"diameter" poems
Focus.
Linear
equations.
Quadratic
functions.
Pythagorean
theorems.
Sunshine sacrificed for
symmetry.
Daylight dropped for
diameter.
Windows that confine.
Tease.
It's the way yearning clouds hug lonely
trees.
It's how the sun
graces
all with
perfect, gentle hands.
The passion behind these
eyes
are hungry for
escape.
Focus.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 12:20 PM 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 number Pi is a mathematical constant, the ratio of a circles circumference to its diameter is commonly approximated as 3.145159. Being an irrational number, pi cannot be expressed exactly as a common fraction. Consequently, it's decimal representation (22/7) never ends and never settles into a permanent repeating pattern", He told the girl sitting next to her.
"You like math I see", she chuckled.
"No, not exactly", he sighs
"I'm trying to tell you something, what I feel for you cannot be expressed properly, it's like pi, what I feel is deep and never ends, it doesn't settle to a repeating pattern because each day it changes and becomes something stronger", He looks straight into her eyes.
"Since Ancient civilisation, mathematicians have been trying to find the ending of pi but they only ended at about a thousand numbers. Then in the 21st century Computer scientist decided to give it a try, but they ended at 13.3 trillion before they exhausted their computers", The boy took a deep breath and started to play with his fingers
"Chances are a lot of people will try to figure out how I feel about you, myself included but no matter how hard I try it'll always go deep, it's infinite because I am irrevocably In Love with you"
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
I'm the pi diameter,
walking razor bladed edge.
Eternally flying the circle
like a great carrion bird
living on half rotten throw away filth.
Make me your center,
the main point in your graph,
diameter divided by two.
Enfold me completely with your area
and I'll wrap you as well.
But I'm the pi diameter,
bound to follow the path
that is furthest away.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:21 AM UTC
Core—molten caramel center but
dead. dead. dead.
Hot.
Bleeding.
Then cool, small and massed. A
little red
button in the sky more than 400 times
the diameter of—*I snap
my fingers.*
Magician
star
gives birth to carbon, oxygen, and contract
gravitationally toward
the black clasped to
nowhere—an end melting
rock, evaporating ocean, stabilizing
expansion caught in
helium
flash—the metals of yesteryear
believed to exist inside
of you.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:33 AM UTC
You talk about eggshells
I hear the crunch as I get closer to you
Thought it was glass breaking but it was too soft beneath my shoe
I can't stay out of your perimeter forever
When the diameter grows bigger and bigger
Pushing me farther away
I can still see soft silhouette
Your skin is so frail
Pale white made of the eggshells at your feet
You reach down time and again
When you're pierced by words
Cutting off oxygen
Penetrated by the carbon dioxide truth
You're not young anymore
Age is ageless numerals
You're not old
How many birds flew away from this pile of youth?
Each one once packaged like a gift
Leaving behind stacks of birth to sift through
You gathered them
Scattered them evenly around you
Put your appearance and self worth into them and
Waited for the crushing blow
Marching toward you from all sides
Your insecurities will swallow you and
The stomping will leave you angry and hollow
We are all hippy chickens
Making wishbones out of peace signs
Hoping for unity
Not realizing it's meant to be broken
A lopsided libra unbalanced
The powers that be
Expect you to follow obediently
Stand in line
You can't take just give
'Short people ain't got no reason to live'
Newman must have know
How difficult it is to create new men
One by one we attempt
To tip the scale in our favor
But the bigger Man
Can push it down with a finger
Like a toppling Pisa tower
A slow motion fall to the ground
A single direction agenda
The momentum gained
With each inch leaning
So stop clowning around
Sweep up your eggshells and
Go buy a dozen more grade A's and
Break them all at once
We don't have much time
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
quickly!
whats 13 times 56?
mulitply the
square root of the answer by 178.
determine the mass
of an elephant
when it is 30 feet in
diameter.
Alge-bra
hmmm...
bra...
Right Sorry!
math,
wonder if its polka-dotted?
