Best Granular Poems
Alabaster streaks of warmth
in its dewy first glow,
tepidly stirring the senses, as
my gaze roams to the
trickle of ebony beads;
in the distance,
chimes of granular dustings,
with fragrances rich in
mahogany earthen grounds,
shaking the last of the
quondam night’s moon specks,
as life’s poignant rays
seep deep into my sights,
coaxing myself out of
hibernation,
longing for the first sip
of sunshine,
basking in the early beams of
balmy dawns and
sepia sunsets,
blessed to
start and end the
sands of time with you—
upon my soul’s sanctuary,
my lucid dream ablaze.
"God within me is the enjoyer of the aroma
As also this dopamine boosting flavour I taste
I surrender all pleasures to the dweller of my heart
Breath by breath thus that my soul presence be chaste"
Ursus Maritimus ...
I entered your world in quietude, slipping through the granular, soft.
Long slats to feet parting the frozen. Cold of a previously unknown
Extreme, nipping, sharp, the epidermis with ardor. A Mid-May akin to
February, homeward, first warning of extrinsic ire, ignored. Hours of
Similar (sobering) revelations ensued, supplanted by days, weeks,
Moons ... reality - icebound and born of abiding trial. The basic
Elements staggering, swallowed by the providence around me. A
Vastness beyond vast, afar ... crushing cold of limitless value, each
Sunrise a new contingency for measure of my insignificance. How I
Adored you for your beauty - such reward for the naked eye, there
Amidst a denuded struggle. Shaped by eons of selection into a
Creation of perfect form and ease, as at home with desolation as
I at a warm hearth and aliment. Moving sprite through your environs,
All senses attuned to the mind's axis ... at once knowing and known,
Master of a savage domain. Every dynamism a fluid dance, every
Steamed puff of exhalation a waif of delicacy, bespoken. Do not the
Gods aspire to such? If there were deities afforded such barren and
Bleak scapes, it would be none other than you - as exquisitely
Magnificent and divine as the forbidding but breathtaking element
Around you, my brother. Yet, I fear I have doomed you, for others
Will now follow ... others who find no such elegance in anything
But graft and greed. By the simple act of watching I may have
Sealed your fate, firm and grim. So, I will not turn to admire you
As I leave ... but rather keep you forever as a phantom in my mind
And heart and longings - to let you devour my spirit and join with
You, ever after straining to hear the echo of your lonely, distant
Growl, the one that so often haunts my thoughts and meanderings,
Dark and cold in the arctic night, dark and cold in the willows ...
Deep and frozen and dreaming, of your gleaming and breathless
Beauty. If but mine to touch ... to know. Forgive me and farewell ...
Brother Bear.
The black-as-widow’s-weeds night of endless stars
was so cold...
cruel as temperature
plunged its frigid fingers feeling through my being
fondling my heart and soul without mercy
molesting me - taunting my will to live
and just when I thought
the ice water in my shivering veins would kill me
there she was
she came shyly at first
demurely spreading
her pinkening skirts over the horizon
while her blushing complexion
deftly gelded the darkness
I prayed-I pleaded-I made deals
(with who? you don’t want to know..)
that her warming smile would be my saving grace…
It began to slowly dawn on me
as she flexed her sinewy heat waves
flaunting her solar power
that I was caught
between false hope and no deliverance
for the desert sunrise-to-sunset
now faced-off and challenged me
with barren bone-dry intensity
sucking dry the new dew
and any life
containing moisture
weathered granular remains
of ancient feldspar and quartz
with eons of sifting and shifting boredom
took on a hell-raising life of their own
as the fire-breathing celestial sorceress casted spells
of smoke and mirror mirages
and magically made ridges of rippling blond sands
glisten like scales of a million skimming sidewinders
writhing in joy at my agony—
it’s amazing
how cold I feel when I have been so burned
again I face a desolate night
— deserted —
without a blanket
Susan Ashley
April 29, 2018
Widow’s Weeds: For women of 19th century England, a custom of mourning that involved wearing heavy, concealing, black clothing and the use of heavy veils of black crepe. The entire ensemble was colloquially known as ‘widow’s weeds’.
