The spiral staircase of life well defines
if hair is red and eyes are colored gray.
It is a twisted lattice we can’t climb,
the mystery of cells called DNA.
Each rung within the spiral carries data,
so important to the chromosomal cell
a roadmap to the now and then the later.
A microscopic story it will tell.
A double helix work of godly art
composed of molecules and acids,
genetic program for the mind and heart
alongside proteins and lipids.
It truly is the spiral of all spirals
in that without it, we’d have no life at all.
It is proof we are walking, living miracles
and our DNA has histories to recall.
6/16/20
'Spiral' Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
Summer rain, melting Arctics
and the lipids lining the nerves
in your brain. These are the metrics
of our times. Mere resolve
is not enough to take care
along the highway—you need wheels and prayer.
When you realize there’s no there there
that’s a scary day. End there.
August, the extinction is terrifying.
Quiet, too quiet. 100% humidity, not a single insect flying.
Summer morning, summer evening, sighing
the sighs of purgatory—grief without pain, death without dying.
I’ve chosen the safety of these mountains
and the beauty of their mists—such perfection
which anyone can have for the asking.
All you need to know is the names of things.
Conflict, coercion, war, strife.
Flying high in April, shot down over Germany.
Have a good day. That’s life. Fix yr brakes.
When I hit a pothole my fillings sing.
Anything’s possible, it’s impossible
to know what will happen until it’s happened.
You can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done
and even then you stare in wonder
unmoved yet moved by the stillness
a pure goodness, bone stillness, potential energy. You can practice it
in the city or the desert.
The wilderness or the mirror over your dresser.
The curious neighbor always looks over the fence;
Enough cause to bewilder me, and I spend a thousand in defense.
But he is his lady's man, she goads him into tussle
With teeth and nails, putting up sails on his flexing muscle.
First he boos as he hoists a hot scarlet banner
And calls me a no-see-um in a bawdy manner;
In vortex of rage, a cat out of cage I do take the plunge
Heartbeat raised, lipids crazed to knock this fallacious grunge;
I want to eviscerate his obnoxious bowels,
In the process I trample on the moss losing all my vowels.
Here the game is over and I have got the prize
Now on there's nobody around me, and a tail to tantalize.
Eight word challenge-7 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
28th June, 2018
There’s People At The End Of The Rainbow
Just in my head, but loved it dead,
Was only five but so very alive.
Not family or community,
But to me it was to be.
My poetry, my propriety,
Not insipid, but with lipids.
Accepted by friends, made my ends,
As a teen, knew where I’d been.
Only for my computer, quite the scrumper,
At university, my propensity.
Wrote some strange poems, ‘cos I knew ‘em,
Happy to explore theology, ‘cos I was with biology.
Now I’m back, quite the quack,
Giving dynamic views, not for pews.
I can see people there, without stare,
Warmly accepting, not rejecting.
18/01/2016
Why you don’t take care and nourish-
Nourish me with omega 3 and the like-
Look, with their being how people are tight-
Everything they do to keep well and right-
Walking, jogging and reading the lipids-
Checking beats and the valve lids-
I said, my dear heart-
You really are smart-
Never have you slept or you rest-
About you that’s great-
But for me nature’s thoughts are the best-
The creatures, the insects the birds, and their nests-
In natures lap all are blessed-
When death comes I will not be there-
Untill I am alive death cannot be there-
So why I should be afraid of something-
That I will never meet-
My heart dear –
Under the fear-
Why should I stop loving the nature-?
Which fills in me the delight-
Called Life.
The autonomic response seeks a trigger
within familiar brainwave states of being
to toss aside the conflict of conscience
inherit behind the valor of mortal peril.
A batting eye or moistened lip sends
corpuscles on a dance of endorphins
pattering in time to the mother pulse
that stirs the fiber of chattering bone
defiant beneath flexing musculature
soaking up lipids and protein strands
to quake the bleached core of form
that lines us erect with proud notions.
Within the field directing our gait
are ricochet messages from cohorts
and scoundrels with intent on returns
reigning dominion over human action.
The structure of the machine grinds
regardless of purpose or preference
until cellular matter loses gelatinous
resistance from such bombardment
of sigil energy and profit centers in
constant dialogue with all instincts
selectively pursuing black or white
in balance with the Boolean hoard
shaping the appropriate margins of
acceptable thought processes until
sharp knifes cure our insufferable
ideas of mitosis feeding liberation.