Friday, November 25, 2022

Revelation

Before the shadow cloaked the land,
    And sun and moon had ceased to glow,
    By towering giants made of snow,
Apposed with broomsticks high in hand;

Before the ants had plumbed the Earth,
    And water ran from sea to root,
    And every seed had borne its fruit,
And far were famine, death, and dearth;

Before the fire found its start,
    And mind of man was set ablaze,
    Pursuing virtue in a maze,
Consumed by follies of the heart;

The clouds concealed a silent storm
    To quench the thirsty ancient mold,
    Whose rotting choked the land with cold;
An oath to keep the planet warm.

Then snaking down on hidden wire,
    The lightning left a little spark
    For eager trees bound in the dark
Whose loveless limbs were lit with fire.

As ashes buried last of blight,
    The gods hid deep their sacrifice,       
    The toll of time turned Earth to ice,
And snow-men grew to rule the night. 

And what was lost and what was gained?
    Nature turned to ice from cold,
    to night from dark, to new from old;
The waxing crescent then since waned.

And layer-by-layer the years were painted
    Till snow-men rose above the clouds,
    Their children forming shrunken crowds,
A maze to bind the unacquainted.                        

Then through a crack there came a creep,
    The ghost of ancient, buried blight,
    A famished tendril hunting light
Through broken glass at giants' feet.

And fearing youthful tales of horror,
    The giants vowed as one to fight,
    With cloud on left and club on right
The rain and steel attacked the floor.

Unfazed, it climbed the giants' spire,
    Surpassed the clouds, and bathed in light,
    Forcing old gods to reunite
And strike the tendril down with fire.

The shrinking tendril traced a path
    of flame from trunk to snowy foot,
    A scar composed of ice and soot,
Dissolving snow to watery bath.

Then melting all to equal height,
    The sun and moon began to shine,
    The clouds and giants saw eye-to-eye,
And at last the land returned to light.

And what was stole and what was asked?
    Nature turned from ice to cold,
    From night to dark, from new to old;
The waning crescent since then waxed.

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Brainwashing (clean lyrics)

I

False dichotomy
Forced lobotomy
Serendipity
Fuck Hate Ron Jeremy.

Baby's out to sea
Doctor Jones at three
Test for pregnancy
Lunch is never free.

Bull economy
New morality
Flagrant vanity
Unabashedly.


II

Study history
Land in poverty
Service industry
"Smile, please, it's free."

Freedom by degrees
Electricity
Work will set you free
Self-vasectomy.

Modern slavery
Brand-name loyalty
Common courtesy
Social parody.


III

Toppled monarchy
New democracy
Slow bureaucracy
No efficiency.

Same nobility
Now celebrity
Tout astrology
God is on TV.

Fuck Love on ecstasy
Laugh on LSD
Soul toxicity
Jail will keep you clean.


IV

Tough love policy
Brutal honesty
"Let us help you breathe"
Pneumonectomy.

Old philosophy
Love your family
Give to charity
Life and liberty.

Lust insanity
Crave finality
Immortality
Sip the hemlock tea.

Saturday, October 29, 2022

The White Elephant's Burden (demo)

The black mirror pupils repeat "he da one," 
And now the elephant's job has begun.
With white wrinkled straw the water is drawn,
His canvas colored, his story is done.

Then petting each dog (that's fourteen plus two),
E. flew past the sun to look for what's new.
With bravest of moods he stepped on the moon,
Then opened his eyes and blackened his view.

An alien emerged who only asked "why,"
E. sang it a song: "just open your eyes."
At last they drank wine, played chess, danced, and died,
And when E. awoke, black asked "did you lie?"

Saturday, August 6, 2022

Contagion

 
The abstract axe chips away at fallacy,
The dynamite drug unearths new thoughts, 
The shimmer of truth is hewn into language,
The infection spreads.

Some sicken, some strengthen, 
In some it evolves and devolves again.
Some make poor hosts, others foster children,
Some birth, some adopt.

My progeny are numerous.
My disease has spread far.
It is all I have.

