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Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
My memory beats in rhythm with my heart.
Spilling out snapshot flashes of life like a flick book's muffled cries.
Controversial plastic shell, elastic strap, stick insect mattel covetted for months
until Santa dropped it down the chimney,
almost as fast as she sprogged and regained her figure
- the original scrummy yummy mummy set to spread low self esteem.

My daddy said anyone can crank out a kid like she did,
as my mother ground her teeth to protest on behalf of her traumatised frame.
Strange, I almost became one of the lost - before I grew cells and self,
another fragile foetus swinging on a noose
from gallows where once a ****** failed to stayed closed.
Little life curled tight self soothing sings al na tivke iredem bim'nucha

My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
as I lie beneath my shroud of sadness filled with down shrinking from the light of day
I want to tell you that I love you,
that my heart brays, beats, bleets, breaks, aches for you.
My soul, spirit, self thrice chorus al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
as waters flow from deep to deep
where danger dances and solace is sought
from beyond the fruitless orchards and willows weeping
branches reaching out for you.

My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
surrounded by madonna, ***** and all betwixt
spheres of life protruding, pronounced, announcing themselves;
in streets where bundles, terrors, cherubs, banting, brat and bairn alike
shriek, scream, squeal, shout, squalk, squabble, sing
in a cacophony that makes my heart weep and ache in longing
to sing to self in solitude al na tivke iredem bim'nucha.

My memory beats in rhythm with my heart
pulsating thoughts, dreams, hopes of you through the whole of me.
Brought to my knees I seek wisdom, guidence, strength to let you go.
The river is waiting for you, you who I hold tight in my caul
trying to trust, seeking strength to hakshev le'ivshat haga'lim
holding the thought of you,
the love of you,
the hope of you
tight in my arms crooning my lullaby of lament
al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
Translations
When I wrote this poem to express the letting go of the babies much loved but never to be I thought of a song actually from the Prince of Egypt, a song I first heard in Hebrew, so I looked it up.
al na tivke iredem bim'nucha
hush now be still love my baby dont cry
hakshev le'ivshat haga'lim
sleep while you're rocked by the stream
My beating heart
Ba
Dum
Ba
Dum
Was the first thing he heard
Every crumb that passed my lips
Potatoes
Chocolate
Broccoli
Was the first thing he tasted
The warmth of my arms
Soft
Protective
Encompassing
Was the first thing he felt
His teeny tiny hand
Bigger than most infants
Grabbing at my chest
Was the first time he held me
On those nights
When he misses where he came from
Lays on my breast
Hearing my heart
Ba dum
Sharing my food
Made with my blood
Wrapped in my arms
Where he'll always be safe
Even after he eats his own food
Guided by the beat of his own heart
He'll have my arms
And I'll have his
Zywa Jul 31
I'm growing, I know

how to do that, though I'm not --


fully myself yet.
Collection "Dearme"
alex Jun 23
I hear things
that I can never quite discern.
I know there is a life beyond this
but is it better,
or worse?

What is that life like?
I wonder and marvel
at the things
my forming mind
conjures up.

I know I will see her face,
she has already told them about me.
I think she loves him-
but sometimes, late at night
I feel her tremble and sob…

I don’t know why
she does everything she does-
but she will be wonderful
because she is mine.
Although she cannot protect me from all.

So still I fear,
the coldness of the world
she shivers within-
that I know I shall fear,
so I lie still
and count my days.
KASSIE HOLGER Jun 15
I hate being in my city in Switzerland at the weekend
I'm in a really noisy place
I'm really in the middle of all the nightclubs
All these demons of the night make so much noise that I hardly sleep
But instead I try to study and read a lot
I really regret not waking up earlier but I think I had to go through that to understand things
There are so many interesting things to learn, so many things to discover
I'm going to continue to travel, continue modelling, save money and take care of myself as much as possible
Yes, I still have my crazy side, but I'm using that energy differently
I'm an artist and I love creativity, and I always will be
But I really can't stand it any more
Even cigarette smoke makes me want to puke
Normally I'd have to move to a quieter place
I still have to stay in Switzerland for a while to sort some things out
And also to be with my grandmother
I don't want any distractions
I need to take care to my family  
My son, my cat and God come before everyone else
And I know that this world is becoming rotten and that children are becoming more and more ****** in their language and that there's a lot of fighting going on
That's why I've considered the best schools for my son, to see whether we'll be in Switzerland or not
I especially don't want him to get mixed up with the wrong people, and I'll be a very strict mother
For the moment he's just a baby and I'm giving him all the love he needs.
And as far as men are concerned, i don't need a man in my life, I've realised that he's just a burden and a hindrance to the things I want to achieve
I have men when I want them and I have who I want in the high standard of goodure
But I don't have time for that.
sarah shahzad Jun 13
It scurries upon each tainted step,
Countless of seeds sprung beneath its paws,
Beckoning the way to its meal,
Stirringly commends its scheme to await,

Treacherous pounce from a rock to another,
Claiming its place beneath the trees,
A knowing nod to the skies above,
As it leaps towards the clueless quarry,

The mice squeals at the sudden departure of its own life,
Wrangling between the jaws as it shuts it close,
A lively tether released from its tenure,
With a feast to *****,

A burrow from where it thrives,
Invaded by its own demise,
The content stoat gnaws the brown fur,
A mouthful filled with the recently deceased.

By Sarah Shahzad, June 2025,
Rayn May 21
Oh, where did you go?
Where are you? baby come back
I  miss you so much
MetaVerse May 18
There once was a rosy tomato
Who fell for a russet potato,
     And coming together
     In unusual weather,
They created a baby topato.
Jay Lewis May 13
I didn’t know how much I wanted to be a mother,
Until I met the man who would be a fantastic father.

Now I’m waiting for you little one to bring meaning to my life.
Vicky Donald May 11
I never held you close or tight,

Or rocked you softly through the night.

No lullabies, no tiny cries-

Just shattered dreams and silent skies.



Twelve weeks along, and yet I knew,

You were my son, my heart, my view.

They said, “It’s early”, like that made

The ache less sharp, the loss less weighed.



But love begins before the birth,

In quiet hope and growing worth.

I pictured you with eyes like mine,

A life ahead, a steady line.



And then-just gone, no warning sign.

No reason, sense, or sacred sign.

They called it chance, they called it fate,

But none of that could change the weight.



I raged, I wept, I fell apart,

I mourned you with a mother’s heart.

Though tiny, still you changed my soul,

You made a space I can’t make whole.



Thirteen long years, and still you stay,

In thoughts that never drift away.

In quiet hours, when no one sees,

You rise again on every breeze.



No birthdays came, no toys, no shoes,

Just love-and grief I didn’t choose.

But still I say, with voice held high:

You lived, you mattered, and you lie



Beneath my ribs, within my chest-

A name the world can’t quite digest.

But I will say it, bold and true-

My son, my love, I carry you.
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