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
I got tired
Of proving that my dreams are valid,
That the diameter of the me that you see in no way predicts what exists inside
I got tired
Of whispering my words so that those around me could feel tall
Taking up space was a sin and
I got tired
Of hearing my sins repeated back to me
I got tired
Of the burning in my heart as it became ash
Because they like their barbecues
I got tired
Of distracting myself from what I hated most
Because I was scared they might be right
I am tired
Of holding on
Because I forget how to let go
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
A Doll House built the size of a Tractor Trailer Truck
It’s not a real one
But it’s a scale model Doll House being one of a kind among
One can view all the room in diameter
Yet I did say Doll House, but it is actually a Mansion
Having 8 Bathrooms, 10 Guest Rooms, 5 Game Rooms, Two Swimming Pools, Servants Quarters, 20 Bedrooms and a Garage
The Doll House Mansion even has an Elevator
Now with all those rooms, it sounds more like a resort or Hotel
However, the Doll House Mansion is a permanent dwelling
Imagine maneuvering around those rooms and finding your way, one would need a map
Ideas after ideas being a thinking cap
Rooms either to relax or entertain
Yet having that tranquil feeling that will always remain
A rich wealthy trail
But then, the stock market could one day fail
One can only dream of a Doll House Mansion full of expectations and promise
But let’s be really honest
It’s only a scale model Doll House Mansion
One can dream, and picture a flowing stream
Oh that Doll House Mansion, but the question will always remain, how soon can I move in?
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
The sky transformed in a matter of seconds
From a bright powder blue
To a sickly gray that reminded me of my darkest days.
The teardrops from the sky came trickling down
bit by bit
Slowly picking up speed
As I could hear the pitter patter on the window sills.
I walked over to my window to watch the show.
To watch the raindrops maneuver its way
past the nooks and crannies of the trees
and soak up into the ground.
I noticed something odd.
Right outside my window, lied a spider web.
A huge one, about two feet in diameter
And in the center, sat a beautiful maroon colored spider, curled into a ball to protect itself from the penetrating water droplets.
The web had to be one of the most
beautiful creations I'd ever seen.
How could something so minuscule
Create such a wonderful piece of art all on its own?
But as I was looking at this web
I was watching something devastating.
All of the spider's hard work
Was being battered by the rain.
The web was shaking violently back and forth.
Surprisingly, it was remaining mostly intact.
Unlike the fragile spider,
Clinging onto the strings of its creation for dear life.
The rain continued beating down
As I stood there admiring the web's strength.
The web was withstanding everything the storm threw it's way.
But its soul, the creator, didn't seem strong enough to.
The storm faded away.
The web, a little beaten down,
managed to stay strong enough to survive.
The spider, however, did not.
This reminds me of myself, you know.
Beaten down with words, mockeries
Beaten down by my past
My memories
I keep my outer shell perfectly intact
So that no one knows what is really going on inside me.
When in reality, my soul is dying.
My depths are shallowing, just like the spider.
I am not the only one like this.
I was oblivious to this fact
Until I watched this spider
Take his last breath before drowning.
Why couldn't the spider be as strong as its outer shell?
Why can't I be as strong
as I make myself out to be?
Maybe I'll find out one day.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Silently standing in formation as your feet are hanging overboard
A burial at sea is an honor and now it is your much deserved reward.
USS. Ships slowly coming to a halt many nautical miles off the coast
Today is a beautiful day and you’re the decorated remembered host.
As for him, when his ship rolled up upon Saigon's shore
he received many campaign stars for his chest while serving his tour.
Clanging medals as he still now walks all about and right from the start
He told me he was to fast to get caught and in return,
he smiled at me because he never did receive a purple heart.
The stars and stripes are now starting to swirl into one and another
contorting colors now begin to weep while flying at half-mast
Squeezing triggers the firing party’s rifle’s now begin to blast.
As you’re lying there peacefully and in your "Aurora" stainless steel bed
A special scripture is read and prayers are then said.
Tilting the platform so you slide off and fall into the deep ocean
with twenty holes two inch in diameter
and one hundred and fifty pound bags of sand hidden at your feet
when you get to the bottom, Davy Jones, you will then meet
till then you’re heading to the floor traveling there
like always, in slow motion.
