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Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Yontiff Yenta





( Recited in  heavy Brooklyn-ese)

Roses are Red-ish,
My Town car is blue-ish.
Did I get a deal?
What do you think? I'm Jewish!

You should meet my son Harry,
Oy! He sent me a canary.
I cooked it in the soup,
Cause all it did was….ooop.
My grandkids? All Einsteins-
(My daughter married a Feinstein.)
My summer condo in Tampa Bay
Is much shtotier than the one in LA.

I had Esty do my face,
The little lines are, takeh, erased!
My nose already looks like a shikseh,
(For once, Marvin says the money was a mitzveh!)

When I walked into Sheel,
You shoulda’ seen their looks-
I’m telling you Shprintza,
It was “ fa-the books!”

-And don’t forget to call your  poor  Mommeh,
You know how hard she slaves,
She orders all your meals for you
And sends Mariana  to clean your place.  

Oy, kids these days, they have it made
They don’t know how hard things were
When we had only one midsized Cadilac
And we scrounged to buy our first fur.

When I think about how we scrimped and saved,
-We took taxi cab's when it was raining!
And all I ask is that you call, once in a while-
Of course, I’m not complaining…

Well, I gotta run, now, ‘cause Paysach is soon,
And  Gawd only knows how much there is to do.
(If I don’t reserve my Kosher Cruise spot now,
G’nendy K’neydle will  get my room!)

It’s been  wonderful schmoozing, Yankle,
Zei Gezint and take good care,
Don’t forget to kiss your Bobby, (there’s a little shmootz over ther,)
-Stop squirming and let me fix your hair!

So what’s a little spit?
We’re family, you shouldn’t care!
( And remember, tata’le, when you go on a bus,
To always put on  clean underwear,
In case you slip, gawdfabbid, on a posickle,
And you have to go to the hospital!)

Now go and make your mishpochah proud,
Earn a few impressive degrees,
An M.D. with an M.B.A.
For you should be a breeze.

Then you’ll make a ton of money,
Buy your wife and kids good things-
Fur coats, designer dresses
And a few gezinte rings.

But most of all, remember that
A heart of gold, a Jewish soul,
These are the most important things-

Give the Rabbi a nice big pledge,
And much nachas to the  family you’ll bring!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

The Train That Never Came ( or Missing the 5:16)



Steve Hanks Waiting In The Rain




She was waiting at the sation
For the 5:16 to Denver,
How long had she been waiting?
No one there could quite remember.

She was waiting for the 5:16
To whisk her far away
To a city that she'd dreamed of
Half her life, or so they say.

He sent her once a post card
With a picture of the hills
And though years had passed already,
It was in her pocket, still.

The hills had been all  purple,
And the sky which was bright blue
Had faded into half tones 
And the postmark was worn through.

She stood there near the platform
In a bonnet that looked pink,
Trying to remember if
He'd  ordered her a drink.

And if it was a daquerie,
It's sometimes so hard to think....
Oh! She'll ask him to remind her,
When he meets the 5:16

( to be continued....)

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Spirochetes Have Little Feet ( The Mythology of Microbiology)










By Lea

Before microbiology,
Bacteria were mythology.
Demons, humors, tainted blood,
No one knew just what was what.

But thanks to Dr. Levenhook,
Mankind got a closer look.
Now we see, and oh so clear,
 That microbes are, like, Everywhere!

And thanks to Dr. Kaiser,
Our world is so much wiser.
We know how to identify
Those things which quickly multiply.

And how to know the difference
'tween the ‘cillins and the 'mixins,
And how to make a heat fixed stain,
And isolate resistant strains.

Gram positives with nag and nam,
And cross linked peptide bonds,



Staph Aureus


Gram negatives with LPS,
Endospores that outlive bombs.

Molds with hyphae, vegetative,
Molds with canidiaspores.
Molds that aren't cooperative,
Hide in endospores!

