"turbidity" poems
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
Grant me forgiveness.
For my mouth had acted prematurely
and erred.
Acrid words my tongue can't retract.
My lips quiver,
pursed and scared.
Grant me relief.
For my ego had lunged.
Fueled emotions that strayed.
Sensible thoughts in mind
that my heart had betrayed.
Grant me strength and courage.
Let the next morn's sun,
illuminate the dark obstinacy of my heart.
Allow this bitter turbidity to pass.
So I could walk the hard road,
to a brand new start.
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 9:29 AM UTC
.
*"Quieten down...
Release your anchor, and sink into bed."*
***"I can't...
The whims of the world are much to heavy...
For me not to bother."***
*"The weight of the world isn't yours to bear...
It'll sort itself out,
if only you'd give it time to spare..."*
***"But that's just it, isn't it?
If only there's enough time for all of it to fit.
The ******** truth is...
there's never enough.
There can never be for those built with edges so rough."***
*"Why are you so sure
about something that has yet to happen?
When future's sand has yet to be spilled,
and its ink has yet to be written."*
***"Because that's just me.
I am a being fraught with worry.
You know that.
It's the only way I can be ready.
It's the only way I can be steady."***
*"Then allow me to keep you company.
For I am you, as much as you are me.
Till such time you eventually feel,
that you're ready to retire and heal."*
***"Thank you...
Your words comfort me much.
I welcome you,
to see me through this chaos in my head.
I've severed the anchor...
Let us sail to tranquillity,
leave the turbidity in our wake.
And replace it with
peaceful dreams in its stead."***
ryn
ryn
.
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 4:14 PM UTC
All birds of my heart were high in sudden curved of the azure sky where Enthusiasm and happiness flourishing directly in the magnificent immigration through
dance of wind and wine.
Swirling
and
Swirling
From north to south.
showing amazing absolutely, by exposing colorful long tails
from earth to clouds where human’s eyes rarely can magnify
How far? …
Don’t remember exactly
It was fire, water or turbidity dust of shapeless tornado in
unexpected curved of the grey road
that
All birds of my heart …all birds of one type
suddenly lost.
I...
Reluctant, morbid…feeling false
I…
in hours extend in duration of long time burn the expectations
as outcome,
waiting for
magnificent immigration may return them to their nest, on top of my heart.
maybe they die, maybe go far…
nurturing and nourishing them a lot,
how is it possible to stay without birds of height?
while
“Maybes” …has never grown any flower in any dust.
while
while...
the next immigration is not so far
… birdies…
Shall I see you again in the realm of my emotional yard?
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 2:47 PM UTC
You thrive in my heart and mind
as waves of life, go up and down
no amount of gold in a chest
needed to strengthen our bond by any kind
As kids, each day had eventful moments
things we had fun with
streaks of silly happiness, added to life
all flavors of spices and condiments
Pulling each other's legs, on stupidity
fighting, and racing on our cycles
betting on idiotic facts and ideas
but supporting each other , in life's turbidity
We went our ways ahead
molded ourselves in different worlds
though separated by miles, we were just a call away
hearing your voice, a simple reason to smile
In those times, when things look so bleak
clouds of trouble and confusion covers us
not knowing where to strike, which door to knock
you were there for me, not letting me feel weak
The joy of success
the urge to share, was
always with you
far, yet so near
They say with time,
people change, but I know
you will value me
our friendship, much more than any dime
When this journey will end
at the beach, watching the sun set
silently, melting these life's memories
I will be glad, that I had you all along
as my precious friend
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
If you check the forecast
I bet you wouldn't figure that all of the people who were once starring in your life will later voluntarily accept a cameo role
They'll cast the brotherhood right into the wind
No matter the degree of the cordiality
If you check the weather now the radar will predict clear skies
Eventually there will be turbidity and heavy rainfall
And a thunder storm that will send all of the forged people striking
You'll be cold as hail
But you'll rather be cold as hell
Before you be hot as pandemonium surrounded by counterfeit persons
So I encourage you to check your forecast before you cast your life with beings who's used to being trife or slight
If they're unwilling to walk with you through your tight fog
I will give you an insight
Don't allow your eyes to precipitate
Monitor your satellite
And it's so SAD about life
So you'll have to condense your map
And don't allow everyone to make the legend
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 6:38 AM UTC
Observable words
turning in circles
perfectly working
affirmed in impermanence
Serpents within swirls
swerve in the verve
curvature burned irksome
turbidity skinned earnest
Journal pearls quirked
turpentine turbulence
since worries serve nervousness
the cure in spurts of churlishness
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 4:07 PM UTC
I live vividly without visibly having the ability to live willingly nor the versatility to fight your volatility. Unequivocally I believe in relativity but unofficially I use negativity as a means of self-sufficiency. Naturally I have a proclivity towards acting predictably when publicly judging turbidity. Additionally I hide in anonymity and indignantly ignore my epiphany of the asymmetry of unanimity. Shamefacedly I turn to your intricate dystrophy and observe the futility of my soliloquy. I can' find nobility in dying deliberately, but it shows efficiency in skimming humanity. Initially my hostility was untangible but it has suspiciously aquired solidity and is now intermittently sending signs of my eccentricity. My alkalinity is running low because surreptitiously the pungency has grown. I am undoubtedly peripheral to the society and irresistibly disposable in the industry of this idiosyncrasy.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 5:50 AM UTC
Why is it so narrowed pupils?
