Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Mitosis Poem

Once upon a time there was a face; And that was the face of man, Mutations and Evolution scared the base And changed the structure from then. Such is our story of Mitosis A story with such a thesis Such is the tale God wrote To illustrate our Fate... From Prophase to Metaphase... The nucleus disappears, Tiny structures called chromosomes line up and then appear... Centrioles pulled them from side to side Like strings in a webbed line Slowly and delicately organized So they can evenly divided In Anaphase the creation of life begins, And the chromatids separate And the centromeres divide, In telophase the nucleus regains, And then once again the organelles Separate since the time when life began; From cytokinesis to Interphase The chromosomes copies and the process starts again... Strangely from this process Mutations occur Trisomy 21, And Cancers Are added in the brochure. Why has God written this part? Who will know? After God might have Meant nothing to you at all But there's a time when Time shall end And Death dawns upon Our very cells therefore Will end the process Of Mitosis

2 comments:

MEG said...

Paradise Found
© By Peter J. Kautsky

The jungle of oaks, poplars, honeysuckle,
blue spruce breathes in spite of
the cascading omnipresence of kudzu
and whispers but only whispers
a universal Language.

Lake Erie lay as a blue fact
in the vast horizontal distance.
A few ungreying cottonball clouds
float without Purpose or Direction
needing to be lassoed in the baby blue sky.

It is Sunday after a goodly torrential rain.
Photosynthesis manufactures rich palatable
cubic yards of Optimism imbibed
wolfishly as if craving whipped cream
to scatter demons to the Caves.

Heavy chafing iron shackles fall from wrists
disintegrating into dusty vapor granting
Freedom to lasso the jungle, lasso the clouds,
lasso Cleveland without Purpose or Direction
and briefly know Paradise.

mary grace a. velchez
II-cattleya

MEG said...

Cells


I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt;
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock
and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.

I left my cap in a public-house, my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where, and I don't care, my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face, and I think he'll keep it there!

My wife she cries on the barrack-gate, my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room -- it's ~that~ that cuts so hard.
I'll take my oath before them both that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin, I know I'll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."

mary grace a velchez
II-CATTLEYA