"detectable" poems
Mixing tea, let's say lavender with something as simple as milk
Must sound silly and weird at first glance, as both come with their
own tastes and flavors which seem to not match at all.
Even the most unmatching couple can find bliss, harmony and
perfection in their very relationship, however.
Such as for the tea;
The milk manages to soften, embrace, advertise the taste of lavender
while leaving a pleasant aftertaste which is alike a ghost poorly
detectable, but present nonetheless after all.
With some sugar to sweeten this experience, it becomes divine,
something I would never have thought of, of such an odd couple.
The image of the lavender becomes overdrawn by the milk,
Engaging in a pure, creamy, brief white which reflects light just
in a majestic sense.
This is a taste to become lost in whilst reading a book in the best
of lightings, together with someone who causes your heart to race
and just turn ablaze
~ Umi
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
I don’t care,
That you don’t care,
About caring about
What I care for.
And you know what?
I don’t care that
You won’t care for
the only thing that I really
care for.
What if I care about
cake? Would you not
care about cake?
Would you not care
ABOUT CAKE?
You care about cake, of course you do.
I can see it in your eyes and by
that tell tale dribble at your mouth.
Cake is something that will
make your legs quake with
butter cream goodness.
A good cake baked,
makes you proud to be
a cake baking citizen in
a country that will let you
bake cake.
So what if I care about
democracy. Would you not
care about democracy?
Would you let people live
in fear of the **** of a gun,
Would you care that there
are those who are on the run
from tyranny and violence
who know pain and loss,
that you could only
wake up from,
in a cold sweat?
As you turn and toss
in your memory foam bed.
There is more happening on this Earth
Then cake.
There are greater causes
than choosing between
Thortons Double Chocolate Celebration
and that traditional Victoria Sponge your
Mother-in-law won in a raffle last week.
The struggle humanity faces, is to live
in harmony with each other.
It cannot be resolved with cake.
You cannot bring democracy
to a country with cake.
Or can we?
What if we swapped,
Non radar detectable aircraft
For dairy delectable foodcraft,
What if we swapped
12inch shells for
12 thousand babybels?
What if we stole
RPGs and gave back
MSG’s (they’re less harmful
in the long run, if thrown at you).
What if, for once, everyone cared.
And then we’d get somewhere.
Every voice in every home
Would not be a voice alone,
And for once, we’d all agree about the fact
we like cake and democracy for all.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 8:19 AM UTC
Preventing contamination,
A constant challenge in cell culture.
Contamination not only affects,
The culture in question and,
Costs time and money,
But also endangers the reproducibility of results.
No cell culture problem,
Is as universal as that of culture loss
Due to contamination.
Generally, contamination may be separated,
Into categories of microbial,
And eukaryotic contamination.
Examples of microbial contamination include:
Bacteria (including Mycoplasma),
Fungi and yeast;
Eukaryotic contamination includes:
Cross-contamination with other cell lines.
Bacteria, yeast and fungi,
The three more common types of contamination,
But luckily these forms are often detectable,
Under the microscope and,
By visual cues,
Like colour or turbidity changes in the medium.
Mycoplasma is a small genus of bacteria,
That lack a cell wall and for this reason,
They remain unaffected by common antibiotics.
They are also difficult to detect,
With standard microscopes,
Due to their size, about 0.1 μm in diameter,
And the fact that they often attach to host cells.
To prevent contamination,
Use 70% ethanol for disinfecting,
Equipment & surfaces,
Related to cell culture.
Sterile filter the media first,
Before bringing to the lab.
Fetal Bovine Serum,
A potential source of contamination,
Contains mycoplasma.
Filter it at 0.1 μm, or,
Gamma irradiate it.
Aseptic technique,
Necessary.
The laboratory workers be the last,
But not the least source of contamination.
Teach them the ideal laboratory practices,
To ensure asepticity in a laboratory.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
The *** with match, lit the fire
scolding kettle with burnt goaless ambition.
claiming snobbish golden prowess
paid in wanton , savage, screaming tuition.
"It is I" said ***
"Who has sent aromas of worlds
preperations in lifes gluttonous lust
smiling rewards genorously hailed
with slothed culanary trust..."
