"zygote" poems
Do you cut your birthday cake?
Do you know your birthday is fake?
Don't continue to make the mistake
It's time for you to now awake!
Ask your mother when you were born
You were kicking weeks before and this went on and on
You were alive long back, she knows
And even science has pictures as the embryo grows
Nine months before your so-called date of birth
That is when you actually came to earth
Then you didn't have blood, bone, and skin
You were just a Power, the spark within
But because you believed in the birthday lie
You believed that there were ghosts and fairies in the sky!
Every year you continue to cut your birthday cake
You don't realize the truth, just believe what is fake!
When will you, to the truth, awake?
When will you stop baking your birthday cake?
When you realize that nine months earlier you were born
Then to stop cutting the cake, will you undertake?
Although you know that it is not your date of birth
You came forty weeks before as the zygote on earth
But you just choose to follow the herd
You don't investigate, don't fly like a bird
You don't ask the question, 'Who am I?'
If the body came later, then, 'I am the body,' is a lie
I was that Energy Spark that first came to earth
Not on my so-called birthday is my real birth
In what way will this news make us awake?
Why this big fuss about the birthday cake?
When we realize we are not the body or the mind
Then, Self-Realization we will find
If you are not the body that developed on earth
You realize you are that spark, that's your real worth!
That spark is Energy, that spark is the Soul
To realize this is our life’s ultimate goal
After the spark, starts as a little zygote
Our body is created, be it man or goat
We are not the bodies that we seem to wear
The bodies will live and die and tear
One day, every ‘body’ must die
The one who was alive will depart into the sky
The body that is made of skin and bone
Returns to ashes, as people mourn
We are not that body that died, were we?
People say, 'He passed away', and we are free
They are so sure in the body we no more live
To the flames or to the coffin, our body they give!
If we are not the body that will one day surely die
If we were not born on our birthday, that is a lie!
If we are that spark conceived nine months before birth
Then who is it that on death leaves the earth?
The Soul, the Divine Spirit, the Atman is that spark
To give us life from birth to death is its task
It arrives at conception and departs at death
We are that Power that gives us breath
When you do a simple thing like stop cutting a cake
When you investigate and realize that your birthday is fake
You realize you are the Soul, you are no more vague
To the ultimate truth, you will awake
This Realization is the real beginning of the journey called life
It will liberate us from all misery and strife
When we realize we are not body, ego, and mind
Eternal Happiness and Peace, we will find
Just because we were taught many things that were lies
We believe that God lives in the skies
The birthday cake will make us realize
We will live as the Soul, we will be wise
So, from now don't cut your birthday cake
Don't continue to be ignorant for God's sake
Realize that your birthday is fake
You are the Divine Soul, to this truth awake
Sep 16, 2022
Sep 16, 2022 at 4:25 AM UTC
Like a zygote in a toilet bowl
you flushed me away with a raw and distant shame that must’ve grown in you for two weeks and kept you up at night as a churning of unknown origin, a bloating that weighed you down in that section of the grocery store and made you promise “after one more week” because it was too early to tell even though you were already flushed with that secret, lonely panic when something no one else could detect made you gag and you prayed like a Christian and remained silent like a monk until it finally happened and you were saved, redeemed by the sight of the red little pieces of soul and carnal ritual which were so tender and broken you became whole again and you understood so you flushed me away, and we never spoke of it because only I knew but you must’ve understood the shame because at the first sight of me in August you flushed my red little soul away too.
Sep 27, 2018
Sep 27, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
<> The human genome consists of 20 000 paired genes… about…
<> During meiosis, gametes are generated by randomly swapping genetic material… let's shout…
<> 2^(20 000) = 10^(6 000) possible ***** (proud of daddy)… boy scout…
<> 2^(20 000) = 10^(6 000) possible ova (proud of mommy)… far-out…
<> 2^(40 000) = 10^(12 000) possible zygotes… freak out…
<> 1 zygote in 10^(12 000) = Improbable Me… no doubt!
;-))
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
I was a zygote swimming in a pool of natural
Energy, just right for the formation of life.