And yet -- is it not all we all have?

Thursday, July 21, 2022

Theirs is a world

Theirs is a world I shall not know;
        A lusty glance from darkened eyes,
        A knowing smile speaking lies,
        The mutual beckon of selfish thighs.

Theirs is a world they will not show;
        The curtain veiling smoke and mirrors,
        The tribes united planting fears,
        A funeral filled with muted cheers.

Theirs is a world I can’t let go;
        The never-ending cocaine nights,
        The sex-stained clothes and passionate fights,
        The feeling that this must be right.

Theirs is a world I need to know;
        Yet mine is a world I must keep too,
        And mine is a world they wish they knew,
        And ours is a world of worlds unglued.

Friday, November 4, 2011

The Sound of Science

After writing this I searched youtube and discovered that this has already been done twice... one is about Darwin and the other is by the Beastie Boys.

-----------------------------------

                      Hello dark room, my old friend
                      I've brought my western here again
                      This time my protein's not degraded
                      This time the signal's not yet faded
                      And the bands will stand out like a yellow fly
                      With white eyes
                      And shine the sound of Science

                      In LTL I walk alone
                      Cultures still have not yet grown
                      Giving up I return to home
                      My pain is growing like a new genome
                      But then I turn around and from Wawa I buy hoagies
                      and two coffees
                      To fuel the sound of Science

                      And on the cover slip I saw
                      ten thousand cells or maybe more
                      Cells dividing without splitting
                      Cells dividing without quitting
                      Cells secreting hormones that others will not use
                      And then they fused
                      And grew the sound of Science

                      "Fools", said I, "You do not know
                      My thesis like a cancer grows
                      Read my words that I might teach you,
                      Read your mail that I might reach you"
                      But my pleas, like a senior thesis fell
                      And landed
                      On the shelves of Science

                      And at last I bowed and prayed
                      For a thesis real or fake
                      Then the words of a distant cry
                      Echoed down from a young PI
                      And the voice said "the path to a paper is high-throughput cancer stem cells,
                      not a gel."
                      And it spoke with the sounds of Science.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

A series of awkward metaphors (or Modern poetry)

                      He shot me
                      with his eyes as I waited on the street corner
                      for the red light to turn green
                      with a plastic CVS bag
                      cradling half a gallon of milk and a box of tampons.
                   
                      The smoke cleared
                      from my eyes and I saw him diffuse into the atmosphere
                      of our local tavern happy hour.
                   
                      We mixed red wine with our hearts
                      And devoured each cup like thirsty grad students.
                      I told him how he shot me
                      and he offered to show me his gun-
                      I told him that the light was still red.
                   
                      "We both want the same thing,"
                      he whispered into my eyes,
                      but personally I thought it was the other way around.
                   
                      His bed looked just like a frozen waterfall
                      and felt about the same.
                      But before long the bed was singing,
                      the song was sweating,
                      the sweat was pulsing,
                      the pulse was bleeding,
                      the blood was smelling,
                      the smell was tasting
                      the taste was icing,
                      the ice was melting.
                   
                      And when we fell apart
                      like two used kitchen sponges, wrung together then carelessly tossed aside,
                      I gazed down at my weary carcass
                      and thought to myself
                      "Fuck. I left the milk out."

Sunday, September 25, 2011

The Ballad of Unrequited Rhymes

This works best if you read it out loud.

---------------------------

                       Come gather 'round, friends, and listen to my song,
                       It's 'bout a girl named Marie, who never did right.
                       It's a story most tragic, but it ain't very slow,
                       And it'll bring you to tears sure as the sun shines photons.

                       Her father did toil on a Nebraskan corn field,
                       And his pain and his sorrow, he kept them out of sight.
                       And when Marie was nearby, he kept his lips closed,
                       And after slaving all day, he'd lie awake through the dark.

                       But now his eyes did grow dim, and the days hurried fast,
                       And he knew that his vision for long couldn't remain.
                       And for his fate, it seemed, the die was already thrown,
                       And his labors would likely be lost all in ineffectualness.