Staph Aurous grown on people's skin,  
Enterococcus likes to hang within ,
E. Coli chills inside the gut,
If it migrates foreword, you wee a lot.

Another of my favorites is t. pallidum,
You don't want to meet
This syphilus-y spirochete
( STD's can be  a bum.)



e.coli

Streptococcus pyogenes
can make a throat so red,
If the latex clumps on a direct s test,
Its amoxicillin and straight to bed!

Microsporum tuburculae oh what a nasty thing,
It fills the lungs with tubercles
That make it hard to sing
.

Be careful when you go outside,
Or when you play in dirt.
Beware of cuts from rusty nails,
Clostridium tetany sure can hurt !

Pneumocystis jirovecii,
A dimorphic bird poop mold,
Can cause respiratory pcp,
In those with HIV, and in the old. 

To speak of Candida Albicans
Requires some finess-es,
The mere mention of its yeastly name
Can petrify we who wear  dresses.


Candida Albicans

But if that little friendly yeast
Gets all comfy where he's welcome not 
Ergosterol inhibitors; what a relief!
Clotrimazole hits the spot.

There are so many different ways
To keep those nasty bugs at bay :

Static, cidal, fungicidal
So many things microbicidal.

It's hard to know which one to choose,

p.carnii


Some strains will win and some will lose.

But a Bauer Kirby diskette test
Can let you know which agent's best.

And if you ever want to know,
Just which pathogen ails one so,
Phage typing is the way to go.
To find out just which microbe
Is replicating to and fro.
Just stamp your innoculum with a disk
Then look for the inhibbited zones.

Ain’t it just so darn terrific
The way phages are bacterio-specific?
Ain't it awsome peachy
That we can detect things that are sneaky?

 
So, you should be glad to know...

That inflammation is something …
That everyone must do,
To increase capillary permeability,
And bring lymph cells to tissue.

So don't have a bad attitude,
If you get sick have gratitude!
Innate Immunity will get you through,
Until adaptive systems  knows what to do.


Antigen presenters play the game of show and tell,
Bringing epitopes to killers, 
making cytotoxic cells.

By presenting all the things they've got
They help T- cells mature,
Into the type that can lyse cells,
Or act as effectors.

Natural killers roam around,
Looking for bad guys.


B Cells Communicate with T Cells via cytokines


If they spot a stressed or tumor cell,
They'll shoot him 'tween the eyes.

But first they check to see if he
Displays his stuff on MHC.
For even if the signal says,
To kill the bad cell, shoot it dead,

If MHC is exhibited,
Then that signal is inhibited,

But don't you worry, never fret,
That trick won't last long, don't forget,
That B cells don't care all that much,
Just how cells show them what they've got.

For antigens can bind cells "B,"
Without a fancy MHC

  And when B-cells meet their perfect mate,
They can become something so great!



Opsonins

 









Cuz when the opsonizing starts,
And CB3 binds B's "2" part,
It isn't long, oh bless my heart!
'Till naive B's transforms themselves,
To antibody secreting plasma cells.

Isn't it incredible,
How some cells are edible?
Isn't it terrific
That adaptive cells are so specific?

Doesn't it make you cheery
That confused self-antigen binders
commit harikiri?

Now that we are so much wiser,
Let’s say "Thanks!" to Dr. Kaiser
For helping us get oh, so knowledgy
About the wonders of microbiology!





Pathagorian Problem ; How to Measure The Circumference of a Hug




You ask " why do you love me?"
I ask  " why do you care?"
You ask " why do you spend your time, wishing I were there?"
You wonder how it's possible
Perhaps I 'm just a nut
And my computations are the product
Of a random scatter plot.

Well, let me say just one small thing
As part of my defense:
I love you for all that which counts
And cuz your different!

No, it doesn't add up
When you tally one plus one,
But mathemetics of the heart
Turn cosine on it's bum.

