For today’s prompt, write an under the microscope poem. By that, the poem could be about something actually under the microscope–like single-cell organisms or leaves–or it could be more like “being under the microscope” in other people’s eyes.
Here’s my attempt:
“Blood Work”
Every vein, every blood vessel,
every electron orbiting its
nucleus–I was never the white blood
cell you expected. When all the data
flooded back from the laboratory,
what was I but an injured molecule
passing into your heart and out again.
*****
Exclusive Publish Your Poetry Bundle!
The Publish Your Poetry bundled kit includes excerpts from Beginning Writer’s Answer Book and Formatting & Submitting Your Manuscript, along with the 2012 Poet’s Market, edited by yours truly. But the really cool thing is that the complete package actually costs less than the retail price on the Poet’s Market alone. So great savings!
Just enjoy
As all your cells
All work together
Intertwining
And swirling
Just enjoy
That you breathe
Enjoy the miracle
That is you
Take yourself
Out from under
Your harsh
Microscope
Dreamscope
In dream time
Thoughts form from the
Microscope of the day behind
MORE THAN HUMAN
Conceived in a petri-dish,
a bit of this chromosome, a dash of that.
I’m neither homo nor sapien.
I’m more than human, and less.
Spliced together
while some nameless scientist played God.
I survive space without the mutations
which would cost the company
money
in lawsuit settlements.
Thanks for the feedback
Baby Particles
I imagine Fantasia playing out
in your womb, with a magical
swoosh and spark that brings
to life stars, baby parts,
and a fantastical new feat.
You just want a heartbeat.
The Stranger
Steps into the unfamiliar
Eyes focus then avert
Some focus persists
Becomes stronger
Discomfort may reveal
Prejudice, fear, distrust
Until
A smile brings
An adjustment to the lens
By Joanne Endorf
Strange by True
Go to the Bloomington Biology
Lab at Indiana University
and under their electron micro-
scopes you can watch the
process of photosynthesis
as it happens.
Spent hours in the lab
looking at slices of nature
under this microscope
of joy. I was a strange kid.
A Life Unexamined
fragments of my life
are splayed
on so many sites now
i don’t want to turn
the infernal
machine on
afraid that parts of myself
may spill off the screen
slide like swamp goop
slimy and fetid
details somewhere
between veracity
and total prevarication
snipped free of whole cloth
to take just a scraping
a mitochondrial sized bit
smoosh it between two tiny
panes of glass
and affix
beneath the lens
of my microscope
hold fast my breath
fussing with the focus
bringing what’s blurred
like the history of who
i believed i was
trying to reconcile
what i see with who
i think i am
wondering all the while
what social media
has to do with any of it
You Ever
By
Arrvada
You ever have that feeling
That every move you make
Every word you speak
Is scrutinized and judge
Analyzed and dissected
Like you’re some alien specimen
For the world to pry apart?
Every day I walk
With the feeling if I look back
I will see someone there
Recording me
Questioning me
Judging me
I live a life under a microscope
And organism on a slide
Is it all in my mind?
Or is someone watching me?
Does God record every little thing?
Every thought?
If He does
That really scares me
He is Gone
Slowly it comes,
the news,
and you’re taken aback.
Emotions pile in
under the indigo
scope of the sky.
Actuality is the meat
of a peach that will not
go down sweet.
Microcosm
The microscope shows
Each petal of every rose
Wants to be the best.
BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING YOU!
“I always feel like, somebody’s watching me (and I have no privacy)” –from Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me”
Traffic light
and street corner cameras,
black boxes
in your car…
how long until we all have
THE mirror at home?
To Put It All Into Proportion
===================
To explain how much I love you
In the most bombastic terms
Is like weighing the Sun
One electron at a time.
My Biological Love
The lab was mesmerizing
Cryptic, scented, not really appetizing
The human skeleton hanging in one corner
Its limbs dangling, its jaws in a wide grin
Microscopes on every table
To view dissections and label
Protozoas and cell membranes
Nuclei and endoplasms sane
Mitochondria the cell’s power house
Endoplasmic reticulum, the protein carrier mouse
The ever protecting nuclear membrane
The amoeba and pseudopods mundane
Roots monocotyledonous
Shoots dicotyledonous
Pretty patterns, magical shapes
Some straight, some in curious drapes
The biology lab was one creative venture
With placentas, ovaries and cockroach dentures
Thin, thin slices seen under the microscope
Nerve rings of earthworm
And sunflower florets, yellow and firm
Although my love for botany and zoology
Didn’t really turn me into medical clergy
I like to reminisce
And think back nostalgically
To those days of magical discovery
Derogatory Purgatory
Sometimes the smallest comments
can make one
place themselves under the microscope
to see if there is something
below the surface
that makes them so different –
that they are placed at the forefront,
catching all the hurtful, mean words
like bullets, scattered around the room
and feeling as if they are all alone.
Lab Cat
Rescued from a certain death
brought here when I was young
Painted everyday with beauty
and medication
Forced, injected, studied,
I’m put under the glass
some expirament
The only thing they don’t consider in their tests
is the pain I suffer
the trauma
so they can safely sell a product
EVERY LITTLE THING
She keeps an eye on everything I do;
I think she thinks I’ve found somebody new.
Every little thing is another little clue,
Yeah, she keeps an eye on everything I do.
Nights when I’ve been working late,
Before I make it through the gate,
It’s like she can barely wait,
To ask if I’ve been on a date.
And if I run to the hardware store,
She wants to know what I went for,
She thinks if after something more,
Than what I need for some durn chore.
Yes…
She keeps an eye on everything I do;
I think she thinks I’ve found somebody new.
Every little thing is another little clue,
She keeps an eye on everything I do.
By now you’d think she’d know me,
That she’d trust me further than she could throw me,
If she’s got proof I wish she would show me…
Yeah, by now you’d think the girl would know me.
She comes and goes as she sees fit,
And me? I’m quite alright with it,
When she calls, I come lickety-split,
Don’t know why she thinks I can’t commit…
Still…
She keeps an eye on everything I do;
I think she thinks I’ve found somebody new.
Every little thing is another little clue,
She keeps an eye on everything I do.
I can’t check my e-mail,
I can’t take a call;
She’s got to know the details,
She’s got to know it all,…
‘Cause…
She keeps an eye on everything I do;
I think she thinks I’ve found somebody new.
Every little thing is another little clue,
She keeps an eye on everything I do.
Why it’s so, I wish I only knew…
She keeps an eye on everything I do.
LoveLorn
Lilah, my lovey
why have you left me
to live with that loser, Larry?
I feel like microscopic vermin
under your giant feet.
My rights are wronged
my ire, rudely risen
to rile my usually
rosey heart.
Oh, Lilah,please don’t go.
I’ll give you the golden goose,
the gamma yamma of
the gonged universe if you’ll
get on with me , Lilah my love.
I see you’re not convinced.
That look of wilting wrath is
my warning of impending war.
I’ll go, now. Nothing , no nothing
could make me your nemesis for life.
I’m gone, we’re nil,
don’t call.
Idle Speculation
How many atoms do your feathers have?
Do electrons stream through your veins?
Do you have quantum neurons in your brain?
Zero and one efficiently stored
What sort of body do angels have?
Dancing on the head of a pin
What music would be played?
When a high screech sounds like whalesong
What would they want to hear?
Studied…
How many parts of me have been studied,
X-rayed, put under a microscope? Brain,
Spinal fluid, blood, urine, bones, lungs, skin,
Tendons, cartilage, eyes, ears, teeth, hormones
Top to bottom, hands and feet, front to back
Even my thoughts and feelings analyzed
Countless hours waiting, testing, waiting
Again, for results that may or may not
Result in answers. We’re ruling it out,
They say, but I say, they don’t have a clue.
Caren E. Salas
“Vast Universe”
How minute was the universe
prior to the Big Bang?
And how much more minute
is he who thinks himself
its center?
Under the microscope
Run your precision ground glass eye over me
Fingers to toes, knees to shoulders, neck to nose.
Find and catalog my imperfections
From the over-large freckle near my cheek,
To the loose hair clinging to my shoulder.
Linger on the dry skin on my heels and elbows
And the scar at my throat.
Your fabled attention to detail,
Your vaunted ability to see right through me,
The mythic myopia of your singularly scientific sight
May leave you connecting unconnected dots
With a permanent black marker
Unable to ever understand
The sum of my parts.
Being Watched
He sits there
A silent spector
Clacking doom in swift strokes
Persperiation trickles in mocking tendrils
down your face
as clammy hands clench involuntarily
You try to speak, but your breath hitches
choked on you fear and paranoia
Each tick of the clock sounds a death knell
the final dissolution of hopes, aspirations, future
In the back, your fate snaps shut with a click
Blood Diamond
Her carefully measured words
Are always monitored
For any hint of rebellion,
Her dependence on him
Crucial to his master plans.
The ring on her left hand
A mark of his ownership;
Her life,
Her body,
Her blood,
All his for the taking,
Sacrificed on his altar of cruelty.
A rumpled bed,
A sullen glance,
A dinner served five minutes late,
All reasons show why
A woman needs to kept in line
By whatever means necessary.
Tonight, however,
She will reap
Her carefully measured revenge,
And the blood sacrificed
Won’t be hers.
Reading Stone
If you google “microscope” you’ll learn
that the first one, called a reading stone,
was invented by someone whose name
we don’t know about one thousand AD
and intended to magnify written words
for those whose eyesight was impaired
enough to need such a marvelous stone.
As we all know, technology constantly
changes, exponentially growing better.
By the time Mark Twain came along
he could write a character into a story
who falls asleep after looking through
a microscope with his child and seeing
fascinating creatures in a water drop.
In his dream this person, Henry, finds
himself aboard a ship plying darkness
where sea monsters threaten to swamp
them, so they sail from the Great Dark
to escape but end up beaching the ship
in the searing heat of white light intense
enough to blind and dehydrate them.
Twain never finished this story, but
after his death Bernard De Voto did
it for him; thus I was able to read it
in graduate school. It’s fitting, I think
that something invented a millennium
ago as a reading stone would wind up
a microscope to read about in a story.
A View from Heaven, or Why I am so Small
I never stopped to ask him why.
This little child, rocking on his heels,
tormenting the glasses in the corner,
throwing insults intended to mar and maim,
still rocks in my dreams.
He is one of a thousand.
He is one of a kind.
And yet, here he is, aggressive and loud,
striking the ground with a closed fist.
He has been moved, three
four
five times since the bell first rang.
He sits here with me now.
We sit for a time,
silence being the conversation.
Then, without warning, his mouth starts to chew his words,
slow distaste spreading quickly.
His mother, dependent on a new high,
refuses to answer the pleas buzzing through her high static.
His father, behind the irons shackled around his wrists,
cannot be troubled for fear of non-rehabilitation.
He had dreams, he tells me.
He had dreams of running and playing and singing.
He had dreams of food and clean showers to wash away this
worry.
I begin to notice the small bruises on his arms,
the small stains on his shirt,
the small spots of tarnished childhood
smeared across his faded jeans.
His shoes have no soles.
His nails are used to hard work.
The cuts on his knuckles and knees
scream to me.
Then, without warning, he stops.
His mouth, with its jagged scar, stops moving.
He stands, watches me from behind my glasses,
and leaves.
Close Inspection: Biology of Emotion 101
Today, class, we shall inspect emotion’s
effect upon our bodies.Did you know great
emotion, sometimes referred to as “trauma,”
is stored in your muscles? Did you know
that pressing and probing in and around those
muscles can produce a great production of tears–
you know, those wet things that tend to run
down your face, funnel down your neck and
beyond? And then there’s the heart, the most
important muscle of all. How does it take
emotional trauma? The heart experiences
an actual hurting and heart-break, both
sensations that you will feel viscerally, oh
definitely viscerally, perhaps even like a blow
to the solarplexis, or a crack in your sternum
between your breasts. The crack will be audible
to you alone.You will feel it with such intensity
that you are sure any other person in the room
hears it too. But no, it’s only audible to you. Wait for it.
