A thought is a child.
A thought is conceived in one’s brain
By the fusion of memory, the ovum
And the perception, the sperm.
A child is a copy, not a duplicate.
12.07.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Poetry is not a copy.
My poetry is my child, born of
Memory and perception.
A child resembles its parents
But is not held cheap as a copy.
01.07.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ovum and sperm
Ovum, stable and static,
represents Matter;
Sperm, mobile and motile,
represents Force.
Matter is dead without force.
Ovum is dead with out sperm.
Body is dead without soul.
30.07.97, Agartala.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Belief is the religion
No life could be born
Without the fusion of sperm and ovum.
No life could end with out a death.
Christ was born, Krishn was born,
Rama was born, without a sperm.
No one born could escape death.
Christ vanished, Krishn vanished,
Rama vanished, without a death.
We are told to believe and we do.
It is called religion
08.10.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet: On Test-tube Baby
When childless couples want a child of own,
And many years of married life has gone,
They can try having test-tube baby one -
A method successful, cheap and well-known!
Both partner's ovum, sperm are utilized;
In vitro fusion of gametes is done;
The doctors doing this are authorized;
The blastocyst is set for nidation!
A forty percent success does occur;
Not many complications can happen;
IVF is a global procedure;
Varieties have been added to our ken.
Welcome are Test-tube babies to this world;
To childless couples, they appear like gold!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 18-08-12
poem by John Celes
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condom blocks union of sperm with ovum
but increases adultery
and early sex in childhood
quote by by John Celes
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You are born of a fight.
Everyone is born of a sperm,
Which got hold of the ovum
After a stiff fight with billions.
Must you get without a struggle?
05.10.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Male is born to advance.
There is no history that
Ovum moved towards sperm.
Women are shy to advance.
Maneuver-less men are failure.
02.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Latest One Looks Better
I read to my son a story
I heard read when I was a child.
I read it to my grandson
Each time my perception grew.
I visited the Taj Mahal
As a child, an adult and
An old one and each time
My perception got better view.
She was my teenage girlfriend.
I met her as a young mother
And later as a grand mother.
My perception underwent changes.
Partly my accumulated knowledge
And partly the impact on them
Of time and space are the causes.
The latest beat the formers..
(21.04.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Be wife elder
Ovum cells are released from the stock
And the age of woman does not matter.
Sperm cells are produced and then released.
So the age of man has an impact on them.
Old men produce children with dull brain.
Old women produce children quite smart.
Young man can choose elder woman to wed.
[a research paper says]
11.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Man loses yet no loss.
An ovum grows at the ruin of a sperm.
A woman grows at the peril of a man.
Every love ends in loss to man.
Yet no man seems to regret the loss.
Loss is gain for man.
09.10.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Originally Yours
challenged to be
original
i quit. i am not
original i am a xerox
copy of
another mind
i am a duplicate
of another carbon
copy
i am an imprint
of another zealousness
i use other people's words
i listen to
every syllable
and they all stay
inside my heart
like decanted
mass from acetic acid
from coconut
wine.
i am not original
i look at myself
in the mirror
i am not original
but i put on a smile
i am too
one kind of
a handsome
copycat.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Four Dimensions
I must get my food;
I must get my mate;
I must get my copy {child};
I must be remembered.
Each one equips oneself
To move in four dimensions.
(26.01.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Yesterdays Gone
I heard she loved you, I heard she cared,
I heard she miscarried and you were scared.
Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Did you run from the one
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays done theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Solo.
I believe that a woman can be a slave to a man.
I believe that love that you gave and we try it again.
Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Will you return to the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays done theres no return,
And she cries all night.
Did you run from the one,
Who conceived your child?
Yesterdays gone theres no return,
And she cries all night.
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bio nature
Sperm is meant to swim.
Ovum can reject or accept.
It never condemns.
Bull is meant to chase.
Cow can yield or flee.
It never scorns.
Man is meant to advance.
Woman can assent or descent.
But the woman alone betrays.
Shed virtuous posture;
Follow bio nature.
17.10.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Doing is the pleasure
Energy, time and money and a lot
Have been spent to get a book published.
It went unread. Yet the author gets
Rewarded with the pleasure of his act
That released him from the burden of his act,
and from the burden of his desire and urge.
The conceived child must be delivered
The conceived thought should be delivered.
26.10.2002, Trichur
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My jokes are in my head and I have a duplicate copy of my jokes in a lot of British comics' heads, where they are safe.
quote by Emo Philips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Esp
Strength to have extra perception
Extra perception to know
that evil is lurking inside my brain
Evil is making a home of my heart
Extra Sensory Perception...
If only I had the strength to
let go and not try to escape...
poem by Justin Schaefer
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Pricelessly Impregnable Humanity
You’ve taken my very own scarlet blood O! heavenly son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my astoundingly pristine and timelessly priceless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own venerated milk O! beautiful son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bountifully blossoming and unabashedly impeccable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own intriguing brain O! enamoring son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my celestially amazing and mischievously bouncing; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own silken shadow O! stupendous son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my wonderfully untainted and jubilantly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own uninhibited smile O! majestic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my inimitably magnetic and fabulously effulgent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inscrutable destiny lines O! effervescent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my incredulously handsome and victoriously unimpeachable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inimitably humble name O! royal son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my poignantly iridescent and eternally fructifying; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own romantic artistry O! blazing son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my triumphantly unfettered and symbiotically innocent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own mellifluous voice O! charismatic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bounteously emollient and euphorically fearless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own towering height O! regale son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my indisputably peerless and synergistically truthful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own passionate eyes O! resplendent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my fearlessly humanitarian and tirelessly discovering; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own chocolate brown color O! holistic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my invincibly wondrous and spell-bindingly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own ebullient body contours O! benign son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my immaculately benevolent and magnanimously humanitarian; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own fiery breath O! rhapsodic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my blissfully unadulterated and interminably bubby; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own optimistic face O! vivacious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my timelessly flowering and melodiously rejuvenated; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own broadened shoulders O! magical son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my gloriously unprejudiced and nostalgically rueful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own princely dimples O! victorious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my spotlessly unbiased and surreally panoramic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own compassionate heart O! unshakable son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my adorably sensitive and ubiquitously indomitable; duplicate,
So whereas it was absolutely natural and nothing great that you were my exactly astounding duplicate O! heavenly son;
The greatest of all virtues; the greatest of all gifts; the greatest of all endowment; the greatest of all power; the greatest of all virility; the greatest of all divinity; was infact given to you by the Omniscient Lord; who miraculously blessed you and every organism alike with the pricelessly impregnable religion of “Humanity” to symbiotically survive for an infinite more of your destined lifetimes…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Perhaps you could sympathize with those who seek to replace a dead child with a copy, or to copy a parent or a relative or even a celebrity.
What is human memory?" Manning asked. He gazed at the air as he spoke, as if lecturing an invisible audience - as perhaps he was. "It certainly is not a passive recording mechanism, like a digital disc or a tape. It is more like a story-telling machine. Sensory information is broken down into shards of perception, which are broken down again to be stored as memory fragments. And at night, as the body rests, these fragments are brought out from storage, reassembled and replayed. Each run-through etches them deeper into the brain's neural structure. And each time a memory is rehearsed or recalled it is elaborated. We may add a little, lose a little, tinker with the logic, fill in sections that have faded, perhaps even conflate disparate events.In extreme cases, we refer to this as confabulation. The brain creates and recreates the past, producing, in the end, a version of events that may bear little resemblance to what actually occurred. To first order, I believe it's true to say that everything I remember is false
Arthur C. Clarke in The Light of Other Days
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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