Long Membranes Poems
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Aesthetic expectations, quomodocunquize,
An exasperating farrago of marketing lies,
Conning client desires,
While promising celestial skies.
In the "Selfie Era," so condescending,
Filters sculpting phantasmagoria, never-ending—
Painting a majestic illusion,
Regality of beauty, a fleeting delusion.
"Ageless," a dream that transcends all streams,
Flustering the mind’s membranes, it seems;
Cajoling artists, ripping through pockets,
A glamour tornado that ceaselessly rockets.
Embrace imperfections with pride,
Challenging the conventional tide.
Luminance flows from deep within,
"Mirror, Mirror, let self reflection begin".
TOWERS OF MYSTERY
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘
Floundering, bit by bit, clawing my way to wisdom of ages,
The sands burn delicate membranes of my bones
I can go no further, maybe I will waste to die here...
Diving, way below past equinox of rolling ocean divide ,
I feel no weight of flesh, the abyss releases her grip.
What is this place?
A vast city, towers of myth’s silvery metal,
Yet I can see nothing but ocean from the height of every wall,
Can this be what I have sought in the fables of Atlantis?
Through my weakened eyes, armies gather in golden armor,
Meeting a horde of beings creeping from the very sea!
What could this be?
The crunch of their amphibian feet upon alabaster sands,
Filling the water bed with stench of decomposing debris
Emitting forth these creatures’ smell from her deepest bowels?
The air is violent, spitting with arrows, thick with screams,
The noble Atlantics are fighting for their very lives!
Can I be part of this?
The arrows and blast of sun- crystals pass right through me,
I feel nothing, damned by observing the fall of humanoids.
The crystal cannons of Atlantis' towers cannot hold them,
Leaving me to chill in an open ocean of mystery
As waters swallow a frontier once glorified by legend's magic...
Tell me, am I dead?
©
------------------------
Carolyn Devonshire: Unsolved Mysteries Contest
images are slow to fade, where did they go? why were they here?
pensive pen and ink, a gentle man of measure
pipe-smoke wafting cool blue persevering pleasure
cartoon humour designed with careful modest pride
arm-in-arm soothing his war-time petulant bride
oft-wiped canvas, woodland, moody misty scene
roaming through pale paintings where her lost man has been
merging ever always their special being; are they still near?
old parental faces time-spun and woven under my skin
memories upon memories, changing I, changing me
stories upon stories pile up, changing they, changing we
falsehood flailing, transition, turbulent knowing
transcendence, my mind, your mind, all minds are growing
we are mid-paced sampled brethren, thinking anew
significance in what we say and what we do
personalities on kindred journeys beyond kith and kin
kick string-strung corporeal cans down the celestial street
where the multi-dimensional membranes quiver
where energy swims across the quantum river
where slow light-speed traverses the nebula face
where superpositions collapse with certain grace
where fine bits of information feedback feeling
where negentropy out-runs chaotic dealing
pick soulful sounding song, counter-rhythmic orchestral beat
sprung from the fundament, nothing always trumped by something
prime numbers inflate unfolding untold troubles
universal endurance, containment bubbles
pushing, pulling fields, filaments of flexing shape
veils warp and wrap around a wily cosmo-scape
intelligent infant guises, gaining in-sight
impressions crossing chasms to inform the night
lives on holographic film, many melodies to sing
I hear them now, voices blending the chords of man and wife
I feel their presence, though they are forever changed
I know they are transformed, molecules rearranged
I share their warm substance, two people that mattered
I care for their essence, they will not be scattered
I record them in words, the library of thoughts
I sense they are near and far, few and many noughts
I am listening out for them on the other side of life
To Be Ancient
It is good to be ancient,
As with a vintage of the eternal red,
Sealed for the duration with an aged English cork.
Now youthful impulses hold no sway in the empty offing.
I recall them all, as I have remembered certain dreams all my life,
Undead ghosts from distant tree-lined shores in time,
Strolling languorously in a marshy fetid fog;
Their ancient faces I remember caressing,
Their yearning eyes and doubting smiles I recall seeing,
And the supple lips of some I can still feel, recalling,
The passionate interspersed minutes of unreal time,
Secretly spent, behind concealing curtains and ascending ivy vines,
With no real words of crystalline memory being uttered or heard.
And now, returning from wet membranes hidden insidiously,
Inside the watery swooshing gullies inside my brain,
Old friends and lovers appear again, like in an old film,
As they meander an astonished ancient avenue in single file.
Look at these dead pale girls here!
Girls who once spiraled to the stars in the darkness!
Now they tiptoe by my front window, perfume-scented,
Seeking their simple tombstones in the far graveyard.
Frederick Waddell
1893-1919
Kathrene Mary cojoled me not to blush.
Blush as red as a boiled lobster.
Kathrene Mary insisted that I not touch.
Touch and grope as a feathered Jove.
In the eternal equinox of April evening,
She gave me a signet ring,
With my initial engraved thereto,
As a token of our tryst together.
“W” reminded me of her,
Her voluptuous facade,
Her voluminous assemblage,
Her robust vanguard,
Of desious daydreams in the suave shadows,
Of amazing nocturnal delights,
Of lickerish ravishments and
Private investigations,
In the astonishing membranes
Of abject titillation.
But let it be known:
I died devastated,
Devastated that I never beheld
My sweet son and daughter,
Devastated that I never beheld
The sagging bosom of old age.
And now here in my grave,
I blush for the worms.
When my mind is aligned
with my astrological sign
my poetical energy flow intensifies
and the power
of the Capricorn mind comes alive
so I can verbalize
the inner thoughts of my mind
and spout poetry
that can touch the public mind
beautifully
because the synergy
of my mind and spirit
gives birth to a soulful vibe
which allows my words to glide
through the air
and slide
through your earlobes
and probe your mental
penetrate your membranes
tickle your senses
while putting you in harmony
with reality
when it comes to life and love
my spoken words
have the power to inspire
to lift you higher
inject you with the desire
to see things from
a different perspective
you see
my message is to edify
uplift
educate the hearer
to feed the hungry mind
through lyrical rhyme
the strength of my dialogue
is designed
is designed to be a thought
rearranger
to turn a procrastinator
into a dream chaser
to make a follower
become a visionary
to teach someone to be
objective
and selective
when choosing the right roads
to travel
in their journey through life
let's be clear
I'm not a motivational speaker
I'm just a deep-thinker
and when my mind is aligned
with my astrological sign
my poetical energy intensifies
and the power
of the Capricorn mind
comes alive
and I can create
a well blended melody
in my mind
which has the capability
to put sweet music
in the heart of the listener
at least
this is the mind-set
of this Capricorn poet
It occurs to me
I could have gone the other way
in the last 10 years of my life.
I could have kept part of what was old,
broken only piece of it,
introduced a new fragment to fill in.
So I would have a new
and old life patched together.
I might have enjoyed the seams
that would quickly fill with
experiential plastic, transparent glue time
where I would do things
out of time, respite.
I would be sitting and
traveling perhaps.
The real life segments would
soon develop boundaries,
memory would seal them from each other.
I could even take on different names
and make up different histories
which my memory would
embalm in plastic membranes.
Just testing the night
The surgeons of sky
to see
a Sky-net so faulted and frank
unflinching but still true
Full of expectation and hope...Just touching the night
feeling the texture of it
Remembering you and hoping that you're well
like a stupid loyal dog
a stupid girl remembering
You're a shadow
that plays games...appearing ...dissappearing
I should never remember ....you
a will of a wisp in the forest of thought and fleeting idea
an adventure had...the pulse of the adrenaline as one takes off in a car
knowing and not knowing exactly what will happen
thrilled by chase and surmounting miles to find out
But I always do...recall
Membranes of gossamer cloth
wafting in English winds
I recall them with such intensely sweet melancholy
but that was a continent and... a relationship ago
You my artist
my brilliant meme...a dancing man experience I can always recall with a little smile
are waiting on me
not
too smart for ruses and bruises now
we both know better
your skin is still your skin
the scruff on your chin is still growing long or trimmed short or cast off completely with white
its whiteness scares you
you don't scare easily
no you don't care and I suppose...neither do I
but testing the way the wind is blow-ing
One finger whetted by lip and kiss
held to the sky
feeling the coolness on one side or the other
The Surgeons of the sky...