It will come. You will not die but you will have a glimpse
into what death feels like. Learn the following words and
practice them now: “Live, Laugh, Love”– and exercise.
Yes, prepare your muscles for great emotion. Now we
will go into the lab and use the microscopes.
Unwanted Scrutiny
I wanted to be perfect nor loved
Or even liked
Never wanted the spotlight or
Limelight or recognition
Overstepping that I am a man
And should be respected
Not as a right but a gift
From you to me
But everything else not wanted
Or needed, nor requested or
Asked to be some shining knight
Or a role model
Or hero
Swooping in to make everything
Proper and right
I just want to be a man
Now that is my
Right
Settle In My Heart
Settle in my heart, swoon with my soul
In a human delight, human after all,
Where beauty blooms without bounds,
Where flowers dance with no sounds,
In a living soft drum, red, red-red
Beats resonate a rhythm never been heard,
With a flow of passion migrates red, red-red;
O, this floods of regular love rhythm.
It counts my sighs in cadence with them,
When you packed memories, body and will,
And departed countries late that evening,
And returned with angels in a dew cell,
On a harvest day, early one dear morning
With songs of birds on kindled wings
Invisible heavenly bliss, joyfully swings
In meadows cradle that seems still;
A bliss has chosen my heart to dwell,
A human heart, a will with machine skill,
That lives, loves and imitates a drowned bell.
A Minister’s Wife
Sundays when I sit
in the front pew
and listen to the words
a path to God
your hundred eyes
bore into my back
steel pinions
a butterfly to velvet.
***
Peace, LindaS-W
Day 21 – under the microscope
Macro photography: God
in the details
What a discovery!
An ant on a flower -
a moth in a ball gown
of crocheted lace -
a harlequin bug
magnified to beauty -
a nail in an elm’s trunk -
cobwebs – and new
versions of old junk
where before
the flowers, the succulent,
trees and bark, the pile
of stuff, appeared
as items, now
looked at as access
to a new universe.
were filtered through
the lens of largesse
INVESTIGATIVE TOPOGRAPHY
I still don’t get it
when people take folks like me
off of the place I have been living
for an eternity, carefully, to keep the skin
intact, and put in some petri dish. Watching
me. How embarrassing.
They say it’s because
There is something wrong about
eating us. The planet earth is
good enough for humankind. A tomato
is fine with us . . . and
if we end up among the greens, why
should it bother anybody. Birds get to the vines, too
it’s fact of life with us. Who will live and who will,
what can I say. You have to give credit
to some people, who care enough to
give us a place underneath the eye
of a microscope, a place to grow. I have known
some of us get to laboratories
where we they put us in drawers
in file cabinets. It cool there . . . they also say
the only reason people bring us there is to
neuter us and send us back
so we won’t reproduce. What a bummer,
I’d rather be birdfood. That way
we’d be part of the Great Chain of Being instead
of Dustbin dwellers, with the flies and the ants
crawling all over us. It’s the a matter of luck
some of us are stars
in awesome doctoral theses, a picture
with the details of our family life . . .
no such luck. This time
it’s a birthday present, brand new,
gotta try it out, just like
in class at school. He found us in the vegetable bin,
did everything he was supposed to do. Even
a fresh petri dish with the right solution. Paradise,
then wouldn’t ya’ know, his big sister comes by
says, “Yuk, what’s that. Throw it away
before it multiplies.” He’s thinking, maybe
after he’s figured who we are he’ll do the right thing,
take us where we can live again
to the mulch pile.
Zev Davis
The Search for Truth
Under the microscope
the empiricists
search for evidence
that confirms or denies
what
the mystics
already know.
Ha! So true.
Cocktails
Curling waves
and peacock feathers
swirl on my
tongue, move through
my blood at dizzying rates
distorted at dawn
Impossible Bottle
You pull my strings with tweezer hands
Bending flattened pieces up on hinges
To make me dimensional like a vessel
Launched inside a glass shell
That holds the echo of the sea
Love the images in this.
Very hard one for me to write. His death still hurts, nearly 30 years later.
While I watched you dying
The doctors wouldn’t touch you,
so we took turns, watching
your dying. You died before anyone
knew what had invaded every
cell, made you weak to all invaders.
And yet, without knowing, I
wished I could into your IV, plucked each
knot of virus from each dying cell,
conflagrated myself inside
the sarcoma, just to let you
breathe a little longer.
So hard, apparently, that I couldn’t write it correctly. Here’s the corrected version with all the words intact.
While I watched you dying
The doctors wouldn’t touch you,
so we took turns, watching
your dying. You died before anyone
knew what had invaded every
cell, made you weak to all invaders.
And yet, without knowing, I
wished I could drain into your IV, pluck each
knot of virus from each dying cell,
conflagrate myself inside
the sarcoma, just to let you
breathe a little longer.
Yes. You capture this desire all to well. Peace…
Thank you…back when docs still wore “space suits” when dealing with HIV patients.
Blender
Put a heart in a blender
and yet , under
the lens, I can
see each cell
beating.
Vision
In the days of the black death
they couldn’t see
the spirochetes.
We have means to see, but
the spirochetes mean
so much less now.
Mortality
Scraping under her fingernails
hoping for cells that will name
Her killer.
Sorry – Mortality is the title. The next three lines are the poem. Something went all funny with the format when I cut-n-pasted
Faith is a fine invention / When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent / In an Emergency.
~ Emily Dickinson
FLEDGLING HOUSE FINCHES
Three baby birds in their nest
suspended between rope and roof awning,
yellow beaks open as they wait
for their mother to return
with food—
I see you with my eyes
through my kitchen window
when I am standing at the sink,
and with the microscope of my heart,
I see your hungry longing.
Jane Beal
Molasses
You learn your bones are foreign to you now,
that your marrow and your cells rebel like slaves
in sugar cane fields knowing that the punishment
for attacking the whites was death. Now
the punishment in your bones is eating you
like you, swallowing whole spoonfuls of rice
dripping honey and sugar. I sit before you
longing to cultivate the sugar cane inside you,
longing to carry it to the sugar house,
process the cane into crystal, for you,
carried to ships, to ships that carry
your enemy farther, farther away from your bones.
“Longing to cultivate the sugar cane inside you” is one of my favorite lines EVER.
Stellar metaphor. And heart-breaking. Peace…
Red Camellia
Every spring there are two stories
she tells me over an unadorned
crystal punch bowl that sits
in the middle of the table
with four or five fresh Camellia
blossoms floating on the surface.
The first is about George,
the most chivalrous
man who ever lived. He would
never let a lady, or even a girl
like her leave his house in spring,
without a Camellia
he’d plucked from the bush himself.
The other is about her.
It always follows shortly.
She was so shy in her twenties
that she wouldn’t do a thing
to attract attention;
how badly she had wanted
to snip a flower
from the Camellia outside,
to put it in his hands
before they closed the casket.
New Lenses
I’ll show you something
Look closely
It’s still too far
Come closer
More yet!
Can you see now?
Is it blurry?
Don’t squint,
just wide open your eyes.
Observe the details,
not only the big picture.
What “What details?”?
Don’t ask me that! You
must see it now!
Huh? Is all distorted?
Pale?
Sick?
Scary?
It cannot be!
This is not what I was showing you!
You must be using the wrong lenses!
Change them!
Now, can you see all the little things
that make the whole?
Isn’t that wonderful?
You just had to change the lenses
to see a totally different world!
“I’m watching you”
Beware of shish kebab vendors.
They will rob you blind in New York!
Tho’ the meat may be juicy and tender…
Beware of shish kebab vendors.
Before any money you surrender,
put in some old-fashioned detective work.
Beware of shish kebab vendors.
They will rob you blind in New York!
About an awful experience I had tonight in the city. I heard about it in the news but never thought it would actually happen to me. I had a hideous day all around but this just put me over the edge.
he was so much more up close
than he had ever been from afar
and so she devoted her days
to getting as near as she could
.Inside the Cell
Peering through the microscope, the diminutive cell seems
more like a larger dwelling place, beyond my wildest dreams.
The ruler is the nucleus, the center of it all,
while the outer membrane makes a fence, forming quite a ball.
What needs to be held in? Cytoplasm, so you see,
while e. reticulum helps much to travel free.
Ribosomes hold on then, just to make the ER rough,
And we’re not quite sure how they can ever tell they’ve done enough.
When things pass through the membrane, a new vacuole may form,
And the Golgi Apparatus helps to ship it through the storm.
How does the cell get energy to do these many things?
Mitochondria, you see, can make the cell seem to have wings.
Some cells may move, propelled by tiny cilia,
Twirling little hairs that never seem to get their fillia.
Who knew that just one cell had all these organelles,
seeming not so simple now, like many clanging bells?
But really, each of us is made of molecules and such,
working hand-in-hand in ways that we can barely touch.
The microscope can help me see that I am small indeed,
like an organelle itself, helping to reach a world in need.
God made cells, and He made me, though I can’t understand
The workings at the nucleus of His amazing hand.
Mashed up your microscope prompt, Robert, with Maureen’s hay(na)ku at NaPoWriMo and Andrea’s palindrome at Circle the Blog PLUS Maureen’s homophonic translation (or translitic) from Day 12, and got this.
Under the Microscope
auto-translitic palindrome
opening with a hay(na)ku
Amoeba.
Paramecium. Spirochetes.
Algae. Planarian eyespots.
Oh, gee. Plan your own ice pets.
Pair of mice, yum. Spiral cats.
I’m over.
By Vince Gotera
http://vincegotera.blogspot.com
Suds
All germs on kindergarten fingers love
art projects, tickled pink to hop on and off
the drawing paper, hitch a ride as crayons,
glue sticks, and glitter pass between classmates.
More germs arrive on the ah choo of a sneeze spewed
across the artwork, happy to enhance a masterpiece.
All germs on kindergarten fingers mix and mingle
with artists and friends – inevitable, invisible –
until under the microscope,
their identity reveals the need for soap suds.
OVER AND OUT
Under the microscope,
Is hardly a means to cope!
Being observed with all you do,
Even if you don’t have a clue,
Is that for me . . .?
Nope!
What if I appeared to be a dope?
How would I ever maintain hope!
You’d see all that I use,
To entertain my muse,
You’d even know how much I love . . .
Soap!
No, I don’t want you to see,
All the different aspects of me,
I wing it, don’t plan it,
As I fly off as Janet Planet,
Singing on a tease of a breeze . . .
“I’m free!”
Delightful, Janet! It’s so playful and carefree. I love:
“I wing it, don’t plan it,
As I fly off as Janet Planet
Singing on a tease of a breeze…
‘I’m free!”
Thank you for the shout out, Lionmother, or should I say the roar? Appreciate the warm comments!
UNDER A WATCHFUL EYE
Little one, your hands are so small,
gripping my finger so tightly.
This new life you’ve assumed offers you all
of the chances to shine your light brightly.
We have been blessed to be given this chance
to guide and to nurture your living,
the music of you makes us get up and dance
with all of the love you are giving.
Little one, you are growing so fast
and we watch every step of the way.
Memories of all the years that have passed
are cherished by us every day.
With each step you’ve taken, with you we have walked,
and with every word you have said,
teaching the ways of the world through our talks
have taught us so much instead.
Little one, you no longer are,
your grace and your beauty defined,
although you remain our shining star
you look forward and never behind.
Under a watchful eye you have flourished,
under our roof you have grown,
here in our hearts and hearth you were nourished;
soon have a family of your own.
Little one, you’ll soon be a bride,
and you and your young man will find,
that your own little one will fill you with pride
and comfort your uncertain minds.
And when we will grow old, it’s your eyes that will see
and we will be happy and proud
that our little one has grown up to be
all that her loving heart has allowed.
