A shovel and buried stone
barely ring. Buds tough
as buckskin rattle in wind—
not enough to sound,
nor enough to chant to—
variety rising without
music. Mendel fingers blossoms
and rues silence.
What they won’t tell, he
codes as confusion. Call this one
Little “r,” this one big “R.”
They are not their parents,
each is its own trouble.
Souls invade roots
mad for water, and born,
life unrolls.
*Gregor Mendel was the Franciscan Monk who pioneered genetics, uncovering the secrets of dominant and recessive traits through research on pea plants. He signified dominance by using a capital letter for a trait and reserved the small letter for recessive traits. Recent reviews of his data reveal he may have “fudged” some findings to make his research more incontrovertible.
Filed under: Life, Musings, Poetry, Science, Science and Art, Society, Thoughts, Writing
Joe – who would have thought, a poem for a geneticist – this is just perfect, and beautifully written! G
Found you via Poetry Thursday. I really like this multi-layered poem.
best,
lisa
Thank you, Lisa—I’m new to Poetry Thursday, but what a great idea. Should I look for your work there? Thanks for visiting. —D
I loved this. I never imagined anyone could write poetry on this!!
Welcome to PT.
Thanks. I like an odd subject! —D