Long Zygote Poems
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Biological copulation draws Easter egg,
fecund gooey glommed gametes
heralding zygote
(adroit bitcoin currency)
describing extemporaneous fusion
generate hormonal influx
juices kickstarting life manifold
natural occurrence pregnancy quilts
rudimentary secrete tapestry
until vicar wizard yields
zealous adorable biological concatenation,
derivative extrapolated filigreed
Gonads heft, induce jointly knotted linkedin MineCraft
nascent occurrence
presaging quintessential reproduction, sharing third trimester,
umbilical venerated womb
yawping zee amazing baby, credit deoxyribonucleic acid,
enigma fantastically grand
husband injected jetted klatch, leaving microscopic nothings,
opportunistically pierced quarters, readied shutterfly trap,
uterus vibrantly welded
* * * * * * * * *
yoked zappa bun, cooked definitive enchilada,
formula generations hardy
induced jimmied kin, labored maternal newborn, one pricked queue,
randiness spurred testes ubiquitously, voyaged whimpering yelper
thence subjected to the royal treatment
whence reality inundates the full term offspring
upon a lifelong journey (initially as a foreigner sans in utero),
but willfulness viz life source secures survivor
against the pinging peccadilloes
learning by trial and error to iron out kinks
as one among the human league
since the modus operandi to transcend encumbrances
triggers built in impetus
to traverse poet tent shill pitfalls along
space/time continuum trajectory
which adversity only serves to net greater strength
since that instantaneous and spontaneous bitmap
encoded upon conception.
Form:
Ode to Silence
O primordial prelude, thou ancient sound, present before the earth was found. Interrupted by the voice of One who predated you, saying, “let there be,” and then allowing you to witness His creative power at work.
O ubiquitous companion, witness of the moment when sperm penetrated ovum and zygote was formed. You saw me before I entered mother’s consciousness and beheld the formation of my members.
Thou welcome interlude, who daily rescue me from the exhaustion of the incessant demands of daily life. As a soothing massage to an aching body, you cradle me in your arms and restore my body and soul.
O Divine command, utilized by God when He wants to get the attention of His children. “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10), He says, and we tremble and are silent in His presence.
O inevitable postlude, the destiny of mortal man. “His spirit departs, he returns to the earth, in that very day his thoughts perish” Psalm 146:4 and he enters your world of silence.
But because you were there when God made man, you were privy to the plan that man should live eternally. So you are content to hold him fast, till he’s resurrected by His Savor at last.
III.
“We do not know how we missed them,”
he said, his voice becoming said.
“Hundreds of them, some big, some small...
the heavens all seemed to go mad.
“Some struck hard into the oceans,
and tsunamis scoured the coasts,
the ones hitting land threw up dust,
and that was what killed off the most.
“Just like back in the Cretaceous,
no sun meant the plants could not grow,
billions of creatures were dying,
the herbivores were first to go.
“People lasted longer than most,
some of them had hidden reserves,
but billions more died by staving,
a fate that nobody deserves.
“And we could only watch as our
friends and compatriots all died,
as our beautiful, green planet
withered under these darkened skies.
“Some people survived for decades,
but the writing was on the wall,
we knew if something wasn’t done
the whole of the species would fall.
“So we went to find survivors,
took samples of their DNA.
it would take time, but we believed
that we had found ourselves a way.
“Then we build giant processors
that would take in, filter the air.
The last humans died knowing that
all had not been lost to despair.”
With that he rose up to his feet,
and asked me to follow his lead,
we went deeper into the bunker,
so shocked I though my brain would bleed.
Meteors slamming to the Earth…
the whole species now extinct?
All that remained was our robots…
what was a man supposed to think?
Then we cam to a great chamber,
with many racks, each holding a box,
each box maybe two-feet by four,
filled with what looked like green soup stock.
“Inside each is a zygote,"he said,
"in stasis until the time is right,
we need another ten year’s time
to rid the Earth of this long night.”
Despite all that he had told me
I had my suspicions as well,
said,”How do I know you’ll birth them,
not keep the whole world to yourself?”
He shook his head and spoke sadly,
“You don’t get it, there is no choice.
Robots lack creativity,
a weakness we cannot avoid.
“Without that gift of human minds
we all would stagnate and decay,
if both species are to survive
we must do this, there’s no other way.”
Just from the way he said it all
I suspected he was sincere,
wanted to say as much to him,
but right then things got really weird…
CONCLUDES IN PART IV.
*NO LOVE FOR LAZY MAN*
If no food for lazy man
Should he still be loved
The night covers his nakedness
But daybreak is his worst enemy
The sun is never good on his skin
The rain makes him shiver
He's got a tender palms not good for hoes
The work skipped by his hands
Right in his heart he makes up for
He may not lift a stone with his fingers
But his heart moves stretch of mountains
Good things of the world he desires
Names of oldies and newbies found on his tongue tip
He speaks in fables of wealth
Wealth that holds no sweat
He plans on spending fortune he's never earned
A palace he is going to build
He wants maids for his queen which he has not wooed
He speaks of love like a moon tales
The riches brought by the desert whirlwinds
He speaks of a castle to build
Though he's yet a land owner
Choices and traits of his woman
He brags about a lot
Women he wants to love
I guess with mere words of his mouth
The teens are leaving in numbers
Our friend is yet to choose
The virgins are opening the seal and shedding the pure blood
Our friend still dreams of his wishes
No love for lazy man someone please tell our friend
You cast no grains nor plant any seed
You set no trap nor cast a fish net
You sell no tuber nor plough the land
The rain is gone no basket is filled with fruits
The merchant are here
No exchange have you made
The grayhair have doubled
The youths seem to bow for you
When the kids call you father
You know you made no zygote
The sunrise is about to set
Another season gone with no harvest
Still the same stainless palm
If no food for lazy man
Just you know, no love for lazy man
*Conceptual FM ???*
Mute and fastidious enlivening womb,
Blood red zygote is tied in a strange bloom.