We were all just so, had there been chemistry?
Had there even been a magical mystery to this
Formation of the being, their biological clocks
Ticking against the backdrop of evolutionary Zion
Time, the want of stepping outside oneself, knowing?
This is that zygote, it's chemistry a part of all things,
All creations of this world, the same as this solar system,
Comprised of all of the natural energy that was formed
So many billions of years ago, just like a nucleus presence,
A fire...sparked by other star kindling, a mystery indeed...
Without any solid chemical biology of science.
In the human body? Oxygen, Hydrogen, Carbon, Nitrogen,
Calcium Phosphorous, and in the sun? Hydrogen, Nitrogen,
Yes even Oxygen, as well as Carbon. I think you see that
There is a valid connection.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪
The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole!
Turn back before you lose your soul.
Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl
grant entrance to each boy and girl
who come through this organic portal:
newly-born and merely mortal.
Mystery to be dignified—
explored, adored, objectified:
the baby-hole’s expanding chasm,
promising celestial spasm,
is limned in deliquescent love
and fits the soul as hand in glove.
Beware her tantalizing pull
where poetry turns vaginal.
From depths profound, God can create
(where man would merely **********
hitting Mother Nature’s high note
as the gamete turns to zygote).
Semi-seconds’ spurting passion
years of living baby fashion.
After pleasure’s jest, gestation
thus augments the population;
teenage dads recalibrate,
unsure just what to celebrate.
Yet, if they knew the daring risk
their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc;
to realize what threatening odds
confront these flagellated gods:
(see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV]
battling fascists in the war
alone in the zone to shoot the shot
that blows the death star up. Let’s not
miss out on noting, in this theme,
life’s true conception. So the team
of X-wing pilots flew the run,
eliminated one by one
save Luke, who penetrated deep
the death-star’s ovulated keep
and overcame the egg’s defense
and hit the mark. It all makes sense.
The spheroid bursting in his sight
depicts Conception's glorious might).
Therefore, show the matrix honor.
Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner:
nurture growth while life allows you,
while your star can still espouse you.
Seek her core of hidden gnosis
don’t just set off cell mitosis…
not, that is, unless you are sure
that the three of you won’t end up poor.
Feb 9, 2017
Feb 9, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
That’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.
A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.
But there’s a different story for my mother.
For the three words, she spoke
while her heart was struggling to keep alive,
She was given a slap.
A slap whose loudness,
I still hear somedays
when I go to bed and when my mother wakes up.
I think she has been silent for too long
to even count now.
So, I pretend I never heard her speak in the first place.
But there is a different story for my sister.
For her Thumbelina sized request,
she was shouted on like Lady Tremaine did.
In a voice so loud that
It was all she could hear for years to come by.
So, while hearing that, she forgot to speak.
She did not know who to search for
when your ‘Prince Charming’ becomes your ‘Wicked Step-Mother’.
But there is a different story for her.
For tears in her eyes
and the words that were just a zygote in her mouth’s womb,
she got a stare.
A stare, that froze her down
and her words had to go through a miscarriage
So, she went through an unplanned abortion
that made her mouth infertile.
But there’s a different story for her.
However, somehow, they are all the same.
Because that’s all it takes to make a woman quiet,
to silence her.
A slap, a word, a scream, an eye
and perhaps a kiss too.
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 9:32 PM UTC
I used to be a zygote
A small little thing
Which known as cell
I used to be a zygote
Living in the host body
Which I never knew before
I used to be a zygote
Having a lot of friends
And yet to dissapear
In a blink of an eye
I used to be a zygote
And when I was an adolescence
I called myself
Embryo
I used to be a zygote
As I grew older
I changed my identity
With the one called
Fetus
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
*what a love you speak of in sonnet
and in the battle of the Somme!
no wonder Shakespeare is disputed!
only among actor and not poet the two should care.*
free floating lizard akin to the pickle
serpent worth of spine,
she's there, attired in the sun, a biblical
woman hardly a name worth remembering,
why? because she's all *****
and you're all... well... ending up laughing
long after the F.A. cup result is in
and she's lost her daydream...
ooh... 2 nil... i too was into the Faroe Islands
rather than into Craggy Island of: *'drink! drink!
dingy Titanic twin tuck 'n' sunk lucky bet!*
no, really, i was reading an article and started
to laugh... some ***** with a Stephen Hawking
jpeg., i goo my hashish high with porridge...
she said Ibiza was fine with hens but not stags...
she mentions shaggy **** with dispensation
& carrier pigeons of philanthropy or abuse that
fostering advice involves... well, cheap jokes
elsewhere, crucifix over here? what fun to suit
comedy!
NONMONOGAMOUS... ? hey! why not try
a zygote relationship! if trans or bi or hetero
or **** doesn't work? all men around seem
to say the same: i'm not ready for this arson of talk
with a woman tongue replacing both bullet and rifle,
tank, cannon and an arab ******* on holiday...
give me extinction... i'd listen to the lizard man
that hear of mammalian love, that's as much cold
blood with the lizards as i had to learn with keeping
things i worked for being jealous:
it seems it was easier to keep a thief that way than a dog.
May 21, 2016
May 21, 2016 at 9:06 PM UTC
Both parents together, intimate we know,
Delivered the package that started your show.
Millions of visitors, with every shot,
Only one found its way, into the right spot.
Grow and divide, a zygote you be,
Doing it right, someday strong like a tree.
Living inside mom's uterine wall,
Totally dependent, make sure she won't fall.
Placenta forms encasing the egg,
If its a girl, her name will be Peg.
Umbilical cord forms from placenta to me,
A network of vessels carry nutrients to thee.
Things all in place, first trimester is done,
Growing and listening and having some fun!
Learning the sound of moms beating heart,
Already in the family, now playing your part.
Rhythmic and soothing, loving the sound,
Moms gentle voice, you will always be bound.
To answer her call, even late at night,
When her voice is silenced, its a terrible plight.
Amniotic fluid helps you float around,
Spot feels babies presence, you first here his sound.
The water has burst, head against bone,
Mom you ok? I'm hearing you grown.
Stop squeezing my head this is causing me pain!
What's up with this pushing, muscles spasm again.
Turn off the lights, this stimulation can wait,
Getting me warm, this feeling is great.
Hello there new person, I give you my heart,
Hi mother mine, hope we're never apart.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
You were alive
Millions of years ago
As the stars
As a tiny amoeba
A primitive zygote
With a group of cyanobacteria dancing
In brackish waters, ready to explode
Onto land with hands and sweat glands
And here you are today
Bipedal, vocal, resourceful and continuing
to evolve
beautifully
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Love Is Not Love
by Michael R. Burch
for Beth
Love is not love that never looked
within itself and questioned all,
curled up like a zygote in a ball,
throbbed, sobbed and shook.
(Or went on a binge at a nearby mall,
then would not cook.)
Love is not love that never winced,
then smiled, convinced
that soar’s the prerequisite of fall.
When all
its wounds and scars have been saline-rinsed,
where does Love find the wherewithal
to try again,
endeavor, when
all that it knows
is: O, because!
Published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea, The Deronda Review, Better Than Starbucks and Stremez (translated into Macedonian by Marija Girevska)
Keywords/Tags: Love, zygote, binge, mall, soar, fall, wounds, scars, tears, persistence, hope, fetal ball, sob, sobs, sobbing, shake, shaking, throb, throbbing, wince, wincing, smile, smiling, convinced, prerequisite, wherewithal, endeavor, just because
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 3:28 AM UTC
You, that flower barely blooming; I bear thy pollination.
It is my purpose solely to cause the fruit of thy creation.
Nano art, my pantheism is objective idealism. God is in the details:
the stamen, the leaf… all is fractal, some charmingly chaotic,
All scenery composed, each part of reality is a representation;
a word of the language of reality in her garden.
Her voice is sweet like the honey suckles. Pale like her petals.
All a play, a dance, a game to the night and the sun, and to all her beloved travelers.