Mourning - Wikipedia
The noise of the day
has subsided and folded
into a quiet
under the soft covers
of a July evening.
The eyes seem to resist
the particular and instead
focus on nothing
but the sum - the glow
from shore lights
smudged on water,
the dark sky powdered
with translucent clouds
and the faint filaments
of stars strung out overhead.
Tonight, I don't want
the granular detail of things
to steal my attention
but to enjoy the blending,
the stand back meld
of colors, of each stroke,
forming a picture transcending
its parts. I want to feel
the evening being
put together
into a boundless whole,
to be beyond
the smallness of myself
and be absorbed totally
into the mystery
of the composition
Lost love where lust begins to rise
Relationships build on betrayals honesty
Grown in the mushroom dark
No one ever really knows their lover
Or another persons heart
Heavy where secrets sleep in hunger under cover
Cursed men escape into the desert vacancy
Soldiers parched, where no raging rivers run
Wrinkled lips dry up with ancient wanderers
Including their insides
Skin turns to leather brown
Warriors, dunes, live out the hour with them now
Doomsday is right around the corner of a smile
A tear tries to form but quickly dries
Broken men dream with gushing rivers on the mind
Sun baked with landscape misery
Thirsty, scorched, craving a glass of water
Lost on the sand to die
Love flourishes on the morning afterwords
Birds still sing in search for something nourishing
Frantic storms lift their last gasp of air
Sail on warm clouds of memory
Laugh at men who used to grasp for flesh
In pleasure for pleasures sake that past
Lost on the dunes
Under the unforgiving sun
Other men still wander
Wonder for ages yet to come
How love lingers where lust begins again
Over the buried souls of granular fine grandeur
Dirty Haiku
Meadow waves golden
Granular dust mist rises
Sandals come off dry
On caparisoned, filleted camels do they
Over the great, soft, tawny sands
Ride;
Unfurled flags and tribal standards flown amidst them,
In the very midst of them-
Of they, who astride great tan camels,
Seem rather scandent and saltant.
These are the irregular, well-armed cavalry of the
"Men In Ambush," for such is the literal translation of their
Nation's cognomen;
And on the sands of the undulant, granular, eminent
Near-Judean wilderness do they ride.
Photographing these from atop the vespertine-hued
Summit of a delivery truck from the nearby
Eminent, circumvallatory, hilly
And fortressed city;
From the very roof of an antiquated bread truck
(Though 'twas then very new by the standards of those bygone days)
Whose radiator is soon to vaporously explode
Amid the oppressive, anhydrous desert heat,
Photographs an American, hatted in the whitest
Of Panama hats, who is a correspondent reporting of wars.
The Arab cavalry ride for locales
Damascene, in order to pursue one's kingly wish
To renew the gardens Cordovan and long-vanished.
First, I was a horse,
proud, fierce, untamed.
testing the texture of one continent,
competing with the winds and tornadoes
to achieve the ultimate granular vortex,
testing the manhood of the Cheyenne,
twisting the blistering ropes of the Sioux,
defying the white man with bared, scornful teeth
and a rusty, booming cloud of contempt,
rearing up disdainful hoofs at his challenge
of a lumbering smoking iron donkey
trapped on it's molded rails.
Then, I was a plane,
lithe, lightweight, defined.
with a body DaVinci once dreamed of
and a clear canopy
of tense eyes and sweaty, twitching fingers
on the throttle.
Soaring high over another continent,
beaten down by polished black boots.
The elegant, rich roar of Rolls Royce,
The searing steel death of Browning,
clamping together to mete out
justice and liberty,
higher and faster than any swastika propellers.
Then I was a car,
with clean lines and a pure promise,
born of optimism and innovation,
first brought forth under a steel sphere of the world.
My lean, youthful frame and bristling energy
beckoned to the untamed young,
bringing elation and
the whoops of warriors
as they pony up precious pennies
to slip easily into my low slung, leather saddle
and pick their soundtrack
and flick my fresh rubber hooves
across the next horizon.
