm not letting into heaven?
Because you are a pretentious selfish ****
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
aware of my body
as if my body
is on a raft.
a creaky deceit
I call
rafting in the ****
last night in a very safe garage
I promised a friend
I’d mention
the moon
in the period following
my last
idea.
my body eats me.
god dangles the body of my son
in front of my son’s
next
memory.
some are born
born-again.
current trends include cloning.
the first person to recall dying
will be held aloft.
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 3:55 PM UTC
He had a blackened beard he was
Out of his face,
On his sledge adorned with the
Flayed skin of those on the
Naughty,
&
Nice
List, those deemed unworthy for
The gifts to bring this night,
Those houses with no
Cans,
Bottles,
Mince pies,
To line his stomach, from the offerings
Of 40% alcohol that fuelled his laughter,
Vomiting induced from heights, over
Gardens,
Roofs,
People
Killed from frozen missiles of *****
From above high,
He would sneak upon those
Deemed unworthy,
"In the eyes of children"
He would never harm an
Innocent,
Young,
Cradled
With love, but the naughty list
"Wasn't of children"
It was parents unjust,
Cruelty
Neglect,
Violence
"Against those unable to defend themselves"
He was the protector
Of the innocent ones
The elves would hold the parents down
As Serial Santa
Shouted out the charges, so each was heard
Ears bleed as his voice pierced sound,
He would be the
Judge,
Jury,
Executioner
"For their time was coming to an end"
Some begged,
Screamed,
Spat in his face,
He would go in his black bag
And from nowhere,
"A sound proof room for justice"
Was to be served as children
"Where not to be disturbed"
As parents screamed out,
He had finished flayed bodies
Disappeared within his black sack
"The odd finger picked up"
Used as a toothpick to get
Flesh stuck between teeth out,
"But what about the children you say"
"They were fine"
"Never woke, slept in peace"
*"I don't ****** parents for fun"*
"Ok"
"I get a little satisfaction"
"From them coming to their deserved end"
"Thousands in these hundreds of years"
"Dispatched in to the bag, still not full"
"After so many kills through the years"
"Cloning is the way forward"
"Been pioneers in this for hundreds of years"
New parents for a new day the best present
A serial Santa could give,
H A P P Y C H R I S T M A S P A R E N T S
Prey that your nice, for I **** for the
Children, they deserve better in life,
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
Seeking the unseekable,
Falling up,
Melting into solid,
Cloning the uncloneable,
Finding the unfindable,
Doing the undoable,
Living while dead,
I have been impossible.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 7:54 PM UTC
Pod, you must die, split, and wither
Spilling your hither and thither
Bloom into fruits for the platter
Your offspring to nurture and scatter
Propagate, your full expression
Posterity is your mission
Complexity, vexing, enormous
Yet elegant, tiny, your form is
Of mechanism for bringing
Order from chaos, I’m singing
Packed with potential near bursting
Disorder, for a moment reversing
Package resplendent with promise
With no heed to external dramas
Rising from ashes you burst forth with song
Cloning your goodness for beings erelong
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
They're piled in an Amazon box of almost never-
(that is, all not-quite not-ever-
but sometimes twice- and most often a mere once-)
worn clothes destined for another,
bigger green metal box proclaiming itself
charitably fashioned for such donations
as these nearly pristine shirts,
jeans and sweaters that have only those holes
their makers intended but still lack the want
I've wasted for arms, legs and torso to fill them.
What they don't have is shabby stitches
or those counterfeit claims mocking
a public thread-lust for luxury labels,
but they are mild misfits of the well-meant
gift or of my poor-choice selection
and they carry an ill-suited look,
whether it's fleeced too loose and loud,
or flanneled too bold and blousy,
or otherwise woolly with any too fuzzy
je ne sais quoi that puts me off.
Too's had grown too many as if the clothes bred
while tucked in nice 'n cozy at backs of drawers
rarely drawn or stacked sleepy on the bottom
of a closet's clutter-topped shelf,
and if proved it would be a miracle
on par with Christ's gospel-touted cloning
of the loaves and fishes, but it's not,
so I can't compare my parlor-trick sharing
of two dozen hand-me-downs carelessly passed-on
to his magic of multitudinous feeding.
After all, the real comparison is,
I could have accomplished even more
than this speculative giving,
had I been retrospectively better
in my retroactive accounting
and made the significantly less sinful
omission of never (not just once or twice,
but actuarially quite not-ever)
accumulating so much always
not-needed, however tasteful, stuff.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 8:59 PM UTC
I am now less than the sum of all my parts – in pieces
Like bits fell off something stopped working - strange
It’s like I am coming apart at the seams - breaking up
All those parallel things I do every day - disconnected
Hotel was booked for the week before I travel - dumb
One thousand euro lost due to card cloning - careless
Plans change I end up in the wrong place - drowning
People run away and ignore my requests - abandoned
Projects symphony becomes a cacophony - confusing
I feel like Alice going down the rabbit hole - dissociated
Normality is absent now as I spin around - breakdown?