And while I watch her, this star behind moon and trees, behind all that I see;
behind my very being. Reality, her character is through and through me.
And in the act of creation, flower and I are as her representations,
There is no thought to our most profound desires.
Innate will to live; our mother is the essence.
Death and life are her androgyny displayed
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 9:32 AM UTC
I just had an epiphany
a collective angry symphony of poetry
My words want to escape and spiral into existence
Grow feet and wings
and be the comfort of my mother
words teach my brothers
I want you words be as a forgotten zygote
shouting with my CAPITALS
and hyphenate their sorrows and thanksgiving
words be as incense
soaring to the ends of the world
bow down in front of the creator
Sep 20, 2016
Sep 20, 2016 at 5:25 AM UTC
Their unspoken opinions
are like a *** of unknowable, unnamed meats
including skunk parts
one morsel of filet mignon
Family or workplace
longer the hours, years of the living
opinions accumulate
perception strained through mortality
This stew of ethics
holds together, blows apart
trees, planets, atoms, galaxies
on or about year 2000
One must not
express the certainty
that the child's coma-induced vision of a dead grandparent
did not actually happen in heaven
One must feign
respect for all beliefs however abjectly
death denying
because they are harmless as
ozone
zebra
xylophone
zygote
A
beautiful day follows
on Jones' Nose
ripe blueberries, black cherries
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:21 PM UTC
Reality is I am a soul
Started my journey as a zygote
It took me to final level as an infant
Then struggled for my first step
Played like an innocent angel
Became busy with my work as an adult
Knowledge seeked from experience and now I am an old and learned man
Finally I am a dust buried deep like a fossil
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 11:21 AM UTC
Started like a zygote
We got eyes, ears, nose and tongue
And food from mother
Which helped to form kidney, heart, liver and lung
And we create our own antibodies
Hair and eye brows starts growing
And we build our own immuno system
After nine months we are out
Observing things around us
Scanning each and every sound
And finally taking first bath
And recognizing our parents
Wonderful isn't it
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
we live by a system of equations,
where
x plus y equals z, a zygote, baby boy.
and x plus x is also a zygote, a girl, indistinguishable from her brother
thus by these rules we simply must assume that x and y are equals.
for who are we to say that a does not equal a, that fifty does not equal fifty,
but rather, something less-than?
it's a system of equality, just as
it
should
be.
who are we to change this? who are we
to take that single cell of potential
and diminish it to something less-than
and who are we to judge a girl before she's born?
look at the sister, the brother, both beautiful in make and model
and dare to raise them as equals.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 9:39 PM UTC
Starting with aardvark, ending with zygote.
Why are there so many words?
Who comes up with them all?
Why don’t we know them all?
Are there just as many words in other languages?
I’m writing, and am just realizing how many words there are.
Too many to count.
Yet, why are we so divided?
Why don’t we all speak the same language?
Wouldn’t that just make life easier?
Everyone could understand everyone else.
No more Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, or German…
Just plain English.
Or Latin, or Mandarin.
Whatever everyone wants to speak.
How many words would then be eliminated?
It’s crazy to think about that…
Yet interesting and calming…
To think that everyone could speak the same language…
Everyone use the same words.
Would that be simpler, or more complex?
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
they want to read you and not think, so too they want to read you and not see, they hardly care for punctuation necessarily used, so who's out there to please? n'ah really, i was onto something, i meant that if the Kantian thing-in-itself was applied to the cartesian expression, either thinking-in-itself or being-in-itself is jested at, then we can explain the freedoms of disobedience and obedience, truthfulness and falsehood, and the parody of paradoxes, as highest claimants the claimants: (singular plural) choice - whereas will (plural adjective congregating into singular) is always a butterfly fluctuation of measuring an exactness akin to dating and remembering 1066 the battle of Hastings.
mingle Kant with Descartes and you get thought as the
per se existence - splitting into either fact of coining
phrases or robbing someone: no doubt (existential
good faith) and certainly no denial (existential
bad faith) - mingle Kant with Descartes
and you get the twins
cogito ergo sum mingling with noumenon,
and thus somewhere along the line
you get to see the membrane of the zygote,
like the thought behind a criminal life
where the life is unexplained because the thought
of such a life is "easily" accessed,
so too in reverse, i.e. being a councillor
or a clerk makes such thinking easily explained
for the prop of the life lived "easily" justified via
the person trading tomatoes or lamb shanks
to keep you unthinking in a bureaucratic role.
