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Your coming
A painful event
Leaving memory scars
Telling your time of existence

Markings on your back
Piercings way through your ears
Cries so loud
Calling to the other side

Looking to imaginery friends
Talking to thyself
Singing songs of thy departure

Elders paying tribute
Bowing to thy exit
Waiting for thy arrival
To depart again
This poem talks about an ancient child called "Abiku" in Nigeria culture, Yoruba culture to be precise which dies and comes back again.
Lyn-Purcell Jul 29

Come cries of new life
Signals the war of birthing
Hands held at your side


New day, new haiku!
This one is fot Eileithyia, Goddess of Childbirth.
Personally, I dont have any kids but I have been told many stories of how hard it is to go through, contractions and all. On top of that, I have read many tragic stories where the child lives but the mother does not.
Metaphorically speaking, it sometimes can be a difficult war to truly win as for some it can be bittersweet.
I wish all mothers, new and experience joy and happiness!
Here's the link for the growing collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/132853/the-women-of-myth/
Be back tomorrow with another one!
Much love,
Lyn 💜
kevin wright Jul 1
A stranger enters
a friend becomes
a desire is
love now forms

the way is enshrined
a universal solution
promises are insecure
a finger points the way

head bowed
hand in hand
given away
family peace a made

bound is this love
silk forms around our wrists
silk worms form a guard of honour
we reach the fluttering confectus
our free arms raised on high

wings sprout from our fingers
climbing the colours of time
looking down at distant families
the last light settles the accord

embrace the cocoon
safe from prying concerns
warm from winter chills
strands of DNA intertwined

showered in blessed waters
unravelling in harmony
spinning in union
woven of love carnal

stolen of heart
a new beat befalls
sever the laconic link
our true love emerges

adored in humility
fed with energy of life
wrapped in boundless passion
guided in the Chapel of love
love may be brief but bringing a new life into this world is eternal
Your skin was soft as cotton
With hands so small in mine
You'll never be forgotten
My little ray of sunshine.

Your eyes were beams of light,
Adjusting to the world around you
You didn't leave without a fight
My son so pure and true.

Not a day passes by
That I don't think of you
Sometimes, I can just die
Knowing you left too soon.

My son, how can I move on
If you're not gone?
Thoughts?
On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama came visiting
She said she had a rough night
And she couldn't stop thinking about me

On the day before Adamma's birth
Mama made me peppersoup
The whole house had the heavy aroma
Of Uziza and Uda spices

On the day before Adamma's birth
My husband kissed me tenderly
And laughed when I said I wanted frozen peppersoup

On the day before Adamma's birth
The sky was beautiful
It showered light waters on the earth
I watched the beautiful scene
And absorbed it's familiar misty scent
From my special window

Mama chuckles each time she hears me call the window special
But my dark, handsome husband doesn't;
He understands every bit
We stood face to face by that window,
With extremely beautiful emotions overwhelming us
We spoke silently, our eyes passing numerous messages across
We were pregnant

And so,
On the day before Adamma's birth
We stood by that same window,
Kissing tenderly,
Reminding ourselves that our baby was on the way

On the day Adamma's was born
Light beamed on our family
Adamma's smile was light itself
And it beamed through every corner of our lives

And then I realized,
I had two babies
My baby, and My baby
*Adamma is a Nigerian-Igbo name for a female first child. It means 'beautiful daughter'.
*Uziza and Uda are traditional cooking spices used by the igbos.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
I dreamt it snowed
Nectar and powdered sugar,
Dusting nature's lips.

I recall the kiss from her
Not-so-innocent curiosity,
Come-hither in her arched brow.

How the morning breeze
Grew wanton,
Lifting her nightdress,
Until naked she pirouetted about
The cloister garth.

I dreamt of flowering moonlight
And his potent stem,
Filling her
With stars and shivers,
As she burst, for goodness sake,
From all the little blissful parties
Drumming her garden wall.

I dreamt of fecundity
And funnel cakes,
Soft and sweet and round,
Her milk a spring,
Laden with gift of life.

Intuitive opaque areolae,
The shape of things to come,
The very ones from which
She'll nurse their young.
To the amazing wonder that is a woman's body
Carlo C Gomez Oct 2019
You won't remember all the fuss you
cause, my precious microcosm

This strange bewildering exhausting
global economy you dwell in

Apparently the lease expired and your time has come

Driven by grievance more than strategy

It sets the stage for fireworks and confusion

In one dizzying morning into afternoon

I'm searching for who to blame

Histories on the episode may well spend a chapter on
your mother's unhinged notions née crazy talk

It becomes clear in real time how the risks
of an escalating trade war

give a centimeter, take a centimeter

And the fraying of longstanding ties

Could quickly outpace the ability to evict you

As your mother, the normal first responder
to your distress, I can do

Absolutely nothing about it but push

In what seems a shoot-first approach to such
a delicate moment

The escalation, the unpredictability, the erratic
nature of developments

Is central to what is going on

Something is breaking

That something is me!

Our world is on edge

Looking for a sign of what to do next

The labor market drops and you're crowned
a royal pain

Peace is found, it's proportional

And by all measures you're quite hale
quite beautiful!

This offsets the damage of a messy exit

The disconnect I incessantly prayed for offers
melancholy over relief

In our opening act you're already moving
away from me

While the female body is a powerful tool

It cannot provide a settled rule book for
such internal battle

Still, this adventure, scary and catastrophic as
it was, is well-suited to the wonders that I am

For that I'm grateful to my Creator

The lesson of the last several hours is that forces are unfolding
that we can't do much to contain

We're merely nesting passengers en route to
a foreign destination
This is based on observing the miracle that is childbirth.
Deb Jones Oct 2017
I carried you for almost 7 months.
A small person in
My small 14 year old body.  
I loved you with passion and fire.
I would whisper songs to you
Because I was not allowed to sing.
I would hold pillows as practice.  
To holding you.
I would read to you in a whisper
Because he was illiterate.
And was jealous I knew how to read.  
I lost you in a bathtub.  
It was the place I crawled to when
I saw the blood.
We didn't have a phone
I couldn't call anyone.
I screamed for my mother
As I clawed at the porcelain.  
I screamed to God
As I clawed at my swollen stomach.
The blood flowed.
I watched it pool at the drain.  
Light at first, watery
Growing darker by the minute
Then begin to flow heavier.
The pressure to push was immense.
I wasn't even knowledgeable enough
To know my ******* would be in the way.
Until I felt your head inside them
I tore them off.  
And you slipped out
Like a little eel.
You were perfect.
I held you and threw my head back
And screamed at the spotted
Rain damaged ceiling.
When I delivered the placenta
I thought my insides were falling out.
I knew before you even came into the
World that you would never see it.
You had stopped moving 5 hours before.
My little girl child.
Who was killed.  
Stomped out of me by her
Own 19 year old father.
Because I refused to iron a shirt for him
To go out on a "Date"
He came home the next morning.
Still high.
I had wrapped you in one of the two
Baby blankets I had.
After I washed both of us in the tub.
Where I marveled at the beauty of you.
All of your tiny fingers.
All of your tiny toes.
The way your legs were a froggy pose.
The roundness of your tummy.
The softness of your palm
Which is where I whispered
I love you over and over again.
I sobbed how sorry I was
Over and over again too.
As I cradled you naked
In my arms.
In that old bathtub
I begged him to bury you.
He refused and left for work.
Ran really. He ran out the door.  
I didn't know it was ******,
I didn't know it was illegal.
So I buried you like I would
A beloved pet.
In my favorite purse.
With you in a diaper
Swaddled tightly in that baby blanket.
Under a tall palm tree.  
Away from the scorched side
That I had burned the month before.
I only had boys after you.
I think you would have
(Loved life) Loved them.
You are only 10 months older
Than your oldest brother.
I still have your baby book
All the notes I wrote for you.
I stopped writing in that book
The day before I had you.
There are no words to say
Nothing that could've been writ
That I haven't said a million times
In my mind and heart daily.
Mine were the only arms that ever held you
Mine were the only eyes that seen you
I will carry you with me every day of my life

I hate ceramic Cherubs.
They remind me too much of you.
You never had a chance to live.
You didn't have a proper death
Beneath the rain stained ceiling
In that ramshackle shack.



I have lost 2 babies. One was stomped out of me at 7 months. One that I miscarried.  

I personally would not have an abortion but I feel that every woman has the right to choose. I will never judge.

I have seen too many women have spontaneous abortions. One memorable one is a 13 year old who delivered a baby at approximately 20 weeks. I intubated and used a resuscitation bag between her legs because the baby was only half delivered. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child's waist. She didn't survive.

The fetus starts developing the heart, spinal cord, kidneys etc... at about 5 weeks, at 6 weeks the heart starts beating, the baby can have hiccups, **** on their hand and grow fingernails.

I feel very sad that some women don't carry to term. I have had a lot of patients with Down syndrome. They are filled with happy love. And give the most loving hugs. But most also need lifetime care. (Unless extremely high functioning) who will love and protect them after the mother is gone? These are valid thoughts we women have. Not just about the wellbeing of the young baby but the adult child.

I have also supported women who via ultrasounds/sonography find that the baby has Anencephaly. This is not such a rare thing as people think. No brain or the skull is open. The prognosis for a baby like that is typically less than a day after they are born. Some women want to carry to term just to hold their baby. Some women choose to abort.

My sister had a Anencephalic baby. She found out at almost 6 months. She was injected with seaweed to widen the ****** and to absorb the moisture in the ******. Basically killing the baby with salt and suffocation. Then the baby was removed in pieces. I did not tell her the details of what was happening to her body. She would have been traumatized more. And honestly? She wouldn't have wanted to know.

I think the majority of women that choose abortions mourn their child. Your body is  forced into thinking it had a baby. And most women go through a period of postpartum feelings including depression.

I worked for years in NICU. A neonatal intensive care. Some babies were born at 1 pound or less. The thing about working with pediatrics, neonate in particular, is that you see some horrific births. Chromosome anomalies that don't survive to even childhood. And the traumatized parents are heartrending.

Sorry for writing a book. I feel passionate about this subject. I will stop here
I was married at 14. A choice my mother made to emancipate me from the courts as a foster child.
Dike Aduluso Jan 2019
It came from cloudless blue
No herald of its fall
Was served as heaven’s brew
To quench the thirst of all
To give to morn its dew
And cause to tiller’s prance
To wet dry ground anew
With peace, joy, song, and dance

A peace of spotless white
Urged warring halves to join
As weary eyes did sight
The gleam of nature’s coin

A joy of love’s consent
Burned bright from empty core
As ailing nose did scent
The rise of petrichor

A song to woe's distaste
From voice of grateful praise
As thirsting tongue did taste
The ale of favour's daze

A dance of festive tier
On soles of arid sores
As shutting ears did hear
The tune of Angels' scores

A comfort so surreal
Set last of five to race
As numbing nerves did feel
The warmth of wet embrace

It came from cloudless blue
As touch of God’s good hand
To bid fierce drought adieu
With child for barren land
Who looks not to years past
But thanks the Lord laid bare
Having found at long last
The one for whom to care
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