Their nubile females in splendid mating colors
ponytails wagging their eager assent
in my ever growling breeze
as I assault their narrow strips of tar.
I have thundered through untrod dust.
I have been caught only by men like Remington.
I have sailed above exploding black skies
and landed farm boys safely to their futures.
I have raced through muggy summer nights,
blaring out my rebellion to a rock and roll beat.
I am freedom in flesh and hooves
and wings and guns
and canvas tops and pinstripes.
I am what Art should be:
I am versatile.
I speak in a thousand ways
in a thousand forms.
I please the eye and thrill the soul.
I am ..ME.
A human anti-neuronal autoantibody against GABAB receptor induces experimental autoimmune agrypnia
Article (PDF Available) in Experimental Neurology 204(2):808-18 · May 2007 with 63 Reads
DOI: 10.1016/j.expneurol.2007.01.012 · Source: PubMed
1st Giovanni Frisullo
37.12 · Catholic University of the Sacred Heart
2nd Giacomo Della Marca
43.12 · Catholic University of the Sacred Heart
+ 5
3rd Massimiliano Mirabella
41.45 · Catholic University of the Sacred Heart
Last Anna Paola Batocchi
Show more authors
Abstract
In the serum and cerebrospinal fluid of a patient with recurrent acute episodes of respiratory crises, autonomic symptoms and total insomnia (agrypnia), we identified a novel anti-neural complement fixing antibody directed against GABA(B) receptor (GABA(B)R). Patient purified IgG recognized a band of approximately 110 kDa on protein extracts of mouse cerebellum, cortex and brainstem and immunolabelled cultured Chinese hamster ovary (CHO) cells, transfected with human GABA(B)R1 and rat GABA(B)R2 receptors. Western blot analysis of transfected CHO homogenates showed the same band using both patient purified IgG and anti-GABA(B)R1 antibody. In order to verify the pathogenic role of these purified antibodies, we injected patient IgG intrathecally into cisterna magna of C57BL/6 mice pre-implanted with EEG electrodes and we observed severe ataxia followed by breathing depression and total suppression of slow wave sleep, as evidenced by EEG recording, in a dose-dependent manner. Immunohistochemistry on brain sections of mice injected with patient IgG showed the simultaneous presence of bound human IgG and C5b-9 deposits on Purkinje cells and cerebellar granular layer. After incubation with anti-GABA(B)R antibody, a marked reduction of receptor immunostaining was found with relative sparing of neuronal architecture. In conclusion we recognized an anti-neuronal autoantibody directed against GABA(B)R that is associated with autoimmune agrypnia and we showed that our patient purified IgG was able to induce in mice experimental autoimmune agrypnia characterized by a complex neurological syndrome affecting several CNS functions.
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Dune 45 Is Not Near Mars
Dune 45 lies in the shadow of orange dark sand
Namibia knows distances, drifts and winds
Granular miles by car and camels heat
Earth knows Mars is far away as well
225 million km., remote, equally removed
Strange, sterile, in accordance with dune patterns
Never troubled by populations
Visitors are few and far between
No inhabitants at either place. Never in the way
Voids make for good bed fellows
By the dunes of Earth and Mars
Half hidden in the shade, sun rises
Beaches understand distances
There is more to life than sand
Dune 45 lies in the dark of an orange shadow
Lined up with others along isolation's path
Sun lends a helping hand
Covers such matters in desert meandering heat
NOTE:
(I hope you can find time to watch and listen. Please follow this link.)
http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=Namib-Naukluft+National+Park+photography&form=hphot2#view=detail&mid=2BB6E4383BBA36AECCE12BB6E4383BBA36AECCE1
With the unlikely proposition that winter would end
green tips took
form
beneath the softening crust of snow around the
mail
box, a
collage congealed by road salt and sand
buried the early dream of spring in
a
granular mass
My slippered feet sank muddying the soft
sheepskin leather. Joggers pushing the envelope
as well
people the curb
cutting to the heart of the matter
springing forward with a rabid desire to bloom.
