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shamamama May 24
She painted peace over the wounded mouths twisted with lies, truths unspoken, love never claimed,
She brushed them with the pink of a newborn baby's lips

She painted peace over the hands that held weapons, fingers that had pulled triggers to **** or maul,
She scraped them green as the new shoots from blades of grass reborn in the Spring

She painted peace in the hearts of those women and men who held broken pieces filled with sadness, scarred with inner rage
She colored them red of the rose in full scent and full bloom

She painted peace on the eyes and bodies of children stripped away from their life force, their source of mother
She traced them the purest blue found in the color of water at dawn's first light

She painted peace in families torn and broken
She swept them with all the colors of the rainbow appearing just after the rain, when the light shines through with hope

She painted peace in the indigenous souls torn from their culture and land
She circled them the color of the green flash-
the flicker of pure green born after the sunsets, existing only for a second

She painted peace in the unborn and the born whose differences bring challenges to them and their families
She skimmed them with lavender fields blooming in the swirling winds, with the sounds of the bees buzzing in joy and abundance

She painted peace over the wounds, the carcasses of animals fallen in a frenzy of human greed and misunderstanding
She whisked them golden as the sun rising in its glory to begin a new day

She painted peace over the ghosts of the forests and their inhabitants
She rolled them the brightest yellow of the night sky--the first star rising-guiding us though the whispers of time steering us in the darkness

She painted peace in the waters, the rivers and oceans who were littered with the makings of man 
She glided them silver to reflect the light that is always around

She painted peace on the earth and women--places torn open and stripped, laying barren, vulnerable.  
She covered them the rich colors of terra cotta- freshly made pottery from hands who love creation

She painted the air, the unfiltered air, clogged, imbalanced
She flowed it clear, the color of innocence - when we look into the eyes of the newborn, and those just about to pass.

She painted it all,

And when the summer sun melted the colors and subjects, she molded the forms, colors, scent, textures and sounds into the shape of love as eternity.
She sang the sweetest birdsongs into the new day bringing in renewal  

She painted peace into all of life.
Sometimes I cannot fix, forgive or forget, and so I can make art and learn to how to accept and evolve. I listened to the song Imagine by John Lennon, and this song, inspired me.
Tara Cross Jun 2018
Life begins with family in the mist
A gentle hug with a loving kiss
expressions of love not yet reciprocated
A Voice, smell and touch now a reality illuminated
nurtured, educated, maturity, just emotionally evolving
Growth, ambition, learning the strengths of problem solving
1
Star BG Dec 2018
Every morning my unborn mind awakens
TO smell change in air
TO expand breath
TO ride bronco of light.

It cries to be free from ego
It yearns to move in harmony.
My baby child calls
for source to fill her cup
WITH god’s energy
WITH dreams
WITH my own awakening of self.
GOT A CD  WITH WORDS ON IT OF UNBORN MIND THE CD WASN'T GREAT BUT I GOT A POEM LOL
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.
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.
Jme Love Jul 2018
My babies baby you would have been
had you been strong enough to survive within.
a baby girl would be my guess
with a little pink bow and a
beautiful yellow dress.
all the finer things you would have
been given.but different plans
await you up in heaven.
the reasons are not for us to
know.some die young.some grow old.
its your story that only you can tell.
more beautiful than any fairytale.and when the the day  comes for us to meet.i can only hope you have saved me a seat.
a missed chance at a second chance
Anggita May 2018
Flesh and bloods and clattering cries, the fear between my toes soaking.

I stood ajar, no longer felt the pain. It drenched nowhere seen, or perhaps I just forgot how it seemed.

For the world were full of sinners, for preventing you to sin. That was how much I sacrificed.

For I may deliever you from evil, for how much love I've treasured then. I solemnly prayed.

I prayed as you were unborn today.
Francie Lynch Feb 2018
I can guess your names,
Cleverly chosen to reflect
This year's popularity.
Names beginning with XYZ.
Some silly ones, by all accounts,
But I'm silly to think my opinion counts.
Though that's of no matter for what you face;
For we've left this place in a sorry state.
Our lame excuse is,
We didn't fare well from our benefactors.
The ethnic mix was already a mess;
And rightly demands fair redress;
Broken promises to those who dreamed,
The indigenous and the migrant streams;
Those in chains, though innocent,
The fairer ***, and I'm not sexist,
Has been under the heel of the strong,
Yes, far more fair,
And they've been wronged.
Unique communities of men and women,
Have cracked the doors, blown their horns
And tumbled the walls of garrisons
Through film, print, paint and clay.
Their inclusiveness gives me hope,
That some near not far future day,
We'll all be gathered in one parade.

I've scratched the surface of our inheritence,
And in fifty years of managing the place,
We've left problems til too late;
Some we've worked on,
Some escaped.
We've pointed fingers far too long,
The work we started's never done,
You too will have to pass it on
To the unborn of the human race.
There's a good reason why it's called Utopia.
I may not be sure, that my fragments are parts of you
I know your mother is a solid woman,
She is fine like seasoned wine,
Taste sweet like honey of acacia flowers,
Her ambience of true dignity,
Great keeper of secrets, I know she makes others seems a mature.

Walk tall son for truly you are born,
Other feel.inadequate of their parents ,
But to you though born in a strange circumstance are more hair of the land as any other.
Make me proud son, let your mother sigh with joy,
Let her ***** be youthfull at the sight of the joy of her youth, the fruit of her womb.
I may not be sure, that my fragments are parts of you
I know your mother is a solid woman,
She is fine like seasoned wine,
Taste sweet like honey of acacia flowers,
Her ambience of true dignity,
Great keeper of secrets, I know she makes others seems a mature.

Walk tall son for truly you are born,
Other feel.inadequate of their parents ,
But to you though born in a storage circumstance are more hair of the land as any other.
Make me proud son, let your mother sigh with joy,
Let her ***** be youthfull at the sight of the joy of her youth, the fruit of her womb.
Eureka Merton Dec 2017
No thought can grasp this
ocean we enter
in Holy embrace
together.

This Placeless place
echoes a memory,
unseen here, only Love
carried in waves of light.

Fingers soft as petals of Lilly
lifting into infinity, touching gently,
with the delicacy of a Lover
bound by Heart to the Beloved.

In Reverence you reach
to meet the unseen song of no-thing
as the One Heart opens, revealing
fragrance mimicing the fields of Heavens on High.

Sharing the feast of Heart
boundless, awake
waves of intoxicated bliss opening This
as He decends upon, as your lips.

Dancing under moonlight
no eyes can see
delighting in poem
no words can speak.

The ocean sings of Silence
to the ship longing for shore
washing away all sense
of "two", all need for "more".

We, ever becoming
take off on a star heading for Truth
and leave the sleeping and waking
to the dreamers.

The Lover's destiny
is the union Absolute,
following the inevitable, miraculous
disappearance of the universe.

Ocean and waves voyaged in Mind
become worldless Void
You and I,
Boundless, Unborn Love
Traveling the cosmic sea
Two become One
Lover and Beloved
Unborn love
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