Long Microbes Poems
Long Microbes Poems. Below are the most popular long Microbes by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Microbes poems by poem length and keyword.
The Evolution of Love
by Michael R. Burch
Love among the infinitesimal
flotillas of amoebas is a dance
of transient appendages, wild sails
that gather in warm brine and then express
one headstream as two small, divergent wakes.
Minuscule voyage, love! Upon false feet,
the pseudopods of uprightness, we creep
toward self-immolation: two nee one.
We cannot photosynthesize the sun,
and so we love in darkness, till we come
at last to understand: man’s spineless heart
is alien to any land. We part
to single cells; we rise on buoyant tears,
amoeba-light, to breathe new atmospheres ...
and still we sink.
The night is full of stars
we cannot grasp, though all the World is ours.
Have we such cells within us, bent on love
to ever-changingness, so that to part
is not to be the same, or even one?
Is love our evolution, or a scream
against the thought of separateness: a cry
of strangled recognition? Love, or die,
or love and die a little. Hopeful death!
Come scale these cliffs, lie changing, share this breath.
Keywords/Tags: love, love and life, evolution, voyage, sex, sexuality, sensual, lust, cells, chemistry, electricity, biology, darkness, sea, night, stars, photosynthesis, shared breath, microscopic, amoebas, pseudopods, microbes, extended metaphor, creation
The germs and the bugs and the viruses
Each of them fancied their chances
The microbes and pathogens all had a go
At giving me evil-eye glances
My bones they were aching, my temperature baking
And then there were chills that would see me a shaking
I thought I might rattle with pills I was taking
And if I dared speak then my larynx was quaking
But you know and I know that ‘man flu’ is worse
Than anything ladies might lay down in verse
I knew this was true as I took to my bed
While my wife with her ‘girl flu’ was clearing the shed
Her version of flu didn’t cause her to moan
When cleaning the kitchen, not one stifled groan
And even the vacuum, when she cleaned the floors
Did not make her wince, so she finished her chores
But I am a man and a fighter at heart
Against all bugs I’ll be the winner
I said to my wife you should have a lie down…
As soon as you’ve finished the dinner.
Well…
I’m better but hungry, I’m feeling half starved
In fact I could eat a large horse
I got bugs that gave me an appetite halved
But now they’ve got me a divorce
Word Maneuvers in F Sharp Minor
As it goes, so it goes.
Imperceptibly.
As the languorous lizard soaks in the sun,
It’s fat green belly filled with flies,
You and I will do the same, indeed,
We will find utter solace under a moving cloud,
We will wish for an escape from the piercing onslaught,
We will wish for an end to the pain and abject sadness,
Of daily life on this staggering planet;
But instead, as carnivorous time eats its way forward,
We too will be absorbed into the Beast,
Into which all are eventually swallowed whole,
We will be digested by the darkness.
As it goes, so it goes,
Imperceptibly.
As the languorous lizard soaks in the sun,
You and I will do the same.
We will spend our lives hunting,
And being hunted,
By the masticating microbes of infinite space;
We will all be an ingredient, at last,
In something else’s soup.
And what is our end, honey?
What factors are there in our ultimate demise?
Here, take my hand and let me hold it.
We will soon enter into the room of pillows.
It’s down the dark meandering hallway,
Past the statue of a kneeling Artemis,
Inside, you will find fiery explosions;
That of instant death upon the battlements.
We will be vacant from the universe,
For a second….
As the blooming centrix flower bends,
And waits for pulsing Time to ejaculate,
We will watch its wondrous presentations,
We will lie askew, and count our moles
With trembling erect appendages.
As it goes, so it goes,
Imperceptibly.
Flora and fauna of birds, beasts, microbes, soils, atmospheres,
Should only these contribute to the forest components?
Height and densities of trees and plants, and their thriving years...
Aren't silver, gold, diamonds, and gems woodland endowments?
Who cares much for herbs and shrubs where tiny insects abide?
Flies, bees, frogs, rodents, bats, and rats playfully hide and seek.
Ants, crickets, grasshoppers, centipedes, and millipedes hide
Behind grass, leaves, and mud to escape threats as they are weak.
With animals, vegetation, and evergreen landscapes
Air to breathe, food, medicines, wood, and fodder they provide
Forests reduce pollutants in air, water, sound, and space.
Protect humans from floods, droughts, soil erosion, and landslides.
Though like a student in primary school, I might recite
Abiding midst a forest is a venturous delight.
What makes you human without your limbs,
Human without your nose and toes –
What makes you human without your ears
Makes the unborn me human without your form.
Yes, it’s my essence, not form, which counts:
Be not liberal in defining gender yet conservative
in defining life.
By one sentence do mass killings in the world
and womb begin:
“They don’t look like us and don’t act like us:
they’re not human.”
Today, I heard hushed voices say so – then
came a sharp pain.
How I wished sweet mum or the doctor would
come:
I little knew they were here and directed the attack.
“Et tu, mama? Et tu, doctor?” Dying words, I uttered.
“Your life is not good for ours,” they said.
Out of my cradle they forced me and whisked me
past the world into the grave.
“It’s my body, my choices,” I heard mum say.
Yet I challenge not what she does with her body but
with mine:
It’s “my body, my choices” after all, in this her world.
My flesh is aborted but not my voice; lend it your lips,
for mine are gone.
Then, perhaps, the unborn shall like the dead rest in
peace some day:
Not belittled, not assaulted, but shielded with concrete
and taboos…
Behind me gut microbes swarm and play where side
by side we formerly lay.
Now mum’s cuddly flesh they enjoy better than me --
They must think they’re her babies and me the
intruder.
Like parallel dimensions set apart,
how varied they exist on this great earth.