Self-Examination
Sick of being
under the microscope
of introspection
subjective evils
intrinsic perils
of self examination
someone please
change the slide…
HARD TRADITIONS TO BREAK
Under the microscope since a child,
No one was allowed to go wild,
A strict structured form,
Became an early boxed in form,
Manners were clear and tight,
Careful movements day and night,
Watched over with intensity,
Reinforced by the whole city,
All eyes were on alert,
For any speck of dirt,
Landing on unsuspecting clothes,
Forget the bloody nose!
Speech could only utter,
Words as soft as butter,
All matter of food or drink,
If unacceptable would raise a stink.
Perfection was the rule,
In or out of school,
Family took the out front lead,
To be living examples, indeed!
Even the marriages,
Style of carriages,
Always with the right name,
Individual searches for fame!
All was scrutinized,
Many dreams not realized,
Everyone did as they were taught,
If not, all feared they’d get caught!
Certain careers were accepted as right,
Anything else would create a fight!
Subtle as it would be,
One could eventually be set free!
Finally to break out,
If they were willing to go without,
Any further support or love,
Showing what they were really made of,
In that case, family members could go their own way,
Find their voice, have their say . . .
Like the poet . . .
Who writes this today!
Under the Microscope
The jeweler showed us
(his prospective customers)
how the cut of the diamond
effected the price.
The finer the cut,
the clearer the diamond,
and the more expensive.
A tiny diamond could be
far more costly
than a big flashy one.
For years, I questioned myself,
about my impulsive decision
when I pointed to the smallest
well-cut one as the one I wanted,
and my fiancé, eager to please,
didn’t question me.
Looking back, I think
I subconsciously chose
to not value appearance so much,
but something inward,
pure, valuable, unpretentious
like I wanted our relationship,
a true gem, love being the fine cut.
NaPoWriMo’s prompt of the day is to write a hay(na)ku. I couldn’t seem to get the microscope, literal or metaphorical, out of my head.
1.
Leeuwenhoek
focuses lenses,
discovers invisible parties
2.
electron
microscope: Hubble
for tiny galaxies
3.
love:
a bond
between two molecules
4.
celebrity:
a virus
media: a microscope
5.
six
words make
a poem microscopic
Love each and every one of these. Lovely series
Super, alone and as a collection. Peace…
What is left behind
You remove the adjectives first,
tell me how useless it is to have
them in a poem, extract the gerunds
and whittle them down to two, maybe
three. Next, you become the cliche
police and tell me my metaphors are
droll and overused. You slice my
stanzas with your sharp, red lines
and what is left is a hollowed out
fruit, a petri dish with a crumb.
WOW. EXCELLENT, Kendall!
Agreed.
Fractures (A Haibun)
I have known that the taste of you would be the sweetest thing I would ever hold in my heart. It is as simple as inhaling the ripe scent of persimmons or mandarins in the wind. But to savor it, like ambrosia from the pores of your skin is like piecing every molecule of your being into mine the way the morning mist generously scatters dewdrops on a spider’s web.
My breath becomes ragged instinctively, wedged between our shadows whenever your touch traces another rippling shiver down my arms. How do you know me well enough to extract that fragile molecule of love from underneath all the years of doubt and mistrust?
once more
our souls fracture
the still dark
http://alotus-poetry.livejournal.com/144035.html
YAY caught up at last!
A Clockwork Red/Read
Regular intervals, there’s the night of fasting
followed by early morning hospital run
a few blocks or many miles, depending.
The poke and prod of arms for arteries
the ones that used to pop to attention
now always in hiding. Even veins
reluctant to offer themselves as
sacrifice to intrusive needles.
Later there will be bruises.
Five vials of red to fill, blood pumping
out of safe haven into clear sterile tubes,
wrapped round with administrative detail:
patient name, health card number, type
of results required.
Then the countdown to appointment where
doctor tells you the results of specimens
spun and separated, examined, notations made
creatinine count, A1C levels, deficiencies
noted and recorded.
Every six months like clockwork for the last three
years, five months and uncounted days, hours, minutes.
Worry all the way to two o’clock, when the doc
says: Kidney function stable. You’re looking
good on paper, even if your worried
brain thinks otherwise.
Carol A. Stephen
April 21, 2012
Can’t stay. Have an appointment. Just dropping off one poem for now. Maybe more later. Enjoy!
What Price Celebrity
What price paid for fame
That we seek this scrutiny?
What price extracted in a game
Of hide and seek and infamy?
What price do innocents pay
For camera shots at school,
Where others are brought to bay
And thrill-makers stand to drool?
What price for bodies abused
For weight, highs, lows, or sleep?
What price to be so pursued,
In the name of love, admiration deep?
What price paid for a moment’s peace
Within the fish bowl of personal making?
None so blind.
There is only one way to deal with fear
head on – facing forward –
look it in the eyes and stare it down.
I know you were right.
That is how you dealt with
your final enemy
and when it would not be defeated
you took it down with you
dignified to the last breath.
I’d rather not know. Ignorance is bliss.
And that has definite attractions.
Mother’s way – under the bedclothes,
reading something gripping – watching tv -
laughing loudly.
I see no ships, the lens is to my blind eye.
But the tide is coming in.
Oh, that last line! So quiet, so devastating.
Realization
Perspiration pools in the creases of my palms,
And I can feel my face warming to a shade of
Self-conscious crimson. I duck my head, hoping
That my tremulous legs don’t give me away.
My eyes wander desperately, avoiding contact
With yours, and when I finally manage to look,
I realize you never saw me in the first place.
Freshman Biology
I remember feeling sorry
for the slimy little suckers
as we sliced them open,
identifying organs: lungs,
stomach, liver,
heart;
scraping cell samples
from each onto glass
slides
identifying
comparing
contrasting
taking notes,
Mr. G jabbering on
kingdom, phylum,
class, order, family, genus,
species,
atrium
ventricle.
The way your hair
curled just right over
your collar as your
brown
(dominant)
eyes conducted
experiments
of their own.
You,
moving up to
advanced anatomy.
Me
with scalpel in hand
wanting only
to flay my own heart.
Bummer. Somebody left the bold and italics on. To read this one formatted properly, just click my name.
If u put me under a microscope
If u put me under a microcsope
this is what you’d see.
Ice cold blood runnin’ through my veins and a heart full of pain.
You’d see in me a beautiful rose that once was but little by little each petal falling down leaving me empty.
And thorns sticking through me leaving me to bleed freely.
You’d see me on an emotional roller coaster trying my best to go another round.
So if you put me under a microscope it might surprise you of the many things that could be found.
Samantha Tinney
And oh, darn! Make it ‘water’ instead of ‘waterworks’ in verse 2 and ‘interest in’ instead of ‘timbre of’ in verse 4.
Oh sorry, that was meant to go after my own poem. Will try again to put it there.
Yin and Yang
On the surface
one’s life might seem
perfect, but
upon closer examination
flaws will surface,
and while
some defects are fatal,
others are only
inconvenient
and yet we elect
to ferret them out
rather than
let sleeping dogs lie
why? Note to self:
When yang reigns
do not opt
to probe for yin, pursuing
another shoe to drop.
When yang rules,
rejoice!
Nice!
Taking the Obs
Around his neck, under his pyjama top,
a white plastic rectangle hangs from tapes.
It has a dial with lights and symbols
which the nurses can decode. ‘We think
it might be your ticker causing the falls.’
They take his blood sugar, more often
I suspect, than the twice a day
I’ve been doing at home. And they take
blood pressure, temperature, pulse, all that.
They check his waterworks, intake and output,
and whether his bowels have opened today.
I am a visitor now. I must relinquish him
into other care than mine. I am training myself
not to ask what his blood sugar is this time,
nor at what hour they gave his insulin dose.
‘He’s in good hands,’ the nurses reassure.
‘You’ve done a wonderful job,’ says the doctor.
‘It’s enough! Time to let us look after him now.’
Only last week, when I started a cold,
he was the one looking after me,
wrapping his warm arms around me,
stroking my hair, soothing me off to sleep.
I examine, now, as he lies in his hospital bed,
the smile in his eyes as we share a joke,
the timbre of his voice as he asks the nurses,
‘Where did you grow up? Where did you train?’
I observe the way his hair curls over his ear.
I watch his hand take hold of mine. I perceive
the gentleness of his touch, the warmth
of his loving clasp. I monitor not the beat
but the inclination of his heart, its directions;
I try to gauge his happiness levels, his peace.
This has been my chief occupation for years.
I can’t stop noticing and caring, just because
he’s now in a hospital bed, clinically observed.
Hmph! Didn’t look like that when I posted it.
And oh, darn! Make it ‘water’ instead of ‘waterworks’ in verse 2 and ‘interest in’ instead of ‘timbre of’ in verse 4.
Oh dear, oh dear, I was premature today! Also change last line to:
he’s now in a hospital, being clinically observed.
OH MY! Rosemary, this is SO moving. Your final paragraph but goosebumps and tears-welling! I especially LOVE this: “I monitor not the beat
but the inclination of his heart,” truly, a well written piece, and so authentic!
Rosemary, I went through a similar experience yesterday when my husband was in the hospital. After many times of having to “relinquish him” to the care of doctors and nurses I now accept I will feel a sudden emptiness and refrain from suggesting too much to the people who care for him at these times. Anyway, he doesn’t like my telling anything to them, because he always thinks I get things wrong. The truth is there were many times when he doesn’t remember all of his illness and his care. So I try to fill in to the doctors if they are new.:) Hope your special someone is better now.
How Large the Small
How large the small in our world,
those monsters living in the dust,
the water and the juices of those things,
which find us tasty in the night.
They lurk within the shells
of buzzing bombers seeking blood
like time-bombs waiting to explode.
How large the small that end more lives
than all the wars we fought.
One third of all the world once fell,
not from the rats,
nor from the fleas,
but from those little beasts
who in those insects dwell.
And sixteen million when the war was won.
The doughboys coughed,
no bullets now
and yet their lives were done.
How large the small in our world.
Each days these tiny reapers feed
And having fed move on,
While we in trust of modern life
Don’t fear what we can’t see
As falsely safe we feel at night
When little beasts roam free.
Really nice craftmanship.
Supplier of Life
Precious is the heart
the invigorating muscle of the human body
Constantly handling our life blood
day in, day out
Effortlessly dispensing
the precious life juice
to every cell in need
fostering growth, function
Precious is the heart, the enduring ox
that only knows to labor
showing no tire
knowing no fatigue
April 21, 2012 – Day 21
Write an under the microscope poem
Triple Analysis
Dressed in lab coat,
her table piled with overload
of specimens–blood, urine
cultures–all arrayed
to be analyzed under
a microscope.
With cutbacks, illnesses,
and vacations, she becomes
the Superwoman specimen
under the auspices
of a supervisory microscope,
and cannot leave any
accumulated work undone.
So her hours often double
along with her vision, yet
somehow seems preferable
to the family-sized scope,
where scrutiny crystallizes
life choices better left
dulled and out of focus.
Wow. I’m disturbed at how familiar the picture you create is. Good capture.
Yes, that tricky balance. Super poem on so many levels. Peace…
PAD Therapy Day 21
(not enough) OXYGEN
I pinned the carcass in the wax-filled box
nose wrinkled, averse to killing even a bug
eighth grade project, doing the minimum for the grade
having seen enough death in our home
enough decay in the demise of hope
enough to steal a small girl’s smile
to keep us captured for a while
till you led us to be set free
but things meant for harm just made us seek
a different way to be so we
turned our backs on imprisoned breath
no more holding back instead we’d give
oxygen to those we loved
I carried the pictures to the funeral home
clenched teeth hard against my trembling lips
one more project of specimens gleaned
from your twenty photo books
where you kept the cards and memories
of those you loved and who loved you back
I chose the most of you and he
who found your smile again
but I love the one of you and me
sitting on the steps when I was three
two girls back when our lives were new
and I wish I could be your oxygen
and have you and not just
photo specimens.
I felt this with you, every word.
Oh, thank you so much, Rosemary, i really appreciate that–made me mist up a bit…
julie e
HUMAN HARMONY (Tanka)
Brick by brick conjoined,
Layered cellular beauties
Perform their duty
Interdependently well
In multi-cellular tune
Hmmm … someone left the strong ital on!