(SirCARSr. 11-30-13)
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
|
Cubism brought the
omniscient narrator
into the visual arts &
|
traveling far enough
from the center of the
universe makes the universe
seem actually tiny &
finally, imperceptible,
all that is time-travel, god &
ordinary life: is relativity,
the math of the diameter;
quantum mechanics, that
of the circumference
|
the Russian avant-garde
of the 'teens & 20's
applied these principles
to typography to serve
the supposedly omniscient
Soviet State;
|
an early cold war
project of the NSA
was to fund the arts
as propaganda
|
1950's & early 60's
America saw unbridled
expressions of mass,
individual, artistic &
intellectual
creativity:
facilitated in large
part by the invention
of LSD by the CIA
|
so far the greatest mind
of recent times has been
essentially a disembodied
brain; RIP Stephen Hawking
|
the future points to our brain
being salvageable from the
polluted mess of the body;
|
Under Gretchen Carlson
Miss America is to be judged
on brains alone
|
_That's Avante-Garde, *****
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 8:45 PM UTC
Why do we commemorate Pi?
You may want to know why
we hold this number up so high.
Three point one four
never ceasing,
there is always more.
Pi is a very special number
that's why we have Pi Day
if we didn't celebrate it,
it might fade away!
The ratio between circumference and diameter
we find it in things everyday.
If we did not have Pi
everything would change.
Our world would go awry
and mathematics turn strange.
So, lets be glad
for our circle constant
that makes this world not so bad.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 5:12 PM UTC
God-King of the Heavens;
usurper of the throne of Saturn-
his Father,
the Titan-God of Time and Agriculture.
Saturn:
the personification of Time.
Also known as Chronos; Odin.
But, back to Jove-
that is to say, Jupiter:
archetype for Masculinity.
To some, the true Patriarch.
He's said to have once called himself YHWH,
but some know him as Yahweh, Jehovah, or Allah.
Others swear he goes by Zeus or Ammon,
and yet others, by Thor.
Or, perhaps
that name brings to mind
the largest planet in our Solar System.
The fifth from the Sun,
and largest by mass and volume:
Jupiter alone has 2.5 times the mass
of all the other planets combined.
It has a diameter of roughly 11 times that of Earth,
or about a 1/10th of that of the Sun.
I venture to say
that the Scientific and Mythological namesakes
both tend to have a similar temperament
and gravity
for they who are caught
within his sphere of influence.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 3:12 PM UTC
Robert Jordan
Ofelia
One
Sing, my forest. Sing, groans. Sing, snapping. Sing life and wild, sing trees, sing limbs that course and bend thick with sap and soil-blood. Sing, my child. Sing, my sweet love and dirt and life. Sing, sweet death, sing, sing.
Two
Find Robert Jordan. Find Robert Jordan in my forest among my kind limbs and find his breath, find his breathing through thick growth and his steps delicate upon the paths of tender dirt and find these paths great in number that wind as veins through the forest body.
Find Ofelia. Find Ofelia in my forest among my kind limbs and find her breath, find her breathing through thick growth and her steps delicate upon the paths of tender dirt and find these paths great in number that wind as veins through the forest body.