My perception of the world has changed - problematical
I better get someone to glue me back together - quickly
Otherwise I will become invisible and irrelevant – not good
Like a set useless parts with no instructions - disassembled
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:03 AM UTC
he's a sentimental boy
who keeps fur in a jar from his childhood dog
sagely mumbles something about cloning
when i **** my head to the side and point.
he has lost most things
to the wind and rain
guards his memories
and the scrap of paper i scribbled on
and dropped in his car
before i left with his lips on my tongue
and the sound of his "i hate you" drumming
on a 12-hour train ride back to sydney.
and i've always heard about boys with mischievous smiles
but i never expected a lost boy to find me
with his jack-o-lantern eyes
one laughing
one bored
surveying everyone with eyelids still imprinted
with the image of paradise
the comparison drawn whether he wants it or not
do i fall too short of the beauty he's seen?
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
The plagiarist hath vacated this space
Yet his shadow still lingers at the place
In the nose one well senses it about
So oft an odor doth waft on the air
Which can be veiled by visage fair
The eyes are peeled they're ever watching
For that person of the copyist's cloning
Twill not be duped by untruthful flout
This day of its appearance yet unseen
Could there be a hiding behind the screen
Though the master duplicator hath fled
His presence is hovering over the joint
Of type in image same he did anoint
Within HP's walls it doth share our bed
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 4:59 PM UTC
Wandering endlessly
Mind gone blank
I’ve never been calm this restlessly
Like a bored teller at a bank
I want to care
I want to feel
Of emotion I’m bare
Just a robot behind the wheel
Leading my life
Seemingly the same
But there’s something new…
It’s so minuscule
Through true emotion
I developed friends
The good kind,
That stay ‘til the end
I know them
They know me
Yet all but one
At first could not see
For an unknown cause
The emotion had left
And was replaced
With an artificial shell
The cloning was so complete
No radar could tell the difference
Not even I could tell
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Out there waiting like greedy scavengers
numerous heartless thieves!
Poised ready to scam us for our money
cloning credit and debit cards.
Until it's too late you have no idea
your money will disappear!
Saturated the plastic cards fill our lives
it's not safe to hand them over.
To many outlets as copies are easily made
and the heartache begins.
As others build up their debt in your name
and it can be hard to reclaim!
An army of crooks who find ways to take
mainly from those with little.
An under class who work hard to steal
and care not of their crimes!
Taking with violence and a cold pleasure
victims belongings their treasure!
The numbers are growing of merciless frauds
increasing their ill gotten hoards!
The Foureyed Poet.
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 8:57 AM UTC
*i hate this ******** even writing about it gives me Sartre's nausea, but it's the reality, and as such, given it's reality, it's in-escapable, so there's no point hiding behind a putrefaction of ideals with nice, ear-pleasing sensible words that do not antagonise, let alone engage with dialectics, that sharpened version of what is know to be simply: a conversation, or via Shakespeare: too many stages, too many worlds, too few actors, a load of physicists though, deliberating poly-dimension etc., but too few actors; what a massive Holocaust of subjectivity this scientific positivism came to be... clearer cloning devices are in place than what the Koran invites. they will not convert so easily, having been robbed of communism! the mongolian conversation / connection, i.e. if it worked for the mongolians to become a nation sub- in the geopolitical stratification they say: 'it should have worked for us, but it didn't, we're as dispersed as the jews! and we're met with more anti-semitic remarks around the globe than the ******* Deutsche!*
and when the recession hit
the majority of european countries
poland remained recession free,
and when the migrant crisis came
the european union abolished
the schengen union:
zumbi e o senhor das guerras
zumbi e o senhor das demandas
quando zumbi chega
e zumbi quem manda
your tribe - our tribe -
i.e. **** your little unity project for a café culture;
hostility will be met with hostility,
or quiet simply right-wing football hooligan
marches with a flare for acrobatics of explosives...
i didn't want it, as honesty goes
i am in debt with Scottish universities and i'm
not paying them back...
i'm on £120 a week benefits after being
misdiagnosed as schizoid... oh look,
Michael Myers is smoking a pipe of Hashish
in Damascus.