Paramecium
I bet you’re surprised.
You didn’t know we could
dance, did you?
Well, I’ve never had
much sense of rhythm,
but I can jiggle with
the best of them, and if
you count it off for me,
I can wiggle my cilia
in time to your voice.
Amoebas bore me,
but I like you.
Do you have a definite
shape? Is your membrane
stiff, but elastic, like mine?
I sensed that about you;
that’s why I dance for you
on a glass slide, in your light.
Lovely. Excellent take on today’s prompt. I like the conversational tone of this as well as the dance.
Forensically Yours
“I am the Energizer bunny of forensic science: I never sleep and I never give up.” ~Abby Sciuto, Forensic Expert, NCIS
Put me under your microscope.
You’ll find my heart is full of hope.
Examine me extensively.
I’m always yours, forensically.
Take me as a slice on a slide.
Darling, I have nothing to hide.
All the suspense is killing me
but I am yours, forensically.
Please check my DNA. I’m sure
you’ll find my tox screen says I’m pure-
ly mad about you. Happily,
I’m always yours, forensically.
Procedural-type TV shows
are all about the labs and pros
but all you need are eyes to see
I’m always yours, forensically.
###
Wonderful! I love this. There are so many gems today from this prompt. It’s interesting to see how each person displays a different facet of creativity.
Love Abby, love this poem.
Analyzing my-self
Inside of me, there was a blaze crystallized
a tiny black spot, tearing off out of my reach
a diminutive voice, a twisted counsellor
One day I took a scalpel and opened me widely.
Now it’s gone, the silence is back.
TERMITES
A hollow stump – I look closer.
Not hollow, but
honeycombed to its ancient
woodgrain. Gray. No,
silver with sound. Not humming,
infinitesimal vibration
of wings. Thousands. Silver
spurting from the stump, a swelling
chorus without words,
insect rapture rising from a ruined
choir, the stump-core.
Termites erupting too fast too many
to count. Seeking what?
Life. Famished to eat the world.
Renewal. From dead
wood, a silver jet of Spring,
that crazy dance we all
must join in.
Microscope Vision
Glasses, I wear them, it’s true.
(Be careful, don’t knock them askew!)
They are heavy and thick
but they do the trick
They help me simply to see you.
It ain’t fun wearing glasses, I’ll tell ya
Though contacts can help me feel less blah
Boys just don’t make passes
at girls who wear glasses,
But without I can’t see an inch from my jaw.
But there’s a benefit to being myopic
That you just don’t get just being hydropic
My unfiltered vision
Helps me see with precision
Removing kids’ splinters microscopic
And when doing embroidery fine
stitching a near invisible line
I just take off my glasses
and I can see passes
that make my work look just divine.
So when laser surgery’s suggested
When I go to have my eyes tested
Since my microscope vision,
helps me see with precision
I think I’ll leave my eyes unmolested.
Diana Terrill Clark
I’m with you on this one. I’ll live with my bifocals, no matter how “aging” my girlfriends tell me they are!
_________________For years
______________he perfected the art
______________of drawing his love
_______________on a grain of rice
____________when he finally looked up
________________to show her
_______________she was even
_______________more beautiful
________________than he had
_________________imagined
Nicely understated.
This is a beautiful thought, uneven steven.
If you’re on a Mac, you can make hard spaces without the lines by pushing the “Option” (alt) key the same time you press the space bar (every time you want a hard space.)
This is absolutely beautiful!
I love this … and the concrete poem-play, too. But mostly, I love the story, beautifully expressed.
Thank you and thanks for the hint of the spaces- been a bit busy this weekend so difficult to comment but everyone’s been posting really good poems last couple of days
One Eye Open
Close one, keep one eye open.
Barely seen and rarely heard.
Looking through your microscope
perspectives become blurred.
One eye closed and one eye open.
Daggers glancing off your back.
Ever mindful of aggressors,
yet, immune to their attack.
You should sleep with one eye open,
so you’ll see what must be seen.
You shall dream in living color.
Caution keeps your visions keen.
Go ahead and count your blessings,
as you drift off holding hope,
remember, one eye open,
looking thru your microscope.
Seek out places in between
the smoothest road and deepest rut,
only seen with one eye open,
and perceived with one eye shut.
By Michael Grove
Squint
We look at each other
Through judgmental glasses
Tinted with prejudices
Spotted with jealousy
And smeared with distrust
Often forgetting that
We clearly cannot see
The real other person
While looking through
Filthy spectacles
This is going to show up bold-italic if I post it here, so I’m linking it on my blog in the way it’s meant to be viewed: Dreaming of Nicholas. But here it is, anyway…
…
Dreaming of Nicholas
He brings over a book of color micrographs,
showing us a record of the war. White blood cell,
he says, pointing to a blue-black mass: that name
with its paladin sound must be more of a metaphor.
And that’s the virus: one withered finger brushes
lurid green flecks dusted over the lymphocyte like
powdered sage. Or pollen, like the blood’s flowers
are betraying themselves with their own reproduction.
It seems strange, that these punctuation marks could
so overwhelm a body. Half-seconds of decision,
wrapped in overcoats of protein, hardly even worth
thinking about. (But of course that’s how they slip in.)
He swirls his cup of rum and coke, watching the ice
tumble around and slowly dissolve. He takes a long
pull from his spliff. He watches us with the book,
daring us, with the dulled needles of his eyes, to cry.
We think of Heisenberg’s principle: is this predator
furtive enough that just when you’re convinced
you’ve cornered it, it slips away from where it was?
Even greened electrons might be unable to trap it.
But to think about that leads to too many questions:
if we listen to him say, fucking science, right?, if we
stare at him crippled on the couch, will he vanish like
a dandelion, will we all remember this upon waking–
Beautiful and sad poem. It shows the depth of grief when we are initially exposed to it.
Intriguing and powerful.
One Celled
As I peer through the microscope
At the tiny one-celled creature
I wonder
If evolution is true
Why is this one-celled creature
Still only one cell
“Heart surgery”
I have never heard a heart
beat quite like yours-
one that jingles as you walk.
It’s almost as if I can hear
each chamber chime
in harmony,
each step building into
a full arterial cathedral bell choir—
a crescendo of freedom and joy.
My heart lifts just watching you
from the balcony where I can see
inside you, each blood cell bursting
in life-giving warmth and bliss.
How can a heart be so free?
Is this the secret reward for
willing forgiveness or
daily gratefulness or
is it a special gifting?
I would slice a vein and bleed
all over life and me if I knew
I could grow a heart like yours.
Does anyone know how to turn off the bold italics?
Scrutinized
emptied
carved onto blank slate
pieced in letter and pause
punctuated by breaths
an unfinished picture
like the elephant in the room
each part scrutinized
as though the whole
how can you know
when I don’t know
myself
this is who I am today
this moment – but it passes
and I gauge your response
curious to see
what I said
to you
oh for goodness sake. The title is supposed to be bold and only three lines are italics but after four tries it finally posted like this…so sorry.
Personally I think this great poem looks good. I couldn’t get the italics or the bold into mine today.
I am very concerned…everything on the page after mine is bod and italics….I think I broke the webpage!
hmmm I put a tag to end it and it worked on my view of the page so I will try italics too
Lovely like Tabula Rasa Blank Slate
Dissect Everything
The view through a wide
angle lens can be much
more pleasing than that
which is seen under a
microscope. Must we
dissect everything in
efforts to find problems
that are not otherwise
evident or obvious.
By Michael Grove
Under the Microscope
Should we dissect each
other like a science project
pinning a part of each
to respective slides
and figure out why
we continue to exist
as a couple?
Why when all sense of
coupleness has disappeared
and the light in your eyes
only sometimes shines
for me
Why when the juices
flowing through our
respective bodies
have taken a hike and
yet there still remains
that undefinable spark
perhaps found when
examined closely
under more magnification
to figure out why it still
exists when all conspires
to snuff it out
Is it like the burning ember
still smoldering under the
burnt logs now ashes
Can if be fanned to burst
forth in flames or is it soon
to burn out if left alone?
“Can if be fanned to burst
forth in flames or is it soon
to burn out if left alone?”
Oh, I like this, teetering on that balance, short space in time left for decision…gorgeous write, lionmother!
Thank you my poetic friend! Praise from you puts a wonderful night cap to my night!!
Dark Matter Schmark Matter
Look closer
much more closely
than most
And you
will find
something new
under the sun
Something
electric
YOU ARE THE BART SEAT
and everybody around here has been talking about
the New York Times article where they took a core
sample from a cushion from the seat of a Bay Area
Rapid Transit train and ran tests; and though I can’t
quote you the statistics (no one seems to be able to)
everybody keep saying, “It is not good.” But I want
to ask them and the New York Times, “Well, what
do you think you are anyway? And if not a medley
of germs and pieces of fecal dirt, loosely held in a
form, then stop overestimating yourself. Everybody
knows not to put an unwrapped sandwich on the seat
of a public transport vehicle and dine there; however,
unless your immune system is bubble-boy tenuous,
it doesn’t help you to get stuck on the dichotomy of
clean versus dirty. You are just a collection of cells
and the muck that holds them together, like anybody
who rides the train or reads The New York Times.
FangO
As a BART rider myself, WELL SAID!
What Eljulia says!
Another View of Love
I put my love under the microscope.
Brought focus to bear on all the main parts.
Hidden bits swirled; humor mixed with his hope
and an intellect seen for slinging darts.
There mixed with the slide, discovered his heart;
a kind, loving sphere is what I did skim.
The atom of him the forgiving part.
I wept when I looked at that piece of him.
Have kept the small marker he left behind.
Careless eyes see not what he did reflect.
His species rare in a world not benign.
Close scrutiny left me with new respect.
Empyrean love’s reflection may be
viewed only by humans able to see.
Microscope eyes turn inward
message forwarded to brain central.
Which gets on the intercom
to remind me and every working cell
the job is not yet
PERFECTLY DONE.
A new supervisor hovers about
a quiet helicopter with binoculars
watching each person’s actions and words.
I hope I will be good enough
she can hover somewhere else.
Then I can actually get some work done.
oh gosh I hate new supervisors. You captured her quickly in this small poem.
Thanks
From Afar
When comets bring us new microbes,
We might fall like in the past plagues
Ice and rubble and melting virus’
Whisking about with the spring wind.
To new locations of habitation and growth
Where they might flourish or not.
Our lives depending on their growth possibilities,
The reproduction success of minute particles,
Those things we can’t see,
Controlling the only thing we have.
Cubs v Mets: May 2007
Bottom of the ninth inning and five runs
in, a great rally for the 25 gloved
rocket launchers.
The stands, filled with nacho cheese and deep fried dreams,
watched an ass dragging for 1 – 8.
Sluggishness.
Malaise.
The dread of head-hanging shame into a weekend
of boozing away the lost memory
of a lost season.
The crowd had to be silent.
It was more a prayer.
Then, the mound started to get lazy.
Walks and runs, the field turned into a 5K,
Piniella putting on his lecture coat and glasses, pulling out a
yardstick and chalkboard,
schooling the pilot.
The lesson away,
the ball released,
that shining orb of victory pounding away at the soft ground below,
brought in the final finishers.
But for those who have no faith,
what was it?
Misplaced litanies,
egregious grace?
Can you touch it? Feel it?
Is it the same for baseball as it is for bawling baselessly?
We saw a man kneel that day.
We saw a man cross himself.
To which god do we pray?
Where is our faith if not bound up in a dear diary?
When that ninth was greeted with rushings from the dugout,
Thank you, Jesus, was the word on lips.
His life for our sins and the diamond.
Dear precious PAD,
Had a Crazy idea of writing poem for every major organ system in the human body represented by a cell. Such as Respiratory system, Heart, Blood, Integumentary system (skin), Digestive, Nervous, Muscular, Skeletal etc.