We are at ease within the plane where we
can share as human beings from our birth.
But, what about the microscopic world-
unseen, but dwells within our very midst,
knows not of us, but we know it; how hard
to reconcile we share and coexist.
With insects too...does that lone crawling ant
have knowledge of our giant presence here?
In its own world of blades of grass and dirt,
its universe exists but ends right there.
Unknown dimensions may be in our midst,
invisible, immense, or have a sense
not shared with that in us that see or feel-
yet mingle in our presence- so intense.
Our senses, see and hear, smell, taste, and touch,
may not assist within dimensions that
do not give signals to interpret them-
and so, like ants or microbes, we react.
These grand dimensions magnify beyond
this tiny sphere where well-known facts disclose
we're dwarfed within our milky galaxy-
a speck of dust afloat in the cosmos.
Like parallel dimensions set apart,
how varied they exist in this great world.
More mystic still, in our grand universe,
what we don't know is yet to be unfurled.
August 28, 2016
~Honorable Mention~
Contest: Your Choice 4
Sponsor: Brain Strand
Judged: 06/09/2019
~9th Place~
Contest: Poetry Unhinged
Sponsor: John Lawless
Judged: 08/31/2016
In the beginning, there were microbes
Once upon a time later
Some collectively came together
Becoming plants and animals
But even after billions of years of evolution
Most still remain as microbes free from collectives
Even to this day, microbes are Earth’s dominate lifeform
Why do you think that is?
For millennia they remained invisible
Hidden from sight
It’s not until recently
With the invention of the microscope
They’ve been discovered and exposed
To scientific scrutiny and medical bloodwork routines
To us, the world is big, but for them, it’s 10,000 times bigger
Giving them plenty of small places to hide
And hold secret meetings
About, who knows what
Only the Microbial Illuminati knows,
If they even exist.
The night ended in smoke.
Sleepwalking fumes
rolled over the park,
perambulated in groggy circles,
then got stuck in the tree branches
where they hung as thick
as melting duck fat.
Around eleven in the morning
the sky began to baste itself;
you could smell it simmering
on the edge of a backburning brink
as it grilled a too torpid air.
It was sweet in the mouth at first
then it fire-licked wet ears
and slippery toes.
Skeletal strings unwound.
Mind-sweat began to pour,
drowning-out hope of any ease,
thoughts flopped to the earth
stewing amid overheated bubbles,
Microbes leached through
oily eyebrows.
Ohio just can’t get its weather right;
some nights merely pre-heat the day,
daylight pants through aphid snouts
and brown stems,
or bulges lungs with its ballooning fevers.
if the next passer-by
gleefully remarks:
‘what a lovely day’
they will be cursed politely
with a gorgon stare,
then a thin, and crispy leer.
So where's our lauded critical thinking, wisdom of the ages,
When far at sea unbridled plastic pollution rages?
Two large patches of plastic debris
Are circling in the North Pacific sea.
The greatest minds of our day can't solve our drifting affliction,
Nor can they plan to rid us of our destructive plastic addiction.
While ecologists debate the issues watching with indignant ire,
The trash still forever spins in its garbage gyre.
It takes five hundred years for plastics to decompose,
When photodegradation breaks it down, no one really knows.
Microplastics inside marine life and the fish we eat,
May well mark our downfall and eternal defeat.
We humans are certainly subject to constant denial
But plastic microbes in our food is simply too vile.
Straws 'n spoons, bottles 'n caps, bags 'n toys turn into tiny pieces,
A wry laugh to think this is a fitting end for the human species.
Eight million metric tons of plastic trash go into the sea each year,
Rather than protecting us, it makes new pollutants that we so fear.
Our single use and dumping rules could be made to be sensible,
Instead it's confused discarding practices that are reprehensible.
No country can or will step up and take responsibility,
Our world sits back to see our oceans succumb to instability.
When or how will we rise up and solve this floating problem?
Is there anyone who can find a reasoned place to start from?
Or are we destined like our trash adrift in a sea abyss,
Waiting for some distant power to point to what we miss?
For solving this is no short-term task that we can do alone,
It calls for us to come together to save our planet home.
24/7 round the clock coronavirus (COVID-19) coverage
Strong armed marshall law decrees
(at a buoy good gull... lance)
across airwaves blare
constant detrimental exhortation
buzzfeeding populace analogous
to pollination instinctively
wrought courtesy bumblebees
to help combat
mortal pandemic disease
explaining governmental freeze
industries shuttered just ask jeeves
who will corroborate
deadly symptoms characterized
by severe chills inducing knocked knees
stricken unfortunate victim
beseeches with plaintive pleas
as their feverish body temperature
surpasses bajillion degrees
innoculation looms closer on horizon
as fatigued learned scientists squeeze
every detail how coronavirus (COVID-19)
transmitted, disseminated, contracted...
moost definite deadly germs spread,
when one and/or individual doth sneeze,
meanwhile palliative care workers seize
every opportunity to appease
tortured souls (suffering
worse fate than death),
plus plumb depths how said microbes'
molecular and/or atomic biochemical keys
activate, integrate, propagate...
painstaking labor to scrutinize and tease
burning midnight oil exhaustive energies
altruistic individuals ofttimes sustaining
their weary lovely bones
with crackers and cheese
moost likely forgoing adequate sustenance
also robbing sleep slowly
transforming them into zombies
apropos trailing appellation
describing unnaturally surreal spooky
haunting spectre as people
perish in twos and threes
mystery if initial epicenter
pinpointed among Chinese,
or perpetrated (my hunch) perhaps by aliens
slightly resembling infinitesimal
peace loving groovy hippies
pervasive during nineteen sixties.
Quarantine a dolt
Matthew Scott Harris got nowhere to bolt!