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kk Jul 2018
There is something painfully wrong about
a mother’s cry.
In those seizing moments,
while her nose twitches
and her eyes bleed red
and she lets tears smear
jaggedly about her face-
there is something so unsettling,
out of place.
You perceived her once invulnerable,
but now you find
that behind her divinity are familiar fears
that overwhelm her omniscient mind.
When your own Goddess
can’t be free from corruption,
that even the holy
have weak heels and poisoned matrimonies;
that is
agonizing acrimony.
seeing my mother cry is one of the strangest and most upsetting things  I’ve ever seen
edit: adjusted enjambment
Atharva Jan 2
It started in summer,
My heart was on fire
In the morning the birds whisper .
everytime I say those words she called me liar.

we were together her cheeks got red ,
and her hands were around my chest
dreaming about the future in my bed
I still remember that night because it was the best.
Making promises to stay ,
to be with each other for eternity
and make the life awesome everyday
to hold your hand during maternity

I promise to grow old with you,
love until my last breath
these are just memories may be few
but I wish to make many more with you.
Julian Oct 2016
Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded dark side of the moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison
Gods1son Mar 8
I give women double respect
Not because they are weaker
as some would think
But because they are stronger and meek

Without a woman, I wouldn't be here
She housed me for 9 months in her belly
She withstood and embraced all my kicks
(Trust me, I was **** good at it)

Listen to them and you'll be amazed
at the wisdom with which they speak
They sure deserve equal chances to lead
Pay them the wages they deserve

All women are beautiful outside and within
When it comes to caring for the family
Sorry men, we are no match
Often times, we are more about the money

When they give birth
Let's give them a sufficient maternity leave
Because they do it for the world at large
That's another problem solver brought to the world

We've got to treat them like Queens
Honor them, pamper them, believe in them
'cause without them,
we wouldn't all be here
From the bottom of my heart,
I say... I love y'all
This is coming from a man
maternity returns, I see
     but how? and why? and where
                                            could she be?

      alien poem, cosmic sea

Robert C Ellis Dec 2018
Every kinesthetic interaction of Limbs
Is whim
Acknowledging Gravity, the
Original Sin
Encounteraction is
Me, the breeding of
Maternity notices
You and I were never
Given a choice in this
Lou Apr 2018
Simplest of names,
So plain, But how I love to say it
A promise for warmth in igloo block prison eyes
And tone of Daria,
just whelmed enough to respond
A chance of sarcasm is air
Venom in plain daylight.

Plain tone.
Plain mood.
Plain old abuse.
And most would take it from her.
As she would and certainly has taken it from us.

Petit feminine fighter with no haymakers or KO records.
****** face, that rested war and peace between chin and brow.
Baroness of motherhood or is it the queen of hearts and depression?

Stars and music always forever
Anchor tattoos with a key to a heart, now a predator.
Forever enchanted by the la-de-dah and bleeding heart affairs
A savior in no motion or fashion but I dare not call you hypothetical

But a standard broad, beauty and-
So shameless I celebrate seeing you, awkward and so ****
Cleopatra, to be a bit dramatic-
Yes Cleo-mantra, I collectively disintegrate all charm and physical form
And you,  unfazed or unimpressed with either detail of romance

My friend, compromised by style and NO amusement.
There is much more to you than ****** faces and belittling arguments.
There is more to you then practicing soapbox rants in your kitchen.
There is more to you than a shallow mothers intoxications and material.
There is more to you than the new hair dye or the wigs you collect.

The things you store in the boxes cluttering your room with everything not in those boxes
The clothes on your floor, decorations from your teenaged 3rd or 4th personality.
The smell of perfume and coffee and more perfume all over,
stuck to papers, next to wine bottles, borrowed and never returned books, unfinished snacks,
used paper towels, lipstick stained mugs and glasses, your sons toy I stepped on 4 times,
pictures of gone lovers and notes, your license; now found again after the second time ordering a new one.
And…it's expired,
Then finally under the aftermath of years, doubt, clutter, your cell phone vibrating in the fray of sheets.

"found it."

Least we forget that, as we forgot we are both in this room together.
You are so much more than this mess I picked up for you countless times
And though I complain I will pick it up for you and not ask your permission
I won't scold you, I can only exhale failure and help.

Staring blankly into your screen discussing all genres of worldly horror and ways to divert.
Such plans and opinions but no federal funding!
We would pay homage to girl power and the early 90's and call her G.I. Jayne-
(Or not cause she doesn’t have that kind of sense of humor.)
But imagine a solider, a true solider of the meek.
That is theoretically, G.I. Jayne.
Has all of our best interest at hearts, our hero.
Songs of children are said to give her strength-
(She really doesn't like this kind of humor, I must move on.)

My friend truly distressed by the world she can't control from her tiny screen.
I place all comfort I can to her and understandably rejected like a stranger making rounds.
No trust comes from her nowadays, None for me at least. I can't speak for all.
I try to climb over the steep absurdity, alluding to her self-mutilation and task this is
but not going as far as just telling her this is ******* killing me.

I have no lesser or sophisticated words.
I'm dying every time we reach these altitudes.
Fingers and my tone raising at every disagreement .
How you can break me down to my atomic core and decimate miles of friendship.
My closest star in the sky, use to bring me morning tea, flowers and maternity
We now stand in quasar as our space and stardust find mass in thousands of millions of years in development
For me to be sent to the loony bin and you to prison like our heroes from Clinton to Lazaretto.
For my friend.
I remember when
the moon cried within my mouth,
the night we first met
when you watered heaven
with your tears,
desire before the desire,
primitive like digging
for mother in the dirt of earth,
a death that came from loving too
much, a death that came to tremble,
a death that is a swell of blue,
with hungry ghosts who crawl
over the calluses where you
dipped your fingers into my carcass,
enough holiness in the hands
but the head is where the halo rests,
with heavy blood, a vowel, a consonant,
an open mouth, the stench of rose water
as she swings her arms at me,
a fist aimed, a hand opens,
and her anger's brute force resting gently on my cheek,
when she is asleep, she goes to places,
so far far away from the sinews of my heart,
it's a crime to want her, clawing through dirt
to find maternity,
but it is a bigger crime she does
not stay with me the way I follow her
footsteps through hell and bruises,
she sleeps gently, darkly, and deeply,
the tide of her healing,
I am tired of her breathing,
far away there is a girl who takes
revenge for me,
she is iridescent and strong,
the vines she grows are pagodas reaching,
the geisha who is unbalanced in mind,
the body self destructs,
I have been dead for a few hours,
I dream in death that they scored
the lake and found her body,
I am tired of her breathing,
bloodlet as a ghost would, at vigil
light with youth blighted,
they would carve her into cadaver,
I reach for her throat now,
I am angry, the ocean is my mistress,
in the rot of my anger I am the
skirt that kisses the thigh in the pews,
half poltergeist and half godless goddess,
no, but I am the girl still with
blistering blues on her back,
who rises like fog-dulled stars,
never daring to say
I am tired of your
let us both die here
in this poem,
I won't say it out loud,
but the willow weeps,
the willow weeps,
she sinks a hook through
the mouth of my moon,
and she drags me into water,
each night
each night
I say oh honey, sweet heart,
darling, I pray for
love, I let boys touch my
hand in class because I
do not wish to show them my back,
and I hate it all,
and I hate it all.
each night I ask the god
of my ceiling for something
new, to make the chamber
of my well intentioned wound
into nothing but nostalgia,
but god above, he just nods
and tells me to get on with it,
so I become a river
and drown each person
within me,
but even in death their
bodies and bones float to the
leaving me.
leaving me,
and yet she still sits their breathing,
and I cannot bring myself
to wish death upon her,
the mother I dug from the earth
on a Saturday, whose tendons
I had crafted from the ceiling god's
memory is the home,
and the base is the violence,
the moon that is now
fizzling in my marrow,
the losses uncountable on my heart
one day leading to it's demise,
and yet I am loved enough
that still I wander into other
people's fields begging them
for spare change,
the heart starts to eat
the self,
traveling through the desert of my
destruction to bring
to you my love.
I am many, countless,
I am all,
that sinks into
the sad cycle of her violence.

