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Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
1

Another space arrives. The newborn cries.
And the destiny determined:
Oven or matchstick.

Descendant of both; inheritor of another:
A machine that dreams itself into being,
Dragging its sleeping subjects after it.

Sustenance of nightmares, the food of what
God is, blood the earth pumps forth.
The plastic legacy is siphoned off,

Its artifacts cheap jewellery:
Enamel glinting white and turquoise.
Flimsy chains that never last,

And yet last forever, the paint flaking off.
So too does the rust on this delicate orchid.
It is an oracle of poisons.


2

The city burns in its incandescence.
The indelible halo
Of a lime-green candelabra

Makes light of midnight. Our slumber is
Punctured by gunshots and the drone of the
Ambulance.

Not a foot but a juggernaut,
Pandora’s box,
Sowing the seeds of your distress.

Fallout marks the potent epoch.
The neon octopus spews it back,
Invisible print on the murderous air.

Where water drinks
No diving bell can bear
The pressure of such fuchsia.
The first poem in my second collection of poetry, "Blood for Honey", available at Lulu.com and Amazon.
Nat Lipstadt Apr 5
Pradip is newborn (impossible wisdom)

“a new day, a new chance for my soul... to heed
a small voice ... to give flowers, to plant new seeds.
to not trample on wildflowers and unwanted weeds...” Sally

“Sweet baby
with your head on my shoulder
I'm no more growing older...” Pradip

~

the unpredictability and randomness of the winds,
seed carriers, of small voices, yearning to be heard,
powerless in appearance only, for within are powers superior heroic,
           who can grow others       who can feed    
                             who can sustain multiple living creatures

each seed unique, a poem composed and complete,
authored by precedents, authorized by predecessors,
utilizing the cocoon of soil and sun,
rainwater from space and deep driven to
the clear milk of underground railroad rivers,
to give nurture to its revisional generational code

these new children of an old mix,
are quiet lifesavers giving proofs positive,
that those who will one day grow old,
with deep gnarled roots, are most capable
of finding ways of manufacturing fresh youth whim within,
to those who give babies homage, in attendance

this then the newborn miracle, the new seed,
wind borne, replants itself in old soil,
taking but more so giving,
injecting bits of vitality into its arterial ancestry,
how can this be?


I do not know the why or the how,
but am evidence of the therefore,
and the thereafter, of impossible wisdom




7:07am 4-5-19 a newborn poem for poetry passing grandparents
the dawn here is hours behind their sunsets, this then, a refreshment for the
wisdoms of their evening prayers
venn Oct 2018
Dear Newborn,

Hi, hello.

Welcome.

I hope you’re enjoying your stay here on planet Earth.

I’m sure the drive in was a little difficult, a little painful,
perhaps a little ****** (or a lot ******),
like moving from the darkest cavern to the brightest….
well, place. Area. Location.

I can’t think of anything superbly bright right now.
Oh, oh, I know.

It’s like living your whole life floating
in the very reaches of outer space and then
catapulting directly into the sun

Great analogy.

Regardless, welcome.

I said I hope you enjoy your stay,
the key word being hope, because, well,
you may not enjoy it

In fact, it’s guaranteed that there are parts of life
that will be near-torturous,
that will make you wish you had never been brought
into this world

But with that also comes moments of happiness
unlike anything you will ever experience, 
intense joy that makes you feel as though
you’re weightless once again,
floating out in space with no restraints,
no boundaries, just peace

The good will be great,
and the bad will be horrible,
and sometimes the good will be good
and the bad will be just bad,
it all depends on the day

A word of advice: treasure the time you have.

You won’t understand why this is important until you're older,
but do it anyway

Life fades just as quickly as it is brought to fruition,
and there are people on this Earth you will want to treasure
like they are the finest gold ever to be fished out of the land

There will be moments like this, too,
moments you wish would never fade,
and they will fade,
but never let them escape your memory,
and seek to make more of those moments every day,
even when happiness seems like an impossible dream

Life is the most difficult journey you will ever go on,
but has the possibility of being the most rewarding, as well

Allow the pain to be felt just as vibrantly as the happiness.

