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One of a kind

My D.N.A’s in disarray
Genetically I am quite mad,
I just found out the other day
I never had a proper dad.

They hatched me on a petri dish.
From bits of that and bits of this
and kept it warm to incubate
How I turned out was left to fate

I finished up a vertebrate
but I will never find a mate.
In all the world I am unique
I shall not live to be antique.

I’m six feet tall and three feet broad
and I blow bubbles when I’m bored.
From both my ears I swear it’s true
Now that is something you can’t do.

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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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It isn't the original scandal that gets people in the most trouble - it's the attempted cover-up.

quote by Tom Petri
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As so often happens with Washington scandals, it isn't the original scandal that gets people in the most trouble - it's the attempted cover-up.

quote by Tom Petri
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Petri-dish

Your love is like salad in a salad Petri-dish,
But, bounded in the myth of paradise! !
However, the pivoting labour of your muse acts like flaccid breasts;
And, tomorrow is the opening of your hot meal to the masses,
For, you are very much noted in this village.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sheets

Sheets,
Every night you wrestle me down
aggressive and determined to have your way
with your sandpaper grit grip
We are a writhing tangle of arms, legs and
posture pedic mattress fabric
My princess and the Petri's dish wish to sleep
goes on for hours as you gang bang me until
you win.

poem by Sara Fielder
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Unlost Existence

When an embryo was growing in a petri dish
I said this is it my adieu
for I am now ready for a new journey of self denial
a skull in my lap
after the abdication of ancient fear
the eyes of buttercups poked with hot iron rods
a hoe breaking the neck of a bowed man
to humanize an ugly beast
my fragile hands make a cup to collect the light
of a fading sun to pour on the stillness
of the dream’s dark roaring
that’s how a pinned butterfly becomes
resigned for capitulation

poem by Satish Verma
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Hope Sonnet

I write all my songs, all my poetry,
Hoping I may be able to escape
Reality by means of symmetry,
In rhythmic schemes and with metrical shape.
I distort my surroundings in the glass—
Convex and past, covering my iris
Where the amorphous images amass,
Contaminating thoughts like a virus.
My dirtied spectacles, a petri dish,
Hold onto diseased cultures of fancy:
Glowing germs—cell stars made to take a wish
And transpose it where I might blindly see.
Then beautiful things coalesce and transcend
Beyond my imagined world of pretend.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Shameful

Like an alligator tending her eggs
on tongue, death moves the life
on strength of charisma, overreaches

for requiem and then distributes the raw
moments in subterfuge, we play the game
to cheat each other without shame.

A red carpet is laid on white floor
of the wax house, making gold from
sun rays. The moon bleeds internally.

The rivals come face to face walking
on the ashes of ancestors, ungrieving for the
loss of sperms. Fertility will come in petri dishes

without the name of father. I am here,
nobody, ready to unanswer any question.
My stains are becoming darker every day.

poem by Satish Verma
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Remembrances Of The Chemistry Laboratory

this is the middle of the journey
there are many more mirages

illusions to uncover, deaths to conquer,
more time is devoted to filtering doubts,

decanting those seemingly insignificant
experiences, purifying the adulterated

legacies of great human thoughts,
digesting the chunks of abrupt and

wholesale misgivings, powdering those
less understood, mixing with mercury

to extract the gold in those passing years,
poisoning the mind, destroying everything

unacceptable, dissolving failures,
subjective processes, finally getting nothing

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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This Day

It was inheritance of pain. I should
have known. Incontinent, she was scared
to hug me: the child, after the rape. Shepherding
the lacerations: petrified, a body of lad

floating in a sewage tank; a short circuit in
an incubator, row of infants, life snuffed out in flames;
of being. I want to know ontology, need a
spinal surgery; somebody wants to abort a fetus,

because of mistaken identity, an alien egg
was implanted; racing time, bitter and corrosive,
it happned for the first time; karma, you say.
I don’t agree, you need camel’s milk to clear

your thoughts, like clenched fist against the
darkness; the little child, lad, infants, mortality after
a wrong calculation; the test tubes and petri-dishes,
need despoiling while the soul screams in a

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poem by Satish Verma
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