You see, when calculating numbers with
The rules of heart plus heart                                                                 
There is a subatomic force
that supercedes a quark

And increases the ionic bond,
Squares the inverse of it's sum,
And makes two indivisibles
Become a perfect one!

First you round up all that's good
And kind and precious too
Then times that by the will to try
To teach me something new.

Divide that by the differences
Between you and your friend,
Subtract away the small mistakes,
Then add the dividend.

You'll see that you have multiplied
The force that binds all  things,
and keeps people together
Like the "K" force of a spring

And cancells out the inverse
Of irrational mistakes,
Flips negatives to positives
With exponential grace.

( With just one small "I'm sorry"
all unknowns become replaced.)

You see, the coefficient of relationships
Determines how much strength
You give life's unknown variables,
And that which stays the same.

In life there's always ups and down
And change makes people scared,
But the theory of relationships
Says love can't be compared

To any quantifiable
force that can be found,
It's simply inexplicable!
Yet makes the world go round.

So, this is how to measure
The circumference of a hug,
It's easier than pie r^2,
To solve it you just plug....

A natural progression,
(With statistical regression)
To the "y" of your reflection,
Then apply the whole expression
To the full f(x) of love.

It's not so enigmatic, then,
To diagram the ven of when
Two people come together and
The overlap begins.

It doesn't have to add up,
Or be mathematically sound.
"Cause  when your calculating love
Your heart knows just what counts!



Copyright  Lea Sternbach 2010. All rights reserved.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Invisible Alice (or Down the Narcissitic Rabbit Hole)


Down The Rabbit Hole Salvador Dali 1996



Why oh why do I persist
Expecting you to care,
When all these years you tried so hard
To show me I'm not there?

And how I feel about things is
Irrelevant, at best;
Since all that counts is how well

Sheryl Hymphrey

I reflect your best  intent.

(And if my feelings don’t match yours,
And our  perception’s   differ
Then you protest, that   I must express,
That “I'm  probably not making sense.”

And  that these are just the feelings,
Which accompany false  meanings,
Which  I add ,without revealing,
To the story, It's like stealing! 
And these emotions that I’m feeling,
Are the  junk that is concealing
All that’s wisdom and the healing.
(But then why's  my poor head reeling.)
?
And when I protest and say:

Scott Gustafson

 “Hey! You’re you, I’m me!
I'm entitled to express my views, aren't I?
And to see things as I see.”
Then you agree completely,

 yes, I'm entitled to speak freely,
So long as I'm meticulous
To admit that I'm rediculous!
It’s alright for me to speak
If I agree whole heartedly
That my   bias  does require me

To have complete transparency.

You demand with great  indignity
That “transformation’s” all you ask of me,
And that to do this with fidelity,
I must with,  true consistency,
Rearrange the way I speak.  

With Landmark words you hurl,
Deconstructing my perceptions,
Like a steel robotic girl.
(Cause how I choose to express myself
Reinforces my false world.)
 
And when I cry, and sob in pain
And say “It really hurts!"
Your answer is reliable:
That’s not real, it's  just those words
I’m using to inaccurately,
Describe the things I think I see,
When, in sad reality,

Down the Rabbit Hole Perry Kahan

I’m trapped inside my own debris.

You say that I   “add meanings,”
And then mistake what I am feeling
For what’s real. You say I'm dreaming,
And I have no clue I’m dealing
With a set of made up meanings.

And it’s the bane of your existence,
My unbending, strange resistance,
That  I’m convinced of my perceptions;
But my life’s based on deception,
Which  I could, upon reflection,
See  the difference and connection,
Between what I'm designing,
And the world that I'm describing.


And you insist with bitter Kvetching:
If I only changed directions,
And relinquish misconception,
Then I'd stop all this insanity
That goes on for eternity,
And see things how they’re meant to be
(Which happens, incidentally,
To match your view of things , wowee! )

And I could, then, finally enter,
This great world that you’ve invented.
And you wouldn't have to find me
In this murky place I’m hiding
Where reality is twisted
And ....why are my eyes misted?