May 4, 2016
May 4, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
I had visions, wasn’t in them
They’re reflected into the mirror
Absence couldn’t be clearer
There’s nothing left inside of me
Fingertips have memories
Sightless, jaunting above my body
And then they feel a little bit naughty
I run it up the flagpole and see,
Who salutes, but no one’s ever does
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
Went through the roof and found
That only stupid people are breeding
The cretins cloning and feeding
And I’m not even watching T.V
Absent minded upward in the place of nerves
Something wrong about me
Starting to seem a bit crazy
They cut off my limbs and now I’m an amputee, God **** you
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well
Torn blow the covers of ‘zines
Ripped in the cogs of machines
Forced to hold my tongue
It doesn’t hurt, it feels fine
Precariously sublime
I’d like to turn back time
And **** my mind
You **** my mind, mind
Paranoia, Paranoia
Everybody’s coming to get me
They are all pulling at me
I’m running underground with the moles, digging holes
I hear their voices in my head
I swear to god it sounds like they’re snoring
But if you’re bored, then you’re boring
The agony and the irony; they’re killing me
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well
One, two, three, four
Jun 7, 2015
Jun 7, 2015 at 11:38 PM UTC
Listening to
The lyrics of my heart
The solo starting with
A trending rhythm
A rhyme,
Only your name created
Reaching out for me
In my darkest blue
Turning me around
With the tenderness of
Your arms
My heart swells
High in aspiration
The lyrics that flows from yours
Awaken the dead mine
Cloning my scars
A sore that once hurt
Like a feet on broken glasses
Your love
Is my friendship
That we set to music
Your love
Is like a milk
Poured on my waffle
To you
I will my heart
To another
I wouldn't dare
Cos your love
Seek only the best of me
Pulling out the rarity of my soul
Nothing will matter more
In this world
And even in the next
In the third "next"
If it were
Because,only the melody my heart sings
Is the echoes of ur name lyrics.
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
the reason it's flawed...
is because it's doubly definitive,
i.e. drunk, e.g. the lord of the rings,
it's drunk! it's an aquarium dizzy in sight!
the definite lord cannot be
an analogue, a replica, a cloning,
an imitation... invoking such demands
would counter the success of the story...
for no divisive act can follow a divisive act
in english grammar - backgammon point lost i.e.
definite and divisive K.O...
let me apply the rules... what symbols
akin to mathematics could be applied to
words as they are to digits in such a simple
way as to modulate arithmetic rubric, if
there be no grammatical rubric?
engage in language to such an extent
that it defeats you, in order to see
the irrationality of others; the double definitive
is the route easiest to spot - i guess it's
worthy to mention the cinematic affair,
that you might be mesmerised by a lord, who's the lord,
and all the marriages under the sky:
metaphor for marriage?
not to mention that he was the omni- and invisible.
cursor via this digression through to:
there is need... for juggling...
both hands must be present;
definite indefinite, even odd...
but i guess
the lord of the rings, with its double-use of
definite articles is like all stories sold
to the public, sold meaning forced,
****** art conducted in the spare-time,
art without gamble to live a life of modesty.
find the weakness of your creativity, find the weakness
of your creativity, and you will find creativity itself
by it being exhausted, each time you begin
the process of writing;
with Einstein's space-time relativity
came Rembrandt's spare-time relativity...
art and plumbers... oh noble indeed...
but still the double definitive of expression...
there is necessary ambiguity to mind,
an indefiniteness for exploration of universal interpretation
whether that be the populace of the 17th or the 21st century
needing it.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 7:52 PM UTC
Never understood
How to write a full
Sentence,
But did figure out
How to put down
Random silly syllables
In just a minute,
Never figured out
How to play the flute,
But i did learn how
To pick fruit,
Caught a cricket
Never understood
The game cricket,
To my dearest
Never meant to make you
Cry or break your spirit...
That was my younger self,
I've grown and have learned
New ways to carry myself,
I know you'll never rest your
Eyes on this...
This being a poem i wrote
Well
More typed on my phone
While you was in the back
Of my dome,
I know I'll never aton
For the actions i have sewn,
Just know my shoes
I walked in
holding your hands
I've out grown,
I have became a different
man,
I'm sorry for not telling you
That ever time i looked
In your eyes i drowned,
They where so blue they
would remind a pirate
Why he loves the ocean,
That Sunday nothing
but loud lust moaning
this Sunday nothing
but silence,
I do regret the
choices I have chosen,
I'll end it there
For my memories
found a way
through the catacombs,
But my bowman took them
Out thank goodness,
He who took the shoot
Shall be my
yeoman,
Honor killed the Shogun
Snowman left in the snow
Was abandoned,
Young girls heart was stolen,
So much stress took a
Nap fell asleep on
the cushion,
I'm living the life of a
foreigner,
Cant understand no one
Working for a dollar
Selling my so called freedom,
Thinking of home..
Falling in love with a woman
Often,
Fortune lady try to tell me my fortune i said
" no thanks for you
can not tell me my own future"
If you did it would
just be a rumor,
Woke up late cause the
Cougar killed the rooster,
Didn't see it so i guess that
Makes me the accuser,
Gotta find it put her in
The scope and remover,
But if a shark did it
I guess I'll have to harpooner,
Get blood on my carpet
I'll have to shampooer,
Either way I'll have to
**** the evildoer,
But probably offer her
A job and interviewer,
Fall in love and Honeymooner,
Find a cloning factory and
reproducer,
But i got a better manoeuvre,
I'll go to church
and scream Hallelujah,
Hopefully that'll be one
Step closer to get the doors
To heaven to open,
Dose this count as a poem??
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 12:24 AM UTC