Anyone feel free to join in (don’t know if I’ll acutally pull it off). Be back, later poets. Have to make a run with the kids.
that is a spectacellular idea
Before I read this I had already done a heart. see below.
That’s what Joyce did with Finnegan’s Wake. Every chapter signified a different part of the body, and then in the end he had a created a man, and he felt that he was equal to God.
A friendly chat
Full name. Social. Valid credit card.
Cell number for emergency contact.
Vehicle license and VIN.
Proof of insurance, medical and automobile.
Number and location of tattoos.
Rashes, spots, anything nasty and communicable.
Baptized? Circumcised? Fear of God?
Ten p.m.
CHARITY ON TO CHARITY
A critical eye he cast
alas
across the multitudes before him.
So vast
this task it was a throttling sinew
and he knew
that only a charitable heart would change
the past.
Charity always begets charity, he said.
At last
he thought he could change the world.
I really like the strong rythm in this poem…like song lyrics
Usually, it was the
eyelash monsters
who would sabotage my view
But when I finally conquered
them with patience and the
art of placement,
my universe, through a pinhole,
somehow expanded
exponentially
as I spotted the
world in a water drop
in my toy microscope–
just the right size
for exploding
perceptions
haha! “eyelash monsters.” Remember them well! This brought back up in my memory that feeling of impatience and waiting to see “the world in a water drop” if i could only just get everything right.
UNTITLED
We gave your wife
your kids
safe harbor
from
you
your
threats.
She, on the phone
with you
your rambling
your threats
to kill her
your kids
yourself.
Your tears
your pleads
your gun
fires.
She, dropping to the floor
believing
you
your gun
your lie.
I grab the phone.
“Larry? LARRY!”
Silence.
Then this:
“Put
my
wife
back
on
this
phone.
NOW!”
My teeth clench.
For the first time in my life,
I hate.
I loathe.
Oh, God
forgive me as I curse
every living
cell
in that
shell
of
a
“man.”
Marie, this is stunning. Just so powerful. Oh, my heart.
Wow – this is powerful, Marie. A gripping story!
Chilling – gripping – authentic . BRAVO !
Like you – It is hard to feal any else than hate as my body chills.
Sadly – to much really for too many families.
so powerful i was stuck to the chair
Riveting! The form making it even more so! Yes, how does one love…that?
She was my ex sister-in-law, and that was about 27 years ago. The emotions are still raw whenever he comes to mind. And believe it or not, though I am no longer married to her brother, she is still married to – as Janet aptly puts it – that .
I seldom write about strongly emotional issues (love, anger, fear, etc.), as I feel I don’t adequately express those emotions on paper. Your words (powerful, gripping, chilling, riveting) mean more to me than I can explain. Thank you so much.
Marie, this is as raw a piece as I’ve read from you, and all the more powerful for it. I guess if we can love hell, we’re in heaven, hm? Loved this piece.
SPRING BRIGHT (tritina)
Beneath the microscope of spring
as the bulbs begin to flower
my days slowly begin to brighten.
Like the dew resting on the flower
my hurting heart grows bright
covered by the soothing breath of spring
Slowly the darkness turns to brightness
I watch while the winter turns to spring
and once again the heart opens to flower.
Hearts grow bright in the flowering of spring.
nice
Amoeba
On a slide it waits
for close observation
under a lens,
a still portrait
of shape and form,
a revelation
it had been with us
all along,
while under the light
it keeps secret
a story left untold,
this cell
this particle
shown
with so much left to see
like life inside me
and stirring.
I love it!
Than you.
Thank you.
Watched
I am a Christian
one who believes
yet one who is flawed,
acting in ways
that others
can say,
A Christian, is that how they behave?
Under the eyes
of judges who smirk
praying for guidance
and knowing God is at work
I try to be “good”
and am grateful I’m sure
to know the heavenly Watcher
knows I’m not pure.
By Him I am watched
and forgiven by turns
A Christian not perfect
whose care for all burns.
I ask your forbearance
in my imperfect state.
The world’s watchers
may judge, God seals my fate.
Blood broke the microscope
of condemnation from above.
what He sees He sees in love
Nice that the heavenly microscopic view from above have changed for the better!
God bless you for your wondrous words and honesty, Sharon, it is truly heart stirring, thank you!
and Marjory, I love that, Blood broke the microscope and the rest!! Stated so beautifully!
Your raw honesty is touching and humbling! …and DEAD ON! Thank-you for shining through your words.
By Him I am watched
and forgiven by turns…Wonderful!
Under the Microscope
Of concordances’ careful scrutiny,
I examine, observe, and test
the Word of God,
to understand the full meaning
of what He says,
in order to teach the truth
with bull’s eye accuracy.
UNDER A MICROSCOPE…
everything freezes in Cuba.
The air sits in front of you looking heavy
and thick. The rubbish
in the streets moves slightly,
but maintains its’ original position,
and it will be there the next time you pass.
The water a beautiful brilliant aqua
with a white fringe, doesn’t go anywhere.
It surrounds you
like a prison.
What was once an elegant hotel
where guests sat on balconies
sipping foaming champagne
and scrupulously peeled pieces
of tropical fruit, served by
bronzed men and women
in black and white uniforms,
is now covered by the grey
dust of communism.
The rich velvet curtains
blackened at the tops
with streams of color loss
and deliberate
lack of care.
Those men and women
now sit in brightly painted
darkened doorways,
eyes wide open,
not blinking.
A cat wants to go out
but it can’t, and it silently screams.
Che Guevera pictures
painted on the walls
of a closed casino,
tells you
that now you are free.
gorgeous man, you just want to believe him.
Big paintings, big hope.
The sidewalks have
50 or more years of nervous gum chewing
footprints. Blackened and not washed
because?
Tourists are not allowed
to buy vegetables
at the market, so
a special currency
was invented- for
Cuban’s only. The
darkly wrinkled
lettuce only as big
as a clenched fist
is not for you.
These vegetables are pricey
and the leftovers of
the government’s first pick.
The rules have grown lax
since Fidel has aged.
Now you can have
a personal enterprise
out of your front door,
but you can only sell
7 items- brillo pads –
toothbrush-no toothpaste-
a hair scrunchy-paper
towels and aluminum
foil are too capitalistic-
a single piece of green
Tupperware-a very very small
notebook-a plastic bracelet-
and a matching ring-
and your biggest item
is you hope and dignity.
At night jump into
an illegal cab, an
American car from
the 1950’s. The driver
is a doctor during the day-
we all have to make ends meet.
Go to the airport
and cry your way back
to that terrible
capitalistic country
America.
Gripping. I’m writing a story of one such Cuban for my next miracle book.
WOW POWER FULL!!!
Microscopic Television
Why do I
Watch CSI
To see what’s going on inside?
I’m no chicken
But some sights sicken
The plots are thin but the gore does thicken
Why do we
Watch bad TV?
Lessons in anatomy?
Bits of brains
Suspect stains
Do actors like to play remains?
But sex is taboo
Complexity too
So instead of human drama, we get human goo
The chef-ly arts
Now there’s some smarts
At least they cook their body parts
Which Lens?
Burned naked by stares
Lens-distorted sample proves
They are all okay
One for the Ladies
(a kyrielle)
Look very closely, yes it’s true,
He’s made of diff’rent stuff than you.
Things known him and him alone
It must be that “Y” chromosome.
He only has one word for “bummed;”
We have one hundred eighty-one.
“Fine” was his day, when he gets home.
It must be that “Y” chromosome.
He shoots 3-pointers Saturday.
Laundry basket’s too far away?
These mysteries are still unknown.
It must be that “Y” chromosome.
Won’t dance at weddings, no Siree,
But throw a football, set him free,
He’ll boogie down in the end zone.
It must be that “Y” chromosome.
The slightest ping under the hood
Is heard and answered, understood.
But baby’s cry at midnight: huh?
It must be that “Y” chromosome.
He has his ways, we have our wiles.
Perhaps we should call The X Files?
Men shake their heads; we women moan,
It must be that Why? Chromosome.
.
Very clever and spot on, girl!
Thanks so much, Sally.
Wonderfully said.
Thank you, Marjory.
I particularly liked the basketball / laundry basket and the wordplay of the final line. It’s a pleasure to see wit galloping along in your poem–even if it IS a sly attack of my gender. Oh well, I’ll survive!
No worries, Brian. I’m married to one of the good ones, and only the laundry basket stanza applies to him. Only meant to be a gentle gender prod via amalgamation of some friends’ husbands, as well.
Glad you liked.
This one is on my fridge-door now:) Too good not to enjoy with other!
I’m honored, Janet!
“Data Points”
Under the sterile lights
of a laboratory,
the distance between
love and understanding
was calculated to be
28 nanometers.
The distance between
understanding and try
could not be calculated
due to
a lack
of data.
(-:
(-:
Data, data, data,
we need data.
Sea Monkeys and Brother Blood
That first microscope kit
was the best gift in years,
allowing us to confirm
what we had suspected
of one another for years:
that girls could ignore
pain in the interest of
science, sacrifice being
second nature to them;
that our brother’s blood,
moving ruby crystals,
bore a resemblance to
sea monkeys we’d just
examined on that slide.
We’d begin again with
a clean slide. He had
plenty of blood left
and four sisters
to retrieve a sample.
Meiosis
Numerous
Sundays construct
a scattered life
Crinkled
nose, paper
rustles dire news
Acrostics
in glossy magazines
puzzle you cranky
Wondering
how loving
language passes on
Under
microscope’s eye
cells replicate, divide
Genes
shuffle information
down to daughters
Crystal
eyes meld
into garish hair
Analytical
minds meet
tendencies to yawn
Nuclear
family twists
chromosomes into fresh
Parenting
cells program
to split, diminish.
The Labs Will Tell Us If This Transplant Worked
when your marrow
slid beneath their scope
they saw leukemia
a twisted rope
of your cells rejecting mine
no trace of hope
what they saw rewrote
what life would be
our futures hung on
what they didn’t see
OH. My heart did an odd little “bump” at the serious message delivered so simply.
Thank you, Eljulia.
Loved your poem Robert! Here’s mine:
Imperfect Lens
Every status update
Every blog entry
Down to the smallest tweet
Can come under scrutiny
Of someone somewhere at some time
The more famous you are
The more likely it will be
But it can happen to the most ordinary
Your joke wasn’t funny
Or the picture was lame
Your topic too bland
Or just incendiary
Bosses look and frown
Relatives see and gasp
Strangers may applaud
-or throw a fit as the mood may be
There is no privacy
And room to just be free
This imperfect lens
That society uses
To judge, condemn and stone
The whole story we do not see
Of the loneliness, fear, and insecurity
The masks we need to wear
Are more truer than we know
Made clear on this internet
That we are more alike than not
And some just can’t handle that
MYSTERIOUS REALM
The assignment was to recite
the last nine lines of “Thanatopsis”
from memory. My summons came,
I stood much like a quarry-slave,
felt the scourge of fifty eyes.
I spoke, got halfway through, then
blanked. So this is what it is to die
I thought, my breath arrested,
my hands two fists of winter.
Miss Chandler asked (me new
to the school) What is your name
again? and from the dungeon
of my throat I blurted Does it
really matter at this point? The class
shattered into laughter as though
I were Oscar Wilde, purple wings
unfurling from my shoulders.
I ascended into instant triumph—
a realm of gold I’ll never know
again, but travel my long
caravan of days In hope to find.
om my, this brought back memories! One year we had to pick between two poems, a short one and a long one…dummy me was the only one that picked the long one! I almost miss that.
Those little ordeals have great resonance. Thanks for reading my poem!