"tis true" whispered kettle
"It is I, the ***
forged in iron clad
who in laborious toil
so generously cast my sweet savory scraps
amongst your soot and soil..."
"tis true" hissed kettle,
"For I, the ***
adapt in multiple arrangement
of compliment and comfort where you lack
with singular solitary function
wailing, seared and scarred in black..."
"Tis true" whistled kettle
"I, the ***
filled in glorious substance and magnificant sustenance
praised in lifes delicate, vital, victuals and viands
in with which I do enhance..."
"Tis true" howled kettle
"Yet it is I, Kettle,
in further fashion of design
than copious function in fare
do not heed your song and dance..."
"Blah" clammered ***
"For it is I, the lowly kettle,
sing to each melodious morning
to begin the days
unknown magical soaring..."
"Pishaw" growled ***
"It is I, kettle,
bestowed in somber, modest truth of fact
nakedly express that
you too, my dear ***
are simply black..."
"humbug" steamed ***
*** humbled... kettle mumbled...
"It is in each honorable day
we serve our distinguishable stay
in detectable unadorned identicle way.
"Tis true" said ***
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 3:27 AM UTC
I would like to think of myself as an intellectual, but really I’m just a regurgitation of the adolescent caste system with academic anxiety and a learned fear. Well, I suppose that is a bit harsh. I used to be social ***** now I am a lowly intrapersonal custodian (let us never mind my inter-personal mess-managing, please?), though I am far from clean. __________ I have found myself flitting back to this page from time to time and mentally inserting here a terse, self-degrading statement that could re-catalyze my pitiful little verse, but never actually writing it. I hold it heavy in my head where it shall remain, apparently. Apparently I don’t feel the need to read my flaws, transgressions, and fallibilities back to me. Perhaps I haven’t yet articulated them, and they’re just skulking around—hunched apparitions haunting my subconscious. (Death smells like dog treats: perplexing, but you want to touch your tongue to it so long as no one will know). I must slay them all, eventually, or else perish. But! It is not the transgression itself that I fear—my behaviors are observable, even tangible, I can stare at them for hours. It is the dark implication of the transgression—the churning matter only detectable for its outline of illumination—that gives me trepidation. How will I move-on? How will I grow-here? Like an impossible little spur that nestles between resistant skin and unknowing fabric? Can I penetrate the protection? My security is maniacal; it is evidence of crazed disillusion. I am the raven clawing through infinite veneers; I am tangled…
Out ****** spot! Out, I say!
I must regress to becoming the white blanket.
I must know nothing but God.
A simple cloth.
A towelette.
Rags!
Rags!
Rags!
…
….
…God?
…Hello?
…Is it too late to become
…plain?
Feb 14, 2015
Feb 14, 2015 at 10:40 AM UTC
Sport has turned words like animal, beast, freak, and super human into words of endearment.
History has regarded these words as fearful, nightmarish, strange, and blasphemous.
Yet mecidal advancements have made these words. clone able, detectable, observed, and revered.
Kinda made me think.
Nov 22, 2013
Nov 22, 2013 at 6:32 AM UTC
The house is full of horrors,
This house, it owns no love.
The air is filled with madness,
The floor boards moan in sadness.
The sounds it makes at night,
And the walls, blood red and white,
Represent the turmoil that’s going on inside,
But everything is perfect on the outside.
The grass is trimmed,
The flowers bloomed,
The hedges cut,
The paint renewed,
So people walking by they smile,
And continue on their way.
But the house it cannot move,
For a house wasn’t built with feet to run,
Or a mouth or eyes,
To tell you something’s wrong.
This house it carries on,
It has to stand up strong,
To support the demons ruining
All the paint work.
They will rip it all to shreds,
Tare it up until it’s nearly dead,
Without a detectable scratch upon the surface.
The house it cannot show
The scars it bares inside,
And its figured that’s all it’ll ever deserve.
There’s no way to break the cycle
trust me it’s tried,
And all it’s done is made itself cry,
Which resulted in a leak down from the roof.
The house was beat
And still no outward proof.
There never was,
Nor will there ever be,
Someone there to help it carry on.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC
In 82
words, I add 6
locks for 88
keys, then wait!
