"vitro" poems
By: Cedric McClester
Despite some misconceptions
And attacks
Endure for centuries
By us blacks
Let me lay down
Some unknown facts
How ‘bout we start with
Henrietta Lacks
For most of us
After our death
Other than memories
What else is left?
For our survivors
The bereft
Yet her cells live on
It’s a matter of theft
From Henrietta’s
Cancerous cells
A bold idea
Suddenly jells
Spawning cures for cancer
As her biographer tells
And in vitro fertilization
Other things as well
Science took complete advantage
Of her cells
Which they still manage
Though she died of cervical cancer
Her cells provided them
With the answer
To scientific mystery
Check out her cells history
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:25 PM UTC
When an ***** is fertilized by a *****
And is done in vivo,
Which means,
In nature,
A female is the receptor who receives *****
An embryo then develops out of the *****
And it usually signifies a symbol of love.
But here in Embryo Biotechnology Lab,
It is done in vitro,
Which means,
In glass,
Female germ cell receives ***** in a test tube,
An embryo is then developed with desired traits,
And then a clone - or a desired G.M.O. is created.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 1:06 AM UTC
The Joy of Ultrasound!
Drink a lot my dear they said.
As fluid made a picture.
Hazy imagery.
Heaven's own creation.
Echoes bounced, as picture back.
Beautiful image as yet unborn.
Sitting in a darkened room.
Seeing normal limbs.
Marked out four chambers.
Cordant
Brimmed with love.
Infiltrated full with blood.
Organs not of music.
Silent as in-vitro.
Visualised a photograph.
Captured on the screen.
Un petit-fils enroute.
Ma fille elle-même une petite fille.
Life anew.
Enters my world.
Due on the 4th of April!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
You get back home weary from shocks,
You being impotent is not your tension,
But how two kids at home call you dad,
Basis of all your tensed thoughts is this,
Your wife still has two kids if not yours,
Your wife has the explanation to make,
May God curse the lying life of your wife.
You just get back home & draw your gun,
You load the fresh magazine in midnight,
Breathing long you put your feet silently,
But the door is ajar and she is fast asleep,
Your (or hers) children in the next room,
Your fingers tremble & you've flashback,
Many memories zoom through your mind.
You decide to use the pillow as a silencer,
You now calmly hold the pillow over her,
Breathing cautiously now you are unsure,
But her infidelity isn't what you expected,
Your heart tells you to introspect yourself,
Your mind changes after thinking about it,
Multiple times yourself have been cheating.
You pause & change your mind about her,
You have the gun now point at your own,
But now you see her stirring in her sleep,
Breaking from her sleep for water she is,
Your presence scares her to the hell now,
Your gun pointed at your heart she sees,
Mighty strength she gathers to ****** it.
You grunt and push her away from you,
You whisper, "Why did you cheat me?"
Before she replies to your weird charge,
Barked again yourself in a low whisper,
***"Your children are not mine now I know,"
"Your husband is technically impotent!"***
Maybe she understood everything now.
You remember that she is a policewoman,
You see her unload the gun and discard it,
***"The children - both - are test tube babies,"
"The **** was mine and fertilized in vitro,"
"Your ***** was used artificially as well,"
"Your DNA from your own hair was used,"***
Might have she followed the procedure.
It seems possible & you regret your actions,
But she just smiles & forgives you heartily,
***"It's okay darling, I kept it secret from you,"
"It's really a cute face you've put up now,"***
You now wish to sink down into the floor,
"You would forgive me for doubting you,"
Must be an angel to let you sink your head into her *****
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
God waited for Abraham's arm to be actually starting down, the biceps fully tensed.
Nothing short would do; in extremity, we learn what's true.
With a good job, a good marriage, a fine son, I had everything one could expect.
And yet there was a lingering dissatisfaction; a malaise.
It seemed, deep down, that I didn't really feel or believe in anything.
.........
