"neonatal" poems
#
A lively debate
that inside I create
A seemingly
simple state
But this state
of affairs
Is like a ****** affair*
The details
I wish not to share
Please,
don’t stare
For inside
I’m scared
Am I prepared?
Do I have
the ***** to do
what I really care?
Or am I going
to stay on this ship
of self-despair
Where
I can scream
my lungs ******
into the air
But does anyone care?
Do I even f@cking care??
Maybe a life spared
but ***spare me the
retched bullsh@t***
of self-pity
I’m self-giving
It wreaks up the air
It’s noxious scent
is not one I care
to ever encounter
or fair
Let’s “clear the air”
and take on
what I want
from now on
No longer a pawn
who is living the tired
joke
of some *pathetic
love song*
No, THIS
is my “Swan Song”
Where I belong
This sh@t is ON!
Climbing the mountain strong
Bellowing a chant
a song
That’s been so deep within
for so long
It can only come out
Right
Because “wrong”
does not belong
**This virus
is airborne**
No longer forlorn
All the darkness
is gone
You have been
forewarned
Are you ready?
Because it’s coming
Sounding the horn
Sacrificed
the firstborn
The “storm”
Once icy and cold
Now simmering warm
Going to bubble into
volcanic ash scorned
This Oath
hath been sworn
Tattered and torn
**** cloth
all that is worn
But forward my path
What’s behind me
**My ***
The past
*Worn out,
decayed,
and shriveling trash*
All that
is gone
as I head
towards the dawn
Through the darkness
I’ve trekked
The Sun rises ahead
And with it
My song
My Swan Song
I am reborn
withered and worn
But still strong
I belong
***I am one
with the Universe***
The path before me
is brightly lit
with happiness and joy
No more patheticness
All the grit
and the spit
Broken teeth
All that sh@t
It all meant something
It was THIS
*Every bruise
Every break
All the “wrongs”
and “mistakes”*
Are what it takes
You can call it fate
or simply short of fatal
but since
neonatal
through this day till
Every day
I thankfully say
“Thank you”
for showing me the way
Because now I have
A love that stays
A true love
One that can’t
get away
Because I value Me
One ‘hopes’ or ‘prays’
But like a house
Each brick is laid
Onto the next
Foundation made
A sturdy house
Can’t blow away
Hard work put in
Made it this way
The same for me
The price I paid
But end result
A saving grace
#
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 5:08 AM UTC
they ask what
little sisters should
why the water is blue when deep
how the stones skip uncaring
on the surface
on the surface
we are tied through bloodline
vein to vein, spine to spine
retched to form through
a single woman in 45 hours
of neonatal grace
echoing anything but silence
they are a quiet pair of scissors.
mirrors, in perfect function
balanced from present lifetimes
of subtle practice
shimmering in sequence
one glammer, one smitten
echoes of anything but silence
I am that third thing
the cog on wings
mildly pressed between two
perfectly pounding structures
smiling in the buffer
I am drafting,
a stick on the ripple.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 11, 2013 at 12:39 AM UTC
our mothers tears fill a hospital ward
as a doctor summons the Chaplins call
last rites administer to this tiny newborn
thrice in five days you're destined to fall
born with a hole in such a delicate heart
yet no doctor nor cleric could recognise
this was to allow the world seep through
a shining eighth wonder of pale blue eyes
held on the sill outside a neonatal room
i saw with my soul a love birthed anew
dad he promised that you'd be home soon
there to the years of childhood we grew
the time had come for mam to say to me
sister was different in other ways as well
not for you was destined a desk at school
nor books would you read nor stories tell
innocence of the pure and purity of truth
special she said born of down syndrome
and yet would i never once see you down
for your smiles to me evoke only wisdom
now as you pass over your fortieth year
my sister i cherish all that we hold dear
for you are a family's jewel in it's crown
raising a world from love handed down
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 11:57 AM UTC
As I looked into her glazed blue eyes
I suddenly became very tired.
Every inch of my body
felt weighted;
heavy.
I had been doing this for
13 years,
hoping, waiting, trying, believing.
Most of the time, I succeeded.
I saved them.
But when I didn't,
when I
failed,
I can't take it.
When I go out with my husband for dinner with friends,
or at parties,
I get asked what I do.
A furrowed eyebrow, a gentle easing voice follows,
"Isn't that hard?"
It's all part of the job, I say.
Taking care of these babies,
making sure they are healthy.
You get used to it, I say.
I wish that were true.
I wish I could say it were that simple.
When my work is dragged, forced in
unannounced like a estranged aunt
in
in
into my personal life,
my husband grabs my hand,
gives me a knowing look.
He thinks he knows how I suffer,
how it pains,
how it rips at my soul --
he has no clue.
Most days, my job is not overwhelming.
Is even rewarding.
Saving lives,
keeping parents' new-born, struggling miracles safe,
trying to make them perfect
like parents always imagined they would be.
On days like this,
when I am forced to look into my responsibility's
eyes
and realize I couldn't save and perfect them,
realize that blank stare will be with
me forever,
I hate my job.
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
7/1/2015
*"you will remember, for we in our youth did these things:
yes many beautiful things" - Sappho's fragments*
Greenwich Village, NYC
Only the 24th of June and
Simpson and i already
tire of the summer weather.
