Poetry Contest

July 25, 2010


Announcing the first annual 2010 Charles Prize for Poetry. Bold and pretentious name aside, the award will be given to the writer who submits for consideration the most outstanding poem within the context of health, science, or medicine.

Open to everyone (patients, doctors, science people, nurses, students, etc.).  1 or 2 entries per person.

Poems should be related to experiencing, practicing, or reflecting upon a medical, scientific, or health-related matter.

The winner will be selected by a panel of three judges, including me. These other judges may or may not be Nobel Laureates, you never know, but all appreciate poetry.  I may ask for your permission to post a copy of your poem on this blog as we go, with or without attribution as you wish.

Is such an eponymous contest grandiose? Yes. Does the limited poetry I’ve written carry the gravitas needed to make me an authority on the subject? No way.

But should your poem be selected as the winner, you shall receive a plaque, an award of $500, and a tasty cherry tomato from my garden. Seriously. At least one person has written that winning the cherry tomato is more important to her than all the gold in the world. I’m sorry that my budget is not higher, but I thought I could swing $500 without enlisting sponsorship.  Who needs an iPhone anyway?

Update – with so many great poems in so far, I think I’ll award a few surprise prizes for honorable mentions 🙂

So have fun, find inspiration, and send your entry to:

drcharles.examining *at* gmail.com medifast coupon

Contest closes August 31st.

August Pamplona July 25, 2010 at 2:51 pm

Kind of dated (I came up with it in high school when there still was a Soviet Union) but here it goes:
“A man of name Lysenko believed
Evolution is Lamarkian indeed
Communism fits in
He said to Stalin
Soviet science was since then screwed indeed”

Tatarize July 25, 2010 at 5:27 pm

Limit 1 or 2? Isn’t that called Limit 2?

RICHARD BADALAMENTE July 25, 2010 at 8:03 pm

What matters when matter is antimatter?
Where does the continuum lead?
Who can shed light on black holes?
How does the Puget Sound?

Morriganscrow July 25, 2010 at 8:07 pm

Followed the link from “Pharyngula” here, and thought I’d enter – in spite of The Digital Cuttlefish probably entering too.

All the best with the comp.

James Davis July 25, 2010 at 10:04 pm

Sure, I’ll bite.

Looks like a cool blog, I’m glad A Blog Around the Clock linked to it.

J.B.S. Haldane July 25, 2010 at 11:50 pm

I wish I had the voice of Homer
To sing of rectal carcinoma,
Which kills a lot more chaps, in fact,
Than were bumped off when Troy was sacked.
Yet, thanks to modern surgeons’ skills,
It can be killed before it kills
Upon a scientific basis
In nineteen out of twenty cases.
I noticed I was passing blood
(Only a few drops, not a flood).
So pausing on my homeward way
From Tallahassee to Bombay
I asked a doctor, now my friend,
To peer into my hinder end,
To prove or disprove the rumour
That I had a malignant tumour.
They pumped in BaSO4
Till I could really stand no more,
And, when sufficient had been pressed in,
They photographed my large intestine.
In order to decide the issue
They next scraped out some bits of tissue.
(Before they did so, some good pal
Had knocked me out with pentothal,
Whose action is extremely quick,
And does not leave me feeling sick.)
The microscope returned the answer
That I had certainly got cancer.
So I was wheeled into the theatre
Where holes were made to make me better.
One set is in my perineum
Where I can feel, but can’t yet see ’em.
Another made me like a kipper
Or female prey of Jack the Ripper.
Through this incision, I don’t doubt,
The neoplasm was taken out,
Along with colon, and lymph nodes
Where cancer cells might find abodes.
A third much smaller hole is meant
To function as a ventral vent:
So now I am like two-faced Janus
The only* god who sees his anus.
(*In India there are several more
With extra faces, up to four,
But both in Brahma and in Shiva
I own myself an unbeliever.)
I’ll swear, without the risk of perjury,
It was a snappy bit of surgery.
My rectum is a serious loss to me,
But I’ve a very neat colostomy,
And hope, as soon as I am able,
To make it keep a fixed time-table.
So do not wait for aches and pains
To have a surgeon mend your drains;
If he says ‘cancer’ you’re a dunce
Unless you have it out at once,
For if you wait it’s sure to swell,
And may have progeny as well.
My final word, before I’m done,
Is ‘Cancer can be rather fun.’
Thanks to the nurses and Nye Bevan
The NHS is quite like heaven
Provided one confronts the tumour
With a sufficient sense of humour.
I know that cancer often kills,
But so do cars and sleeping pills;
And it can hurt one till one sweats,
So can bad teeth and unpaid debts.
A spot of laughter, I am sure,
Often accelerates one’s cure;
So let us patients do our bit
To help the surgeons make us fit.
– J.B.S. Haldane