On Saturday morning, August 11, 1990, my three-year-old son and I rounded the corner at the south end of the block where we live. We were out for a walk. (He had been born through in-vitro fertilization, everything else had failed -- including several previous in-vitro attempts.) He was riding his tricycle -- it's amazing how fast a three-year-old can go on a tricycle with big wheels. . . . The house next to the corner had tall bushes growing right out to the sidewalk. As we passed the house, my son speeded up. My attention was diverted to men working across the street trimming trees. Their chainsaws drowned out the sound of a car backing out of the driveway next to the house with the bushes. The car was moving slowly and I can see in the slowest of slow motion -- I screamed, but I'm not sure just when (there's no sound track to this movie) -- the car backing into the left handlebar of the tricycle, tilting it over to the right, my son breaking his fall with his right hand. (As low to the ground as he and the tricycle were, they could not be visible in the driver's rearview mirror at this point.) And, then, the car stopping. Did the car stop because of my scream? Or had the old man driving the car seen my son at the last second before he disappeared behind the car?
.......
I learned instantly with the terrible weight of that tire inches from my son's head, that I wanted with a giant, horrible wanting for this boy to grow up healthy and to have children of his own who would, in turn, have children of their own, and that having my wife hate me for losing him would be unbearable.
All the unfairnesses I had suffered in life -- ALL of them --
instantly became meaningless. Everything was clear.
This is what I wanted; this is what I believed.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes
vitality
immortality
in vitro
wisdom
intrinsic
are you starting to get it?
Gaian
getting high in
something not in short supply
the serpent’s vine
so divine
initiate
awakenings
transmutations
and healing
sharpening intuition
bringing to fruition
and feeling
earth medicine
grounding and connecting
dimethyltryptamine
a single entity
going round and round
seeking peace
the snake of life
she gets you
always a rattle before she strikes
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
Receding back to my usual corner
only passing time til I'm introduced to my coroner
attempting to inject fine knowledge into semantic memory
when a sudden wave of parinoier washes over the scenery
Unfortunately having drank all this coffee
with enough caffeine to **** the energizer bunny
my parched throat compels a leathery thirst
so I take another sip and act as the hearse
but as I'm throwing the soiled cup away
the coffee didn't quite go the way
...I had planed
As I begin coughing out loud in quiet public spaces
a disastrous look comes from their squinted little faces
as if they've been trapped and caged liked vermin
too long is some building deemed antiquarian
attempting assertion over upcoming coercions
I must admit I'm rather enjoying this
disrupting there gathering of information
with my uncontrolled vocal insertions
but enough with my cynical social actions
I must return to my work with which I have no passion
and because I've become bored with rereading these lines
I must retire to my higher cognitive confines
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 1:42 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Despite some misconceptions
And attacks
Endure for centuries
By us blacks
Let me lay down
Some unknown facts
How ‘bout we start with
Henrietta Lacks
For most of us
After our death
Other than memories
What else is left?
For our survivors
The bereft
Yet her cells live on
It’s a matter of theft
From Henrietta’s
Cancerous cells
A bold idea
Suddenly jells
Spawning cures for cancer
As her biographer tells
And in vitro fertilization
Other things as well
Science took complete advantage
Of her cells
Which they still manage
Though she died of cervical cancer
Her cells provided them
With the answer
To scientific mystery
Check out her cells history
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2017. All rights reserved.
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:19 PM UTC
Gretchen Rossi knew that she wanted to marry Slade Smiley since the beginning of their relationship. They got together shortly after Rossi lost her fiance to cancer, and Slade has been her rock throughout the years. Gretchen was concerned about getting married too quickly, mostly because of his child support issues. But it sounds like he is more than ready to marry her.
Gretchen Rossi has already cancelled their wedding once. The two had planned the wedding and set the date, but they had to cancel because the date conflicted with previously created events. Rossi could not get married on her chosen date, as many of her friends and family members could not make it out. The two have been engaged for two years.
According to a new Radar Online report, Gretchen Rossi is now canceling her wedding again — and some people believe that these two will never get married. As it turns out, the wedding cancellation has nothing to do with their feelings for one another. Apparently, it is just tough for them to find a date that truly works for everyone.
