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Tommy Randell Apr 2019
I want you over me like a swarm of Bees
I want the stings and then the honey please
I want the mantra of a million Hums
And then I want... I want...
I want the Queen to come...

I want you growing in every cell of me
I want your wings fanning the heat I feel
I want that golden molten juice
And then I want... I want...
To be a Hive for you...

Swarm then, come on, I'm here and ready
Senses on fire for your Royal Jelly
Let us be one, synchronised together
A colony of passion in a union of pleasures
With each mortal kiss prepared to die
As one, to swarm, prepared to fly...
In honour of the 1st day of Spring
Zywa Dec 2018
It's a tradition, an old superstition
the night is hot
we'll go and do it
as soon as everyone is asleep
we sneak out of the house

leaving our husbands
as to take a ***

It is not far to the rock
with the flat stripe of white
In the light of the moon
we *** indeed
with laughter

while ******* for the picture
because we want to have proof

We slide our **** warm
over the pale stripe in the middle
of the Chilchliflue. Landed
in the grass, we feel
with each other

for the beginning
of a baby in our belly
Glacial erratic boulder in Steinhof (Solothurn)
Fluh = boulder

Collection "The Big Secret"
Elaenor Aisling Sep 2018
Mary Mary
quite contrary
Once the girl that never cried
You were Mary Beaton
And pretty Mary Seaton
And simple Mary Hamilton they all saw die.

Mary Mary
so you cry
To see the flames take breast and thigh
But heart takes hold for a thousand souls
Who hear their blasphemy no more.

Mary Mary
take his hands
And put them on your swollen waist
Make him love you
Make him touch you
Feel the phantom babe within.

Mary Mary
haunted face
The chapel so bereft of grace
curse Our Lady for her place
as she quickens see the kick
and your barren womb below.

Mary Mary
echoes call
the ghost of hopes that haunt the hall
Your darkened chamber lonely cast
reluctant lord to break the fast
two bodies strangers
one unchaste.

Mary Mary
sickened lie
the blood between your legs belies
the death that grows within your womb
around you languished hopes are strewn.

Mary Mary
So you die
with painful breath and blinded eye
The ****** takes your place at hand
with fecund fertile ******* she stands
to suckle the nation you could not nurse
for surely, you bore your mother's curse.
Stanley Wilkin Jun 2017
In the quiet of the morning, heavy with mist, rabid with scents
a woman settled in the copse meditating amongst the fleeting mice
and secretive rabbits, the bee and butterfly. What was she thinking
of on such a humid day? Her features relaxed, a smile lingering
over her lips, eyes opening and shutting ritually,
the sun poking its frazzled head above the half-light, the grass
heavily hung with dew. This was our goddess, still alone, still alive,
a thousand years after her demise, battered by crosses and incantations,
holy water and an ever-present authoritarian god searching the land
for sacrifices. I watched for several hours.
In that time, that uneventful time, she grew older, flesh flaking away from her opaque bones,
the sun slicing through. Within hours,
her presence vanished, earthbound, seeking to emerge once more within the millennium
exhorting religion's timely death; with once again irrepressible love, life and joy
freely restored. As darkness fell
her shade morphed into a seed, sinking slowly into the soil.
Rebecca Rocker Feb 2017
Their bed is a battlefield:
Sheets drenched with sweat,
The smell of renewed hope,
Pulses slowing.

Wide eyes pierce the ceiling,
Bright with what might be -
The thought of something forming
Deep within.

Hope fades at the lamp click.
Blackened silence fills the room
But neither one can sleep,
Not right now.

Lost in Google late at night.
The glow of false hope forums -
Stupid acronyms and
Fake concern.

****-soaked sticks in bathroom bins;
The clang of disappointment
Ringing through the house.
This stops soon.
not only for Christians
ideas of coming back to life

    like older myths
    of fertility and rebirth

are infinitely attractive
Rebecca Rocker Jan 2017
At least you're happily married.
Maybe it's all just a test.
Have you thought about changing your diet?
You'll just have to have lots of ***.
At least you can still go on dates.
Remember you're both very young.
Make the most of it while you still can.
Pregnancy isn't much fun.
Sometimes parenting *****.
You've got enough on your plate.
Weekends are ruined by kids.
Perhaps it's a good thing to wait.
I've heard there are pills that can help.
At least you can sleep through the night.
Perhaps it's not the right time.
It looks like you're coping alright.
It took us a year to conceive.
I can see why you feel so depressed.
I know you've been trying for longer.
The main thing is not to get stressed.
Your condition is really quite common;
I've got it and so does my friend.
God blessed me with two healthy children -
It'll all work out in the end.
the myths of birth and rebirth
are as old as humankind

scratched onto cave walls,
tablets of stone or clay,
scrolls of papyrus or  parchment,
for hundreds of years on paper,
and nowadays typed onto backlit screens
   that are recycled faster
   than old hieroglyphs were understood

in our time
when refugees are tens of millions
on our globe

let us remember that these myths
have celebrated for millenia
    not battles, war, or death
but the survival of the human race    
the joy we feel when new life has arrived
   often against all odds
the hope that emanates from godesses
    or mother saints of yore
    who symbolize fertility,
    have brought forth saviors and new tribes

these are what has propelled us to our current state

and we do well to not forget that our fate
does not depend on people slain
but on how we can save the joy of life
and celebrate all humankind again
Trying hard to write a verse of joyful optimism in dire times.... Wishing y'all on hellopoetry a Merry Christmas and a Better New Year!
K Balachandran Oct 2016
"I easily forget names" his confession rings loud.
She smiles as if she knew this all the while,
She is a woman who forgives, like nature.
She loves his big hands and the promise
Of caresses to sow goosebumps all over
The infertile earth.Suddenly fecundity arrives.

Then, the scents, pheromones wafts to his mind
Speak the same language in different accents
At times it is read as the whispers of winged desire.
The purple hues of arousal, and if read from an angle
Different,it spells sin in black, in calligraphic letters

The flow he is, that dances through hills and dales
Wind and water romancing red earth and ocean.
Where once blood spilled in fierce battle with foes,
A tree full of flowers now smile,a magical moment of life!

She is the drop that oozes under the moss, gathering speed
The fog that spreads and embraces the extended woods.
She defies the limits of mind and touch ebullient galaxies.
She is the field of ripe corn, mellow yellow, gently swaying.
The seeds she collects and keeps safely in her living repository.
Whatever she spills becomes her on which tomorrow smiles.
At the window wind knocks,breaks the egg shell of a dream.
She emerges, opens the door, finds him gets charged once more.

It was raining outside, an auspicious hour, like blooming lotus,
Time to conduct fertility rights,for seeds to come alive.
He feels the stirrings nature creates, arranges all
Necessary things, he towers above all
He is the sun that spreads his warm rays around.
She is the fecund red earth to be sowed  at nature's behest.
The horns blow aloud, she heard, and closed her eyes.
Felt like a flower, ready to open her petals for a bee folding wings.
Ashlee Reyes Jul 2016
Every month
I am reminded of my fertility.
And while I feel physical pain,
I realize that of my emotions is
In the same vicinity.

I want my unborn child to know
That this life... Is like a funny show.
That while I'm unsure of what
She'll look like or he'll look like,
They come automatically into
A world that beyond their control
Will feel warlike.

That their future friends who bear
A darker skin complexion
Unfairly face the utmost rejection.
That their future friends
Who love the same gender
Get judged on their decisions
On who they love and if they happen
To be transgender.

But I want my child to know,
That this judgement and hate
Will always be up for debate
That when she finds her voice
Or when he finds her voice
It's to be shared with those
Without one because of personal choice.

I want my child to know that their pride
Is to be extended, wide, and
As far is it can go.
That when they witness injustice
They'll be expected to instinctually say no.
That these differences America
Still can't accept
Are the differences that
Bring beauty in every corner
And every aspect.

My children will know of the people
Who have bloomed in the midst
Of hatred and doom,
That the grass is not always greener
And that just when they thought they've Seen it all,
There will always be people who are meaner.
But I want my children to know of love,
Unconditional love,
Of acceptance,
Of hope,
Of being anti-weapon.
I want my children to bloom,
Because as their mother was expected to,
She faced the challenge of doing so,
In a world that depicted doom.
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