Why are your eyelids so black?
For what such black socks
So visible on the pale blue body?
What nekoshenom steppes
Dragged these tops?
Whose feet walked on the stones?
And in what stream were you looking for the bottom?
He wore thorns and turnips.
Who told you to walk in the woods?
There were not enough ants in the house.
With your pants on the floor climbed.
Put on some warm socks,
Drink cocoa and turn on the computer.
On the Internet for people like you
I write very much any turbidity.
Mar 24, 2019
Mar 24, 2019 at 4:41 PM UTC
Mayday , afternoon turbidity , aeolian dynamic flurry with cursory airborne splinter , tall tunic Pines release their last remnants of Winter , at the cusp of torrid June with wind-borne , whirling , stern delivery
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 6:20 PM UTC
It is a midsummer storm, and the air is textured like heavy cream
warm and thick and sweet. It hasn't yet began to rain, and bare toes
grasp clods of dust, the kind with root fibers tangled inside,
and everything is keenly sensed: the smell, the taste, the touch,
the sound of the wind and the warmth in this charged moment.
It is impossible to not be humbled before these grey clouds,
massive structures that remind you of the roiling turbidity of silt
at the bottom of a river, freshly disturbed by a fish's tail
- except these grey giants, these clouds feel infinitely large.
Humbled, yes.
And powerful: the little human on the parched earth
feels vigor pumping through veins,
a feeling typically beyond recollection
that is difficult to trace to its source.
Where is this power flowing from? Not from some
deluded sense that this small mammal could shift
a single bead of moisture in the sky, no;
where is this power flowing to? Its effect is . . . unplanned,
it is spontaneous in nature, even though it feels so rooted
that no-one, certainly not you, could move it.
This power? The source is invisible, the fate uncertain.
The purpose? Take note. This is faith:
to be so confronted by reality that your inner monologue
forgets to stay in a continuous loop; at last, you hear your part
in a greater melody; to concentrate
on something outside the ceiling of your skull.
Reality will only be itself.
Either project your attention outwards to trust the truth,
or blind yourself with anxiety.
The power you feel inside the storm does not belong to you,
it belongs to the Greater Picture. But, the choice is always yours:
hide away, or raise your face. the rain
begins
to fall.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 12:16 AM UTC
Swelling water
Pours heaviness of limbs
To the swallow of sleep.
Rain-water fingertips
Dampen the sheets,
Moisten cigarette papers.
A tobacco spire
Breaks the clouds of my teeth,
Announcing holy fog
In respiration.
The sun drowns at 4pm
In a pool of deadened leaves
Choking bubbles of light
Through eternal perspiration of winter.
Liquid abyss soothes the sky.
I rain until morning.
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 4:32 AM UTC
It’s November
And everything I feel within
Is what I see around,
The coalescing fog,
The turbidity of clouds,
Coldness enveloping itself again,
Before the trees; wilting leaves bow,
As I stand there, I feel understood,
It’s November,
Hence I am not alone
in the woods
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 1:02 PM UTC
The essence of wit is brevity
which interestingly evinces chivalry
delivered verdict to hex **** size
(once and for all) president
dons mantle of deviltry
and trumps constitutional credo
defining American elementary
particular edicts denoting, enshrining,
framing, grand honorable inalienable rights
when foolhardy lobbyists prevail
evicting execrable“enemy”
i.e. forward thinking (progressively liberal)
which subsequently might help
timid citizens to invoke probate, procure, produce cojones
in opposition against rabidly power hungry,
misogynistic courting among the body politik
fostering future feverish fortuity,
toward risking life and limb sans
Uncle Sam selfless gratuity
(especially as Benjamin Button syndrome –
reverses aging process
acquired thru heredity
gets in full swing) stamping mindset
nonestablishmentarian identity
with my Kosher blessing despite any infamy
permission to go ahead with jocularity
from a superstar coach named Kennedy
thereby garnering homespun liberty
where icon bank on direct
laudable, linkedin longevity
with unrolled Scottish grandeur
(Pomp and Circumstance broadcast)
synchronized with precise
unrolled welcome mat
yule receive granted “FAKE” feted soiree
as curtain call doth close toward
final decade of mortality
yet dismiss bing hash-tagged
a scofflaw at any opportunity
especially if legislated mandate
earmarked as priority
in tandem with the key quality
apothegm stipulates decrease sing sanity
as the hands of father time
spin (Doktor Dude Little) backward
away from present day turbidity
increasing revanchism uber victory.
Jan 21, 2018
Jan 21, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
The hungry
and the
the hunted
The visions
we never see
The fleet
and
fastidious
The ones
terminally ill
in turbidity
Where flare
the hearts
synchronize
The words
form meek
and criticize
But they
wind up
wounded
Not even dead . . .
the included are
excluded
The complex
complicity
swirling
The truth
comes down
a barreling
All around
occupies
deep
inside
the place
Drains the tears
he's had
to learn
to face
Now
he leans upon
the crutch
the vacuum
of years
Looking into the
mirror
Peers into the face
Petrified
he is bound
left standing
out of place
He has
no answers
Just the
dismay found
upon his face
Desperate
for a reason
why
But nothing
comes
near nor nye
just the image
of the fossil
in his eye
Sep 19, 2022
Sep 19, 2022 at 10:02 PM UTC