Quotes about genes, page 18
When I Look
When I look into a mirror
I see hopes and I see dreams
My imagination becomes clearer
Sometimes I see my fathers genes.
I see sadness and also frustration
Dotted about the face
I see thinking and concentration
And I see loyalty and also grace.
I see worries and also sadness
When I look deeper into the lines
I see a soul calling out in distress
On many days and different times.
Sometimes I see the future
And many times I see the past
Sewed inside the soul with a suture
Knowing nothing forever will last.
I see hate and a need to avenge
As I look deeper into the mirror
But then I see woe and revenge
As my face becomes clearer.
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poem by Randy McClave
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Unspoken 2
there are letters where some stains
still stick, like some fading drops
of water color on a very clear
sheet of perfumed paper
you have read them not just once
but over and over
for years and years
you still cry. You blame your mother
whose genes are sentimental
about some broken hearts
you check the trunk again
and open a bundle of papers
sensing those perfumed ones
a dry petal of a rose
black bold strokes of
a pen, some words that you
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stink My Death
'Stink my death till I smell bad, '
the Man to the rest of It said,
'Unflesh me with care and consume all the hair
that falls from the skin of my head, pale head,
the thin pallid skin of my head.
.
'Let me squat in this apologia,
stuff my gullet with humus and air,
for I've raped that fair maiden, fair Gaea,
and I don't even seem to care. Me care?
No, I don't even seem to care.
.
'I have eaten my fill of biota,
and I've bent all the rest to my will.
I have sung from a pyre of industrial fire,
but my urges are adamant still to kill.
Yes, my urges are adamant still.
.
'So if you should need me tomorrow,
with appropriate changes, of course,
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poem by Mister Micawber
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Master Of Your Own Domain?
It's out of your hands
Beyond your control
No matter your demands
No matter your goal
The alarm commands
When you arise
The clock demands
When to open or close your eyes
Your appetite determines
What and when you partake
Your thirst decides
Of what and when to slake
Your education, not you,
Determines the course you take
And an indifferent boss
Decides how much you make
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poem by David Whalen
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Reunion
Time and planned coincidence
have played their part in our lives.
And so the genes that flow through us
becomes the part that thrives.
We take one day at a time and know
that fate will play its part.
We shut off the brain purposefully
and start to open up the heart.
The heart that beats becomes filled
with the thirst to know your kin.
And so 2 people so distant in space
find each other and reunion does begin.
We feel the need to reconnect
and so we travel to meet.
What we find is incredible,
a family to make life complete.
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poem by Edwina Reizer
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We’re Simpatico
Me and my brother, we’re simpatico,
like-minded in drinking, like-minded
in poetry, compatible in paying homage
to Bacchanalian feasts, we share the
genes of DNA strands that make us
seek joy in metaphysical songs and
humourous parley
My brother hates McGonagall but love
Yeats, I love Victor Hugo and Hopkins
as of late I hate McGonagall also, he
created an atrocious limerick on the battle
of David against Goliath, since I am David
while the empire was Goliath who attacked
me living peacefully in my country
Willam Topaz McStupidall sang the praises
of the bully killing my kin in military rhymes
with love-beaming eyes that have poets say
they see thankful glares, I find that detestable
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poem by Margaret Alice (21 August 2009)
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Lineage
Oh the tangled web we weave,
we're born, we live and then we leave.
But the web reached out in all directions
and in so doing we made connections.
They each became a grand design
in the life we lived and left behind.
Those we came from never knew
how their genes would later affect you.
Grandfathers, grandmothers and all your kin
are hidden quietly within your skin.
Your family tree is rooted in you.
Its limbs and branches, though not in view
have helped to shape the life you live
and you in turn will silently give
the new ones born into your line
the pattern in the web, a place so fine.
It will grow and spread far and wide
and those who came before and died
will surface in so many different ways.
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poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wings Of Butterflies!
I am not wet with sorrowful clouds, but wet,
I am not crinkled with ill thoughts, but crinkled,
I am not inflated with illusion, but deflated,
Born with no doubts, but desires.
Hang upside down to pump the nutrients,
As the hermit in the inhospitable forest,
Both wings get dried up and the veins are filled,
Victorious message of mutant genes prospered.
Scales of ultraviolet rays that can be seen by
The species that have spectacular eyes,
Can camouflage with any number of hues and textures,
Warn the predators with beautiful and bright colors.
Patterned perfect flaws on the wings,
Attract the potent mate to fling,
The bitter body of eye catching insects,
Deceive everyone who tries to link.
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poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Olive Branch
Pardon may me not my Heart the whole
flesh is watching every edges of
unforgotten mistake, laying the sinfulness
of being one with the race
genre of the physical need, invite the
genes to unbearable sweat, failure to hear
the heed to stop brings my total mind to
stumble in your midst my Lord
knee that cry, eyes that feel, hands that full
and unmindful rejection of your wisdom to
your call, budge me in the bosom of your
heart always leads me to where I should
take my rest
the whole body mixed with pleasure that
which veneer the truth of genuine change,
blinded the spill of sincerity of the soul,
forgive me not to my punishment
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Will and Elle (a villanelle)
'I don't believe in free will', ventured he,
debating philosophy themes widespread.
' I do', she countered, 'I'm wilfully free'.
'My genes and enviroment do for me',
tracing her forearm to see where it led.
'I don't believe in free will' ventured he.
'If that were the case, you'd just be a tree',
cutting his argument clinic'ly dead.
' I do', she countered, 'I'm wilfully free'.
'Yet quantum mechanics acts randomly',
(thinking- that gives me some Heisenberg cred) .
'I don't believe in free will', ventured he.
'Testosterone's clouding your wits, you see',
spouting some snippet she'd picked up in med.
'I do', she countered', 'I'm wilfully free'.
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poem by Diane Hine
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