In a perfect world,
the skin of these 10
fingers would be gloves for the sinews beneath.
In a perfect world,
my 32
teeth would sing psalms to the brush.
In a perfect world,
my 2
eyes and 1
heart would beat and blink in unison,
and behind the ashen sky
the majesty of interstellar space
is almost detectable.
And in these 82
words, the world
becomes perfect,
albeit briefly.
Mar 28, 2010
Mar 28, 2010 at 10:04 PM UTC
How do you sleep at night
All the stuff you did ain’t right
You cheated and you lied
It’s known about far and wide
Every day more comes to light.
How do you hold up your head
You should be ashamed instead
You’re the cause of many quarrels
You have few detectable morals.
Your honesty balance is in the red.
We all know all we get from you
Is promises that won’t come true,
You don’t care about any one else
All the matters to you is yourself.
You’re outrageous trash in all you do.
So how do you live with yourself
As Santa Claus’s very nastiest elf?
Every rule you choose to break
Is based on whatever you can take
Regardless of hurting someone else.
Wishing you bad usually isn’t cool
But in your case I’ll break that rule
Since you so often serve up hate
What you deserve is that same rate.
I’m polite, but I am nobody’s fool.
So, I hope you get exactly what
The people you have cheated got
That you end up with just a stone
And spend your time all alone
With your hopes and dreams all shot.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 9:01 PM UTC
You.
You lay there.
You act as if everything is as it should be,
"..should be.."
Why can't I walk away from this stage? ..from this performance? ..from us?
Must the show go on?
Her heart's crying out for me to end this charade.. but we stopped following the script a long time ago,
Yet here we are,
Naked,
Nothing to hide ..only our sins,
No clothes on either of us with a closet full of skeletons,
I traded my soul for pleasure ..my ship for treasure ..her best for better,
Or what I thought was,
I indulged further than I should have,
You became a pest,
We gave no F's & now without them she's left with our lies,
There's only so much pain one can deal,
The more I think-I feel,
The urge to reveal the truth we struggle to conceal,
While juggling discretion & desires,
This game isn't easy for me.. then again I played along,
Don't make me have to choose,
To lose,
Our slice of heaven was delectable ..detectable,
"All good things must come to an end"
So blue. So true.
One plus one can’t equal three,
Subtract you ..divide me
-Isaac.Tanielu
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
Nighttime session, the troops gathered in the barracks
I am the early bird waiting while I think of words
See the sorry *** in the glass start to mutate
My face scrambles in a madman’s flash of brilliance
I shake in disbelief, making my supposed normal return
The last of many flashbacks to a freaky fungus festival
My companions enter the stomping ground unaware
A trace of spasm in my body, of light refraction in my gaze
Within ten seconds I went from stagnant and stationary
To drunkenly wobbling, blind-deaf-mute-terrified
My vision was the first, flooding steadily with snowy diamonds
I noticed a distinct detachment from myself and my location
Head began to throb and ears shot jets of sound
Like a pulsar detectable to keen eye on rampage
Bright white light, increasingly suffocated by diamonds blinding
Sick and driven to escape, my face drained of all color
My surprise became overwhelming and unbearable to me
I made a hopeless barge through blurry barrier
Dive into the bed that will bring me sane comfort
Curl in ball, pathetic and fetal, waiting for the war to end
Nov 24, 2010
Nov 24, 2010 at 6:02 PM UTC
We're on single bench,
across in a single mirror.
I'm learning by heart you're curve.
1,2,3,4,5
TURNED.
Staring vacantly again,
5,4,3,2,1
LOOKED.
I smiled exclusively on my thought,
I can't make it detectable
Mirror will spy.
Gauged,angles estimated and quantified.
1,2,3,4,5 and STARED.
Our eyes bumped.
5,4,3,2,1
Ohh,beats accelerating
I am freezed.
My heart jumps out.
Sorry,I can't make it,
I am evaporating,
or falling to million microscopic pieces.
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 6:34 AM UTC
Melancholy is a tritone
Or an unresolved major seventh
A better life is literally
A half step away
Yet I ring out detectable tension
And you cringe when I am articulated
Enjoy your major triad
In C
Coward
Irving Berlin could only compose with black keys
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 12:47 AM UTC
Her life is a rollercoaster
Full of highs and lows.
