Mitochondria Poems | Examples

Humans Fed to the Minotaur

There’s something in our entrails knows this dread.
You hear it scratching – that’s alarm enough.
That snorting half-suppressed, that flagstone scuffed,
a passing shadow of a massive head,
and we scent darkness, dark beyond the dead.
It hovers like Unreason. Does it know?
Canals of self-containment overflow,
like wits’ weak walls, at that approaching tread.
Our fingers, feeling for that flimsy thread,
Seem senseless, unresponsive: can’t perform
the simplest act. No order now, no norm.
The Void insists. The Hunger will be fed.
With locusts of the Labyrinth in swarm,
the mitochondria of Panic sprout and spread.

Mitochondrial Eve

In the depths of ancient time, where history intertwines, 
Lies a tale of human roots, in mitochondrial lines. 
Mitochondrial Eve, a mother to us all, 
Her legacy in cells, where tiny powerhouses call.
She lived in Africa, some 200,000 years ago, 
A matriarch whose lineage, through generations flow. 
Not the only woman then, but her genes did survive, 
Passed down through daughters’ daughters, keeping her lineage  alive.
In mitochondria, those energy machines, 
Her DNA resides, in all our human genes. 
A tiny loop of code, in every cell we bear, 
A link to our beginnings, a story we all share.
Through migrations vast and wide, her children spread afar, 
From Africa to Asia, to lands where oceans are. 
Her legacy is global, in every race and creed, 
A testament to unity, in our genetic seed.
So when you ponder ancestry, and where you might belong, 
Remember Mitochondrial Eve, and her enduring song. 
A mother of us all, in science and in lore, 
Her story in our cells, forever to explore.

Mothergod Still Loves Fathergod

                                             He claims Creation.
                                         She claims Mitochondria.
                                                What's Reality?

Life of A Cell

I am a eukaryotic cell with various organelles,
I am present in various shapes of stellate, spherical and knob threads.
Nucleus is my brain,
Which has karyolymph and a nuclear membrane.
Closer to it, lies the ER which spreads like a huge network,
And carries out its repair work.
Beside ER lies the flattened sacs of Golgi Bodies, 
Which performs the job of storing and packing proteins.
Lysosomes are fearless protectors,
Who act upon the worn out cell parts acting as dispensers.
I gain all my power from the ATP molecules released by mitochondria,
The power house of every cell body.
This is how I am able to perform all life processes,
For I have my special jewels, my cell organelles. 

~Deveshi Hans

The Random House

Random in the house,
Juggled words were.
Asunder left you there were.
Mitochondria the nervous
Melon taken granted for.
Places in faraway away,
Discom-populated.
Story to tell.
In the story tell to.

Cry my heart
A Lord of Glory
Under a taken
Dark glimpse of God
I go.

Reflectives

motionless mirrors
mesmerize meaningless mind
             mitochondria

I'M Doing An Online Mental Age Test and So Select the Tab, 'I Reject All Birthday Parties'

the greenland shark can be seen around greenland
and the brain begins to slow at 24

my brain fully developed in primary school
but my face has yet to do so

toxins in the air juxtaposed with the fermi paradox
rivers of mercury and winston churchill's parrot

i want to move to monaco
where all the mitochondria gyrates

the school don't ask me to host the christmas party
they ask the long-legged wood elf of a pe teacher

but i'm teaching romanticism 
and still want to join the circus

Cerebrum Devolution

Most laboratory mischievous
was a petri dish birth of the patent soulless
Retrograde thought waves,
cold stream of computer code consciousness
Clone algorithm doppelgänger breathe
into a body of artificial intelligence theory 
Hollow cranial cavity
filled with synthetic mitochondria propagation — 
Grey matter reversal movement,
Neanderthal cortical activity cybernetic

Experimental genome project,
primeval opaque was the ethical manifest
Microchip implants
rooted in Pleistocene motive — 
Darwinian conquest: 	Amygdala tool
	        was nano technological, 
at its terabyte best
Cerebrum devolution was a scientific success!

Test tube pre-cogs
predict a quark-y future gray
Matter of terminal importance
on a backward timer delay

Mesozoic void was the synaptic quantum leapfrog

Cerebral core of humanity drifting away
		        on a data entry log
	Into the primordial fog 
of a deity devoid day


10-28-21

I Love You

You are the fuel of my lantern
The Moon of my sea
The reef of my ocean
The trout of my stream

You are the oasis of my desert 
The sole star of my sky
The jewell of my shirt
The pearl of my shell

You__ the trout of my stream
The chocolate of my cake
The mitochondria of my cell
The fruit of my shake

Only if you knew the affinity that I hold for you
Forever we will moor on heaven's shores for sure

~17-10-21
(For I love you poetry contest by Eve)

Blood Ties

He'd glimpse her, the peripheral life of her;
she lived in the corner of his eye.
She passed-by, her face and form - tidal, 
a tug on his shore.

Perhaps she was salt for his blood, spice
for nomadic mitochondria
that carried her silks and perfumes,
salts to his earth
when flesh grew dry and dark?

He took a mind journey 
within the coiling tendrils 
of his pith and fiber.
Capillaries traced her imprints,
neuronal fingers tried to define her.
He'd gladly walk into her marrow,
metabolites clinging to her shifting shapes.

A camel-train of visions travels
his corded spine 
bearing incidentals, trappings.
He plants glances among ganglia,
feeds on a returning musk,
until she walks among his thoughts.

She is no longer a fantasy, no longer 
a salt lick of moth-threads and rain,
but what she is - he could not say.

-mitochondria-

Daily Poetry #59, March 28, 2017
Word: Mitochondria 

108 billion people, and still, life just plays on repeat,
It’s grown so dull that we don’t care who we meet. 
Just a pile of meat steaks and trash bags,
We mindlessly make it through as the day drags. 

206 bones in my body, and yet, I don’t feel strong enough,
Though you tell me I’ll make it, crush me, I’m not tough.
Watch the clock tick until your favourite show comes on,
And sit down to waste away until you’re gone. 

100 billion cells in the brain, and yet, I’m still useless, 
As my head is full of nonsense, for I’m choice less. 
Stab me in the head with a spoon, and candy will spill,
For that’s how corrupt I am, through pain, I smile still. 

10 million billion mitochondria in my body, and yet, I’m not working,
All around you, let’s dance and laugh, as they’re lurking. 
Wait for everything to completely disappear before you laugh, 
Or you may be labeled different and cut in half. 

108 billion people, and still, nothing changes, 
Choking down emotions as everything rearranges. 
“What’s your name?” I smile at such a dumb question,
And laugh until it hurts from death of asphyxiation.

Interview With An Artist

The interviewer is water colored...green.
The artist, antiqued abstract.
He probes for her deepest sable secrets. 
She offers pale nothings from her musky attic retreat-

He nibbles away with baby teeth.
She slugs him in his ochre gut. 
With vague stone frogs croaking from
the cracks of black souled mountain tops.

Her being lies in the shadow of shadows. 
Briefly Exposing its oily head 
From ancient mind scribbles and mayhem.
The path to her treasures is overgrown. 
With the bluest bile and hungry thorn.

He's too soft -to green to ever see.
To bushwhack and bleed. 
To seek the trail head.
Like she slashed and bled 
'til her soul was partly cleansed-

He's unable to see what she clearly saw.
So back and forth they go. 
Into a see-saw nothingness...
Goddess of abstract - watercolor man
A dead end of a dance.

Her aurora left her long ago.
Seeping lovingly into her paintings.
An explosion of mental mitochondria.
Hanging from dingy gallery walls....
She places her wrinkled flower face. 
Deep into her burnt sienna soul... 
The interviewer has been flayed.
The interview is over.

Freshly Recycled

Do you believe in miracles
Do you want the angels to land on your eyelids
Does it feel like a frosty breath is merely a conglomeration 
And simultaneous expulsion of ghosts
The shared air of time
Elements refuse to expire 
I believe we are the miracles of many elemental interactions
The essence of the deepest bonds 
We can dance easily when hands intertwine 
You are the gods 
The fire from within the mitochondria proves it
Dust of the sun
With a dusting from the cosmos
Green life
Blue life
Blue-green algae
Yes

Mental Palinopsia

The fireworks glaze the corners of my eyes
But I can't see, the bombs falling all around me
The rushing blood pumping through my legs
I can feel glaucoma coming with every scream

Grasping the chalky stone near my knees
A black sky, alight with frozen mitochondria
A gibbous moon passes this outer lined disease
Clenching my chest, a latrine of hypochondria

Walking back through the city for my apartment
Bumping into each bystander my indifference can reach
Lossless complaints printed upon a crinkled parchment
My apathetic tendencies swim through this tar soaked beach

Preparing my makeshift bed and wishing I could pretend
That soaking my throat in lorazepam will melt my ice cold cornea
That this melting pillow will strip all my split ends
That this night wouldn't suffer from mental palinopsia

The Silence of Eternal Flame

you were stealing me from myself
my mitochondria, a little under the name,
while I was unmoored, talking to a mirror
who did not recognize me, caked in heat and dust
touching my tissues and blood
under the ignited roof of the tower,

walking with crutches to wipe the tears,
religion, open pyres, I am still stained
near a lantana thicket, amorous, talking
to death, pirates grabbing the winds,
migration of a whole waxed population
in black air

stalkers have a corrugated mind and 
serial killers  a mournful voice


SATISH VERMA

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