Long Dna Poems
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DNA (do not ask)
Are you my father?
Have you seen my mother?
I wish I knew who,
I was…
Some days I look into the mirror,
I tell myself, I have my mother’s eyes,
my father’s laugh and the smile?
That is God!
They did not want me.
One or both, who cares.
I simply have questions, unanswered.
Yet, He gives me what I need.
The place in my heart that says,
discarded, has been filled with, “cared for”.
The sadness in my soul has been removed,
by the hand of The surgeon, that has no equal.
I am healed from the past,
I am free.
I still have questions yet,
they are only words to ask…
Now I look into the mirror,
and I see,
me. (and Him)
DNA
I saw a touch of red one day;
Upon the forest floor;
I thought of Dwarfs and Dragons,
And exciting tales of yore.
I don't believe in Fairies;
But I fancied some wee thing.
Might clothe itself in petals;
And sit awhile and sing.
But these are twilight stories;
Lost in the mists of the glen.
Born from a pagan culture;
Lost, not to be found again.
I tarried a while in the evening,
By the Druid's old Oak tree.
And thought of our one true Father;
Who brought the truth to me.
The moon shone down in the forest,
And danced among ancient trees.
And I thought of kind Jehovah,
Who showed his grace to me.
I am proud of where I came from;
A strong and war-like race.
But for better things we battle now;
And in a better place.
For God is fond of Warriors,
And He won't back down from a fight.
When the cause is just and Gracious;
And we wrestle for what's right.
I lay on my back in the grasses.
And said," God, I like your Moon".
In the stillness of the nightime;
Morning came much to soon.
We are who came before us,
And who we choose to be.
They aim the arrow, but where it lands;
Is up to God and me.
One-hundred percent Italian descent:
four grandparents crossed the ocean, went
through Ellis Island, from Italy sent;
my Italian roots, one-hundred percent.
But D N A samples now tested, ruled-
genetic ancestry can have you fooled!
With full Italian descent overruled-
gene structure in me- completely retooled.
Dumbstruck that percentages showed so clear
my pie chart was sliced- not a full sphere,
my mind was lost in this new-found frontier,
and wiped out ideas that I held so dear.
Through tests, my genetic past now revealed,
sixty-four percent Italian did yield!
Thirty-six percent now unconcealed
some ancestors came from lands far afield!
Mid-Eastern, Caucasus, Iberian too,
Some Jewish, Scandinavian, plus a few
chance Irish genes to mix up the brew.
My former beliefs are now so untrue.
But, soon I accepted this new-found me,
like others amazed, as shown on TV,
surprised, but excited as I can be-
with a varied, colorful, mixed ancestry!
April 19, 2017
Contest: Dumbstruck
Sponsor: Charles Messina
True facts: I received my Ancestry DNA
test results on April 1, 2017
They brought them back in the Age of Dust,
when crops failed and gods went quiet.
With DNA teased from marrow’s crust,
they rose--reborn, and violent.
In glass-born labs beneath dead cities,
the scientists whispered hope.
“Guardians,” they said, “not beasts nor pity,”
as they cut through time’s old rope.
But the wolves remembered ice and blood,
the hunt, the pack, the kill--
they moved like ghosts through ash and mud,
with a hunger time couldn’t still.
The world grew wild beneath their gaze,
old fences fell to claw and fang.
The sky turned gray for endless days,
and silence bloomed where children sang.
We learned to speak in signal fire,
to tread the earth with care--
for the alphas ruled from mountain spire,
and no one dares go there.
Now laws are written in howl and tooth,
in scent and scar and chase.
The price of playing God, in truth,
was the loss of the human race.
They roam where cities used to burn,
where glass lies sharp in bone--
and every full moon, we return
to pray they leave us alone.
And for Christmas we have received from our children DNA tests.
Tests to say whether we are outstarts, downstarts, upstarts, or slowstarts.
I already know that I am a re-start, as I re-start things over and over and over.
But the point is, our children were interested, and so now I guess we are too.
The procedure is easy. They send you a test tube with a stopper and a little cork lid, and a mail back box.
You spit ten times into the test tube, put the stopper on it, make the little box up,
Pop the spitted-up test tube into the box, and mail it in to the FBI if I was guessing.
They probably then check you against all of their data bases for criminal activity and send back results.
I figure they had a creative writer make up sixteen to twenty patterned results, and they choose one.
I received my results and was disappointed as I wanted some great slices of something ethnic,
Exotic, some proof that I come from Africa or Turkey or South America. Nothing wonderful like that happened.
I had some Swedish, English, Pennsylvania Dutch, Scottish, Irish, common stuff, nothing exotic or fun.
My husband who had been bragging for years that he is a hundred percent German, as he thinks they
Are all smart is sitting in a stupor,
Pouting that he has a teeny sliver of German, and something else I have forgotten already.
But the great news is, he is more English than the English who now live in England.
Quite disappointing as we cannot even understand them on the T.V.