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 7:50 PM UTC
Listening to Sting’s best:
Ten Summoner’s Tales.
Sting: there’s a lesson in arrogance.
Leaves his band, The Police,
Throws the blokes—
The blokes who carried him,
Put him on the map,
Made him rich--
Throws those same blokes
Off the back of the boat,
Jetsam & flotsam in his wake.
Then starts hallucinating that he's
Geoffrey Chaucer reborn, &
Self-finances a Broadway musical,
Itself a saccharine homage to
Newcastle upon Tyne, land of the
Genetic zygote he once was.
Needless to say: “The Last Ship”
Sank shortly after leaving dry dock.
Hey, Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner:
Who was your financial advisor?
Bernie Madoff?
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 2:14 PM UTC
Zygote is sacred,
Baby in womb, teens to war,
Devil in details.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 1:51 PM UTC
Stretched pieces of my flesh
Gutting this zygote as it has already attached
A blood stream of bleach washes it away
Wounds clawing at the massacring ghost
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
I HATE IT.
I HATE THIS.
I HATE HIM WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THE WAY IN WHICH WICKED IS BAD.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE PREFORMATIVITY.
I HATE MOST THAT I WRITE THIS.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT MY ICONS ARE DEAD.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I’M BEGGING FOR MORE.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I HAVE TO CHOOSE.
I HATE, FOR WHAT I WAS DESTINED IS TAINTED.
I HATE IT. I HARE THIS.
I HATE THEM WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT I CAN’T GO BACK. BACK TO THE ZYGOTE, TO THE GRECIAN AGE, TO A LAND WITHOUT EARS.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE HER WHOM I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I DON’T WANT TO BE WICKED.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE XIR WHO I HAVE TO MOURN FOR.
I HATE IT. I HATE THIS.
I HATE THAT STEEPED IN PAIN I AM SUPPOSED TO TRANSFORM.
TO SHINE BRIGHT. TO DROWN AND SURVIVE.
I rise in wrath, sadness, regret. Balletic and vile, dipped in warmth. Lifeless, like milk teeth. Tar, sits vast beneath my feet.
I am all. All the ways that it hurts plus the beauty. Padded shoulders, green and purple.
I will never be complete.
Dancing beings underneath the evening stars, stretched out ionosphere, elastic, ecstatic. Paused yet stillmoving.
I am black, pointed. Free, stillinchains. A dripping matriarch. A reflection transcendent, moss-filled and fed up. Afraid.
Stylish metalwork, animation and formlessness.Wilted and strong. Lilac, xir name.
Protect these ribs from that strain.
The thoughts unexplained.
Protect the clothes never worn. And the freedom forgotten.
Protect me.
For I still hope to be forgotten.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 12:58 AM UTC
To start at the origin...At the ripe and ready age of zero, I learned my first lesson: how to swim. It was a skill that came quickly with the aid of physics and physical movement. My second lesson came moments after, when I realized that I existed and through existing, even some what illegitimately, I had an impact on the world. My learning how to swim brought warm hands to my walls and giggly whispers into my ears, which was a clearly positive response to my personal growth and an awareness of my presence. Even prior to my existence as a zygote, the knowledge of my potential future existence altered the decisions my parents made and the course in which they chose to steer their lives. A person cannot ever be limited or demoralized if there is the understanding that they have, and everyone has, the power to make an impact on a world they are not even existing within yet.
Now all of this knowledge was contained subconsciously in my head somewhere, but upon its eventual conscious realization I then understood the reason behind the unwavering, childish, disbelieving enthusiasm that I was born with and that applied to everything I had ever and will ever encounter.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:33 AM UTC