Sometimes scream inducing or euphoria filled.
Sometimes mild, barely detectable.
High for a minute, a week, a year
Low for a moment, a sleepless night,
A lifetime, she feared.
Her life is a rollercoaster
Full of highs and lows.
And she is afraid of rollercoasters.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 1:29 AM UTC
at the oddest moments
just at the brink of ennui
glimmers of eternity
ephemeral dancing joys
sideways slippings
just out of sight
moving fast
detectable
to the desiring ear...
to the attentive eye...
faint sighings
murmuring laughter
patter pit of little feet
contented laying of jowls
in a dabble of sunlight
carpet warm stretchings
closing of contented eyes
soft dog snores
laconic life in the moment
this Sunday afternoon....
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 4:24 PM UTC
My dream takes me on a journey- big dream, big sky,
sea all around. Silent as a galaxy.
Flying is easy- I have simply to think it.
I rise weightless into a wilderness of imagined blue,
hovering over the wrinkled beach of my bed,
my mind a white butterfly,
And there I find you, dizzy with excessive light,
floundering at the sky's edge, head in the clouds
looking for silver.
Drawing me close, I fall into the net of your arms,
that safe place you've always made for me,
your hands tightly clasped behind my back.
We feed from each others breath,
aware of the sudden gravity between us.
But you are not as I remember.
Your face smoothed of all detectable emotion,
your eyes, not as they were, but exquisite diamonds
piercing through wads of cotton cloud,
until you become part of them-
a neat trick!
Shuddering, wounded,
lightly I descend into weeping,
I spread the sails of my arms,
tacking on a downward draught
until I find my feet anchored,
eased into familiar sheets.
A new light dawns on me,
wipes dry the lids of my eyes.
The clock reads four,
acid, luminous,
and there you are, in the kitchen,
slurping coffee from a chipped cup,
your free hand rattling the slats of the window blind.
I reach out for you, but your image dissolves
like paper in rain.
Aware of the mind's deception,
I remain wreathed in sleep,
and though this is still a dream,
you will always be a part of it.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:05 PM UTC
Drunk not yet plastered. so from this world I am my master. Realsms colide and I reside in the middle. Fiddle with illusions and reality, but my abnormalities keep me sane. Pain keeps me going as these weak emotions leave me in a realm of the unknowing. searching never seems to get old, but have once been told to be better. Not from this deases in which I bleed, but from the seed in which I plant. My drestruction holds a sweet flower, the aroma it is unmistakablelike, like fresh durt being tuned or Like hair being burned. Detectable as it may be. I seem to to hope, wish, and pray to be free. To bad that's just the drunkeness in me. I love my garden because it is mine. Yet I have better flowers and fresh growth in mind. A pity that influenced thoughts will never flurish.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 5:27 AM UTC
each tree is
a sound soft-spoke
to unwheeled sky
perhaps
or passing
cloud ― i would set
mind as
these trees: closeset &
filigree
like something once hubbed
& radial staked
out : taken root & grown past
its paring
having absorbed what heat
comes in to build a year-by-
year body
encompassing body: mind so
still in its s-
hell as to
be
detectable
barely till my
tomb stone
deep in upward shadow
leaps upon
me like a child around my neck
Mario Petrucci from i tulips
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 9:04 AM UTC
The taste of tension, like water, plain but there
Invisible, but felt
A faint undercurrent, a barely detectable wave
Physically, fine, well most of us
But mentally, a little shaky
Slightly off
Not easily detectable
Our lips graced by bald faced sugary sweet smiles
Don't look at the mouth, look at the eyes
Where the truth screams out at you
If, you can detect it
His antics, a little over the top
Her quirks, just slightly more enhanced
But even then,
You can't truly know what's going on behind the curtain
Unless you forcefully lift
But
That could possibly damage it
Completely
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 8:58 AM UTC
The perks of texting
Is that the tone of voice
You're using
Is not detectable by some
However
This can also become
A bane
Aug 27, 2013
Aug 27, 2013 at 6:33 AM UTC