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Naveen Malhotra Sep 2020
Vibrations near unison
Result in resonance
Bridges come crumbling down
Creating hiatus on the ravines
Waves beyond the range of sound
Are called ultrasound
To make diagnosis profound
Cure may still not be around
Human relations work around
Similar fashion
As vibrations and ultrasound
Sharon Talbot Jul 2018
Your life depicted on a grayish film,
With an ivory wand that sees through cells:
Two legs, long for such an age as yours,
Yet thin as winter sticks.

I could not predict that swelling of the heart,
And soul, felt long before other signs,
And even then, your soul hung in the balance,
For two or three heartbeats of mine.

Then it was decided by my lover and me
To keep you with us,
Through pain until, perhaps, eternity.

Now you are grown, surprisingly apt,
Pupil of ourselves and you,
Thinking on your own, you are prone,
To tell me things I never knew.

Your soul fills our world with joy,
Even in the darkest frame of mind,
Your longing songs about the boy
Who loves the girl he left behind
Fill the air with hypnotic ambiance,
Soothing the listener,
Making happiness a trance.
This is a reflection of my reaction to seeing our son on his first ultrasound. Then later, watching him grow and being entranced by the things he does.
Blossom Jan 2018
Wow, for once
I've been left speechless
A little dot
Images of grey on the screen
Wow, its alive

A blob
My little baby blob

Robert C Howard Oct 2015
Lauren has returned from her doc
with a portrait of the future
engraved on her spirit.

A collation of sonic pings
etched on a computer screen
reveal her new legacy
lying supine in an amniotic cradle
limbs and digits outstretched -
reaching for tomorrow.

Hands and feet to
touch and navigate the earth.
Inquisitive eyes and ears
to map and explore
the wonders of the universe.

Emergent life suspended today
within a mother's womb
but destined for future liberty.

*October 11, 2015
Please consider checking out my book,  Unity Tree - available from in both book and Kindle formats.
Prabhu Iyer Jan 2015
He lives in his farm house by the hills, his
quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Oh he’s a scientist, and
he grafts his poem trees; Beautiful plumes do
they grow for flowers, which fly out eastward
every morning; Well now he does, the sweet
fruit of these: eat poems to live? Silencing
those who asked him once. Oh and some of the
plants can talk: beyond our hearing, ultrasound.
Penetrating objects our eyes otherwise.
see not: stones; metals; oh don’t we carry
venoms of hatred in metal tubes of
veins crossing our hearts, conveying darkness
across the seas? These poem trees, talking, can
see through. And tell, when some leaks out, causing
fires, and deaths in a school or train station.
Quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Living in his farm house
by the hills. His work at
Dream resume is a surrealist technique where the protogonist's 'achievements' in the lucid-reality world of dreams are revealed, mixing elements of the real with the surreal.

I owe the word construction 'poem trees' to my wonderful twitter friend Sheri Lynn Pritchett, @poemtrees

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