“They are definitely still getting married and are very much in love,” a source says, adding, “Why else would they do Marriage Bootcamp together? The reason that the wedding has been postponed so many times is not because they have doubts that they are meant to be together, but because they are both working on a lot of projects right now.”
It is no secret that Gretchen Rossi is working hard on her business, Gretchen Christine, and she often posts pictures on Instagram of her work. She has never been in a rush to get married and have a child, and it sounds like she is being reasonable in her planning.
“Gretchen just launched a purse line and she and Slade are pitching several different ideas to various networks for projects that have them both on camera and behind-the-scenes,” a source has revealed, adding, “Lately they have been getting a lot of pressure from their close friends to do it already. Gretchen cannot wait to be Slade’s wife and, when the time is right, they will have their huge lavish wedding. This is what they both want.”
Last year, Rossi opened up about her struggles to have a child. Gretchen shared her journey on The Doctors last year, but she revealed that they had not been successful.
“I always knew that I wanted to be a mother,” Gretchen has previously said, adding, “Slade knew that it was something that was very important to me, but he also told me he had a vasectomy. We just decided that in-vitro fertilization was a much quicker way to make things happen for us.”
What do you think of Gretchen Rossi delaying her wedding yet again?
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Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 3:29 AM UTC
you take a chance
and you say man
here my digits,
now shared,
here is my Rx,
call me as needed
weeks months later
a phone rings
at 2:30am
and one poet says it's me,
I am the living soul
of words you have appreciated
and the other says,
I'm glad you called brother,
how did you know I'd be awake?
and he laughs and says
I read your stuff,
you write best tween
midnite and dawn,
so the probabilities were favorable
that I would find you awake and capable
and you walk and talk and roam
roads and oaths that black and write
screen letters
can't full convey,
till one says **** man look at the time
and both laugh,
knowing a poem
had just been writ in
true voices
shared
and that kids,
is the chance some make,
when first your words you take
and the poetry you proffer
is product of genuine flesh,
beyond mere in vitro digitally fertilized
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 3:51 AM UTC
For a few short months the in-vitro whale swam.
Watched and felt from a distance.
He is her newborn, Moby **** broke free.
Left behind only bravery stripes and a little blubber.
Sometimes, more than blubber, wailing extremely.
Telling mummy, he's hungry.
(c) Livvi
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
I was born
Skull shattering
Bled from the bone
In vitro
When my burnt lip bit you
I was bubbling from the knees
The viscose pus beneath the skin boiling
And you ****
He pulled me through dirt, onto curb side, smashed jaw
Caked with stomach acid
Drowning on the car seat
They sat their leering at every corner
Through radiowaves, they drool each pleasure of theirs
But here I am, choking
So I lost the key today
So I lost the key today
So I lost the key today
Cold fingers, skin shaking, through netting
I hide from you
Your thick tongue comes slamming to the edges of my body
I have no words
My mouth shuts for your
Baton bashing
Black boot
Skull shattering
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
she was obsessed with this idea of rebirth because she messed up too many times; she believed everyone deserved a Rennaisance, and it was her vision of the circle yeats drew,
and it was for dreamers who squatted in gutters along alleyways hoping to find a muse fallen and buried in the filth;
and it was for realists who really had fallen and buried themselves in filth because their homes were lower than that;
and it was for addicts, who believed they had really been to the moon and conspired against naysayers;
and it was for conspiracists who knew all along the moon simply didn't exist because they had it manufactured in their kitchen;
and it was for sleeping girls with trembling hands who sought out this kitchen in the night whilst everyone merrily slept;
and it was for the sleeping boy who really wasn't asleep but lying naked under sheets and limbs;
and it was for the tangled limbs that still quivered next to him from a dissolved ecstasy, boyish and sad and hungry;
and it was for that hidden starving hunger that still plagued the neighborhood's homes and lingered on doorsteps, begging;
and it was for begging peals of laughter that his mother sent up from the rooftop when the sky went dark and only her kin across town, reeling, beastly, gorgeous, could ever reply;
and it was for unsent replies, for conscripted soldiers, for wars fought by better men and surveyed by lesser;
and it was for less-than-scrupulous masters who hid under their solemn cathedral art that spoke higher than god himself;
and it was for god who left the world to fend under his illusory cloak of stars, so dim it only mocked his fiery wrath beneath;
and it was for that fiery wrath, the kind that incited and ravaged and devastated, merciless with abandon for all of mankind's own misgivings;
and it was those misgivings that had started her renaissance, her quest for glory cores and sovereign minds, for signs and streets and women and colors and light and the end of all suffering;
it was for restart (like a death, but shorter), somewhere between termination and a genesis in vitro (the liminal space found within and without); for her alone, solitary line cleaving the shadowy folds of time, defiant, windswept, miraculous, insignificant glitch through the eternal night; for her, until she commanded time to stop; for her, hungry; for her, powerful; for her, terrified; for her for her and only ever her: the regifted universe.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC
In-vitro lumps and bumps.
