Long Microbe Poems
Long Microbe Poems. Below are the most popular long Microbe by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Microbe poems by poem length and keyword.
There’s not a sound
In the woods
But for the lone, heavy
Thump
Of a walnut
Shed
From its tree
To the ground,
Re-affirming
That the Earth
Is not hollow.
I’m startled by the thud, so thick, so full
It could be a bull
Stomping its hoof into a dry field,
But, the Earthy wallop reveals
An abundance
From underneath,
A community of roots
Braid together like the synapse connections
Of a human brain,
So that the forest of trees
Breathes as one
From the soil,
That’s alive, thinking, blinking
With a 100 million
Microbe languages
Chirping
Through its heavenly rot
From God,
A summon to a muddy galaxy,
To a billion year old feast
Where man and tree
Were first split from the same, single seed
From Eden,
The trees
Eating the sunlight
And making the air fresh
Like miracle machines
Chasing, in divine migration,
The retreat of the butterfly glaciers
From Man,
The fauna of new love,
The discovery of,
A little poem
And its feelings swiped from a scroll of paper;
It says,
The world is not a place with trees.
Indeed, the trees are the world.
When a walnut
Falls,
The universe remembers,
And shakes.
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“Read my lips,” Bush One said —
You listened close and voted Red.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“It’s the economy, stupid,” Clinton blew —
You bought the line and voted Blue.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“Compassionate Conservative,” G.W. pled —
Sounded nice, so you voted Red.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“Hope and Change,” Obama’s cue —
The pitch was strong, so you voted Blue.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“MAGA, MAGA!” Trump had said —
No better slogan, so you voted Red.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
“Build Back Better” was Joe’s view —
Sounded smart, so you voted Blue.
Taxes rose, spending too —
How’s that working out for you?
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
We vote Red, then we vote Blue —
Neither side knows what to do.
Then back to Blue, then Red again —
Why beat a horse that’s long been dead?
Right then Left, then Left then Right —
All they do is brawl and fight.
Line their pockets, make another run —
Holding office sure looks fun.
But We the People hold the key —
It's time to change the strategy.
No more Right on Red or Left on Blue —
Vote Independent — break on through.
Doing the same, expecting new —
Insanity's logic just won’t do.
The two-party game is broken, corrupt —
Time for the people to rise — and disrupt.
You couldn’t see the forest for the trees,
Just another microbe in America’s disease.
You’ve got to see the forest through the trees —
You’ve got to be the cure for America’s disease.
It’s a robot dog with wheels some weirdo said loudly next door.
I am the Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover, space explorer.
I collect rocks and soil, and monitor weather, dust, and the air.
But not on earth, on Mars. I say this with confidence, a robotic heir.
Future hopeful human explorers may be able to inhabit Mars.
Thanks to me, even if they have to remain in bubble safe cars.
I have landed on the planet safely already with my lovely TRN,
And my brand new spanking wheel design is the living end!
For the first time ever, I am equipped to the max. I carry a drill.
I will scoop up rocks and soil, looking for microbe life. What a thrill!
A robot dog on wheels indeed? This sounds like an unlearned man.
I bet he would have trouble learning about science. I am not his fan!
Did I mention that I have a helicopter tucked under my belly?
We need to know if we can ever live there, and run our telly.
I can also test the oxygen production. This will help us plan.
Have to go. I am tubing up Martian samples as fast as I can!
Alas, those days are gone! So long Argentina!
Deprived by vaccine law! Must do or be fool-dead!
Viral fear so rapid, the gene-techs’ in fast rev
Ending the long debate, big pharm governs mandates!
No talk of tried and true, gene-play is in fashion
Though it has been decades, with research showing naught
Usurping panic won, in careful thought’s adieu
RNA induction, into cells muscular
Everyone producing, proteins of a microbe!
Spike me with this logic, for I’ll become hostess
Stranger no more to me, I make the antigens!
Of nucleic acid shots, none are like polio…
Now the scientific fad’s gene manipulation
Even in infant phase, unready for the stage!
(12/21/2021: Meridian 342 Bethel Island)
A new way of life, is beginning to unfold.
Beware of what you hear, and what you're told.
There is one speaking, his message we need to hear.
With our technology and power, we still need to use our ears.
We are not invincible, we are not above God.
One little microbe, has come both here and abroad.
Our way of life, has been brought to its knees.
Life is fragile, this is not a tease.
Love one another, don't let things get out of hand.
Be vigilant and stand tall, together we need to stand.
Watch over your tired and weak.
You are now your brother's keeper, listen and hear him speak.
The Bad, The Ugly and The Good (aka: Bad, Badder, Baddest)
The Bad
I am the gun-toting, God-fearing Ganja Gangsta.
I’ll smoke you, pray for you, then have my daily siesta!
I answer to no one, and fear no man; No Sir!!!
I answer to only One Master. That’s Heaven’s Prime Minister.
I am the player-hating, man-baiting Sister Disaster.
I’ll woo you, thrill you, then …kill you; true that, mister!
I just swagger thru the city with my ‘Ghetto Blaster’,
I don’t mean sounds, fool!!! I mean my ‘piece’ … to blast ya!!!
I am the mean-looking, menacing Monster Mobster.
I’ll cut ya, shred ya, and have me a pasta fiesta.
I do not boil ‘em…! No sah!! I’d eat a live lobster!
I’m so mean ….Hey! ..I’ll even steamroller your hamster!!!
I am the fast-talking, Bible-bashing Pastor Imposter.
I’ll bless you, fleece you, then sex-up Sister Disaster
I’m just a shyster - but please don’t tell the Menacing Mobster!
She’s the God-fearing Gangsta’s wife - and the Mobster’s sister!
The Ugly (Badder)
I am the flesh-eating, life-sapping, Cluster-Sinister.