Tatarize July 26, 2010 at 2:35 am

Roses are red.
Violets in ditches.
Magic fails.
Science, it works Bitches!

Richard Barton July 26, 2010 at 4:54 am

The Scientific Examination of Old Iron Railings
with apologies to Longfellow & Hiawatha

There’s a post that’s made from timber
Which replaced an earlier iron one
That was stolen by a vandal
Running from a Stag a’rutting
Reinforced at top and bottom
By two massive rings of iron
And was loosened by an Earthworm
Chased by Moles upon the rampage
Which has loosened that great pillar
So it’s leaning slightly over
In a northerly direction
But the angle that it’s leaning’s
Been affected by the weather
And a high wind from the West has
Made the tilt go back to Eastwards
Out of line by just five inches.
On the topmost ring of iron
Is a patch of verdigris that’s
Been initiated by a
Blob of excrement, that was dropped
By a Bettenger’s Large Dove and
Caused a chemical reaction
And the verdigris resulted
And the story of the base of
The post, isn’t that much better
‘Cos a lively Ring-Tailed Lemur’s
Scraped a little of the paint off
And this chemical reaction’s
Caused a little of the wood-bark
To have slight disintegration
And to also have revealed a little
Rust upon the iron ring.

Now, A Hennekell’s Grey Vulture
That just happened to be passing
Saw a Geneker’s Small Parrot
That was perched upon the post-top
And it swooped and caught the Parrot
And in doing that small action
Split a little of the wood off
Just above the ring of iron
Bringing fresh wood to the surface
And a new-formed piece of lichen
Has begun to colonise it
Umbilicaria polyrrhiza
That’s a smooth and shiny lichen
With a lobed divided thallus
With the colour of brown chestnut
Lower surface thickly beset
With a short and black rhizinae
Which can oft be found protruding
Through, to form tufts on the surface
( That is – on the upper surface )
And the ascocarps are absent.

There are various kinds of damage
Can be done to iron railings
Caused by animal depredations
We have frequently discovered
At the bottom end of railings
Caused by Rats and other rodents
And at higher up positions
Can be found the marks of gnawing
By Australian Marsupials
And the damage by the Wolverine
Is really quite amazing
And the Common Dog and Wolves are
More than likely to be culprits
And the noisy Howler Monkey
And the other similar species
Cause wide damage round the post-tops.

Now the Tamarind and Oryx
Can cause damage to the railings
But are rarely seen by people
‘Cos these creatures are quite timid
But they leap enormous distance
And they carry spores and fungus
To the railing’s higher regions
And from one fence to another
The Sea Eagle, Hawk, and Vulture
Tend to have the sharpest talons
Which can scratch the oxide coatings
Built up over generations
Which protect the iron railings
From rust damage caused by water
And the cattle cause destruction
As they rub against the railings.