The **** of the unborn mammal, rolls through amniotic sea.
Son unborn; procured, of Eve's daughter, rides the belly swelled.
Scratches of purple, stretch they engrave my honeys tummy.
Face of the unseen as yet, expectant in excitement.
Eager in anticipation.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
The most learned of astronomers, philosophers and medical men state man is born to die.
Timely sands starts flowing, in-vitro.
Before you first open your beautiful eyes.
Opening those eyes, to first see the light.
For, as a child, odd moments occur.
You could potentially be dying of fright.
Just me having a chuckle.
Not wanting to believe life is minute.
Oh, so scared of dying.
At some stage in life.
Children can't conceive the fact, one day all men have to die.
Once upon a time.
I was said child.
I grew.
I started to ache knowingly.
My worry dispelled.
Dying was fearful.
I became tearful.
Not scared anymore.
Now my fellows in life are falling like flies.
No whys or wherefores,
Nothing's wrong.
Life's an eternal wheel.
Rolls on and on.
What follows life on earth?
Find me a dead man who can confirm the truth to those who still live.
Welcome to the land of wait and see.
(c)LIVVI
Inspired by the untimely death of VICTORIA WOOD.
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 7:01 AM UTC
As I reach the last stair,
I discover a high rise shrine
When I stare at the peak,
I'm close to fall on my head
It has a large baroque door,
Not closed, so I enter
I leave all the maps outside
I'm full of spice and zeal
I see an elevator facing me,
push the illuminated buttons,
envelope myself in the dove,
and it takes me as a letter
Into the highest floor, I fly
When I land on the terrace,
the man made-day falls asleep,
and the night sky erupts
I find an abandoned telescope,
remove the dust mask,
put my brown seeing aerola
around the soft eyepiece
The silver optical tube
absorbs my golden vision,
takes it on a celestial mission
Delving into the cosmos in chroma
I see a lumen hanging
like a washing line
between two galaxies
An odyssey to discover my heirloom
Now I'm a brainbox,
I surrender myself to
this luminous flux
It looks like a feeder of earth
Everything turns anaerobic,
when Angeline and her siblings
begin to play trumpets along
A hymn for the Oxygen Crisis
I put all the aerobics in vitro,
in order to live in vivo
I'm in the S shaped column,
the centromere of the soma
In a blink of an eye,
an asteroid hits my lighthouse
My kernel explodes
I'm trapped in a series of epochs
My nom de guerre is Helios
The sun calls me Apollo
Driving a chariot of joy
with two racing horses
Until meiosis begins
A king is announced
when a stallion dies
Nucleus or karyon
And I drop back as an ****
Embryo into an egg
thrown in a steam
From Eve to a man sunk in debt
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 8:08 PM UTC
If I care about the fate of the innocent,
be they killed as innocent bystanders or killed in vitro,
and I vote accordingly, I am called the religious zealot.