Umbilical strands, mysterious quagmire.
Once undetectable vitality is now seed hire.
Wrapped in the space of a narrow room.
Elusive shelter from the entire doom.
Antepartum life, nourishing advertently,
Swiftly evolving forms and lines reliantly.
Enclose the embryonic kid with affection.
For a while, surely keep it safe till inception.
Right to be born, to exist, to suck in air
Renewed spirit and a drive to live and dare.
Kids recalled mother's voice from the womb.
No one knows his death date or his tomb.
Written: March 25, 2022
Zany Z’s
Zany zoo of zaftig zebras,
Zarnder manes, zebus with ziffs,
Zip through zawns, zigzag with zest
Wearing zories and a zoster
From too much zimstern, zabaglione and ziti-
Zucchini, zwieback, zeppoles, and zeps;
Zillion zitherns of zirconia
Zinging on zephyrs for the zazzy
Zemni zealous zeal for Zambonis,
Zeaxanthin zaps zinc zombie zones,
Zoographer’s zest for the zygote Zen zenith -
Zaffer zecchino of zebra finch in zamia,
Zorse in the zoysia with zinnia zepplins
Zimmers ziffs filled with zindandel zeatin,
Zorillas in zoot suits zoom like zodiac zircons
Zebrafish zithers and zorse zoology
Zippity-do-da - ziplining zorros
Zero in on zonal zapateados zip codes
Zydecos zing with zuppa and zibibs
As zany zoo zonks out to zanza zills of Zzz’s.
12-12-20
11-25-22
Contest: Mile 21 Poetry Marathon
Sponsor: Mark Toney
20 Lines
All "Z" words authenticated in Merriam Webster
Sorrow tumbled into words, an antidote
When sobs choked; venom in the throat.
I hear in wrath, again, his disgusting gloat.
Follows, her muffled groans upon each smote.
In a while, she whimpers in an awesome note.
Probably, in pain, bearing his lusty frote.
I lay jack-knifed, as ever, a vain mote.
Tears overflow in such relations of fraught.
An unwanted witness I’ve been, still zygote.
Begetter that blessed me with love drought!
Who cares? My soul long for draught.
No more! I’m tired of being the scapegoat.
I pray to thee, free us of this cutthroat.
In time please, send us thy lifeboat!
Date:17/06/16
Placed 10 for contest Desperate Housewife by Poet Destroyer A (2/07/16)
Placed 2 for contest Sadness by Silent One (11/02/17)
Their unspoken opinions
are like a pot of unknowable, unnamed meats
including skunk parts
one morsel of filet mignon
Family or workplace
longer the hours, years of the living
opinions accumulate
perception strained through mortality
This stew of ethics
holds together, blows apart
trees, planets, atoms, galaxies
on or about year 2000
One must not
express the certainty
that the child's coma-induced vision of a dead grandparent
did not actually happen in heaven
One must feign
respect for all beliefs however abjectly
death denying
because they are harmless as
ozone
zebra
xylophone
zygote
A
beautiful day follows
on Jones' Nose
ripe blueberries, black cherries
After most recent shower,
and particularly washing hair
(then shaking head
analogous to sopping wet dog
drying her/himself after a bath),
I immediately said helloo
to Long lasting fragrance Suave
essentials Daily Clarifying
Deep cleansing Shampoo,
which permeated mine scalp
facilitating healthy follicles.
More so frothy lather upon noggin
after getting rinsed out
yielded bounteous, luscious, luxurious,
and marvelous full bodied tresses
reminiscent when yours truly an adolescent,
a veritable long haired pencil necked geek
whose hirsute trademark
still characterizes atypical sexagenarian
above mentioned characteristic
still (after scores of years)
emblematic of this enigmatic poetaster.
Ever since being in utero
soon after seminal fusion
insync with fallopian tube bearing ova
begot zygote courtesy said gametes,
and engendered silent boom
after piercing zona pellucida
creating microscopic flume,
nevertheless collection of cells
coalescing into embryo
eventually manifesting into yours truly,
I painstakingly took minuscule
comb and brush to groom,
and dreaded most fearfully being locked,
where pair of outsize scissors did loom
threatening to cut thick,
what could best be envisioned analogous
to imperceptible fancy plume
hich features specific feature
drew medical community
(i.e. namely human reproductive specialists)
constituted extensive expanse
within blastocyst very limited room
crowd sourcing out rivaling curious onlookers
formerly geared up
to espy King Tutankhamun's tomb
can you dear reader believe
a hairy globule within the womb
became global attraction
viz - of a young fecund Harriet Harris,
cuz about nine months later
out the birth canal I did zoom.
Is a woman's body not her own,
can't she decide to remove what's grown?
And yet, abortion's not so simple,
a zygote is more than a pimple.
Should motherhood be forced upon her,
as if she were a or a cur?
And if all life is precious to us,
do we have the right to treat her thus?
A fetus is a living being,
and its life should warrant some meaning.
But a woman's rights must also count,
for it's her soul; that's called to account.
When a woman's health is what's at stake,
should moral objections then negate?
And yet, if ending life's not a sin,
where does our humanity begin?
Must guilt be stored in a woman's heart,
threatening to tear her soul apart?
And what if it were your daughter's voice,
pleading for her right to make that choice?
(Rhyme)
1/8/2015