Now the damage caused by cattle
Tends to wear away the patterns
Of the moulded corner angles
Which in time looks most unsightly
Causing much historical damage
And another type of damage
Is the dangerous undermining
Caused by Earthworms, Voles, and Badgers
Not to mention Moles and tree-roots
Which can wreck a line of railings
Which researchers find upsetting
And the Deer, when they are rutting
Can destroy a fragile railing
And Professor Helmutt shaver
Kept a long nocturnal vigil
With his telescope and shotgun
And dispatched those wicked creatures
In the interest of science
But we haven’t any pictures
‘Cos the weather was too cloudy
And the creatures ran too swiftly.

Richard Barton July 26, 2010 at 4:57 am

Scene in a hospital. The aftermath of a motorcycle accident


“Our Terry’s just come off his bike again dear
And we’ve got to go down to the ‘H’.
I’ll stick a few things in a carrier bag,
They may have to keep him in there”.
But their mood turned to fear when they saw Dr Stagg,
And he offered them each a chair.

His front slid away on that cold rainy day
And the skid-mark was thirty yards long.
And he ended up under a lorry’s front-wheels
With the tarmac be-ribboned with skin,
His abdomen stripped off like orange’s peel
And the frame of the bike was caved in.

When he came off the bike and slammed into the road,
He caught his left leg in the forks.
Tore it off at the knee with incredible torque
And his head twisted off at the neck.
So he never could have survived, you see,
And his bike is a pretty bad wreck.

Well, it hit right home when they saw his remains,
Though the bike’s hire-purchase was done.
And the doc was impatient to see them off home
Because someone else needed their care.
“His belongings are ready to take”, said the nurse,
But the Honda was beyond repair.

sophia8s July 26, 2010 at 5:40 am

Is it open to people outside the US?

Yes 🙂

Mythwrangler July 26, 2010 at 1:11 pm

The heart: A fictitious, fractious organ
found only as a funerary offering
In the ancient graves of poets
And other madmen
If one reads between the lines
of Newton and Darwin and other romantics
and if by lines you mean
schemes and contemplative venting
marginalia of the most decorative kind
one finds references to the
so called attraction between bodies
and the need for so termed plumage
taken together
these suggest that the heart might be
Divisible by the square of its distance
from other anatomical sites (sights)
and its pressure
Measured in micro-Pascals
Inversely proportioned
in various portions
according to its
Association with the cock
Or cunt respectively
Far from its fictional roots (routes)
the heart has particularized, secularized
observable qualities
To whit
Mass (needed, or the need
for intractable attraction)
weight (lighter being far superior
in the symbolic as well as relative sense)
Volume (to determine the mean free path)
and clarity
(However due to various invincible
uncertainty principles
this cannot be measured without
Killing the host)

In conclusion
ignore the heart
it’s too complicated

Carmen July 26, 2010 at 4:36 pm

Holy cow Batman, how can you compete with the sonnets that have already been submitted! Graphic, colorful, cheerful at times and generally amazing! I am very impressed, I think you should scare up some more cherry tomatoes for second and third places.

drcharles July 26, 2010 at 8:21 pm

I’ve received some fantastic poetry so far!

Thank you all for the phenomenal entries.

I’ll have to scrounge up a few honorable mention surprise awards!

Donny Price July 26, 2010 at 8:56 pm

What is Life?
-By Donny Price-
Life is that which can yield forth
And copy itself as it, too, came;
-But what of quartzes and gems, of course
-Which copy and grow, just the same?
Life can also grow and change
From seed to sapling, to shady willow;
-But remember the clouds, which also range
-From tenuous wisps to sky-filling pillows?
Then, what but life can respire,
Consuming fuel to feed the cell?
-Why, so clearly like a fire
-This can just as neatly feed, as well!
But then explain what out there is,
Which can grow and change in size like life?
-The universe itself, it can be said,
-Is growing quickly, without strife!
But life can change, through natural selection
And become the fitter through nature’s axe;
-But so do viruses, not quite life
-When every bitter flu attacks.
What else can respond to stimuli
Than that of living matter can?
-But crystals do grow, by the by,
-In response to single grains of sand.
Life can be tenuous to define,
Hard to filter from matter’s bulk;
To think life special, by being alive
Is to create a circle, an argument hulk;
Life, then, is only an idea,
A human thought, which at most is a goal
But such a thing is inaccessible
To divide as unique, an indivisible whole.

abadidea July 27, 2010 at 12:01 am

More on the physical science side because I’m not a gooey medical person.

