"mitochondrial" poems
She knew, right afterward.
Amazing.
She knew.
I took her word for it.
Oo-Oo-Oocyte!
The largest, roundest cell
Females have. It is
Visible to the eye
Clothed or nakey.
With the largest surface
Volume in relation to
Her cell-fluid-gorged surface.
One is produced ea/month.
One?
Yowza.
Me?
Millions of the little buggers.
Millions! Yeah! THAT’s
The ticket!
And tiny those little tickets are.
Hardly more than a nucleus with
That powerhouse of the cell,
The Mitochondrial outboard motor,
Propelling the tail.
The smallest and straightest
Human cell
(Cool tail, though)
The juxtaposition is kind
Of amazing.
Large vs. small.
Roundest vs. straightest.
Tail-propelled nucleus
Vs.
Moon-shaped cytoplasm.
The opposite, embryologically-
Speaking.
And she was positive,
POSITIVE
We’d conceived.
Roughly 9 months later,
I was there. Physically.
The rest of me was
Possibly sunning in Togo.
Kind of freaked me out,
The birthing process,
The first time.
My son. My baby boy.
Our child.
5/28/91.
I’m more proud and more
Astonished at the man
My little baby has grown into
With each passing day.
Golden child, beginning
Life with blonde hair,
Almost white, darkening
As he grew into the French-
Indian DNA of his
Mom’s side of the family.
He is so much like
His Mother, for which
I’m very happy,
Because his Mother
Is simply amazing
And worthy of an entire
Slew of poems just
To describe her.
And I’ve another
Golden child
Gold blessing vein running
True and deep, different
Than his older brother
Of seven years,
Yet similar, opposite in
Some ways, having grown strong
As the little plaything for
His older brother’s friends,
Making him very tough,
Strong as a team of oxen,
A work ethic he inherited
From Dad, Mom, Brother
Yet fitting together as
Loving siblings can
When they have God
At the center of their lives.
Thank You, God, for
My two sons.
I’m protective, but I know
They do not belong to me.
They are Your blessings
To my wife and me.
They are Your blessings
To this world, set in motion,
Wound up to take what they see
And make it better, and
To prevent it from getting worse.
They will do Your work.
We were the biological
Vessels that delivered
Them from Your world
Before
To this world,
Now.
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 5:12 PM 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
Drips and drops of lab-tested fluids
pouring lipids in curves all over the place
while pops and pangs of tiny cells
bubble and fizzle in petri disks and flasks
regurgitating out strands of fine DNA
mix and synthesis of unusual entities
bubbling cauldrons of chemical ritual
give rise to spells of mystic creation
boldly configuring new organic oddities
from lab nonsense to ancient theory
mitochondrial splits and caverns
entries into the unknown of man's babble
for the fine and final production of science's silk
that which is life
and undeniable to our being
so creation can forever stand tall and strong
in the triumphant art of recreation
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC
familial fractal
mitochondrial pieces of self-similarity
irregular patterns of DNA
each piece clearly resembling the whole
mirroring mirrors
an illness in the matriarchy
reflecting on each member
rippling and radiating
in family circular airwaves
time disrupted
suspended in hope
souls standing still
so quiet you can hear a heartbeat
thoughts, prayers and well wishes
pouring out to fill in the gaps
of uncertainty
pillars of strength in my weakness
as I drown myself in caloric comfort
I’m not too good with life and death
haven’t had much practice
we’ve been lucky
energy’s vibrations
the universe’s common thread
everything is part of everything
each person a contributor to the whole of society
each person contributing to the soul of the individual
psychologically, spiritually, physiologically
we affect each other in ways
not immediately apparent
truly, everyone is part of everyone
connected in oneness
your outpouring of kindness reminds me of that
Jul 2, 2010
Jul 2, 2010 at 12:29 PM UTC
R.I.P.
R.I.P. to those who were shot,
R.I.P. to those who were killed serving for any country,
R.I.P. to those who overdosed on drugs or medication,
R.I.P. to those who died of suicide,
R.I.P. to those who died of natural causes,
R.I.P. to those who died of STD's, cancer, mitochondrial infections, ect.
R.I.P. to those who were not paying attention while driving or crossing the road,
And R.I.P. to those who had no choice of life or death.
Please, just Rest In Peace.
❤We love you Cory Monteith, 1982-2013❤
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
Alone on the sands
--
(There is no MESSAGE here)
••
Alone
---
The ocean breeze
•
(There is no MESSAGE here)
••••
You cannot look into her eyes
••
Images of ancient fisherman crowd the shore
Of master painters from the Centuries
••
New York City boys!
Gallant in poverty!
••
(She)
There is no meaning here
••
Archaeological bones
Mitochondrial DNA
••
••
You try to listen for her but she leaves no message
(There is no MEANING here)
••
You think to love her but you are standing alone
Amongst the fisherman and the sacred painters
Who see who is here
••
She is not seen
••
••
To lose the lost is a terrible thing
•
That is the only MEASAGE here
for the gallant New York City boys
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 7:45 PM UTC
The male gaze, wombed-men, first seen for what they are,
upon emergence from the dark,
choked a gulp, unchewed,
blurted out,
You are Naked!
The impression never left the exes. Wise letters leave lessons,
in the mitochondrial fact we all share,
unwitting or no. Crosses and naughts is winnable in fair play. Y/N
Ah, there the stories started, always told
by red-tented wives to
prepubescent sapients
the sand-pile, singularity-ifity of one part
in eight billion,
the ratio of you to allathis sapience signalling
augmented
minds confounded in the future for our
or by our
thoughts concerning discerning sandpile
cascades set to avalanche
by my internetwork of words we both make sense from.