do they ever cry about you and I?
or do they just kind of laugh and mumble among themselves
She came from that special tribe of women
whose hands have six fingers each.
Fingers that appear a blur of agitation
chattering amongst themselves
in a language I could never understand.
9th Row: * Yo, K1, yo, sl 1, K1, psso, K13, K2tog, yo, K1, yo,
K2 tog, K2 (yo) twice, K2, K2tog; repeat from * all round.
As a child I watched
as her architecture exploded
in rhythm and rhyme,
my eyes dazzled with reflections
of their ceaseless motion.
I thought of spiders spinning webs,
of clouds delivering snowflakes made
of white unfolding tapestries.
It was living art,
breathing from an inward rhythm,
gaining life before my eyes.
Her fingers, ten of flesh
and two of bone,
like fencing masters
parry- thrusting patterns in the air.
long bones bobbing, weaving,
nearly, neatly, kissing, then retreating,
fast as fighter jets leaving contrails
of air and finery behind,
kissing the air,
to leave each slender thread embraced,
membranes laced
with love and intuition.
Doilies brought to fruition
with loving hands;
her many fingers moving,
proving themselves
over and over
in secret patterns surging,
revealing their purpose
merging crocheted gifts
of adept urging.
Breathing life
to limp and simple strings
with all the love
that her attention brings.
Gifts brought to a world
made better
by hands and willing heart.
Hands that held six fingers each
and turned her sacred language into art.
Biochemistry—the chemistry of life’s design,
Where molecules dance, interlink, and align,
A bridge between cells, atoms, and earth,
Defining each process, from death to birth.
From cells to tissues, to systems whole,
Biochemistry reveals life’s molecular role.
Atoms join with bonds of varied might—
Covalent, ionic, in complex rite.
Molecular structures, their shapes decide,
How functions emerge and systems collide.
Water, polar and bound by bonds unseen,
Becomes life’s solvent and essential scene.
Carbohydrates fuel, in branching chains,
While proteins give shape, structure, and gains.
Lipids form membranes, barriers and walls,
And nucleic acids hold life's codes, small but tall.
Each plays its part, in pathways intertwined,
The building blocks of life, so meticulously designed.
Catabolism breaks, releasing life’s spark,
Anabolism builds, leaving nature's mark.
Glycolysis starts, the fuel we ignite,
The citric cycle follows, energy in sight.
ATP fuels the cells’ endless demands,
In bioenergetic chains, life expands.
The enzymes, catalysts that spark each course,
Signal transductions, relay with molecular force.
Channels open, gates control flow,
Compartmented spaces, with roles to show.
Each process precise, a well-ordered dance,
In the cell’s intricate, coordinated trance.
DNA spirals, a double helix of code,
Blueprints of life in sequences bestowed,
Transcription to RNA, a message to read,
Translation to proteins, each cell’s vital creed.
Genes regulated, expressions controlled,
A symphony of life meticulously told.
With spectrums and gels, we separate, define,
Electrophoresis’ bands, chromatogram’s line,
PCR amplifies genes to explore,
CRISPR edits, opens new doors.
These tools unearth life’s secrets concealed,
In every lab, mysteries revealed.
From medicine’s cures to agricultural yields,
Biochemistry stretches across modern fields.
Personalized treatments, precision designed,
Green tech and ethics, the future aligned.
At life’s smallest scale, in molecules profound,
The promise of science and progress is found.