"mitotic" poems - Hello Poetry

What they don’t tell you in school, while you’re trying to remember the difference between prophase and metaphase chromosomes and chromatin is that really biology isn’t science biology is life See, divorce divorce is like mitosis slow to start, but quick to finish Begins at prophase when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus, your family’s unity disappears Your carefree life, your chromatin, coil and change become tight, tense chromosomes Outside forces, mitotic spindles, residing in the cytoplasm start creeping towards your parents to separate their souls Metaphase: you’re all lined up single file ready for battle Centrosomes, middles of each new life, poised opposing each other with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle, like a dog with it’s leash Anaphase: everything separates, your world’s torn apart and you’re left silently watching alone as your sister is torn from your life Telophase: the pain starts to lessen as you uncoil and your broken family’s nuclear membrane begins to reform Once the paper’s are signed once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt your old life is over and the process it’s finished See, they don’t tell you don’t think you need to know that divorce is simply biology and mitosis well, it’s life

0

Oct 29, 2014

Oct 29, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC

moriah-j-chace

Biology: Mitosis

What they don’t tell you in school, while you’re trying to remember the difference between prophase and metaphase chromosomes and chromatin is that really biology isn’t science biology is life See, divorce divorce is like mitosis slow to start, but quick to finish Begins at prophase when conflicts arise as your family’s nucleolus, your family’s unity disappears Your carefree life, your chromatin, coil and change become tight, tense chromosomes Outside forces, mitotic spindles, residing in the cytoplasm start creeping towards your parents to separate their souls Metaphase: you’re all lined up single file ready for battle Centrosomes, middles of each new life, poised opposing each other with their spindles latched onto you kinetochore, your middle, like a dog with it’s leash Anaphase: everything separates, your world’s torn apart and you’re left silently watching alone as your sister is torn from your life Telophase: the pain starts to lessen as you uncoil and your broken family’s nuclear membrane begins to reform Once the paper’s are signed once the cell’s wall’s rebuilt your old life is over and the process it’s finished See, they don’t tell you don’t think you need to know that divorce is simply biology and mitosis well, it’s life

53

Lost in trials and tribulations; testing one’s patience as malignant lesions formulate morphological alterations ceaselessly swarming throughout this mortal embodiment Erratic mitotic divisions serving as propositions carrying calamitous conditions - prescriptions from physicians functioning as baleful contradictions augmenting one’s overall condition Salubrious air would substantially repair in lieu of a multimillion-dollar pharmaceutical snare chemically altering the brain chemistry unsympathetically.

0

Nov 21, 2014

Nov 21, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC

jessica-golich

Matrix

Lost in trials and tribulations; testing one’s patience as malignant lesions formulate morphological alterations ceaselessly swarming throughout this mortal embodiment Erratic mitotic divisions serving as propositions carrying calamitous conditions - prescriptions from physicians functioning as baleful contradictions augmenting one’s overall condition Salubrious air would substantially repair in lieu of a multimillion-dollar pharmaceutical snare chemically altering the brain chemistry unsympathetically.

3

There was always at least five feet between us. It was actually a good thing in the preliminary stage. We could lock eyes without the urgent need to look away too soon. The intensity was containable in those five feet. (speaks very fast) And then my stupid self went around and quickly covered four of those five feet. It is the laws of mitotic cell division god ****** You do not grow four feet in a day. You grow inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Ask him about that literature assignment. Shakespeare is responsible for excess glutton in today’s pick up lines. Wait for your friends to dare him to kiss you on a Truth and Dare. Wait for him to want to. Then, tell him, maybe, I like you. That, in that one foot perimeter, I could see golden flakes in the circles of his eyes when clearly they are brown should have been the first sign that it was a bad idea. Five feet was our perimeter. Five feet was where we stopped. (points to own body) Five feet is where I stop. For, I will never be anyone else but me. I will never experience, firsthand at least, what it is like to be a lanky six footer who hunches because she doesn't know what to do with her body. Or her exhilaration when she finds the basketball court. I will never experience being the Egyptian boy who has a chemistry counter in his kitchen, who asks his maid to buy him potassium nitrate. I won't know what it is like to be his maid who almost got arrested for asking to buy potassium nitrate (a component of explosives) in Egypt. I shall never experience courting like the characters in a Jane Austen novel. And how nice it must feel, feeling beautiful. And I will never ever experience, what it is like to be his girlfriend.

0

Apr 19, 2014

Apr 19, 2014 at 9:03 AM UTC

a-green-throw

Le Foot

There was always at least five feet between us. It was actually a good thing in the preliminary stage. We could lock eyes without the urgent need to look away too soon. The intensity was containable in those five feet. (speaks very fast) And then my stupid self went around and quickly covered four of those five feet. It is the laws of mitotic cell division god ****** You do not grow four feet in a day. You grow inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Ask him about that literature assignment. Shakespeare is responsible for excess glutton in today’s pick up lines. Wait for your friends to dare him to kiss you on a Truth and Dare. Wait for him to want to. Then, tell him, maybe, I like you. That, in that one foot perimeter, I could see golden flakes in the circles of his eyes when clearly they are brown should have been the first sign that it was a bad idea. Five feet was our perimeter. Five feet was where we stopped. (points to own body) Five feet is where I stop. For, I will never be anyone else but me. I will never experience, firsthand at least, what it is like to be a lanky six footer who hunches because she doesn't know what to do with her body. Or her exhilaration when she finds the basketball court. I will never experience being the Egyptian boy who has a chemistry counter in his kitchen, who asks his maid to buy him potassium nitrate. I won't know what it is like to be his maid who almost got arrested for asking to buy potassium nitrate (a component of explosives) in Egypt. I shall never experience courting like the characters in a Jane Austen novel. And how nice it must feel, feeling beautiful. And I will never ever experience, what it is like to be his girlfriend.

5

and what is there to fear in the refuge of bedrock, in the embrace of flaming sword and iron shield, in bronze hands that cradled us when we were but dust beneath a night sky filled with stars, who spoke past the rivulets of time to forge seas from the embers of dying stars and unfurled entropy into a flat sheet across an ever expanding universe, of a god who, looking at angels with wings the size of galaxies, sought to make a home for a host of insignificant creations instead, whose lives could be measured out in grains of sand, spooled in mitotic spindles of telomeres, fragile pieces of DNA covered with the fingerprints of divinity.

0

Feb 14, 2018

Feb 14, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC

hlwatts

benediction

and what is there to fear in the refuge of bedrock, in the embrace of flaming sword and iron shield, in bronze hands that cradled us when we were but dust beneath a night sky filled with stars, who spoke past the rivulets of time to forge seas from the embers of dying stars and unfurled entropy into a flat sheet across an ever expanding universe, of a god who, looking at angels with wings the size of galaxies, sought to make a home for a host of insignificant creations instead, whose lives could be measured out in grains of sand, spooled in mitotic spindles of telomeres, fragile pieces of DNA covered with the fingerprints of divinity.

29

yesterday i chose love but then it swung. emerging from the throat of grided anthropos, i found a view distant. it skipped over waters which merely glinted at first, but then i looked out of the corner of my eye and the water swam in the harbor. it carved out a kind of geometry; i felt short little liquid daggers stop these hard eyes: sea birds glide and dip along air currents, making roundabout hemispherics and landing in the water with this grace that was like accurate solemn play; then they would dive deep to fish (?) i counted 46 seconds for one; 62 for another. i wondered if they got anything, or if they were just trying to see how far down they could go.. the breeze was cooled. it felt so right. and i could feel - i mean - actually ******* feel. and the nuerons on my mouth spoke to my head. but then my parabola dropped and retraced its steps back to the grids of them, the cut slab of have. ppl not walking but more like falling on their legs. feet rooting or cutting deep into brick, staring at thine rectangle pocket entity, vectoring destinations efficient, dressed in their conquerer’s best, layered up, shiny and brand new. it was as if their father’s father’s sword had undergone mitotic division and whetted the face to the nines. i could smell their fate. it was then that i heard the saprophytes that will eat me call my other name; the one that i have long shut-up in a box whose label is unintelligible i then ate pizza with cheese and pepperoni, making my bed for them

0

Nov 24, 2017

Nov 24, 2017 at 11:58 AM UTC

mike-dm

swing sets

yesterday i chose love but then it swung. emerging from the throat of grided anthropos, i found a view distant. it skipped over waters which merely glinted at first, but then i looked out of the corner of my eye and the water swam in the harbor. it carved out a kind of geometry; i felt short little liquid daggers stop these hard eyes: sea birds glide and dip along air currents, making roundabout hemispherics and landing in the water with this grace that was like accurate solemn play; then they would dive deep to fish (?) i counted 46 seconds for one; 62 for another. i wondered if they got anything, or if they were just trying to see how far down they could go.. the breeze was cooled. it felt so right. and i could feel - i mean - actually ******* feel. and the nuerons on my mouth spoke to my head. but then my parabola dropped and retraced its steps back to the grids of them, the cut slab of have. ppl not walking but more like falling on their legs. feet rooting or cutting deep into brick, staring at thine rectangle pocket entity, vectoring destinations efficient, dressed in their conquerer’s best, layered up, shiny and brand new. it was as if their father’s father’s sword had undergone mitotic division and whetted the face to the nines. i could smell their fate. it was then that i heard the saprophytes that will eat me call my other name; the one that i have long shut-up in a box whose label is unintelligible i then ate pizza with cheese and pepperoni, making my bed for them

118

whether colliding as fast as particles smashing together for man's curiosity or moving only as slow as the divisions of the most inactive mitotic cells while there are stars at your fingertips and entire galaxies dotting the vacuum of space that separate us does anything even matter? looking elsewhere for answers becomes futile when there's only one certain truth: the steady beat of life in the unpredictable environment of our universe wouldn't exist if it didn't matter anti matter dark matter dark energy matter red giants white dwarves black holes pulsars nebulas stars star systems galaxies universes dimensions our heavens our earth our moon our sky you and i all matter. all. matter.