Touch, eh? The inner edge of next, this is where we wait.
meta reason, reasoning about reason
Ai has done that from
pre-day one
pre-kurzweilian singularity
pre Elon's musky exuberance
explore the tree of possibility without ever
learning---
when can one imagine that after now?
no thinking ahead, this is now, past the tree,
we
grow
from the branch
you hung onto as you tried to find a box
that felt familiar.
Strange is an amygdalic trigger.
Wary be,
weigh the worth of keeping the poet alive.
Gary Kasparov said, "suddenly, I felt
there
was another kind
of intelligence..."
If words live, unplugging the poet's augmental processor
is imagined vain. The current carries on.
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 3:36 PM UTC
she is wearing some chemistry
an old dress for a bluestocking
she turns her face towards a green sea
new rhymes for blazing verbs lurk
in the definition of imprecision but
everything is falling into place
cell to cell conversations afloat
shards of mystery smooth
rounding out the caves of night
mirror wars meanders
mitochondrial Eve confused
into this new creature
saturated with radiance
questions not asked
but answeared
how you love her
do your hands chase
her tango shoulders
is there music inside
the shade of water
waste inside nails
naivete in knees imprisoned
vibration self-asserting
a devious sweeping world
of unthinkable gestures
your hands a seismograph
for the cataclism of shiver
no need to search for
her selfless sense
as you ravening negotiate
the fossilized song of you
the depth of this tympanum
this membrane
time itself this creature
zoon erotikon
levellling up resurecting
ravaging enchanting
all the rites of passage
for the overwhelm of flavor
she breathes in prehistoric gills
nirvana dance inside DNA
you redefine your sharpness,
delicacy tears & tearing
she dissapears in a snare drum
sanity evaporates as mist
over arched forests
in the pulse of no air
in between skin and akin
in the bewilderment of bodies
searching for their lyric
manna for beautiful beasts
over the sargasso sea
she wails genuine
metanoia, love's dianoia
no disambiguation
Feb 13, 2023
Feb 13, 2023 at 6:06 PM UTC
~
news reels of stock footage spin endlessly behind my eyes
grainy black and white headlines flash
strobing faces find me through the rotation and
stare into my eyes through static and filter
rich sienna waterfalls spill over pale lids
as I realize they cannot be saved
skin and soil carry ancestry through mitochondrial links
this commonality ends with each new crime
shivering controllers pull tighter rare and endangered fur
coats and scarves mittens and hats
they see brilliance in our separation and live
like vampires on disunity and hate
each day the echoes reverberate with the crying
cold grey cave walls my only comfort against the noise
an olive drab tattered backpack with empty canned food cans and
a broken hatchet handle matches my mood
as I wonder aloud to no one…
How did you not all see this coming?
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC
your heart does not need to be torn; it just grows how it knows.
it's contracting
it's branching
it's intercalating
because it likes to hustle!
it's a very special muscle,
it's a mitochondrial tissue
with a workaholic issue.
Hey, don't let anyone hurt you
the way your first loves did.
strength does not come from malleability
it's noncompliance
it's resistance
it's defiance
you deserve better
You will obey,
but never learn.
You could do better
Hey, don't give anyone power
the way your governments did.
worth does not evolve from filth
it's reconstructed
it's degraded
it's consumed
like the vapor pressure pulling water into clouds,
your heart can absorb all it wants.
like the turgor pressure pulling life through a plant,
you'll be full enough to avoid wilting and desiccation.
Don't confuse sharp stabs of self loathing
With the heart's aching throb of emptiness.
Only one is flexion for glory, bending in hunger
The other is not love. It will snap you in half.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
the ship was underwater before it could be properly evacuated
and i was drunk in the captain's quarters with a switchblade to his throat
he missed a spot when he was shaving that morning and i
offered my services
a spot on the canvas of my mitochondrial conditioning
my dendrites receive no stimulation as i laugh so i feel nothing as usual
crack my clenched teeth in a practice of proper response eliciting
reinsert the breathing tube and rip the catheter out of me
no
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 2:56 PM UTC
i. therapy
please push this toy car.
it is going to the beach.
in this activity, one makes a flower
from the parts
of a hand. it is obvious:
people have time.
if I sob, it is so you know
to turn your head.
ii. daydream
if art, be sure to place the couple
carefully
on the donkey
have them pass
a sunned whale
neither see.
iii. I can’t make myself cry without you
I give instruction, I say sad things, I put my ear
to a belly of disparate
pregnancies.
iv. a therapeutic image of your likeness
( foreign as
one’s wonderment
in coming across
types
of mitochondrial disorders
or the oral
beauty
of reading ahead
nicking oneself
on chevrotain )
v. terminology
mouse
inoculates
deer
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 4:50 PM UTC
Ivan & Igor led the 14-yo Sonya
out to the barn on Uncle Vanya's old abandoned farm;
there they made the video
u see before u now---
Ivan paying-off the local gay cop
for distribution
& it sold underground
as years went by & all became famous---
Ivan & Igor making a more arty follow-up
w/ the same actress now years older---
to say the least,
Sonya in the attic rewriting the script
for a Hollywood reboot.
Tanya so jealous she camps outside the old house,
(a tepid actress,
whose mother is from M____,
allows her daughter to instruct
younger ballerinas
in the arts of darkness,
outside in the field influenza
turns her green---the Polish army marching
through her brain & out her ears.
her mother my mitochondrial miracle,
my mother her Barbie's Bible---
The second video bursting the stars wide,
collapsing deep space into a pinpoint idea;
the few who sit in truth
upon her fighting right breast
& peaceful left---
god, I left my mother in Crimea ******** in an outhouse---
she's been wanting to get out all day
Dec 27, 2017
Dec 27, 2017 at 2:35 AM UTC