“my hands two fists of winter”…SO well described, Brian. Love this.
here there are too many eyes
the cluster of people in white jackets
watching from the glass nurse’s station
some of us stumble about wearing patterned hospital gowns
I wear lumpy sweatshirts and old jeans
well-worn sneakers
we sit about round tables
they give us paper and crayons
at least I have space to draw
write whispering poems on scraps of pink paper
when they briefly allow me a pen
the lectures on cures for our illnesses
ideas so simple I know they’ll fail
there are no easy prescriptions for our peculiar diseases
I speak with a beautiful 19-year-old drug addict with too much eyeshadow,
wavy blonde hair and a husky voice
bitter but always laughing
we watch the new admit, shaped muscles under his tight t-shirt, gelled hair, a crooked grin
she flirts
but he likes me instead, lost in my private reverie
even with my lumpy sweatshirt and rumbled hair
dyed the wrong color
everyone hides their secrets
(except for the suicidal,
who are too desperate to care)
the rest of us live in hospital gowns but remain strangers
they give me a salad for lunch every day and refuse to accept
that my vegan diet was my choice
and I’m ready to leave it, so tired of salad
my favorite part is our occasional smoke breaks
I go out with the smokers and sing while they drag on cigarettes
last night we sang “Amazing Grace” and I watched the starry night
from our little fenced-in corner
at least there is space here
for me to sing
I feel caged just reading this! nice!
thanks!
Artfully done. Makes me feel like I’m there.
thank you.
wonderful description of how strangers under these circumstances can interact in many ways under the watchful eye of nurses station
thank you
Robert – love yours today! How beautifully written! Here’s mine:
It’s upsetting
When one can’t decipher
Metaphor from actual implementation
Of a reality that could be had.
There are those
Who seek
To put down
To go against the grain
To interpret life
Following ill-advised paths.
These people
Put everyone under scrutiny
Weighing what they consider
Imbalances in a person’s moral structure
Scrutinizing their scruples
Chipping away at their character.
Consider that life is a
Flash forward
A bird’s eye view into
What the future holds
A strong advisement to
Waylay issues before they arise
And set aside differences before they hinder
Forward movement.
From umber granules
Laced with countless miracles
Everything begins
***
God breathed on dust
Man became a living soul
Setting him apart
***
Earth’s organisms
The study of scientists
All victims of Time
***
Microscopes cannot
Examine the mystery
Of man’s living soul
***
Immortality
Mankind cannot comprehend
Vast eternity
YES to all of these. “Microscopes cannot examine the mystery of man’s living soul.” YES, YES, YES.
loved it! too true!
Thank-you so much, Marie and RASlater:)
Every one of these is phenomenal.
Magnification
It’s like one of those quizzes
(Can you guess what this is?)
where it looks like a giant
Seussian forest of terrifying
tubular trees screaming up
to the sky and it’s really just
a tiny patch of hair. We are
looking at this thing too close
-ly, and it’s scaring us. Let’s
unclip, slip off of this slide,
unsmear our fear and just be.
Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.
AND I WANT THE BOOK!!
awesome take.
Thank you both, so much.
Up Close
Up close the most insidious cell
is rendered artful, the malignant strain
magnified a million times its size,
transforms, an abstract canvas
deceptively innocuous,
while through the same lens,
your skin, so tender, soft
against my fingertips
becomes a desert, parched,
sparse follicles like cholla,
yucca under the sun’s glare.
Fantastic images in this one, especially there at the end…
Okay … starting bottom’s up.. HOPE I CAN POST COMMENTS!!!
ARGGGGHHHHHH my first comment above… stopped by the “POSTING TOO FAST POLICE”
What a poetic party pooper! Who hired this “guy” (or gal) ? lol
Pearl, I HEAR you!!! I am intensely moved and pleasured by these great poems today…but the attempt to post comments is….AAARRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!!! Whoever they hired…is FIRED!
If this takes more than 12 attempts at posting no one will see my little ‘vent’:)
Blessings to all my poetic friends here!
Would Be Baby
They scraped a few cells
from the infanted surround
there unviable
Take the microscope
smash it bearer of such news
knowledge bringing pain
Month melting to month
scraped cells pathos awaiting
verdict all is well
Joy
Pearl, I’ve been sitting here trying to write just such a poem. You just did it for me, and splendidly. Thank you!
Much thanks Marie… Hug sweet Sophie – More joy to come
Mother to Daughter
You know, there are so many things that people
Just don’t care about any more. Like when I was
Growing up if a boy asked me out, he would have
To meet my folks and my Dad would ask him
Questions and they would end up talking about
Football, but the guy always dreaded it – it was
Like being put under a microscope. I hated
It too, I only hung around with kids from school
And the neighborhood, it’s not like I was having
A date with Jack the Ripper.
Oh yes, how is your friend Cara doing?
That was so terrible, what happened to her
And her girlfriends, but thank God the one
Girl was able to get away and went straight
to the police. I swear I don’t know what
this world is coming to any more, and
right here in our own neighborhood. I
hate sounding like some old-timer, but
really, things just aren’t what they used to be.
Aw… so much said about yes… the way things just aren’t… Well done!
(argggg here we go ahead… two three tries at least for each posting why????!!!!!)
I know the technological possibilities of the answer to that scream .. but WHY???
PEEK-A-BOO, I SEE YOU
The nurses there are on the ball,
the doctor are quite caring,
checking on your chart quite often,
it’s intensive care they’re sharing.
When your health in on the wane,
aneurysms, attacks, or terrible strains,
they keep a watchful eye on you
at the Peek-a-Boo I.C.U.
CLOSE UP THAT HOSPITAL GOWN RIGHT NOW, MISTER!
LOL!!
My grandmother used to say “only you”
I’ll say it now to you .. Only you Walt
could transform ICU into a smile
calling it the Peek-a-Boo
Adorable
The Would-Be-Micro-Biology-Scholar
she spoke in whispered syllables
filaments floating in the air
eyes averted as she had been
schooled to elders who were there
she spoke in whispered syllables
sitting straight backed in her chair
hands folded calmly loose
head scarf soft covering her bare
the paneled wooded table shone
with sunshafted bouncing oiled sunlight
her papers, spread untidily before them
oddly out of place disturbingly unright
as she left on soft feet across that polished wooded floor
they smiled with emptied eyes filled her with chagrin
she heard one loudly murmur to the other so strange in today’s world
and she knew with frozen clarity that her work here would not begin
out on the campus beneath a soaring chestnut tree
pulled her cell phone from her pocket called home
and relayed in whispered syllables
“I am sorry for your sacrifice – still they do not like me”
There’s SO much here, Pearl! You’ve really captured such a painful subject so eloquently. The touch of the phone call and last line, hit hard. Well done.
I love your descriptions.
home sick like so many my son is studying bioscience but is studying it close to home. This hit my heart strings i know so many mothers who are separated from their children and miss them as do their children miss their parents. Working in retail i serve so many students and they are so lovely and cant wait to go home to see their loved ones.
Taking A Stroll
Was walking down
that street soft
chestnut petals
falling in softer air
arms swinging loose
scent of fresh shampoo
free from a single
floating thought
of watchful eyes
Who Knew?
“soft petals falling in softer air” … beautiful. I feel as thought I just saw this recently, and it struck me at the time as well.
*though*
thanks Marie…
Oh, I SO love the same part that Marie described! Such a beautiful glimpse, PKP (Pearl)! Just lovely!
Lovely i love the scent of fresh shampoo
Infinitesimally Small
Like a speck
of dust
like a culture
on a slide
like a sub-atomic particle
of astounding insignificance
I see the world
as I sit
quietly
in awe
on top of the roof
on a clear bright night
and gaze at the stars
I see us for what we are
and wonder
if somewhere
far, far away
someone is sitting
looking
wondering
and feeling
just like me
infinitesimally small
Iain
Spot on.
(unintentional albeit fun pun)
Where is the “adore” button? Grand stuff here
Impressively intimate and omniscient!
thanks people
Another ‘fridge-door’ poem here!
Through my Lens
Through my lens
I see a miracle
of chromosomes
In other people’s eyes
criticism may rise
Swiftly.
But I have known you
since you were
a flutter near my heart
rearranging
my entire universe
Hope abides.
And beneath the microscope
of a mother’s love
there is only perfection
Imperfect perfection.
God’s threads woven
to a beautiful you
a reflection of His wonder
poured into freckles
and stumbles
and the beautiful ache
in my soul
Oh, Janet … is there no end to your beauty?
Marie….is there no end to yours?
Thank-you.
Oooooooh…. I’ve just swooned and hit the floor…. Hope there is no end to your beauty! Exquisite… oooh “poured into freckles” …ahhhhhhh…..
“But I have known you
since you were
a flutter near my heart
rearranging
my entire universe”
This is so sacred, Janet
and “imperfect perfection…”
PERFECT!! Warm smiles to you!
Beautiful…
Marie, Pearl, Hannah, Michael, Thank-you!
A mothers love is like no other so well written i love your poem and “His wonder poured into freckles” so lovely said.
Thank-you Ber
SEE JOY
The light of day
is peeping round
the window shade.
The night has ended.
Freshness fills the morning.
Examining my day,
I see sunlight.
This put a smile on my face, Marjory. Thank you!
Marjory… This one has me taking a deep clear breath. LOVELY
ARGGGGHHHHH don’t know how long I can last with this infernal triple try posting on each wonderful poem.. talk about breaking the mood …!
I personally think the ‘system’ can only handle one post at a time.
Herefore,
If I post a second before you post,
my post wins
as my post out-posts
your post.
That’s my ‘take’ and I’ll stick with it.
And thank you both for your encourageing words or dare I say Posts?
Enchanting…pure poetry!
Bright and happy like Fridays love them. I love how you describe freshness fills the morning that is th air i most enjoy the first deep breath of air theres something about it beautiful
SCRUTINY
Watchful eyes, spy and question,
introspection in life, micro managed
and damaging your image.
A driving passion can be deterred
by words that hurt reputations.
Feeling the laser points probing,
disrobing the emperor leaving him
naked to the world. Dissection
is never for your protection.
The microscope looks too closely,
cover your tracks and step back.
See the big picture.
Oh, bravo. A masterpiece from the master!
Yes, indeed!
No one was ever known under a microscope
Great read – Perfect sentiment
Blood Music
rhythmically rich
under the microscope’s eye
vibrant blood music
~ Randy Bell ~
How lovely this this! Love it from title to the end. Blood music.
“rhythmically rich….vibrant blood music.
Gotta love that vibrant blood music.
I second Benjamin… Quite wonderful
Wrinkles
They seem to have appeared over-night,
these fine lines around the eyes and mouth.
I wonder how this could happen to someone
who never forgets her sunscreen, always moisturizes
Then, I focus deeper, falling into each tiny line
there – hidden in the valleys and crevices –
are the joys of children birthed -
are the remnants of tears spilled -
are the ponderings of introspection -
are the moments of awe and wonder.
LOOK CLOSELY
Will you look closely please,
Stop, Bend down as with a child
To see as she sees
A blade of grass, a beetle,
Flowers hidden in the moss.
Stunningly gorgeous! This is poetry!
Perfect! yes.
Amen, Linda. Amen.
GOOSEBUMPS!!! This poem is just spilling of positiveness! Thank you for this!
Full of wisdom and delight… congratulate your “fine” wrinkles …
ARGGGGHHHHHH Be gone “TIME KEEPER”!!!!!
Okay… going to read… will deal with my frustration at not being able to post .. but refuse to surrender the pleasure of reading when I have some time to do so!
Full of wisdom and delight… congratulate your “fine” wrinkles …
posted under wrong poem!
Yes! They are laugh lines, love lines, life-lines! They’re not wrinkles at all!
NOT BY A LONGSHOT
(a shadorma)
The scope of
inspection, to be
expected,
by future
father-in-law; however,
that’s a rifle scope!
2012-04-21
P. Wanken
*Today was an exercise in description. I watched a video called ‘The Stages Of Mitosis’ and described what I saw with trope.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2WwIKdyBN_s
A purple clamshell surrounded by moons
Particle blasts from the golf ball surface,
sunken volcanoes, spewing a halo of sustenance
We float in together, through one of the dimples
A kaleidoscopic tunnel of purple cabbage shards
Syncopated with the beat of a distant drum
Destroys the glop blocking our path.