Three
Robert Jordan and Ofelia sit upon the stump of a dead tree in the depths of a clearing in the forest. The stump is monumental in size. The diameter of the stump is that of a building. Robert Jordan and Ofelia used hatchets to make gashes into steps in the side of the stump and in this way climbed to the top. The top of the stump has been worn smooth like glass. The forest surrounds the clearing in its thickness and is heavy in every direction and curves up above them and to the center like a temple would and the top of this temple is many hundred feet above them. Robert Jordan and Ofelia sit on top of the stump and in the center, facing opposite directions, his back touching hers and her back touching his, rigid, perfect posture, legs crossed, their respective hatchets bridging the gap between their respective knees, blades shining in a dull silver light that hangs about their forest’s temple as any fog hangs about any forest. In the forest surrounding them hang many mossy vines. The vines weave through the trees and connect them and carry themselves through each other as webs though without order. Robert Jordan and Ofelia see the silver light illuminate the edge of the forest around them and the trees and vines there and they are sure the pattern continues through the deep forest though they cannot see into it fully. In the deep of the forest around them through the silver fog hang hundreds of small red lights that sit at every different level in the forest from the forest floor up through the canopy many hundred feet above them. The small red lights look as small eyes do and are perfectly circular though do not appear so in the silver light. The red eyes glint as far-away lights do when these lights are out of focus and so have the same dagger-shaped spires that extend from the center and outward in various numbers. They eyes reflect into and off of the hatchets and stretch themselves along the length of the blades. Ofelia opens her mouth slightly to speak. Robert Jordan knows her mouth has opened. Robert Jordan knows her breath comes from the forest and knows that with its drawing she also draws in the silver light of the clearing and the small red lights of the eyes around them and small parts of the forest suspended in their midst. Ofelia ventures to speak and invites these things to enter and live within her and that in her body, though only slightly, is where part of the life of those things now reside. Ofelia knows what Robert Jordan knows. Ofelia continues to speak:
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 11:56 PM UTC
The real ME told myself, Never do trust in "trust" again.
I diplomatically said, "I ,maybe, should give it a second chance."
"But trust once broken is cruel."
I, in my imagination, widout physical efforts, held my neck and pressed until the throat diameter ends meet, by the way, making myself touch death.. That was a "must obey" THREAT..
And then I decided not to trust..
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
blood drips drips drips into the sink
flows between my fingers
my forehead
throbbing
dripping sweat
hair plastered to my cheeks
and eyelids
then, in a streak of insanity
i settle deep into the floor
and pull the shower curtains off the rod,
over my head
falling deep
into the floor
past the tiles
past the pipes
past the old couple living in the apartment below mine
and they hold each other
and i watch
as he tries to put it in her
he can't.
they're both too squishy
and wrinkly
and tired
(he collapses on top,
rolls off of her
her ****
sagging towards her arms
******* with a diameter of my balled up fists
she sighs at him and gives a yellow toothed smile)
i want to feel something hard
and slippery
against my skin
i want to get ****** up
i'll never forget
that blood stained towel
we placed under my hips
to stop the blood
from staining the bedsheets.
just like the one
balled up under my head
on the bathroom floor
eyes closed
Jan 5, 2012
Jan 5, 2012 at 5:39 PM UTC
The banker sits for his lunch. He sits with his superiors. They ask, “how do you?” He replies, “Good, and you sir?” After pleasantries comes food. Everyone ordered a salad. Food is picked at with dashes of chatter. After food comes business. Business among superiors. The banker sits quietly using his wasted acting talents on feigning interest. He twiddles thumbs, smacks gums, and adjusts weight from one flank to the other.
The bored banker nods conformatively. When addressed, his name varies from Tim to Tom to Jack. They were close it was Al. He fills in facts and numbers the optimates don’t care to recall themselves. It’s the only use he has at lunch. Those superior to the banker could have brought his report he made up for this occasion. But, there is an air of aristocracy when one has a serf accompany his master to a meeting of patricians. Like all courtly meetings, the barons and governors hide slights in compliments, cloak ambition in kindness. Use pens as daggers, dried ink as poison.
It’s not the banker’s place to notice such things, it is place to serve those who deserve his servitude. Every time he services his lordships, his tie gets tighter, his skin looser, and his bald spot increase its diameter.
The bored and defeated banker rises with the Bourgeoisie, clings to their heels, and gets the door. His lunch is over. His break is done. Back to his desk he retreats. Back to work. His time as a squire is done. Until his masters call upon him again. For lunch.
Oct 8, 2014
Oct 8, 2014 at 3:57 PM UTC
bring two cups of tea
to the eye of the storm
and let us drink them
under the cold barrage of voices
let us write a book on the soil
with a preface written by gods
and a dandelion index as boundless as time
let us write about an earth
in which tree leaves are sacred
its rain is the verdict of fluttering
and its children are the blue pellucid of life
and its people prostrate to the skies
let us speak of an earth
on which tulips don't grow*
swallows stay and plant dandelions
let us write a book
in the diameter of dreams
in the length of smile and width of tears
with the weight of seedlings
by the ink
dripping from the lips of spring
— M. Melia
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:22 AM UTC
To the young lady that tends to lose her track;
Your eyes are not for tears,
Your eyes are to open portals for my thoughts
To transcend their limitations
And step into your worlds of wonder.
