Glennice Harmon

They ask me why I teach
And I reply, "Where could I find more splendid company?"
There sits a statesman,
Strong, unbiased, wise,
Another later Webster
Silver-tongued.
And there a doctor
Whose quick, steady hand
Can mend a bone or stem the lifeblood's flow.
A builder sits beside him --
Upward rise the arches of that church he builds wherein
That minister will speak the word of God,
And lead a stumbling soul to touch the Christ.

And all about
A lesser gathering
Of farmers, merchants, teachers,
Laborers, men
Who work and vote and build
And plan and pray into a great tomorrow.
And, I say,
"I may not see the church,
Or hear the word,
Or eat the food their hands will grow."
And yet -- I may.
And later I may say,
"I knew the lad, and he was strong,
Or weak, or kind, or proud
Or bold or gay.
I knew him once,
But then he was a boy."
They ask my why I teach and I reply,
"Where could I find more splendid company?"

Corvus Corax

Jag kom att tänka på dig när jag såg den.. något jag tycker du bör göra, lite inspiration.

hoppas ällt är bra med dig och linda.

HUMANS COULD REGROW BODY PARTS LIKE SOME AMPHIBIANS

Posted in Amazing, Freaky Deaky, Interesting Theories
Posted by Abeo March 17, 2010 at 9:14 am

“Researchers have found that the gene p21 appears to block the healing power still enjoyed by some creatures including amphibians but lost through evolution to all other animals. By turning off p21, the process can be miraculously switched back on.
Academics from The Wistar Institute in Philadelphia found that mice lacking the p21 gene gain the ability to regenerate lost or damaged tissue. Unlike typical mammals, which heal wounds by forming a scar, these mice begin by forming a blastema, a structure associated with rapid cell growth. According to the Wistar researchers, the loss of p21 causes the cells of these mice to behave more like regenerating embryonic stem cells rather than adult mammalian cells. This means they act as if they creating rather thane mending the body.
Their findings, published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, provide solid evidence to link tissue regeneration to the control of cell division. They turned off the gene in mice which had damaged ears and they regrew them. While they say it is early days, there is nothing theoretically different about applying the same process to humans. Professor Ellen Heber-Katz, the lead scientist, said: “Much like a newt that has lost a limb, these mice will replace missing or damaged tissue with healthy tissue that lacks any sign of scarring.”

Trött

Jag är trött nu. Trött på tentan, trött på att jag inte får något gjort.
Jag är trött på detta rummet, trött på musiken, trött på tystnaden.
Jag vill ligga och blunda i en solstol på en varm strand, ligga i famnen
på någon tjej. Vem som helst, var som helst.

Jag är trött på att jag skriver detta istället för det jag borde.

Nowhere man

He's a real nowhere man,
Sitting in his Nowhere Land,
Making all his nowhere plans
for nobody.

Doesn't have a point of view,
Knows not where he's going to,
Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Faktorum

"Det var första gången jag hade varit ensam på fem dagar.
Jag var en man som frodades i ensamhet; utan den var jag
som en annan man skulle vara utan mat eller vatten.
Varje dag utan ensamhet försvagade mig. Jag kände ingen stolthet
över min ensamhet; men jag var beroende av den.
Rummets mörker var som solljus för mig.
Jag tog en klunk vin."

Simon And Garfunkel A Poem On The Underground Wall

The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.

His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within it's silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.

Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.

And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand.

Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.

And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.

Nina Rochelle

Verkligheten känns lite mer avlägsen
sen igår.
Svaghet sipprar ut och jag inser att min
odödlighet endast är en fasad, en
Hollywood kuliss skapad ur en blandning
av hybris och fåfänga.

Det är ingen bekväm insikt.

Den spränger, spretar,
kliar likt ett sår som inte riktigt läkt.
Var, vätska, flytande, blod.

När insikten sjunkit in står jag där
ensam
och förstår att jag är ljusår
bakom de andra.

De uppfann hjulet. Elden, röken, raketen.
Ingen rök utan eld, ingen rök utan eld.

Raketen är försvunnen och hur jag än letar finner jag den inte,
den är inte min att finna.
Jag är ljusår bakom de andra.

Vi kör.
Jag drömmer.
Ge mig
Ge mig
Ge mig
kyssar i regnet.
Såna som jag blir vimmelkantig av.
Stora läppar
utan rädsla
för att visdomständerna tittat fram eller
dålig andedräkt.
Kärleken, regnet, kärleken.
Jag vill bli
ångvältad
mosad av
kärleken
älsklingen
baby
var är du
nu?
vem är du
nu?