Then, when I vote for life,
irrespective of my reason for voting there,
I am labeled with phobias, angry, and mean.
When I vote my conscience,
With respect to my own beliefs,
I am attacked by those who call themselves tolerant.
The blatant reality says that if you agree
They give you tolerance, false love, and Little peace,
For a short time, and now, they feast on big black birds
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 8:35 AM UTC
well i just love the self-laceration in western society,
because it just makes sense ot keep him hanging
on that tree like it would make sense to keep him
shopping in ikea; no wonder i’ve been drunk for
the past seven years... doing sanity sober with you
was like doing anything else with you... almost half
but i halt to say that: completely crap. can i have solipsism
depopulated please?! i’d like to know my self with a thought
that was not entouraged with you or your mother-in-law
scuffling for a chance she might be rid of you...
next time you have a mother and live with her
because of the escalating house prices in order to ****
and be ashamed with... i’ll tell you to be ashamed of not
being a scientific embryo originating from vitro if anything,
to be honest... worth living; but i’m sure you originated prior
to this wording... and once you have, you have subsequently
defended the gray accumulation that provided you with
a higher answer that found these words in a desert,
dying of thirst of that famous thirst known as silence.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 11:02 PM UTC
It must be something else, maybe from the outside,
Apathy in vitro, there's no way it came from inside,
Maybe from a test tube, or maybe a special cask,
There's no way to explain it, an impossible task,
The care I have for anything, is almost to zero,
My only wish is not to feel, maybe I need a hero,
If a car comes barreling at me, I wouldn't be moved,
that concerned voice inside of me, has been removed,
If anything happens to me, you can be all too sure,
I probably deserved it, my worthlessness has no cure,
A small place in hell, reserved just for me,
I'm just an empty shell, don't even want to flee.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 12:41 PM UTC
Two old men in my magi class, were
walking in a public garden, during the scare in the air,
they touch at few common points, five years experience
more or less, in any given field of function,
they share in broad bubbles of common comps, experience wise.
One marriage... both have had one, not the same one
Exposure to radio music and commentary from birth... not the same music,
not the same commentary
Aware of war roles and support roles, from first words onward, aware of being
one of a we, who are the children of the winners,
except, the enemy remains, they shoulda stomped Stailin into Hell,
ever'body knew, we did, too... though
my 1948 vintage, was leavened with Hiroshima, in vitro, and
in seed, touched a bit by events near Alamogordo, where my daddy
participated in war ending events, this other old dude, he never saw that way,
what I mention seeing, today.
Hell is for heros. I think aloud.
My dad was an accountant, with a night school degree, four kids,
woulda been five, but Peggy died,
infant cancer,
some anomoly in the wind, was the rumor, where we lived,
south of the Nevada desert through which our
northern breezes list, licking up dust devils to twist novel
substance into threads of thought to think in time,
as the virus spreads, peace takes its chance, right on or
dead on, dead center, spot on, too right, smack
dab
hit it, and the skier rises from the vortex, towed by that line
linking me to the countenance, encountered, mirror neuron
tronic magi-missed spells, dangling
mod
if I were yous used as iusta use pennies behind fuses,
I owe you, nothing, but to define my terms, ere I dare con
verse
with you. Okeh?
Same page, two old men walking along, talking often,
one to the other, one to himself, each knowing himself,
each wondering the other saw what each noticed,
with a nod, saying, yeah, I was thinking you mighta noticed that.
Life's fun. But near the end, it becomes so believable, that it works,
despite our own seeming disfunction.
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 3:03 PM UTC
There are no flowers standing in my garden.
I find them resting underground.
I believe they sleep in silence.
Avoiding the cold.
Not missing the frost.
They hide inside bulbs.
Buried, as if deceased.
Come the sunlight in spring time after being ladies in waiting.
Dressed in spring green they may peep up, first as tiny shoots.
Faces beautiful, they shall surely follow.
Lest they sadly drowned in vitro.
(C)LIVVI
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC