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acacia 1d
my soul* is maternal and acts as a supplicant to her star-bearded Son; my soul is maternal like the smell of yeast rising, like the feel of folded laundry, and like the shine in cassia-toned hair.

My Soul is the mother's taut reaction to the whine of her baby: she writhes in pleasure of coining the perfect creation from her yarned womb. High-sunned stalks stem from his thousand-petaled crown, mewls, howls, and whiffs of love splash into creation of the babe’s anatomy: he is purple-faced, dipped eyes, marbled hands, endowed with his early-born mother’s atypical jewelness and his skyey father’s aptitude of royalty.

The babe tastes her malt-like milk and grows beyond the mass of my skull’s matter, hoping for the growth to cease in a stature of yore, to cease in a phase long passed.

My saturated maternity yearns for the inch length finger and inch width palm to cling to her, for she misses when she was the trellis for the vine.

Now, she must persist in her swerving non-linear growth, conceding her child was a Morning Star and drew further from Spica even faster than he did from her: but she must perpetuate his growth and her own. For there is no more stasis, only expansion, and because of this, their flights are to cross again somewhere,

there is no line and no route; she will walk in the footsteps of her precocious-boyish man days and years after he did, and he will walk over the hills of The Mother in days to come, (before she even realizes it) and sprightly sprint over the footprints fading in the cosmic snow, wanting to go back and sink in the imprint, hoping to burrow himself in it to be in her holding once again.

No thing is parallel, no thing is construct, all-one are we, and we are made to watch ourselves amplify and quieten.
FOOTNOTE:
*I use soul without a capital S because individuality is the ego. I might as well have put 'ego' or 'ego-soul' (??) but, um, stylistic reasons (I guess?). So, I guess this isn't really my Soul, but my mind. I have bad articulation.

This is heavily inspired by an experience, a song, and from a poem by Saint-Pol Roux. The title, "My soul is maternal like a native country", is a direct quote from Saint-Pol Roux's "The Magdalene with Perfumes".

How verbose of me.
KR 5d
You flew away before I was ready
My heart misses the flutter of your wings
My ears your sweet harmonies
Your memories are drowned in purple
I was your sunshine and now you are mine
Our beats syncopated
        I’ll meet your eyes in a different time
ALesiach Jul 22
You were planned from the start
You, my little one
Treasured deep in our hearts

A precious gift from heaven above
You, my little one
Have our undying love

Feeling you move brings us great joy
You, my little one
Our precious baby boy

I pray every day God keeps you safe
You, my little one
I pray you find his grace

Be calm, my darling, it's time to rest
You, my little one
In my womb, your own tiny nest

My arms long to hold you, to feel you wiggle
You, my little one
To tickle your toes, to hear you giggle

I long to gaze into your newborn eyes
You, my little one
I would give my life

ALesiach © 07/25/218
ALesiach Jul 22
Hush, my little one, sleep awhile,
Nestled 'neath my heart of love
I'll sing to you, sweet and low
'Til heaven streams, bright with gold

Hush, my little one, sleep awhile,
My love abounds to guard thy sleep
Drifting away 'neath silvery moon
While stars twinkle away your gloom

Hush, my little one, sleep awhile,
Tender kisses caress thy cheek
Hush'd by my gentle whispering
Lull'd in the land of dreaming

Hush, my little one, sleep awhile,
There is nothing to fear
While I am near
Hush, my little one, sleep awhile

ALesiach © 07/2018
Stella Jun 22
I don’t have work
I don’t have school
I have no books to check in or out
Yet still,
you get to sit around
Look at me,
my swollen black circles
under my lifeless eyes

I’m so tired
I see the shy little nerd stacking books again

“Yeah.”(chuckle)
She’s my kryptonite now
Who knew leather books could be so comfy to lay one’s head?
It’s not cool being awake for over 24 hours driving through the day with coffee. You feel jaded but not in a good way
IncholPoem Jan 14
Maternal and  material


Material  needed

    for factory  and
    human life's
lifelong  requirement
for   material.