                       His son might have helped, and lifted the weight,
                       but his kidneys were failing in a cruel twist of life.
                       Their income too little, for surgery costs so high,
                       Father only could sob at the grave of his spouse.

                       Now when Marie turned twelve, there was no celebration.
                       She merely prayed to the Lord and asked for a gift
                       'Twas not for money, nor food, but an organ donor.
                       Yet as her brother grew worse, her plans did change.

                       On the eve of that Christmas, she poured her thoughts on a note.
                       In her brother's stocking she left it, and this is what she composed.
                       "This ship is fast-sinking, and I cannot tread water,
                       Its hull is fast-flooding, and it cannot be patched.

                       But with these gifts that I offer, you'll float without fail:
                       At once all a sealant, plank, hammer and screws.
                       (Just to be clear, dear brother, what I mean in particular,
                       is that my kidneys are now both yours to transplant)."

                       When her father found her the next morning, convulsed on the floor,
                       near an empty bottle of endosulfan, he knew without doubt
                       that she'd drank the dread poison and was gone forever hereafter,
                       and he cried right beside her till he almost passed into unconsciousness.

                       Now three days later Marie's brother finally found her note,
                       And the words struck into his heart like lightning flashes.
                       And with his mouth all agape and voice collapsed in his throat
                       he slowly turned his gaze to the urn with her ashes.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

My first and last haiku

                       Haikus are a joke
                       unless they're in Japanese;
                       pig and I spring rain.

Life Passes

This may have been more fun to write than it is to read.

---------------------------
                       Life passes
                       Never slow
                       People come
                       And people go

                       Snow turns to rain
                       Rain turns to snow
                       People come
                       And people go

                       Foe becomes friend
                       Friend becomes foe
                       People come
                       And people go


                       Life passes
                       People go
                       People come
                       And friend becomes foe

                       Never slow
                       Snow turns to rain
                       People go
                       And people come

                       People come
                       Rain turns to snow
                       Foe becomes friend
                       And people go


                       Life passes
                       Friend becomes foe
                       People go
                       And rain turns to snow

                       People go
                       Never slow
                       People come
                       And foe becomes friend

                       People come
                       Snow turns to rain
                       People come
                       And people go


                       Life passes
                       Rain turns to snow
                       People come
                       And snow turns to rain

                       Friend becomes foe
                       People go
                       Foe becomes friend
                       And people come

                       People go
                       Never slow
                       People come
                       And people go


                       Life passes
                       Snow turns to rain
                       Foe becomes friend
                       Never slow

                       Rain turns to snow
                       Friend becomes foe
                       People come
                       And people come

                       People come
                       People go
                       People go
                       And people go


                       Life passes
                       Never slow
                       People come
                       And people go

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Poetry Exercise #13: Yeast's lament

                       It's over. Sorry, but I just can't stand
                       it anymore. Yes, we had a deal, my strands
                       would split at your command. I let you cut
                       parts in and out and you inserted what
                       you wanted. In return, you would provide
                       food, warmth, and shelter so I could divide.

                       But then I fell into your trap as warm
                       broth turned to a centrifugal yeast-storm.
                       Oh, I admit, it turned me on, when you
                       encased my walls with PEG at 42
                       degrees, and maybe I enjoyed the feeling
                       of all your naked DNA annealing,

                       yet if, by chance, I wasn't in the mood
                       you spread me out and took away my food
                       until I grew to love your plasmid. But
                       you've fixed me in formaldehyde and shut
                       me in a freezer; prematurely stole
                       my spores and starved them in the dark. My whole

                       cytoskeletal matrix is confused
                       still from that time when you, for fun, diffused
                       synthetic alpha factor till I shmooed.
                       And now, we're through. I'm longing to return
                       among the grapes and vines, where they have learned
                       the value of a happy spore's concerns.