I always seem a little thinner these months
i note, i bite a strawberry candy and show her
how to light her lighter
just hand me the fork
no more callousness
both on palmflesh and human dealings
the building facades on Charles street
as in the southern Chawellsss....
she explains alcoholism runs in my family, you know?
i nod. no other problems i presume?
the community garden nods and
people who will always be richer,
prettier, strut past with tuesday briefcases
and their children's wheelcradles with ethiopian
and guatemalan hands on the handlebars
follow a block behind.
*But we're from Joisey, and **** proud of it!*
Lobster rolls and jimmies and johnnies and
boardwalk planks Erin dreams of
broadway instead and neonatal nursing,
who doesn't?
the only youth on the street that day we
teetertotter past all the cafes and pubs and
laundrymats
*you know, if this was the school year we'd
get picked up for skipping school*
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 6:22 PM UTC
From
neonatal cries to existential rhymes
if
any
lived
to
be
humane
the
earth will elect you
and
the
universe
will accept you
.
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 2:16 PM UTC
The age of men has morning seen,
A blessed hour, pure and new,
When all was fresh and bright and green,
And clad with sparkling drops of dew,
That caught the neonatal light,
Proceeding from the infant star,
That gave to men the gift of sight
And bathed the darkling isles afar.
The age of men has midday known,
And man has seen his golden years,
But monuments of carven stone
And kingdoms forged with swords and spears,
Cannot endure, but pass away.
The years of men are but a breath,
The evening swallows up the day,
And all is swallowed up in death.
The age of men rolls on and on,
The land grows darker year by year,
The chariot of Phaeton and Helios shall disappear,
Then darkness shall o’erspread the land,
A spectral, phantom moon shall rise,
Until a black and withered hand
Shall cover heaven’s watching eyes.
Then blackest night shall cover all,
And darkness will the ruler be,
And in his blindness man will fall
And wish that he had turned to me.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 6:49 AM UTC
The Volume of Her Tones
The volume of
Her tones
Create a creakiest
Voice at the night...
Ocean of her smile
Wakes a slumber
Of her absences.
Ringing tones spread
amidst choruses
and crowded rim:
The conflagration of rhymes.
The melody in her voice
Like a heavenly voice
In a hushed cathedral
The rain drops one by one;
And some people flies outside
To see the flowing of her dulcet
Counting a cracks by the said rain.
The grave that changes trajectory
Lives in the grey!
The state is neonatal and aged
In an empty growth!
Adam garko
Dedicated to her surpass girl on earth❤
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 12:18 AM UTC
Cautious where my heart's placed,
careful where I show face,
when we reach the final lap,
start to see the true pace.
Tired of being surprised need to be harmless yet wise.
Jew wish to share the good fortunes,
the gossip makes the muzzle tight,
First you hear a lot of bark,
waiting till you bear the bite.
Tired of being surprised need to be harmless yet wise.
Can't always be right or liked,
the pallbearer to one who digs their own grave,
can't liberate one who sees freedom in chains,
Let me disclaim that I'm often the same,
I'll pause the refrain.
Starting to see a pattern feeling like an omnibus,
getting harder to know who to trust,
fool me twice shame on both of us,
I needed real ones to get me out my slum,
better wounds from friends than enemy hisses,
the certainty of a brides than volatile mistresses.
Tired of being surprised need to be harmless yet wise.
Bottom line is teeth are bones,
many playing an act like clones,
standing in glass yet throwing stones,
friends are few but fear is fatal,
thread between child-like and childish,
faith is so neonatal.
Tired of being surprised need to be harmless yet wise.
Learning where to seek applause,
not trying to make enemies without a cause,
best to make amigos but never know who i might offset when i take off,
need discernment to see the cain while I'm still able,
cause even if my blood cries,
I know it's been paid for.
Tired of being surprised need to be harmless yet wise.
"When Christ calls a man he bids him to die."
Though it doesn't sound like the most bonne offer it takes away the fear of the grave,
grace would have a hollow cost if no price was paid,
the hand of ****** would still leave a thirst for retribution,
Dietrich knew the true ruler of the people,
the one who holds the keys,
which is why he confidently said before he was sent to be hung for protecting the young,
"this is the end – for me the beginning of life."
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 12:06 AM UTC
Zionist father's "lamentation; his sons burial."
The family of an IDF soldier was gathered for his funeral from Rapha rubble. All that was left of him was a small box of his ash remains. Words began to pass over his grave.
"I remember how handsome he looked in uniform," said his mother, "with his matching Helmet & Pampers." "I remember how brave he was," said his father, "he once neutralized a neonatal intensive care unit without hesitating for a second." "I remember how loving he was," said his daughter, "he once demolished a school for me on my birthday." "I remember how strong he was," said his wife, "every child he faced fell before his might." "I remember him being bigger," said his son, "What happened to him?". "Apparently," stated his mother,
"He triggered a booby-trap while plundering a house in Gaza."
"Well, I guess he died as Israel lives" stated his father.
"And how is that?"
Asked the others?
"By burglarizing someone else's home after proudly murdering all palestinian family members "
Oh! Said his grandmother
"Every muslim Palestinian, any non zionist jewish birth poses an existential threat to his new and future born children, thats why
"this IDF soldier's remains are buried among genocidal war criminal hereos in Izrahell."
~~~~~
Izrael:August 2024.
~~~~
Aug 20, 2024
Aug 20, 2024 at 1:19 AM UTC