Evolutionary genetics
The following poems / prose emerged from a creative writing workshop on evolutionary genetics. Part of the stemistryPLUS programme of workshops.
A cream bun
From time to time you come across something
That makes your heart pound, your senses shiver.
It’s bad for you, but good for you.
The ballet of resistance is futile
But you do it anyway
Before surrender.
Genetically modified wheat.
Stabilised cream, delicious E numbers.
Exquisite anticipation.
Greedy consumption.
Succulent organisms.
Luscious DNA .
The artifice and illusion of
Fantasy food for the masses
Why cats gave up wearing trainers
1. The Tabby’s granny straightened up.
At an irrefutable crux,
Scoffed an enzyme.
A pad-print was the splash of hit-or-miss genetics,
Rooted enough to anticipate and itch.
2. The kitten’s grandmamma positioned
On the pedigree of athlete’s foot
Begetting suck pique
Meowing ticklishly at the realisation
Where her long-lost lineage – the screwworm – squirmed.
Black orchid
When we are close
there is only the black
dot of a pupil I
can only dwell for blink.
Boothus Salvatore
natural habitat – where few would venture
This rare orchid has a red, blue and yellow striped cornet.
The strands of its white beard rattle like jingles on a tambourine,
and the wind blowing down its trumpet makes a high yet mellow sound,
like a flugelhorn playing, Boundless Salvation.
Boothus Salvatore thrives on the blood of unlovely insects
that other plants reject, is very hardy even surviving forest fires,
converts rain to the purest water you could drink, which gathers
in the cornet’s neck; a proven life-saver.
Its flower smells of sweet charity.
I’ve had names
that could fill your hand and settle it.
The shape of my flowering heart has inspired ballads,
whalesong, a stomp of hoof to claim the land – children.
I have never modelled myself on any of you, but dance my petals
in the winds of change that stay the same,
that I depend on. I am, it would seem, the embodiment of whim,
the vehicle to delight. You may think it amazing
that I echo the shape of your hand, your grandad’s hand;
that I could know what makes you
and the very bones of your creation. It is illusion.
That this is so is a relief to those like me, who see
continuation beyond the bottom rung of the tree of life,
that see your hand as one of millions that have gone before,
that see your hand as the same as any mammal’s –
that don’t see your hand in this at all.
That I am like this speaks of love and not of you.
That you see me at all speaks of the seeds of your own creation.
Never-changing world
Small changes are afoot
A foot into a hand
But with the changing wind
It changes back again
Evolution’s little joke
On fossil hunters, gullible folk
A little trick to keep them guessing
An ever-changing lesson
When feathers turned to scales
Or legs emerged from tails
Even with the latest findings
Lots of pieces are still hiding
And talk about missing links
Put there just to make us think
Mother Nature’s a wily one
She’s really got a sense of fun
I cannot wait to see what comes
How about snakes with bums
Or elephants with trunks for tails
Little wings on humpback whales
But will our human race
Keep up with this changing pace
When those that wouldn’t live
Medicine a future gives
Natural selection grinds to a halt
But take that with a pinch of salt
As the gene pool becomes an ocean
It offers up endless options
An Ma’ Nature’s such a clever gal
If there’s a laugh to have she will
Top-notched stack
The Bouffant Orchid is lamé lurid,
Entouraged with tucks
From tress-dressing blowfly,
Sniffs more Harmony than posy –
Has its hip-swinging enthusiasts.
Musings on a ‘Go Plus Coffee Bar’ cheese scone and evolutionary genetics
This is the worst cheese scone I’ve ever tasted,
drier than the driest theological tome; to think
that evolutionary genetics have led to this poor thing,
sans cheese, sans anything to make the taste buds drip.
I guess it must be random drift, or a mutation –
it certainly isn’t natural selection –
let’s hope it’s reached a natural conclusion,
that it will be the last one of its kind,
that it will face a well-deserved extinction.
Random drift
is a boat conjured from thin air
into a perfectly flat ocean
then pushed by a little finger
in no particular direction towards
a destination which it could be assumed
should have been seen all along.
The dancing partners
Floating, dancing, collapsing waves of artless movement.
Black, grey, transparent trails. Formless but distinct.
Cadences, riffs of soundless music.
Unconnected but exquisitely as one, physical and metaphysical
Embedded into their gene pool, sensory silver threads unite
The essential pulse of spontaneous synchronisation,
The random drift of sequence variation.
Choreographed with delicate precision, but no apparent purpose.
Evolving through generations.
Carrying the imprint of invisible genetic codes
In their tiny beating hearts.
A mesmerising ritual, primitive and contemporary.
A fly-past with no scientific explanation.
Except goodbye to summer
The fly in many forms
Fly – one name for such variety; I wonder,
is there a hierarchy of flies, does one buzz
elevate above the others, designer stripe
denote a higher order, accident of birth
confer superior status?
Get real – we all fly, we all die,
we all feed from the same shit.
Drosophila, Muhammad Mahdi Karim