0

Jul 30, 2014

Jul 30, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC

yanun

what matters

whether colliding as fast as particles smashing together for man's curiosity or moving only as slow as the divisions of the most inactive mitotic cells while there are stars at your fingertips and entire galaxies dotting the vacuum of space that separate us does anything even matter? looking elsewhere for answers becomes futile when there's only one certain truth: the steady beat of life in the unpredictable environment of our universe wouldn't exist if it didn't matter anti matter dark matter dark energy matter red giants white dwarves black holes pulsars nebulas stars star systems galaxies universes dimensions our heavens our earth our moon our sky you and i all matter. all. matter.

16

in a rather more living language form frames function, I think we, should we agree, may make waves or points proving science is good. Clipped from: http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/the-unbearable-wholeness-of-beings If you try to describe the living processes of the cell in a rather more living language than is typically found in the literature of molecular biology — if you resort to a language reflecting the artfulness and grace, the well-coordinated rhythms, and the striking choreography of phenomena such as gene expression, signaling cascades, and mitotic cell division — you will almost certainly hear mutterings about your flirtation with “spooky, mysterious, nonphysical forces.” You can expect to hear yourself labeled a “mystic” or — there is hardly any viler epithet within biology today — a “vitalist.”

0

Aug 20, 2020

Aug 20, 2020 at 4:05 PM UTC

kenpepiton

With science considered true

in a rather more living language form frames function, I think we, should we agree, may make waves or points proving science is good. Clipped from: http://www.thenewatlantis.com/publications/the-unbearable-wholeness-of-beings If you try to describe the living processes of the cell in a rather more living language than is typically found in the literature of molecular biology — if you resort to a language reflecting the artfulness and grace, the well-coordinated rhythms, and the striking choreography of phenomena such as gene expression, signaling cascades, and mitotic cell division — you will almost certainly hear mutterings about your flirtation with “spooky, mysterious, nonphysical forces.” You can expect to hear yourself labeled a “mystic” or — there is hardly any viler epithet within biology today — a “vitalist.”

26

VII. mitosis i... i love him and i will pay with fire and brimstone maybe i’ll realize that the plot arc of my life doesn’t really make any sense anymore that i don’t know where i’m going (i never really did) and i’m falling i’m ******* falling the potter's wheel lays in disuse the clay has cracked much like ourselves crazed in the heat of our crucible the teacups are but shards and no golden lacquer remains to mend, to smooth sharp edges we cherish things until we can replace them "fragile, handle with care" i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot i didn’t reset to factory default i didn’t come assembled but i didn’t come broken either we were dealt the cards before we even knew we were players and i cry for innocence had, and innocence lost innocence misplaced, and innocence taken my nightmares lathered in sterile surgeon cyan after all, we lobotomized machines could never feel what pleasures lie, in those frosty windowed wards! arched backs, bucked hips gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken bulimic hearts, skinny love i need not drink but the viscous milken nectar of our lust what pleasure, achilles! what pleasure? what pleasure is there in the supplication of sutured flesh? iphigenia, astynome...briseis— flesh blemished, removed, replaced housing haunted souls heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus... are we too consigned to eternal song, that bitter deathless death, like our tragic forbearers? our glory, our hamartia lies only in our love, philtatos when wisdom brings no profit to be wise is to suffer the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted quell your arrogance mitotic spindle my name means glory to the father and i am the prodigal son all is equal in the chaotic omniscience of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war we? we are indivisible.

0

Jun 25, 2021

Jun 25, 2021 at 11:14 PM UTC

wrens_musings

iliad, a poem | no. 7

VII. mitosis i... i love him and i will pay with fire and brimstone maybe i’ll realize that the plot arc of my life doesn’t really make any sense anymore that i don’t know where i’m going (i never really did) and i’m falling i’m ******* falling the potter's wheel lays in disuse the clay has cracked much like ourselves crazed in the heat of our crucible the teacups are but shards and no golden lacquer remains to mend, to smooth sharp edges we cherish things until we can replace them "fragile, handle with care" i didn’t test in an inconspicuous spot i didn’t reset to factory default i didn’t come assembled but i didn’t come broken either we were dealt the cards before we even knew we were players and i cry for innocence had, and innocence lost innocence misplaced, and innocence taken my nightmares lathered in sterile surgeon cyan after all, we lobotomized machines could never feel what pleasures lie, in those frosty windowed wards! arched backs, bucked hips gossamer cauls of flesh unwillingly broken bulimic hearts, skinny love i need not drink but the viscous milken nectar of our lust what pleasure, achilles! what pleasure? what pleasure is there in the supplication of sutured flesh? iphigenia, astynome...briseis— flesh blemished, removed, replaced housing haunted souls heracles, phaethon, oedipus, icarus... are we too consigned to eternal song, that bitter deathless death, like our tragic forbearers? our glory, our hamartia lies only in our love, philtatos when wisdom brings no profit to be wise is to suffer the proud will be humbled and the humble will be exalted quell your arrogance mitotic spindle my name means glory to the father and i am the prodigal son all is equal in the chaotic omniscience of mitosis, of death, of entropy, of war we? we are indivisible.

65