I am impartial; care not for class, colour, creed or gender.
I am microbe, but not a person-respecter; ask the sex inspector.
I am sorry, but for me to survive, you have to become a spectre.
I am the tear-jerking, game-changing, people-Prankster
I get called ‘*****’, ‘Sod’, …some even call me a ‘Mater-Conjugator’.
I don’t like Gangsters, Mobsters and especially that dodgy Pastor
I may get mad, or even get even; Call me ‘Life’, or call me ‘Karma’.
The Good (Baddest)
I am the Beginning, the Alpha/Omega; Heaven’s only Prime Minister
I wrote the Good Book, but look inside, I have never been a Jester!
I carry fire and brimstone to bolster my holster - you’d better helter-skelter!
I mete out justice, and vengeance administer: you'd better pray faster!!!
(Fg 81.5.8 - January 2016)
Beneath the ribs where redshifts gleam,
Dark matter folds through every seam.
Mighty microbial galaxies, mostly unknown,
compose the inner milieu that we own.
Each bug mass there, keeps its almanac,
Turning every meal to feast and snack.
Along peristaltic orbits they glide,
beyond the charts we hide inside.
A million metabolites drift unseen,
through zodiac pathways lying in between;
they tilt the compass of our brain,
and seed our immunity with vague disdain.
No endoscope resolves their skies,
No atlas reveals the truth it denies;
From each galaxy a new myth expands
beyond the reach of digestive glands.
What ancient food trail crossed this sea,
to anchor hidden black stars deep in me?
What ghostly legacy stain still survives,
mapped in those forgotten ancestral lives?
Wild roots, leaves, and berries rare,
can seed bounteous new galaxies to share;
in raw, unprocessed, earth-born fare,
when newborn nebulae can gather there.
Perhaps, fresh foods eaten by vegan or omnivore,
will shift the measured health score
beyond the eclipse of sickness concealed,
when junk food orbits remain unhealed.
When every internal galaxy is well known,
and every stellar microbe called, can atone;
the unknown universe will be our guest,
at the cosmic food table where we digest.
Did You Learn Anything?
Go ahead.
Put your shoes on.
Walk outside and face the nervous day.
Know that your lungs will not resist you.
Know that your heart will still stir.
Put the key in the ignition.
Now turn the crank.
You are back there now.
As if in a dream so ordered.
It is 1937 on Hoover Street.
The oleanders are bleeding.
Perfumed orange trees spit white loogies.
Clean children emerge from green digs.
Mothers hang clothes on uncomplaining lines.
Your grandmother is back there.
She’s wearing black reptile oxfords.
Go ahead.
Walk down the long gravelly driveway.
Pass the back porch steps there.
Pass the red-blooming bougainvillea.
There she is, alive again as she was.
Unfurling laundry with old clothespins.
Singing an old Salvation Army song.
Go ahead.
Talk to her.
Tell her who you are.
“Baba. Baba, it’s me,
Your surviving grandson, Harry.
I wanted to tell you,
I am a poet now.
An engineer of the human soul.
A standard-bearer for the mad,
Dressed in mindful metaphor.
You look young despite the goiter,
There inside your sinewy neck.
It appears and seems as if,
The goiter is a python at sleep,
Scrunched up inside there,
All rolled up like kneaded bread.
I hope it doesn’t hurt you.
I come from the future, Baba.
I know that sounds crazy, but
I am visiting from the year 2020.”
The world of my time screams
In lockdown, like medieval Europe,
People of every nation and tongue,
Too afraid to emerge from their walls,
Too fearful of even breathing in,
Imbibing in, with lost enthusiasms,
Mountain fresh air from the antipodes;
Fearful of catching and releasing It - the
Corona Virus monster microbe moving
Silently across the terrified landscapes,
Devouring the cool mornings,
Aside the neon evenings, even
Robbing the noon day of hopeful turnings.
“Baba, can I stay here with you,
In this golden simple time of 1937?
May I remain here now,
A happy and relieved rider,
Astride this awful depression horse?”
Go ahead.
It is time to return.
Baba died in 1963 and cannot hear you.
Turn the key off in the ignition.
You are back now where you belong.
It is 2020 in the United States of America.
Baba is sleeping in the graveyard now.
You are being held hostage by a germ.
Kick your shoes off now and think.
Did you learn anything?
When Death was free to roam the world,
unconstrained by science and medicine,
when doctors were mostly showmen,
and priests held the final word, then...
then people believed in God and in
heaven's bliss and hell's torments.
We moderns think that quaint now,
as we look back, we so much wiser,
battling microbe killers while our
instruments poke the universe, our
knowledge galloping ever faster till
now we think death is the end, there
will be no more, and angels are left
only in those obsolete shelters that
house illusions of a sad dead deity.
'Be thee so sure?" an ancient prophet
might ask-- for if you are wrong in
the measuring, in the weighing of
this world, then what world might
await you when body/ brain expire
and you find something still exists,
an imperishable mind, one far beyond
our mortal understanding clipped
by our senses and our feeble fears?
Then you will know your soul,
you will know you are immortal,
and you will know that God is All...
I want to walk with you
on the hills of tomorrow
drag fingers like tines
in the dark dirt
prepared by centuries
of anticipation
nothing but a few shoots
of grass there
waiting perfectly
for growth, some
human attendance, some
ones to roll
and plant deeply
sending roots
to the aquifer.
I want the honey-sweet sun
to make your skin quartz
glimmering like a thousand mirrors
and every living thing,
every dewdrop-living microbe
and sharp-eyed circling hawk
and waving photosynthetic wand
to take notice--
Strangers from a city
are peaceful now,
love bound and harmonious
and mean everything to you,
are here
infinite one minute
and the gone the next
in combustion of what you created.