Raised in conflict, of two minds
A child of God, the truth that binds
To heaven-
The creed passed down from times Nicene.
A child’s faith must come and pass.
For I have seen with my own eyes
The rings of Saturn, which to my surprise
Were yellow-
The purest yellow that I have seen.
There was naught in the tube but glass.
And I have tuned the radio dial
Turned towards the sky, the trial
A success-
The clouds that made the milky sheen
Were really, truly hydrogen gas.
I thank God I was lead astray-
Joined hands with Truth, and walked away.

F. Elliot Siemon July 27, 2010 at 10:38 am

On Close Inspection

Little could we have guessed
what the question would be,
But things have to be
both time and matter,
And betwix the two, a boundary,
like air and sea,
The question… whether its
waves, foam or tatter.
Then enter the quaint question
of string theory,
With it’s connotation of being
the fabric of life:
The time/space continuum
may be a wrinkled query,
And the Plank length for physicists
a matter of strife.
So enter Ng-van Dam
and a larger figure,
And Amelino-Camelia,
with a longer one still,
And the LIGO detector to define
the most obscure,
Gravitation wave frequency
to fill the bill.
All this dedication and
resources to find,
The time/space variance,
and cliff to hang,
A cliff hanger of
an infinitesimal kind,
All to define the size
of the Ying and Yang.

Chris Thomas July 27, 2010 at 12:19 pm

Title: The Great Vestige and the birth of our 4 billion year old origin

A toxic breath to humanity
Birthed the origins of species
For in a primordial soup some would say
The orgin of life began to take shape
Micromolecules were being born
From a womb that was a desolate landscape
Earth was changing rapidly
So was life in dangerous harmony
Welcome to the Cambrian
When complexity existed prominately
Competion hit a brand near gear
Evolution had birthed a brand new fear
As predation was born
Many species began to fear
That the end was near
Then natural selection kicked into gear
The arms race was on

Chris Thomas July 27, 2010 at 12:33 pm

A toxic breath to humanity
Birthed the origins of species
For in a primordial soup some would say
The orgin of life began to take shape
Micromolecules were being born
From a womb that was a desolate landscape
Earth was changing rapidly
So was life in dangerous harmony
Welcome to the Cambrian
When complexity existed prominately
Competion hit a brand near gear
Evolution had birthed a brand new fear
As predation was born
Many species began to fear
That the end was near
Then natural selection kicked into gear
The arms race was on
Blood was spilling on the ocean floor
As evolution spawned a new war
A step into a world unknown
As amphibians and insects
Exposed this new world
Reptiles and mammals
Were now filling this new hostile land
In the Triassic something arised
His name was the Dinosaur
And he was fit to survive
Roaming the lands he became king
Of this new evolutionary world
The climate was warm
And life was rich
But the clock was ticking on the Dinosaur
And nature wanted this species no more
An astreroid crashed down on planet earth
And destroyed almost all life on earth
The once great were now dust and bone
The king of the planet was dethroned
Birds were flying high in the sky
As mammals began to take over the world
The once small creatures that nature barely knew
Had natural selction given them the upper hand
Or was this a set up for another barren land
A new species began to arise
They were homo sapiens and they gave nature one surprise
They could think, make fire, and hunt like never before
The African savanna was their home
They conquered the world by storm
But our day shall come in time my friend
When Natural Selection destroys the king again

Idk just spur of the moment poetry… I’m good but I’m not quite sure I like it… I would’ve made it more scenic and such but I am half awake… 500 bucks sounds nice though.. I’m 16 and I assure you I could write a better poem..