Your face is not to frown,
It is for the people like me
To find the clarity they once lost,
The warmth they crave,
And just the glow they need to light their way into a better perhaps.
Your hands are not for clutching,
Not for
Creating wide spaces to cover the diameter of your face;
Your hands, are to wave in between threads of air that
Hold my love and send it to you;
Your fingers are to unleash the senses
Of those whos bodies are numb
Those who have never experienced your touch.
Your soul is never for anger
Your hatred is untrue
Your energy lies within
You just have to extract it.
You are not to cry,
You are to set free torrents of emotions
Trapped inside a cage with golden bars
A brunette with beautiful wide eyes;
You are not to breakdown
You are to dissect your existence and reshape it
To better represent
Your essence.
You are the gem that loses its spark
When the dust becomes so heavy on your soul
Until it starts burning your eyes;
But shake the dust.
Shake the dust and rise
Be the young lady I know you keep inside, the young lady I love.
Be the savior,
For you do not want saving
Be the hero,
For strength is dormant in between your eye lashes
Be the elevating voice,
That rescues us from our pits
Be the young lady I know you keep inside, the young lady I love.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 8:30 AM UTC
I hate writing in pentameter,
That nagging old parameter reduces
The breadth of expression's diameter.
It's a barrier, a boundary, a cage built around me.
I'd rather cast off the impediment and
Allow my thoughts to sediment freely,
Really, I just can't dig it, ya feel me?
After a while, it gets so **** repetitive, and
I'll bet it did drive Shakespeare nuts
When he wrote all his sonnets, back
When lords rocked big wigs and their
Ladies wore bonnets. That's another thing
It's been used and abused for like six *********
Centuries, contemptibly does this old relic
Haunt us and daunt us and taunt us
Writing's not meant to be a chore,
It shouldn't bore and indenture me, but
Rather, set me free me and
Instead be adventure, see?
Wow.
I'm Somehow,
Feeling much better now.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
As proved by my good friend Archimedes,
in his _Measurement of a Circle_,
the area enclosed by a circle is equal
to that of a triangle whose base has the length
of the circle's circumference &
whose height equals the circle's radius,
which comes to π multiplied by the radius squared:
Area = pi r^2.
Equivalently, denoting diameter by _d_
Area =pi d^2/4 approx 0.7854d^2,
that is, approximately
79% of the circumscribing
square whose side is of length _d_
The circle is the plane curve enclosing
the maximum area for a given arc length.
This relates the circle to a problem
in the calculus of variations,
namely the isoperimetric inequality [of course]
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
liquids take the shape of their container and I am 70% water,
I can only spread into the fishbowl my mind pours me into,
a free bird cannot exist without being let out of its cage and I was told to do everything except fly,
I am a home without walls and without any structure I begin to measure what is not there,
i measure the diameter of the space in my earlobes,
they speak for me when I am silenced by all that is louder than me,
they try to shout over the voices of teachers and coworkers and parents and all those that have as much faith in me as I do,
they tell the world that I can't fathom a future for myself where I would be valued enough to be expected to look respectable
I used to measure the space between my thighs,
that space spoke louder than I did on a stage,
a stomach growl felt more like an applause to me than what an audience would do after I pretended some words on a raised floor,
it was louder than my mothers voice,
when my thighs didn't touch nobody told me I was too much for them,
it was how the world heard me when the words that I needed to express started drifting away like the inches of flesh,
the inches that had taken my entire youth to collect on my bones and protect my skeleton from the cold
I am the spaces where my body used to be.
I am the negative space in the silhouette of who I once was.
and in losing myself I learned that when your own body feels like a foreign object,
it becomes pretty easy to destroy it.
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
*The ripples of your actions has far reaching effects
Diameter of the circumference determines its impact
Result of the actions comes ricocheting, caught unaware
Actions determine what your reaction to life will be*
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC