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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.
Tom McCubbin Sep 2015
All day I do nothing.
My waving arms and pulsing brain
keep me empty.
What uselessness, me.

Before dark, when cool air rushes
from the bay, I water my garden.

Monday I covered chard seeds
in a dark prayer blanket.
What can tiny stone-like
objects do in the sea
of black fertility, but hide
cold, invalid, and scornful.
Maybe they can dream and
forget this earthly destiny.

All night I toss covers,
as if African hills have twisted
and lifted the
valleys between them.
Is anything worth my awakening?

At dawn I see marvelous unfurlings
conquered darkness
while I slept!
This poem is about sleep and awakening to new creations. The reference to "Africa", for example, signifies where a new man awoke long ago from out of the wrinkles of the old. What we sleep on grows within us in the darkness, much like seeds planted and covered in prayer.
Luis Mdáhuar Aug 2014
23
1

the free wheel turns
and from the asphalt
the chains dissolve
after every consonant
like a sphere walking on heels
sums the response of your epoch
daaa-brrrum-pa-uf
the sound continues

2

on a sleeping tree
that spits butter
every other morning
MERZ came along
dancing on neglected values
like the horn of whales
bending water at every
corner
in the slums of egotism

3

art has no meaning unless
art has no arms unless
art devours brains unless
art verifies stupidity unless
art has to be edible unless
art sleeps like an idiot unless
art bleeds through my fingers
unless art

4

falling like dominos
will turn the bipolarity of the glass
only to be slashed
so I can see
my pillow that rebells
to the murdering machine
every night
every night with gloves
filled with blue feathers

5

we are born
we are children
we grow
we die
in between, there is a shadow
covering the ghost
slowly piercing your skull
singing on tip toes
in the enchanted forest

6

I call
for the un-trembling hand
amidst the violence
and humanity
against the frozen word
breast of black matter
where spring holds her veil
river stones and milk
ghost of love

7

garbage laying
daughters of despair
renounce the yolk of logic
senses shall play
as it was intended
do not let reason fool you
she’s no more than a
servant

8

who disbelieves
imaginary facts

9

the betrayal of reason

10

Popart popart
garbage of the past

11

a malicious smile
Hans Arp, Raoul Hausmann, Hannah Höch
and Richard Huelsenbeck
out of the ruins of German culture
all conceivable materials
the union of art and non-art

12

continue to study the natural world
childlike and convoluted
the elated and troubled
new forms of typography
a new visual language

13

The **** regime banned
all your creative activities
Primiti Too Taa

14
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete                                                       ­  
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
rakete rinnzekete 
Beeeee 
bö.

15

Why?

16

the movements of the poem
string, cotton wool or a pram wheel
equal with paint
to reverberate
carved on its journey
repeating them in many different voices
a relentless momentum

17

new people, new shapes, colors, and details

18

blast the institution of slavery
blast the educational system
blast the paper cup morals

19
simultaneous happenings
will reign in the hearts of men
and turn them small and
smaller

20

Imaginary facts and the marvelous
appearances of the right moment
which is a woman
or a dice
with the shape of a cloud
******* on happiness

21

find a place

22

The nose is a myth

23

feign of death
the modern man
Homage to Kurt Schwitters
Impregnation
Inevitably results in conception
You are prolific,
And I, so very fertile.
The gestation period varies
I, heavy with creation
Give birth to words.
Our children delight us
One day, they too
Will speak, and seed.
Poems, like little people.
Yes dip submit
Fragrant trembling
Wed to Red
You want me yes
For you I open
Pink spread red
Yes ready I am
Heady your scent
Red pink ablaze
Dip drip dance
Yes my purpose
To accept
Your needy seed.
Inspired by the flower paintings of Georgia O'Keeffe
Renae Apr 2014
Ignorance is bliss
They say
who are they?
The ones sick
struck with blindness
Open up your eyes and see
pry open the lids refusing
Peer into the depths
& you will find
The very knowledge of God.

http://mystery-babylon.org/easter.html

https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20070406165106AAErzIc
Click the links, what are you celebrating?

— The End —