Um....why's my body shaking?
You say I'm "manipulating?"
Putting on a “show of outrage,”
Cause you won’t let me escape?

The story's never ending,
Cause no matter what is pending,
Your cruelty's unrelenting.
You insist that I’m pretending
That I'm barely understanding,’
And your job involves up-ending
These dark  lies that I'm defending.

And when I’ve had enough of this,
And hold out the branch of peace,
You see my image, like a dream,
And nothing that I say, or mean
Can penetrate; your heart’s asleep.

And so you hear your own angry words,
As if it's me, who's speaking,
Thereby justifying

Your counter-attack against my ( imaginary)  demons.

But while you’re busy protecting
Everything you hold as dear,
You miss the chance to notice
That you've caught me by the ear.

And you’re swinging me around the room
Trying to be safe,
Making sure to keep me from far from you,
(Lest I see your feet of clay.)

So here I am and here we are,
It's getting late my love,
It's time to end this sad affair
Though neither of us wants.
To be the one to say good bye,
To say we gave our best,
To say we ought to part ways now,
(I know I need a rest.)

Lewis Carol Mad Hatter's Party
And since I love you, and always have,
And I'm used to being wrong,
I'll be the one to speak for us:
I think this trip is done.

I love you and adore you,
But you drive me half past mad,
So, I'll bid adieu, and fare thee well,
Thanks for all the good that we had!

As they say, my dear, in a song I heard,
Real love doesn’t hurt this bad.
I’m on my way to a bright new  day,
Best of Luck to you,  dear lad!













Monday, April 4, 2011

Piccaso's White Dove






There was a prince of precious stones,
His worth beyond great measure,
Who asked me once to build a box
In which to hold his treasure.

I built the box of cherry wood
(It was my greatest pleasure,)
And on it I inscribed his name
In golden hand carved letters.

And in the box, crafted oh so fine,
I placed a single feather,
(A gift from a magical snow white dove,)
Then bound it all in soft brown leather.

(The feather that I, speak of now
Is no ordinary plume,
For it comes from the wings of a magical bird
Who’s seen only by the light of the moon.)

Her nest is so high, on a mountain, near the sky,
On an island where no man has been,
And if you heard her sad song, to the heart of the world,
You’d think you have died and entered a dream.

For no man has heard such dear longing and love
As the one who has heard this sweet bird,
Who searches broad land, oceans, heavens above
For her beloved, the heart of the world.

How she longs to be near
The great heart of the world,
Who posseses every beauty and grace,

And ne’er shall she tire,
For her love burns like fire
Likewise her devotion and faith.

So I waited all night
At the sea, by moonlight,
For this dove to come quench her dry throat.

I sat there so quietly,
‘Till she landed beside me,


Franklin Carmichael
And asked why my poor heart was broke.

I told her I needed a token of faith
A symbol of love that is pure,
She reached in her breast and pulled out one small quill,
Then took flight and was seen never more.

Now this I did carefully place in his chest,
With his name carved so finely, in gold,
That he may remember,
The rarest of treasures
Is a heart that is perfect and whole.

But when my prince saw
The gift I had made,
He forgot everything that he knew,

His heart was enflamed,
He was seized with hot anger,
And destruction was all he could do:

In a fit, he raised it high,
Smashed it down, before my eyes,
And said “this is what should be done to you!”

Then he threw it all down,
Like trash upon the ground,
His hatred swelled in waves, like the tide.

And it seemed that he would never
Finish venting his displeasure,
And my heartbreak would go on and on forever.






When from the East there stirred a wind
So gently, no one heard,
And silently it carried away
The white feather from my magical bird.

Only then, I realized
With shock and surprise
That what for me, was a gift of love
To him was sore despised.

But silently I bore his wrath
Nor did I once complain,
For love requires no explanation
When it comes to another's pain.

But as the seasons came and went,
And o’er the mountains a hundred suns set,
The burning anger now full spent
Was replaced with sad regret.

And then one day he came to me, and sadly did lament:
"Oh how I wish I had once more,
My treasure box, just like before,
I rue the day my anger burned,
And stole away what cannot be returned!”

“I would, I would, be oh so pleased
If you’d grant me this one small request;
To build it again, with your own two hands
My broken treasure chest!

And I shall keep it ever near -
And it shall be my pleasure,
For when love hath mended that which broke,
Then, perhaps, I shall find my white feather."

So, with patient care,
And filled with hope
I set my heart to the task,
Rebuilding that which had been lost,
(Even better than the last!)

I combed the countryside for wood,
I searched both high and low,
For the most beautiful tree, with broad green bright leaves
In a grove where bright cherry trees grow.

I spent long days designing it,
And carved it, oh! So carefully,
I worked on it both day and night
And never did I weary.

I carved birds in flight,
And pomegranates bright,
And dolphins leaping out of the sea.

Twelve roses in bloom,
(And with the bit of extra room,
I carved grape vines in clusters of three.)

Then into a flame
I cast my last two golden rings,
And overlaid the whole box with gold leaf.

And with delicate letters,
In the center of it all,
I carved his name, most exquisitely.

Now all that was missing,
Was the feather I’d been given,
By the elusive, white magical dove.

Perhaps, I surmised, when I give him his new box,
He’ll know that I had no evil goal.
And though the feather might be missing,
In my heart I was a’ wishing,
He would cherish and remember, in his soul,

That the rarest, special treasure,
The only thing that lasts forever,
Is a heart that is perfect, pure and whole.

And this gift, made with my hands,
Would help him understand,
That true love is like a jewel that can’t be sold.

But is given with full measure
From one person to another ,
As a token of how much that one is treasured.

And at last I was prepared,
(Although very, very scared,)
To go see my precious prince,
And deliver this, my gift.

I was filled with trepidation,
(For he might have changed his mind,)
And, if he broke it all again,
I’d unquestionably die.

So I sent ahead a message,
Asking him to give a sign:


“If my gift you still desire,
Then, when your servants all retire,
Light a lamp to burn so bright
That I may see it, late at night.

And, then, if you wish it yet from me,
In the North tower window, please,
Place two small candles burning brighly, left and right.

But if you’ve changed your mind,
Then, please, be ever so kind,
And do set another sign:

One small candle, in the center,
Which will say that you remember,
And although you cannot take it,
You know how hard I worked to make it,
(And you recognize the love that’s there
And recognize I truly care.)

And, so, every night, thereafter
I rode past, upon my steed,
With the moon so high above me,
And all the kingdom fast asleep.

And each night, I rode back home, alone
With my small heart crushed, and wholly broke,
For not a single glowing candle
In the Northern tower shone.

And like waves that crash against the reef,
My heart dissolved into the sea.

“It cannot be! It cannot be!
It must be some mistake!
For how could he have asked of me,
To work so hard in vain?”

“I don’t accept, I don’t believe,
That he would just forget,
His broken hearted pleading
Made with heartfelt deep regret.”

“Does he not remember, did he already forget,
That he himself had asked of me
To grant him this request? “


“It cannot be! It cannot be!”
I repeated to myself,
As night by night I circled back
'Just once more', to check.

Until one night, to my surprise,
And to my great dismay,
He sent his watchmen after me,
With these words to convey:

“Command the treacherous villainess
To cease and to desist!
I demand she leave this hillside now,
She’s not wanted, loved, or missed!”

Speechless, shocked, without a sound,
I dismounted from my steed,
And followed the guardsmen through the gate,
And saw them lock it after me.

And as I rode silent, along,
Under the starless midnight sky,
Hot tears flowed freely from my eyes,
I felt as if I had died.

I could not understand the words,
Nor comprehend the lies.

I rode for days,
Without food or drink
I rode on, without a how or a why.

I passed through the river
And crossed over yon hills
Riding deep into the far country side.

I rode on alone,
My heart was a stone,
All my tears were full spent, and now dry.

For all I believed in,
And all that I knew,
And everything I held to be true,

Lay shattered in ruins,
It was all a great lie,
There was nothing left for me to do.

And as day became night
And darkness overtook light
I stayed there, as if in a trance.

The sun and the wind
Beat against my raw skin
And the rain pounded hard against my back

          The sun rose and set
                                                                                                    In it's course over the mountains,

My eyes took in the world,
Yet I recognized nothing.

And I gazed unto the earth,
That had given me birth
And which  called me now back  once again.



Dropping softly to the ground,
In a heap, without a sound,
I set my face back to the earth from whence I came .

And as I drift in troubled sleep,
Restless dreams took hold of me,

 
Forests filled with evil beasts
Lurking sly, behind dark trees....

And as I drew my final breath
My small heart ceased to beat,
My life passed quick before my eyes,
It had been a sweet sad dream
And as darkness closed around me
And I was hurled  towards the edge of eternity
An image appeared on the horizon,
A snow white dove, speeding swiftly towards me.


                                                                                                                                      

As she neared, from far away,
I recognized my  dove
Come to witness the transformation 
Of a heart that was broken with love.

And as she passed me, Oh, so high,
Winging gracefully ‘cross the sky
A small white feather floated down
Made its way to where I lay
Now dead upon the ground.

But the oddest thing then, did occur,
I still have trouble finding words,
For as it landed on my chest
The gentle feather pierced my breast.

It entered deep into my heart,
And ripped my whole insides apart.
Erasing everything I know,
Unraveling those ties that made me whole.

And next moment lightening quick,
Life entered and my blood flowed swift!
Heartbeat quickened in my chest,
And all at once I drew sharp breath.

And with a breath , I shed my burdens

Likewise my heartache and distress,
I left these all behind as well,
Soaring free, through the crack of hell.

And because I'd died for want of love,
I was transformed into a dove,
And charged to roam the Earth and sky,
Gathering  all the brokenhearted sighs



And carrying  them all   to the heart of the world

Native American Woman Smudging

Who possesses such great love,
As to  heal and make whole
Every  spirit that has withered,
Every heart that has been broke.

And thus I did continue, to roam the wide blue world
Until one day I spied my prince,
Strolling, thoughtful through the woods.

 His thoughts were written on his brow,
Reflections on the past,
And how he'd come to understand
The  things that truly last.

And from him broke a sigh so deep
It pierced the heavens above,
And reached all the  way  into my heart,
'Twas the sigh of remembered love.

For over time that prince had grown,
And come to realize,
That true love, given with pure heart,
Is rare, and must be prized.

Likewise he'd come to understand
Just what he meant to me,
And what his jaded, angry heart, then,
Couldn't possibly have seen.

That in my heart and in my soul,
There was no selfish goal,
But to give to him my only gift-
A heart that's pure and whole.

And all of this, without a word,
Was spoken in one sigh,
And in the  thoughtful wise expression,
And the sadness in his eye.

And I....
As I passed   overhead
Loosed one fine soft white feather,,
Which pierced my prince right through the heart,
Transforming him forever.

For when my arrow found it's mark,
And penetrated deep,
His mortal skin began to peel
Awakening him from  from his sleep.
And what lay beneath his roughened, outer  skin
At once became revealed:

 Precious stones of every sort,
Rarely seen by anyone,
Unique and dazzling priceless gems,
All glistening in the sun.

And then I sent one last gentle quill,
Watched it float down towards the ground.
Then he looked up high, caught my eye, and  smiled;
For what was lost had now  been found.

And what he'd searched for, oh, so long,
Most rare and precious treasure,
Now landed gently in his outretched palm,
My gift, a snow white  feather.

I kept on flying towards the sea,
My small heart,
Free, forever.