Jessica fortunato July 27, 2010 at 1:12 pm

Gone before dawn

she looked into
his star lit eyes
knowing tomorrow
was her final good bye
left so numb
in a world so cold
wondering what
the night would hold
the call that made
their world unfold
made his heart shatter
as his life
had come to a hold
the gun shaking
as she fell to the ground
so beautiful
in her blood spattered gown
for her cancer had spread
from her heart to her head
there was no life
left for her
as the cold air fell
and he fell to the ground
he almost felt relief
no longer in pain
the night took her away
his guilt never
to leave it’s new found home
with 1 last blast
his life gone
as the both were
gone before dawn

chairman meow July 27, 2010 at 2:06 pm

Maybe you could let the masses vote on the top 10 or so as the weight of the 4th judge?
sounds like a good poetry contest. Hopefully you don’t get flooded by spam or poems about monkeys.

chairman meow

Bibliotekaren July 27, 2010 at 5:07 pm

Arranging Shoes…

In the entryway the shoes were scattered
leaving not much room to walk.
Waiting for the early morning ride,
all was quiet, there was very little talk.
So down on my knees while still awaiting
I began to arrange the shoes.
To others I would turn over all control,
what else was I now to do?

My mother observed that this was odd
this task I had pursued.
It was not the endeavor that was in question,
rather the timing and the mood.
I paused, reflected and then responded,
“Right now there’s nothing I’ve left to do.
So considering this and future uncertain,
I might as well arrange the shoes.”

In the wee hours of the morning,
solemn and quiet was our drive.
Background songs of calm were playing
but the comfort it did not arrive.
In the city on top of the garage we parked
taking in the dawn and the skyline lights.
As my father fidgeted, a bit more I waited
but no stalling would set this thing right.

Inside the hospital to inpatient surgery I went
to follow procedures for admitting.
ID, organ donor, living will, and insurance,
to many things I was committing.
Name, date of birth, and why are you here
confirmed this was not a chance event.
Ready for me they regrettably were not
so into the cold waiting room I went.

To surgery prep, healing hands of friend Betty,
and family well wishes, I soon bid my farewell.
Now alone in a bay of a large cold chamber
on bad thoughts did my mind tend to dwell.
Try as I might to invoke inspiration
my spirit it slumped and my chin it did quiver.
But soon came my way a soft-spoken man,
soothing assurances he did warmly deliver.

In walked a doc three vials in hand
after greetings he confidently proclaimed,
I’m here to make you happy but first I must know
just a few things such as your full legal name.
I’m Wonky Walk Girl from a year of the Snake
who’s come due to a bean in her brain.
This unnamed intruder will be getting his due
my alleged smarts I just hope will remain.

Now at this point I must readily admit
that drunk on the rhymes I might be.
In addition to this recollections that follow
possess a distinct lack of clarity.
So wrap up this tale I certainly must
before it all turns to complete whack.
Suffice it to say more events came my way
until all did indeed turn to black.

Nick Nieve July 27, 2010 at 9:39 pm


Sessions mobilize existing strengths.
Particularly conducted at minimal lengths.
Focused on issues, takes the stage.
Next Phase

Approaching ineffective, functional breakdown.
Molecular reactions echoing underground.
False perceptions tantamount distorted sounds.
Mode Change

Meditation aims to erase debate.
Guilt battles pride for destructions fate.
Love and resentment can take their place.
Flip Side

Twin perspectives of demand for control.
Material depedency rotting the soul.
Desires make excuses to fill the blind hole.
Not Registered

Mindful effectiveness, adapting distress.
Emaciated thoughts seeking bad breast.
Facilitating the whole, ambiguity’s test.
Outside Chance

kelvin urena July 29, 2010 at 10:05 am

love is like a passing wind..
its something you cant touch but must have..
love is like the oxygen that fuels the soul..
like blood fuels the heart..
love comes in sorts of ways..
whether for power,weakness, or affection.. love can also conquer ones mind.. controlling our every move and thought.. love shows no fear but braveness in itself.. the moral is love is just a factor in the role we play..
the way you use it can make things better or for worst…