                       Before I go, I'll leave you one last thought:
                       That happiness is not a fight hard-fought;
                       It's neither captured, traded, sold, nor bought;
                       From neither friends nor fortune is it wrought,
                       Though, like a cold, it's often lost and caught.
                       All efforts otherwise amount to naught,
                       Till happiness inside thyself is sought.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Anapaestic hexameter is hard

                       When I'm working in lab and I'm draining the drops that remain in a flask,
                       When I'm out at a bar and I'm eyeing the ice in the depths of my glass,
                       When I'm laying in bed and I'm circled by scenes of regret for the past,
                       I reflect and I see that in all of these three I'm just watching life pass.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Another Day in Lab

                       The gentle scent of cigarettes
                       diffuses through the air.
                       It hides the smell of TEMED spilt,
                       pipetted without care.

                       "He should have used the hood!" I cried,
                       but then I acquiesce.
                       I've suffered worse, and learned this truth,
                       It's better not to stress.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

PhD Blues

Roughly to the tune of Heartbreak Hotel


                       Well since I got rejected
                       From NSF and DOD
                       I've been at the bench for three lonely years for
                       a blank CV

                       [Chorus]
                       Yeah, PhD blues,
                       Got the PhD blues,
                       Well this P-h-D is
                       killing me.

                       Well my PCRs a failure
                       Just like my transformation
                       And I've been cloning GFP since
                       I don't know when

                       PhD blues,
                       Got the PhD blues,
                       Well this P-h-D is
                       killing me.

                       Well I finally wrote my thesis
                       The data are all so clear
                       But my PI's controls will take me
                       Five more years

                       Got the PhD blues,
                       Yeah, PhD blues,
                       Well this P-h-D will
                       never be.

                       [instrumental break]

                       Well I've heard of Armageddon
                       And I've heard of twenty-twelve
                       I've even been told that there's a
                       Heaven and hell.
                       Well I can't predict my fate
                       No I don't know my destiny
                       But when I die I still won't have my
                       GOD DAMN PhD!

                       Got the PhD blues,
                       Yeah, PhD blues,
                       Well this P-h-D is just a
                       fantasy.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Christmas Carols for Molecular Biologists

Really... try singing these. It's fun.

I'm dreaming of a white mutant
Let it glow
Good king Wieschaus
O Little Town of LTL
We three genes of operon are
Joy to the worm
The first Nobel
All I want for Christmas is my GFP
It's beginning to look a lot like a thesis

I couldn't resist writing a verse for this one... maybe I'll write more in the future:

Spec them all with Ben Garcia,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Don't forget about Cristea,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Prep we now our precious samples,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Spectra come now clean and ample,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Spectra come now clean and ample!
Fa la la la la, la la, la, la.


And, of course, my personal favorite:

                       Have yourself a merry little generals,
                       May your words be true.
                       From now on,
                       The pressure is all on you.

                       Have yourself a merry little generals,
                       Read all that you touch.
                       From now on,
                       The pressure is all too much.

                       Here we are with just two more days,
                       Then those two more days, no more.
                       Committees who are judging us,
                       Gather near to us, to score.

                       Through the years, we all will be together,
                       If the DGS allows.
                       Hang your new degree upon the highest bough.
                       And have yourself, a merry little Generals now.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Icahn Prison Blues

To the tune of Folsom Prison Blues

(I was still working in Icahn when I wrote this).


                       I hear the shuttle comin'
                       It's rolling round the bend
                       And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when,
                       I'm stuck in Icahn prison, and time keeps draggin' on
                       But that shuttle keeps rollin', on down to Old Nassau...

                       When I was just a baby my mama told me. Son,
                       Always be a good boy, don't ever go to Princeton,
                       But I shot a man in Guyot just to watch him die
                       When I hear that timer beeping, I grab my pipet and cry...

                       I bet there's PIs eatin' on that fancy Nassau street
                       They're probably drinkin' coffee, and reading JCB
                       Well I know I had it coming, I know I can't be freed
                       But my cloning keeps a failin'
                       And that's what tortures me.

                       Well if they freed me from this prison,
                       If that PhD was mine
                       I bet I'd move on a little farther down the line
                       Far from Icahn prison, that's where I want to stay
                       And I'd let that lonesome timer, beep my blues away.