Poof, she’s gone!
Then reforms as a mass of cabbage tubes.
And the golf ball explodes as if stuck by a thousand tiger teeth
To reveal the intricate sausage strings of cabbage forming into a
Giant wall of radiator grill.
The golden spiders of life attach from either side
And suck the nothingness with their stringy, dangling tendrils.
The cabbage wall splits, a waffle iron opening to reveal the prize.
The hungry little children ignore the waffle,
the emptiness replacing the majesty.
They swarm the two cabbage halves
Like they were beer gardens
Opened for business on a hot Berlin night
Two golf balls form.
They float in space and ponder each other
Assessing the their differences
A young woman examining her new breasts in a mirror
They float away with their entourages
Who pack in around her and protect her
Form a barrier, a gated bubble of teenagers
New kids on the block.
Ready to party
You had me at, “A purple clamshell surrounded by moons…” I so enjoyed your mind’s meandering on this topic…power packed, PowerUnit!!
Continually surprising! The beer garden and the new breasts line really are striking in their clarity. Very successful in turning the elements of a single, reproducing cell into complex human beings. Without the explanation at the beginning though, I wouldn’t get it.
Cellular Memory
The Fortune teller is reading lines from our palms
As the Stars fall across the sky
She tells me about my kids
three boys.
And our hearts are broken
You will only have one child.
One day we will drift apart
But not in heart
My heart will remember you
My arteries will always flow For you
Muscles will contract
Blood will flow
Straight to the heart
My veins will remind me of the way
your eyes drink me in
The times you touch my hand
The way you walk like the devil
In high heels
We ride the tilt 0 wheel
Till you throw up
I hold back your hair
It won’t be that way I say.
Just another fortune teller.
So poignant, so lovely.
PICK, PICK, PICK.
Stop examining,
‘cause all the things that I do
never seem enough,
just love me as I love you,
accept me as I do you.
THIS…we all can empathize with…accept me as I do you. Perfect!
and THIS is key to happiness, so well said in so few well placed words, Marjory!
Good remedy tied with a very concise bow!
Little Fish Swimming in a Dish
I knew a little fish
Who swam in a Petri dish
On way to a blind date
With computer chosen mate
I like this.
I want to say to the little fish – have a great time.
Makes me wonder how the experiment turned out.
“Earth’s Millenium Check-Up”
I don’t doubt that somewhere out there
There is some omnipresent eye
Who, every couple millennia or so
Checks up on us, peering down
Through some imperceptible, celestial scope.
And that analytical appraiser of the Earth’s health
Will stare a moment,
Shake its head,
And say, “Yikes, it’s sicker than I thought!”
…All I ask is, no shots, please.
Dear Moosehead,
Well, well, what a way to spoil
a birthday party!!! 6 -2! I love it!
I also loved seeing all the old-style
1912 uniforms, so cool! That Sox
bullpen is gonna be under the microscope
today for sure, along with tier supposed
big hitters. Two more glorious days of ball
and freedom before the ball and chains
get back from Atlanta. Jimmy the Greek
is spitting feathers down there! Schmuck!
Though I guess he’s happy the Braves had a big
win yesterday. Pick ya up in the lobby at 2 –
first pitch is 4:15. I’ll get the dogs and beer.
Yours gloatingly,
Ringo the Howler
Good morning sir!
I SEE
I see you Big Bo.
You are in my space again,
Watching all the time,
Please, just dump the microscope,
remove your invading eye.
Creep.
Everything feels wrong
I must trust what I feel inside.
And what I feel inside
Is that you’re a creep
I feel your eyes
Creeping over my skin , face, hair and eyes.
You really are standing too close
And I can’t move my lips fast enough
To get you to go
They have told me that I am strong
But I know what I am inside
And what I feel inside
Is that I am week
I am not your prize
And those words are lies
And it really shows
And I can’t get away fast enough
I feel your eyes.
Creeping.
whoo, chill,
I felt the creeping ….
Truly creepy! Makes you want to run, but your feet are stuck in concrete.
Eww! (You made me feel it too.)
I really like this Kristi. Thoughtful investigation of love.
Great prompt, Robert, as evidenced by the diversity already expressed. You all are blowing me away already this morning!
Our Histology
Under the thinnest sheet of glass,
I fix a sample of your heart
to search for evidence of the pathogen
preventing you from loving me anymore –
an invading species, a colony
of parisitic bacteria consuming,
decomposing the organic
and blissful.
I follow the paths
where blood used to flow
and find no obstructions.
I examine the muscle
from your heart wall
and see only strength.
Finally, I remove the cover from the slide,
but still sense a barrier;
and I realize that the heart
I need to examine is my own.
Beautifully expressed!
This is a creative way to state this, Kristi,
“I fix a sample of your heart
to search for evidence of the pathogen
preventing you from loving me anymore –”
I enjoyed that and also like your realization moment in your closing.
Good twist at the end.
Well said!
You’re always so good when you use science! I really loved this one from the perfect title to the first line to the first stanza to your catalog of actions to your conclusion. Maybe compose a couple more action stanzas and use the best – I found the blood stanza stronger than the muscle stanza. The end is great, but I think if you play with it, you can make it exceptional.Did I mention how much I loved the title?
WHAT GIVES A CELL LIFE? (a dodoitsu)
We don’t know what we don’t know.
My guess is, we never will
until we meet, face to face,
the One who breathed life.
Nice. No one really knows what life is.
Such beautiful brevity, Marie, such well spent words, a gift! Warm smiles!
And then we shall know fully as we are fully known! Excellent use of so few syllables.
Short and stunning…every answered summed up in this beauty!
well said love this
Looking in the Mirror
Life was complicated
Her situation was under estimated
She tried to fit in
But was not allowed
She was pushed in to isolation
Not included in all that was there for the taking
At home things were no better
She worked hard to participate
But to no avail
Nothing she done could compensate
Working hard and getting no thanks in return
Hands tired, body and mind empty
No matter what she done
Others took plenty
Standing alone in the world
No one to turn to
Looking at herself in the mirror
She couldn’t stand at who she seen
Not one for makeup
She had a face of porcelain
Crying in bed at night
Trying to make sense of it all
When a knock on the door the following day
A friend from the past
Had come to see her
They had a blast
They chatted away for hours on end
She now had someone to turn to she had a friend
Her friend got to the bottom of what was going on
She had isolated herself and didn’t know where she did belong
As her confidence grew so did she
Nothing stayed the same
She could be the person now she wanted to be
Looking and judging herself was her biggest flaw
Looking in the mirror now was so easy for her
Taking pride in who she was it felt like she had won the draw
This was her cross roads
She now knew which road to take
She knew who she was
She was not fake
I got really drawn into the narrative, good
Thank you for your lovely comment
“She had isolated herself.” Brilliant.
Yep she had it is amazing how easily this happens in every day life
The beauty of long term friends,
they can see inside you,
they remember who you are
and help you to reconnect with life
Friends will always know when some thing is not right thank you for your lovely comment
This is a striking image, Ber,
“Not one for makeup
She had a face of porcelain
“Crying in bed at night
I t speaks to me of such fragility and sudden fracture.
Your poem expresses so well the importance of edifying one another. Such a beautifully crafted poem!
I agree helping others that need help and are crying out for it in many different ways. Thank you for your very lovely comment and kind words
Ooooh Ber this is wise and lovely and achingly loving of self and others
okay tried posting again still the “EVIL AUTO-EDITOR” has me stopped at the gate
try #3
#4
Thank you very much it had a twist i know but that was to make your mind understand it more and stand back. I always try and do this with everyone i meet in my daily life no one knows what people have to worry about so this is one discription of isolating and how easy it happens. Knowing where the person is coming from or going through can make the world of a difference to understanding outlooks and behaviours of others
Onion Cells
We cut the cold onion
She peeled the brown
outer skin away,
separated
the first layer
and set it down.
I teased the thin
fragile
wet
membrane from
between the layers
and with tweezers and slide,
successfully place a portion at
the center
and add one drop of methylene blue,
then
protecting it with the coverslip.
She placed the slide gently
between the clips
which then moved toward center
watching so nothing slips
out of place.
Unable to wait, I look first,
turning the focus knob lightly
It comes into view!
My heart jumps at the sight.
Light purple illuminates the onion skin
cells packed together
holding on to each other
reveal membrane
cytoplasm
nucleus
appearing now
on my microscope’s stage.
I could not be happier
and imagine the cells all bow,
confident in their presto-change-o
from flimsy
sticky
easily ripped self
to show stoppers
hugging one another
after a job well done.
The ending is cute and a bit of a surprise. I remember being surprised at what DNA looked like after we extracted it from an onion in my botany lab. I appreciate the details, especially the dye, and I like the pace. It is slow even though it is a “presto-change-o”. I guess it is the build-up to the finale. I also like the contrast of the careful language with the fun language.
Spot on, KristiOhio. I’ll just add my AMEN.
Absolutely! Masterfully done!
Audition
Apprehensive, I stand waiting
watching others who go before me
Looking down at nothing
hearing in my head the music
feeling in my body each crescendo
every nuance of the piece.
My body knows what goes
with each moment of the composition
and rehearses without moving.
I have practiced deeply
with a passion for dancing
music,
becoming not the dancer
but the dance.
Walking out to center stage
I introduce myself
the music
the choreographer.
Stepping back into place,
my music begins
and I am dance.
No one is there except me,
no one sees
I dance for the love
of the music
of dance.
Tour, tour, tour jete,
I dance
hidden in the music.
Quiet now
still
it is done
and body memory leads to
a deep curtsy
slow
graceful
deliberate.
I hear applause.
Walking off the stage
I wonder if I will be hearing from them
soon
or at all.
But my soul feels the happiness
of a piece well danced.
Love the expression of dance beautiful
Beautiful! I wondered about the connection to the prompt, until I read “and body memory leads to a deep curtsy…” Bravo!
Bravo, Emma! You have captured this so beautifully! Bravo!
You bring out the joy of the dance,
Deep feeling of the oneness
Love this! esp ‘But my soul feels the happiness
of a piece well danced.!
Microscope
I knew the rule in biology class –
both eyes open when you look
through the eyepiece, but
when I leaned in, I always closed
the eye toward the wider world
out of instinct to focus
on what I was supposed to see
and just as I tried harder to see it
I would realize that, once again,
my other eye was squeezed tight
and I felt like I just kept failing.
I never did share this with my dad,
the biologist, because I was sure
I would be letting him down.
Now, with both eyes open,
I know better.
Linda Voit
I feel like I knew this once but forgot…no wonder I could never see very well! I love your closing, Linda.
Loving the deeper meaning here, Linda. Subtly stated, but powerfully expressed.
This is great Linda!!
Wow, Linda…powerful poem about self-awareness that we all can relate to! Bravo to you for getting to this place! Blessings.
Both eyes open…
I don’t remember that from Bio,
But it sure fits in life.
Thanks for your well stated thoughtfullness.
I love metaphores as poems. GJ!
awesome
Thanks everyone. This was one of those poetry writing moments I love . . . where I am writing without knowing where it’s going, when suddenly the message reveals itself and there is just is no way around it.
I laughed out loud when I read this..so true! and from what I remember a fly’s leg and what grows on my head looking quite similar:) Enjoyed this!
Neat!
~IN THE CLEARING~
When the chill of blood
spilling through
your veins becomes
unbearable,
I find you in the clearing.
Just beyond the turn ahead
in the space between
the timber that was felled
last Fall and the one that
fell naturally.
It’s roots are splayed into a
sodden arch,
crumbling and hanging
from the dense weight of dirt;
its deep underbelly exposed,
it’s very heart.
It is there that I will find you,
breathing methodically
when the icy feeling
becomes intolerable.
Your source, coursing cold
through tiny tubular veins
struggles to nourish,
to oxygenate your body;
as a pair of lungs,
upon opening and closing,
a full breath is taken.