*I printed out Charlotte's contest direction and cut out the first word
in each of these lines.
missing something
I am not sad
little worried, but I am not ...
... just missing ... you know
and afraid
because
for what you're leaving unfinished
you are sentenced to be only half human
and you didn't let me even once to say goodbye
even once
I don't want to be half human
by water preordained for persuasion
I searched for you
I really did
so intense that in the way the very purpose abandoned itself
release me from your rush conviction
I am the product of circumstances that shaped my life
and consolation is not reason good enough for
constraining my eyes all over again
simply because of possibility that
by kneeling over granular salt
they could washed out that feeling
which possessed me every time when you let things to happen
I really hope that you aren't letting them go
only because
I look good in black
A paradise of long beaches,
Purest white sand,
Granular and fine,
Shells of different shapes and sizes,
The starfish and the sand dollar,
You could walk for miles,
Appreciating the environment,
The tall palms sheltering and providing shade,
Lounge chairs for sunning,
Umbrellas and tables,
Where you can sit,
A delicious lunch guests,
The swimming pool nearby,
Where you can go for a swim,
A leisurely paradise,
Home for the evening,
A beautiful condominum guests.
Author: Gwen Meyer-Erlach Schutz
a tsunami catapulted cruising skiff
skyward landing with quiet thud
across undulating infinite granular waves
formerly solid state rocks and minerals
optimism vibrant upon initial unforeseen
crash asper for test dummies
foundered as undertow fostered diminishing hope
initial faith for survival quickly ebbed
nsync with retreating tidal wave
pessimism dreamt fantastical holograms
farther from beached berth
immediately transformed into quicksand,
while off in the distance
a glimmering chimera
(the first of many) appeared
amidst the desert sands one mirage
after another falsely broken promise
buoyed drained salvation
quick decision decreed each man for himself
thus disseminating banded bruited "brothers"
condemnation, damnation, excoriation, fulmination
hurled at cosmic creator thwarting intercession
dehydration, exhaustion, ingratiation, jubilation
foretold merciless portentous demise
witheringly desiccating lovely bones of mine
no doubt raw elements of nature wrought
fate worse than death sans, cabin "mates"
lost among expanse of whittled quartz
across chronometer measuring millions of years
now subjecting one measly mortal i.e. me
to cruel unforgiving, unrelenting,
unwelcoming petty coated junction
blistering hot wind obliterated
fellow travelers convoy deeply
within diabolical dunes
eternally erased doom
awaited for 21st century explorers
to discover scattered wreckage
both beast of burden, outrigged contrivance
and starry trekkers, who vanished without a trace
a handful of scrappy rapscallion existences
blotted (like ink, oil, or other liquid sponged),
where subsequent seasons
of wicked bewitched slow torture
akin to being raked over hot coals
exception made for this interminable sufferer
at the whim of sadistic
persona non grata evil spirit
n'er obliterating diehard survivor instinct
a foreigner to yours truly
but atavistic primitive fight or flight
witnessed relieved whence absently blinking
this life married to indiscriminate
clamped, harried, styled devilishness
evaporated in thin air
upon tentatively opening myopic brown eyes
horror, twas boot a dream.
Within an overplay of paneled oak
and illumination fittingly low,
set upon a table, its style baroque
a lighted candle, its shimmering glow
plays an unopened bottle of Bordeaux
Distant soft murmurs of discrete lovers
a pop of cork, the chinking of a glass
gentle rustling of changed table covers,
the whooshing of a skirt as waitress pass.
Low background music with a mellow bass.
A rich old earthy scent from burning log
is mixed with fragrant kitchen spices, sweet
arouses memories of synagogue.
Pungent aroma from hot sizzling meat;
a whiff of petrol coming from the street.
The napkin soft, bread roll toasty, warm,
dinner plate hot, wine glass suitably chilled
all precisely the acceptable norm.
Granular grating as pepper is milled.
I press on the steak; it's perfectly grilled.
Fantastic flavors burst upon my buds
juicy, velvety, succulent, tender.
The wine my mouth with fruity perfume floods
I finish the last drop, then surrender
"I require another glass, bartender."