  For matte  to  be
      created
or  the  empty innovativeness
                   of  mind
  required  material.



For  apparel  business
               first  basic  thing  was  
                 material.


Also  for  love

   attraction  and  sentiment
are  two  material.



A  childless wife's
sister's  solid
material  is
her  maternal.


Which may  not
    out  the  hope  for  the
wife  is  only  for her
       maternal.

A  daughter's relation
      with  wifeless  foreigner
ma  turn  into  maternal.


A  sister's  relation
with  her  brother's  boyfriend
will  turn  into maternal.
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
The day after my childhood self wouldn't leave the old house and cupboards, I sat in the dark with my boxes and these pretend grown-up versions of myself.
I'm losing my favourite memory, I cant find the right side of paper but I will always flip the page. I know I am stuck. Still seeing the image of your skirts disappearing around old pine door frames, try to run after the hem to ask you where I left the right box. Can't even find the words to ask.
Sometimes the last thing we ever get to say is “goodbye, old house”, we don't always get a chance to kiss it on the cheek before we leave.
That nothing we lost once was inside you the whole time.
I remember the private hospital rooms, we know that for that much money you have to switch of the part of you that won't stop dying.
You still visit.
You still visit in the form of robins following me home, of ghosts enclosed whispering in a space reserved,
breath suspended in mid air,
the very last one.
I made a room of ghosts for you.
And if I could have stopped time
I would have paused it in the middle of this room.

Open the yellow memory box one last time.
Snippets of foundation year spoken word typed out. Themes: collection, loss, memory, home, moving house
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
Our eyes
spit the blame like darts playing home
to poison gas
tell yourself
you never liked that shade of emulsion anyway
don't look at
her, your
mother's ghost. Not in the eyes.
no paint left
to fill
our indents, syllables die on
our tongues and
this is
the very last time, nothing beyond
fake flowers, marble
make this
make sense, wait for the sun to get up
so you go
with it
if your mother's ghost still loves you
she will follow.
Tell yourself
you could feel her keeping you alive, you're
scared that you
could get
hit by a bus and she wouldn't be there
to save you.
I almost
lose your name from my mouth, which one of us died
in this room?
The yellow walls got painted over when after seven years, Dad
accepted that his childhood sweetheart wasn't coming back.
Anova one. Reminder that people have ghosts they get stuck on.
Rizna M Rameez Oct 2018
I can never describe what you are to me
I have to say goodbye to so many people, Mom
So many
And I've missed them.

But you are the only one I never consciously missed
I missed you, physically

I can't begin to explain what physically miss means
You don't really think about it
But it feels like part of you is gone
And your body is aching for what's missing

You were the only one I've physically missed, Mom.
The one who stuck with me the longest.
02.10.2018
You were in my dreams, Ma
And that just made me miss you more.
My mom has been with me all my life. There was thing 4-month period last year we were separated for. (There were times before, but not this long).
Maybe I’ve not physically missed people because they weren’t always there with me.
Well, I do miss my Dad, deeply, but I guess I’ve grown accustomed to adjusting to life without him at home it doesn’t cut too fresh. Sometimes you only realize how much you’ve missed someone once you see them again (like with my Dad).
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
Oh how I love you,
Dear Unborn Baby,
I've been waiting
For you.

Holding you in my arms,
Is all I'm yearning,
For I've been waiting,
Since 22.

I can't wait
Any longer
To see
Which part of you
Resembles me.
I want you
To be better
In every way baby,
Better than me.

I've seen how
This world can be deceiving.
I want you to trust me,
When I hold you close.
I can't wait
For this world to see you.
When you're ready to take off,
Take my love with your wings.

Oh how I love you
Dear Unborn Baby,
I've been waiting
For you.

Holding you in my arms,
Is all I'm yearning,
For I've been waiting,
Since 22.
I've always had this vision of being a mother, holding my baby in my arms. I'm not a mother, yet I feel like I know this feeling already. This poem is how I recently felt when a gush of broodiness took over briefly.
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