I speak silent words
of encouragement to you
and almost as if you hear me
you rise on sudden flit of wing,
a fit of swooping,
in a dance
that meets my soul
and you land ever so lightly,
tasting my hair as it shines;
swirling up you loop around
and then down
a pause
and you greet me
with beautiful butterfly kisses.
Settling before me
in pine-needled glory,
your colors are vivid
while your garment
is ultra violet,
colors are invisible
until you lift delicate wing
showing miniscule scales
toward the light to display
portraying only the color
you’re meant to.
Even though you posses
the potential in each fragile limb,
on every soft,
powdered, gossamer scrim
you hold the entire rainbow in your wings.
© H.G. @ P.A. 4/21/12
I love your poem so soft and gentle butterfly maybe i am wrong beautiful
Thank you, Ber, yes, a woodland fairy butterfly!
Beautiful expression of your day out and how you captured this event in your mind a woodland fairy butterfly my oh my simply wonderful. I have to say i could look at butterflies for ever they are amazing and so pretty
I’m so grateful for this, Ber, I so agree, I really could look at butterflies forever, too. I had SUCH a hard time dragging myself away from that clearing in the woods, I tell you! Thank you, for talking with me today.
Softly stunning.
So grateful!
I like the moments in the poem that feel like they are rare spaces or occurances, such as the space between the two timbers and seeing the scales on the wings. I don’t know if you want critical comments. If not, then you may want to stop reading. I like your poem overall, but some things stood out.(Of course, I am an amateur, so take this for what it’s worth.) I would rethink mentioning the vivid colors before saying the colors are invisible. I really like the revealing of the colors and describing how it is done with the scales and interaction of light. The pine needles seem out of place. They connote winter and lack of sun while the butterfly connotes spring and sun. Also, I wonder about the first line. I think of a person at first, but then it seems that the speaker is talking to the butterfly, which doesn’t have veins. The use of “icy” too is too extreme.
I can speak only for myself here, but I appreciate it when someone gives me an honest, hard-line critique of my work.
That said, we need to mostly understand that we are getting someone’s opinion. An example is seen in judging music at state-level contest: the high school band I was in once received 3 “ones” and a “four.”
I’m with you, Marie!!
It is all a matter of opinion and artistic choices. That being said, I do like to try and keep my poems truthful to the extent of delivering truthful details though. I usually do a bit of research if needed.
Thank you!
Thank you, for the thought that you’ve put into this, I appreciate it, Kristi. As far as the order in which I described the color of the butterfly I chose to state that the wings were vivid and explain more afterward about why. A matter of preference, I suppose. I displayed her against the bright contrast of orange pine-needles because in early Spring that is where you will find them in the woods, (that is how I found the one of which I write).
I am speaking to the butterfly and yes, they do have veins. This is a bit I’ve clipped from the web for you:
Butterfly wings are made of two chitonous layers (membranes) that are nourished and supported by tubular veins. The veins also function in oxygen exchange (“breathing”).
I dramatized the cold-blooded quality of the butterfly and used a different variation of the word cold, hence icy. Artistic choices presented in every word choice.
I’m glad that the timber part worked for you and I hope my explanation clears up for you a little more, my mental process.
I really like hearing what an artist is thinking about his or her writing.
I do, too, cindishipley, although for me, (I don’t know if you like this also), but I like the space to interpret first and then be able to compare with where the writer was coming from afterward. I find it super interesting to learn of the writer’s processes though! Smiles!
I agree that it comes down to artistic choices. I like this blog because we can get other people’s take on our choices. You got mine, and really what am I to you? I am 100% confident that you didn’t write the poem for me. Having said that, I think that it is helpful to realize that your reader probably isn’t going to research before reading your poems, and it is good to keep in mind his/her interpretation. Places in the poem where this sort of thing happens will have more attention on them and will either help or hinder the success of the poem.
I took veins to be a part of the circulatory system, and butterflies have an open circulatory system. I am not a butterfly expert, so I am relying on what I learned at school and the little search I did before posting about your poem. From your comment, it seems that you are using veins as part of the respiratory system, and yes, that would be similar to veins in structure.
Below is my one source:
“A butterfly’s circulatory system is relatively simple. The heart is a pump attached to a long tube that extends from the abdomen to the head. The blood is pumped through this tube and released into the tissues. Through a pressure gradient, the blood seeps through the tissue back to the abdomen. There it is sucked back into the heart and pumped forward again.
In a butterfly, there is no transportation of oxygen in the blood. Butterflies have valves called spiracles along either side of their bodies. Some of these spiracles, located mostly along the abdomen, allow oxygen to enter. Other spiracles exhale carbon dioxide. In this way oxygen will enter the body directly. Once inside, there is a network of tunnels similar to the network of veins in the human body. Oxygen will travel directly to where it is needed and pass into the tissue.”
http://centralamerica.com/cr/butterfly/
Kristi … veddy interesting… although you do sound like a butterfly expert… Maybe can chalk up the inconsistencies that fly in the face of this info to “poetic license” … Apologies for poor punning…
Happy poeming
I’m seeing that the conflict for you on the word, “vein,” seems to be cleared up here in the research that we both did…
“network of tunnels similar to the network of veins” as opposed to my info which states, “nourished and supported by tubular veins. The veins also function in oxygen exchange (“breathing”).
Not so much different from each other really, Kristi.
Yes, poetic choices/license etc. is a gift but at the same time we should take our readers into consideration and I can assure you that I do otherwise I would not do the research that I do to get the “details,” right and search for words that have same meanings to keep our readers interested. Nobody wants to hear the the word, “cold,” repeated three times for instance, hence chilly and icy might be more dramatic or extreme (as Marjory states).
Thank s for your thoughts on this. Smiles and happy writing to you!
PKP (Pearl), not wasted on me, I love a pun or two, keeps it light!
Oh, Marjory, I can smell those pine-needles in your description!! So much a part of what I remember about hot, dry summer stretches. Thank you so much for your thoughts and warm smiles to you!
Me think you do protest tooooo much.
One thing I recall from childhood – from many camping ( the old green tent type ) trips in the mountains of So.Calif- ( in the SUMMER time) – was the smell of pine needles and dust which lay everwhere. It was in part that wonderful feeling and smell that led us to select our present home here in the NW. The needles in Calif were not lacking sun, rather they denoted too much sun and too little water.
You might use a dictionary to see the various meanings and uses of a given word – Try vein for starters
I am sorry that you can not relate. I find that sometimes it is only the extreme that can extress a truely deep thought or feeling, or beauty.
If someone has never experienced ‘extreme’ (which in itself is unforturate for them.) that someone can not identy with extremes expressed by others and that someone could end up being trapped in the mundane where poetry becomes a useless avenue of expression.
Oh Hannah! What a way to start the day! Yellow butterflies were my Mom’s favorite – I saw the first of the season yesterday and thought of her, instantly. Today would have been her 83 birthday. Thanks for this beautiful image.
That is such a special memory, Linda, I’m so thankful that you shared it with us! Smiles and happy remembrance of her day of birth!
Beautifully stated
So pleased, Marjory, thank you!
“When the chill of blood
spilling through
your veins becomes
unbearable,”
WOW!
I’m so glad you liked that part, PowerUnit!! Thank you!
Gorgeous…
So kind of you, Janet!
Hannah, this is simply splendid. I’m nominating you the verbal ninja of the day.
Yay!!! I’ve never been deemed a “ninja-anything!” I’m SUPER stoked, I posses some skills!! Thank you, SO much for the boost of the ol’ morale, Benjamin!!
I second the nomination…you go, girl!
SO sweet! Tank you, Janet!!
Okay even if I have to post ten times I must get this comment in…
Watched you walk onto the street with tentative steps until now we all
run to your Eden tinged fields to marvel at the beauty you reveal with
such grace and exquisite delicacy … tentative no longer – you soar …
You’re a gem, Pearl!!! This touches my heart deeply!! I’m so glad you persisted! Thank you!
Thank-you Pearl for your tenacity at posting beautiful encouragement…Not only do I recognize Pearl as a beautiful word-smith, Pearl, you are a darling encourager! I simply met Hannah since she is soaring and she lifts me over the mundane over and over again!
Such kindred spirits here! You both make real for me the “why,” behind the words, the reason and meaning for putting pen to page! So blessed by you both, thank you!!
Nice, very nice.
I’m so pleased you liked it, Sharon!!
I’ve read all the replies and for me all I can say is how wonderful this experience was of following a butterfly and feeling its”butterfly kisses”. Your images brought me right into the moment and I loved the ending. The colors didn’t mean much to me, because I was so caught up in the experience!! Hannah, you have the ability to bring us into your dreams and this is beautiful!!
I’m so honored to be able to share with you (and everyone), this happened to me and our two boys out on our woods walk yesterday and it was a magical experience like none other!! Thank you for joining me in the miracle of it, lionmother! Warm smiles to you!
Hannah, you’re welcome and how magical to experience this with your children! I think the more kids can see the magic in nature the more they will want to protect it!! As usual, you and I are thinking side by side:)
It is so refreshing and uplifting to hear your words on this, lionmother. Beautiful, thank you!
Very beautiful! You had me enthralled at every instant.
I’m so glad that it got you or you got me!! Thank you, Rosemary!!
The most powerful germ
Once infected you will feel the following symptoms
Nausea-your stomach will feel like cat got caught in a wash machine
Cold sweats- most notably in your palms but also down your spine
Dry mouth- speaking gets tough and your tongue is useless
Mood swings- emotional anarchy it’s rage, despair and bliss
Hot flashes- mostly felt in the face as cheeks grow lobster red
Insomnia- thoughts through rowdy parties when you go to bed
Dizziness- the whole world’s off its axis even time appears to slow
Increased pulse- as if your body’s playing salsa and your heart’s the bongos
Once infected, there’s not a lot the doc will do, other than shake your hand or pat your back because falling in love ithe best bug you can ever catch
May we all catch this one! Nice job!
Apparently writing at 4 in the morning yields sloppy work…re-posting for personal pride.
Once infected you will feel the following symptoms
Nausea-your stomach will feel like a cat got caught in a wash machine
Cold sweats- most notably in your palms but also down your spine
Dry mouth- speaking gets tough and your tongue is useless
Mood swings- emotional anarchy it’s rage, despair and bliss
Hot flashes- mostly felt in the face as cheeks grow lobster red
Insomnia- thoughts throw rowdy parties when you go to bed
Dizziness- the whole world’s off its axis even time appears to slow
Increased pulse- as if your body’s playing salsa and your heart’s the bongos
Once infected, there’s not a lot the doc will do,
other than shake your hand or pat your back
because falling in love is the best bug you can ever catch
Nice gem. Love it. Good lead into the end. And I totally agree with you. Once infected there’s not a lot the doc can do…falling in love is the best bug you can ever catch.
ooohs and awws and more … you had me going right to the very end… terrific images, word play and twist
Good descriptions – especially the cat in the wash machine for nausea!
And, I’d love to see a little poem called “re-posting for personal pride” – funny! Only other poets will completely understand the compelling need to re-post for one mark, one word, one line break, etc, etc.
Suddenly I feel incredibly well!
I was saying as I read, and then the surprise end! PERFECT!
Good golly! This is great!
Cool
Terrific! And I didn’t guess it until your final line.
thanks everyone – I’m really enjoying reading a lot of your posts as well. I get a lot of ‘posting to quickly’ messages which makes commenting frustrating. That said, it’s been a lot of fun this month and quite inspiring. I was kinda of in a poetic rut before this month and now I’ve rekindled my love for the art.
I’m also visiting your websites one at a time. See ya round the internet!
Love yours, Robert!
In total agreement…such a great poem, Robert!
Me Too.
Me three. Finally time to read, and the poems from this prompt-wow! peace…
Oh my, yes. Speaks an abundance in so few words.
Good way to start us off Robert.
Now let’s draw some blood…
Add me to the chorus RLB!
Me too. Great start to theday!
Robert, I have scrolled through the poetry here today and I want to say Thank-you for prompts like this to unleash and give voice to sheer brilliance.