Rob August 3, 2010 at 5:37 pm

Ode to a Drug Seeker

You say that you never can sleep due to worry
You say that the smallest of slights leads to fury
You say that the future puts you into panics
And all of your neighbors are schizos and manics
But still I won’t give any Xanax

You tell me you’re hurting from discs that are bulging
And really you hurt more than you are divulging
And pain from the accident always is hauntin’
You say to withhold would be cruel and wanton
But still I won’t give Oxycontin

You say your prescription was swiped by your brother
I see that you brought me a note from your mother
And then there’s your cousin who lied and defrauded
Your clever attempts really should be applauded
But still you won’t get your Dilaudid

Your hips are far larger than when you were younger
You always are gaining, and always feel hunger
You only eat food that’s low-cal (but you fry it still)
To be thin and sexy would give you a quiet thrill
But no, I won’t give you a diet pill.

I’ve seen all the tricks, I’m a certified cynic
We’ve gotten the scoop from your previous clinic
I’m sorry to say that they called you a scammer
I don’t support habits, no matter the clamor
I will not end up in the slammer.

Rob August 3, 2010 at 10:16 pm

The last line should be “I” instead of “I’m”

Morriganscrow August 5, 2010 at 5:13 am


Guilty little secrets can kill stone dead,
Silly little secrets like fingers down
A guilty throat, self-hatred fuelled projectile
Vomit purging gut and mind even as
Her soul screams foul,
Until the need to feed surges, a
Tsunami consuming all in its path;
Dog food, garbage, all fuel for the inner rage –
Its voice crying hate, hate for self, a
Total failure to others, look, see?
The pages show what a good girl should
Be, wear, know, do, think, feel, f*ck;
The shiny pages, shiny screen all display
Perfection, and it slides ever further
Away with every mouthful, until eating
At all has all the joy of
Sucking Satan’s c*ck, and every
Morsel is sin, every ounce perdition,
And only self-abuse, torture, can
Cleanse such a sinner
Until, so clean is she, a gentle breeze
Could blow her away –
Oh happy day! Crows the voice,
The inner voice, the one who hates, who
Wounds and judges, who holds up
Every flaw and failure to the
Magnifying glass of guilt, and a
Self-esteem so low it puts
Everything/one ahead of healing;
The voice, hateful, hate filled, harping
Endlessly on failings even slighter
Than her wisp of a body.
The vultures are circling, but she’s
Too weak to raise her head;
The voice rants on and on, drowning
Out hope and love until all
That’s left are electrolytes gone
Haywire and a shell
Mercifully empty at last, so tiny a
Husk it could be folded into a box
To go straight into a niche in a memorial wall.
How many more must drift oh so slowly
Into Hell’s cold, wet mouth?
How many more must die from gorging
On ugly, guilty, pathetic, abusive,
Dirty little secrets?