Great Christmas present.
Thanks Girls.
The residue of you scent stronger this time
The blood stained a pattern of liking.
The fingerprints you embedded left a trail of depression, even though i resided beside you.
Smelling your DNA ran throw my blood, smelling your DNA overthrew the power to smell normal.
My sense of being has diminished
While your DNA overthrew my pattern
Your blood stained my soul, as my soul departed from this universe.
I cannot fathom your position
But your DNA matched. I cannot think of your worries, but your trail matches as the liquids pour.
While your smell smelt familiar
Your DNA was tarnished, just
As you tarnished my trail.
Regardless where you go I
Can smell your DNA through
My blood.
My life just didn’t start when I was born
It is interwoven with those who have come before
Many people make up who I am
Some I have met but for a few short years
Others have been gone long before I am
From far-away lands they came to be
Looking for a better life for them and me
From all kinds of walks in life were they
But yet each has made an impact in some way
As my hair could be curly or straight
My eyes could be as dark as the night
Or as blue as the sky
My skin could be light or dark,
Or any shade in-between
My genes are what my ancestors gave to me
Whether it be shaping the country
Or shaping me
Their journey continues even in me
Miniscule dust particles float effortlessly in the sky
unaware of their imminent downfall.
Water vapour seeps heavenward from mother earth
condensing on the encountered dust.
The creation of raindrops – heavier and heavier
so dark rainclouds muster.
And then, the burden so heavy,
millions of raindrops fall.
The time is right for nature’s gala performance.
They sat on the hill ridge auditorium,
watching the valley theatre stage darken with the rain.
Behind them nothing until
the slightest glimmer as distant clouds part.
The sun in all its glory bursts through,
shedding light on the valley.
They watch in awe as, on cue, nature performs
its meteorological phenomenon with reflection, refraction and dispersion.
Every raindrop reveals its DNA;
red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.
En masse – a rainbow which they see as an arc,
but nature knows to be a complete circle.
Encore! Sunlight intensifies, raindrops increase –
double rainbow – bravo!
They feel so close to this ephemeral wonder,
not physically but in their hearts and souls.
Rain recedes, performance over,
valley bathed in pale sunlight, silent.
They rise, make their way off the ridge uplifted,
no longer searching for that materialistic pot of gold.
Our children bought us DNA tests for Christmas.
Um, why would we want to do this?
What if we wanted to rob a bank or burglarize a home?
Aren’t these results going into an FBI data base?
We did it because they kept asking us about it.
Every nationality I wanted to be, did not show up for me.
My husband who has a German surname has always bragged.
We Germans are smart, we Germans are brilliant, we Germans.
His came back with this result. He is more English than the English.
He is ninety-seven percent English. I laughed my petootie off.
I would have at least half Native American blood, I was sure.
But alas, I did not.
I came out with Swedish, which is oddly odd.
A bit of German which was more than my husband
And mostly Pennsylvania Dutch and English.
I am a mutt, whereas he is a purebred – but not German.
Thralldom etched in *****sapiens (mine) DNA
Though your true blue stated civilian
never enlisted nor impressed,
nonetheless I own an opinion
originally embarked on poetic quest
to express purposelessness,
when soldiers rest
at peace i.e. eternally,
many attired courtesy
smart uniform strong with zest.
Psyche steeped, macerated, brewed
as token scapegoat, cue
trumpets Don to toot
courtesy more'n one
nasty shortish brute
weasley chastened me
round mulberry bush
said monkeys chased scaredy
cat me... point moot
regarding... rung me
ragged standing astute
adjacent Thomas Jonathan
"Stonewall" Jackson
(Confederate general during
American Civil War),
his own troops accidentally
fired on him during
Battle of Chancellorsville
in Virginia doth not compute
"friendly fire" unleashed during
one among many hot pursuit
part and parcel of wars,
since time immemorial
gung ho practiced soldier and/or
scared cat neophyte unwittingly shoot
pellets traveling speed of
sound bullet out - gunmetal chute
ordinarily pardoned distinct mistake
versus homicide statute
nonetheless...about
thee (rhetorical question), wherefore
art thou purpose to war,
those slain now paid tribute
since major hostilities of
World War I formally
ended at 11th hour of 11th
day of 11th month of 1918
yet... I question military conflicts
battle hymns constitute
legacy e'er since Homo
sapiens stood erect,
many soldiers of misfortune,
sons of destitute
versus wealthy heirs accepted perception
that war was "a rich man's war
and a poor man's fight"
countless generations ago
deserters fate would mean execute
"the bastard," even second decade
into twenty first century
once sworn in at basic training,
getting discharged (vodka luck), but absolute
zero tolerance quitting before
duty commitment desertion flagrant violation,
no easy task leaving service minus
tribunal meeting severe to prosecute,
thus joining military unlike
accepting any other job
punishment greater than Das boot,
yet patriotism, née jingoism
not ideal, viz conflict resolution,
verstehen, or did this wordsmith convolute?