Ophelia lying
in a mirage, heart soaked,
finally she breathes
in the water,
the moon on her lips
shining like an herring.
Matthew Thomason Dec 2018
If beauty becomes me, it is this room.

No ideas of thought, object by force.

We are that dream,born of favor.

Lords of maternity and fortunes lost.

We are.

I love you
Andrew Munn Nov 2018
I knock on doors
that refract light
as sketched shapes of hope.
That chimera of real and illusion.

I remember that in hospitals,
maternity wards and hospice,
doors are to be opened and shut
with gloved hands,
elbows or leaning hips.

I hold myself to a few words:
I needed to go
and so I do,
"one-step at a time,"
when fortitude warms the path
And otherwise,
I remember a red light in the dark
at 6 am in February,
chortling engine
with two hundred miles to traverse -
I was sleepy and restless
and beneath my hums on coffee breath
a seed sprouted
barbs and blossoms.

I doubled down on heartbreak
and the fertility of schisms,
because the world is shaped
by twisting plates that ****** and slide
into one another in dumb collision,
and for all we glean of how,
it may as well be on stone rafts of fate
we built our hopes.
B00ks101 Oct 10
Drums in the distance we ran to the beat,
Outside Maternity a Sikh throng,
Clapping loudly, dancing and song.
We soon join in - unexpected spectacle this and full of joy!

"Its a boy, it's a boy, it's a boy!"
Jude kyrie Nov 2018
I know exactly
when I fell  in love with him.
It was at my sisters engagement party.
I was weeping.
I suppose I was jealous of my sister.
She had all that I did not.
No one was in sight
no one cares for me
well not beyond ******* me,
not for me, really

The fiancees best friend was a ****
he put the moves on me.
Another anonymous ****,
I thought.
I like your smell
are you wearing, my sin.
How ******* cheesy.

No, I hate perfume, I said,
I know you You Have a reputation
you would **** anything in a skirt.
I still like your smell he said.

And I wanted  to believe it
I guess I was lonely
Easy pickings.
I slept with him.
******* him,
it was sweet.

A couple of months later
I was pregnant, in the club
Up the spout,
Bun in the oven
Blasted into maternity
by a guided muscle.

But he just said, Oh ****
No worries love.
And He asked  to marry me.
I said are you crazy
He  said
yes i'm crazy about you.

At the wedding he sang
A beautiful love song
to me in Spanish
Right in front of everybody.
He learned ******* Spanish,
Just for me.
He had a horrible voice.
But it was the most beautiful thing
I have ever heard
so ******* beautiful.

When our daughter was born
he was the doting father.
He worshipped her
but he made me
feel like never before.
I loved him..
That womanizing *******
That treated me like gold.
He had stolen my heart.

Six years later
we have three kids now
I think he is probably
the best father
that ever was

But to me
He is the light,
that causes
my life to shine
Like diamonds.
Love is a rainbow
Written by
Jude kyrie  Canada
Liesl Jul 2018
I am here
Expelled at last from that warm darkness
Fluid replaced with air
Crying out so that the nurse knows,
So that the world knows,
That I have arrived.

I look up and see a Goddess
A true beauty with loose ringlets
And glimmering skin
But sacred tears are falling
From her golden eyes

A deity like her deserves jewels
I am just a tiny speck of dust
Floating around her palace
I am not what she asked for

I want to apologise
But all I can do is wail
I am sorry, dear Goddess

She looks down at me
And she smiles

And in that moment I’ve been blessed.

— The End —