Morriganscrow 05/08/10

Morriganscrow August 5, 2010 at 5:14 am


Monster’s at the door again –
Touching the knob, stroking tips of
Fingers across the wood, a tiny noise of
Insect scratchings, maggots hatching
In a brain seething with more little
Monsters, itching to have their turn to
Choreograph the next dance steps
They’ll try together.
Room’s hot, the air is choking, thick
With tears and fears, as the nightcrawler
Moves against the last barrier, the sound
So soft, so almost not-sound, but not
Silence; no, silence is empty, still,
Silence is safe.
Change in air-pressure, the
Door opens, just a crack, and black gas of
Fetid breath, stale sweat-stench
Drifts in on dusty currents, oozing
Across the room to the bed;
Can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think –
The stink is closer, guilt and horrified
Fascination, perversion slides in – clad
In odd socks, shirt, no tie, the sour smell
Of scotch on breath, hot with anticip
Ation –
Spiced by taboo and the rising terror;
A ghastly combo of desire to be loved, to
Be special, the flesh-ripping wrongness
Of how that love is paid for, over and
Over and over….
Monster’s in the room now, hovering
Huge and dark and growing larger,
Its face drifts into the pale patch of
Street light through the curtain crack
And, worst nightmare of all, its mask is
On, the monster hiding its putrid soul
Behind a most desirable thing,
A smiling, always smiling, familiar mask
While the real monster hides, stretching
And expanding within, weak and fallible,
So wracked with guilt and shame yet
Eaten by desire, a raging fire so deep
It could burn the world to ash and gone.
Flame demon flashes for a moment
In the eyes as the mask floats down –
“Hello sweetheart,” it breathes, alcohol
And lust hot as pus smeared
Across a mortuary furnace door –
“Here I am,” it whispers, huge
Hands pulling away blanket barriers, fortresses,
“Give me that special kiss,” it hisses, echoed by a
Zipper hissing like a sigh against tight
Clenched lips and blood stained teeth, as
Daddy engulfs her

Morriganscrow 05/08/10

Tayler Lynn August 6, 2010 at 12:34 am

one year down 3 more to go
making my designs sellin em for dough
ireally dont like this plan of mine
so much work just to make a dime
but dont tell me that i wont make it
cause its like a promise. iwont break it
and you best believe that im just doing me
no one else ineed to please
im very independent but thats just me
ill do my time,pay my own fee
i dont mind getting help along the way
gotta make sure idont let myself sway
cause either which way could make today my last day
upon this earth ibe steady breathing
since the weeks before i started teething
still a wonderchild, allstar and a lady
better skills than normal and thats a yes not maybe
icant stand to be figured out so i always play my game
the reason icant give out is cause everyone knows my name
its just the way i like to show
what i have and yes i know
that once us a bad thing but twice is just plain fun
3 times is a sad thing and after 4 you wanna run
cause once im in your system istart to kick in
like my momma when she had me, iwas just a kickin
but now i have nightmares of all thats been happenin
no dreams are happenin in my head so im just a laughin an
thats all i remember from when ilay down to when iwake up
its either how ineed to finish that or how to take it up
one more chance ikeep reminding myself
even tho lie it helps me apply myself
sometimes i get things wrong with all these mixed items
your like a blinking stom sign saying bite em
i dont know what to take of it, its so confusing
to bad that now igotta bet it all and make sure im not losing
and ilove how guys say they hard but they softer than pediatric
talking about there game like they ever had shit
amusing is my game and abuse is freaking lame
dont take a number and get in line
cut that boy and prove your mine
cause iwant a good guy,bad
ineed a hood guy,tad
isee a fun guy,here
but i see a no, with you dear
its the way itake things. that day by day
idont like to be played
so i dont get back no i get even
so if you wanna leave then get to leavin
because the best things in life arnt free
but the best thing in your life will be me
long as you can respect a line and make me most your time
then you and me baby. we should be just finee

Jane E. Smith August 8, 2010 at 2:37 am

Baby Boy Smith

In a mother’s heart
dreams tears laughs pride hurt ache anger
In her son’s body
walking pain
not running
not breathing
exhaustive pain
unyielding pain
what life is this?

Ezriel Kornel, M.D. August 8, 2010 at 11:30 pm


After the craniotomy to remove the enormous
Blood clot in the brain of this octogenarian
The children remained in the waiting room,
Allowing their parents a moment of privacy.
As he remained unresponsive,
His wife approached his side and spoke to him,
“I have been doing the cross-word puzzle without you.
It’s a good thing it’s Monday.”
He awoke on Tuesday.
A blood-clot to his lungs killed him on Friday.
Sunday the cross-word puzzle was no doubt
Excruciatingly difficult
But she certainly completed it
For what else was she to do?

Ezriel Kornel

Gnomeo guy August 22, 2010 at 1:53 am

This is a fantastic contest. I’m entering “Geno vs Pheno” as my entry, just for fun, but I’ll have to link to it since the image is crucial to the poem! 🙂

The poem (or “gnomeo” in this case), is here:

I love science poetry and lit!

Cuttlefish August 29, 2010 at 2:55 pm

Intensive Care

The patients here are silent. Their machines
Speak for them, in rhythmic beeps and colored lines,
And numbers–lots of numbers. Which one means
He is getting better? Or worse? What are the signs
We should attend to? I choose to watch the heart
Monitor; for now, it is holding steady, if fast.
They’ve chilled his blood, in hopes his brain will start
To heal itself, but now two days have passed;
It’s time to warm him up. We hope for the best
And wait, and watch the numbers, and pace, and cry.
The doctor’s face confirms–we’ve failed this test.
There is no doubt; my brother soon will die.
We know, today, his heart will slow and stop,
And as we watch… the numbers start to drop.

Alexander August 29, 2010 at 4:29 pm

Living Stag Head

The severed head of a stag
Survives by machine.
Listlessly lifeless eyes
Silently mock the devil’s land.
Thoughts, the world ensconced inside;
Convulsions of infinite clockwork labyrinths,
Imprisoning from external death,
Drowning to survive.
Dreams, blended by thornbushes.
Reality suffocated by a murder of murdering crows getting murdered.
Heart became that of a dragon,
Big and artificial;
The crying arrow sponge
Imminent to concave.
Rays of sunlight are not to peak
Into the cave of endless gloomy meadows.
Time, the clock that cannot break,
Burning blank, flaunting pages.
Born to be but cannot be;
The rooster that cannot crow.
Perfection, the serenity swan
Dives infinitely above
To canopy its arms over the ruins,
Arriving when the circle is covetously born.
I am alive and I am dead.

Xena Olson August 31, 2010 at 7:34 pm

My father was a pilot; I was a passenger on his plane,
He lifted me with encouragement, and knowledge to sustain.

I think of him as flying, the universe his sky,
Beneath his wings the answers, to all his questions why.

His flight plan was preparing; to meet the maker of time,
So he could clear the runway, for those that are behind.

The instruments he will use, to lead him on his way,
Were scriptures from the Bible, he practiced every day.

He’s tuning in his radio, the one he holds so dear,
The gathering of his loved ones is what he wants to hear.

Directed through the universe, with undivided love,
He’s flying in his vessel, to Heaven up above.

His take off was a trial, his turbulence was pain,
The landing strip in heaven is what he has to gain.

He used his brilliant mind to prepare him for the flight,
Our savior and our Lord will be his source of light.

He’s flying through the sorrow; as he’s bypassing the tears,
The weather up in Heaven, will leave him no more fears.

My father was a pilot; He flew through life with grace,
Leaving us with memories to honor and embrace.

James Ph. Kotsybar September 5, 2010 at 2:31 pm

— James Ph. Kotsybar

He looked into the lens-system and saw
an unimaginably small world grow.
Now does this image in history draw
from van Leeuwenhoek or Galileo?
Through lenses both passed to another realm
of being, since their broadened reference frame
allowed them visions that could overwhelm.
Then for everyone nothing stayed the same.
The vaster one’s view the clearer things get,
of cosmic, subatomic, even time,
and, while the masses may first be upset,
brought to some summit that they didn’t climb,
it’s crucial so all the ingenious might
be informed of the remarkable sight.

James Ph. Kotsybar September 5, 2010 at 3:31 pm

— James Ph. Kotsybar

We can see fourteen billion light years out.
For those still here a billion years from now,
more light will have traveled to them, no doubt,
the billion light years that space will allow.
Distant descendants may not see much more,
however, than what we can now observe.
Despite larger radius to explore,
their view won’t be a sight they can conserve,
because space itself goes faster than light,
as it expands relatively through time.
This perspective’s loss is ever the plight
throughout our universe’s known lifetime.
We daily lose ability to see
the things furthest back in our history.

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