Never stifle your emotions.

Never limit others.

Never forget where you came from.

Never stop dreaming,

But never allow yourself to be tied down by those dreams, either.

Be free,
do what makes you happy,
be compassionate,
travel,
drink and make merry
(once you're legally allowed to, mind you),
and just be.

Exist to the great capacity you possibly can,
and die knowing you lived

Wishing you the greatest of luck,
a young dreamer
I think fear
is like a newborn, swaddled
in blood and ***** cloths, cradled
in the curvature of a rib cage. It
flourishes when coddled, time-gorged,
replete with leaps not taken.
April 2019
On this lovely September morn
It's time for congratulations
Into this world a child is born
Lets raise a glass in celebration.

He starts his world with lulabbys
Parents are there with a guiding hand
To help to see that he gets by
Untill on his own he can make a stand.

But that is many years away
No need to think so far ahead
All that matters is this lovely day
As mother is resting in her bed.

But tomorrow will be another day
With his first steps on life's road
A world that that will be full of play
The future no one knows.

So let's take in this special time
Where all the family gather round
Mother and newborn are doing fine
She smiles when hearing his very first sound.
My wife's wife best friends daughter in law gave
Birth to a baby boy September 20th .she asked me to write a poem
So I wrote this poem .I hope you like it.
Alyssa Underwood Apr 2017
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5

~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Every year this time
at the ending cycle of the sun...
hope walks again
along pathways of the heart.

An ancient dream
roots unknown...
a newborn
shall save the world.

The sun arcs south,
the bottom of the year...
a mother heavy with child
seeks her shed, a manger on high.

Three wise ones, three kings
brush the dust of long lost history off
its that time of year again...
time to rise and follow the star.

Shepherds alone on the hillside
sheep bleat, angels sing
forever witnesses to a miracle or a dream
a newborn saves the world.
Curious, oh so curious
Like a new born canvas
Eyes with the blankest slate
Ready to be coloured in
Born with the adventurous thirst
Of finding the perfect medium
Wander and wonder, my child
Try different shades and textures
Learn to speak a thousand words
To build your own inner picture
Alyssa Underwood May 2016
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot

Repost
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


~~~

Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Tryst Feb 2016
Winter, From Summer

Winter's kiss reveals
barren nests in arbored rests
summer's love conceals

Winter's veil behests
larder meals in burrowed fields
summer's sleep divests


Summer, From Winter

Summer's hand repeals
frigid tests of nature's guests
winter's grasp unseals

Summer's warmth invests
life's ordeals on newborn squeals
winter's chill arrests
Becca Lansman Jul 2018
My body and mind are at war
two beings occupying the same skin

the diverged desire firing bullets into the heart
creating a cacophony of chaos within me

One--
******* the jar of peanut butter
hidden by the blanket of dark sky
hugging the fridge like a newborn
caressing the chocolate bar wrapper

Two--
crouched over
crying in the shower
pinching my skin until bright pink, hot
with anger

trying to resurrect myself into someone more holy
trying to starve
out the monster within

only to find myself back on the bathroom tile singing gospel songs into the toilet bowl.

a cyclical strom
that will not stop raging

like a perverted lover
always, somehow
dragging you back home.
nina Nov 28
a newborn rests her head on her mother's chest.
doubting herself, the mother's breath hitches.
her heart beats too loudly.
the newborn cries.

the world is colder than she imagined.
and now she has gone deaf.
we learn to be better with each generation. is that efficient enough?
Fullfreddo May 2015
~

a strange place to start
having not truly begun,
already beat down by the
lowdown

own a million rose colored words,
but some assembly required,
that's when the foreknowledge truth~rules
burns brain holes

easy is never
free,
poetry writing is
cussing hard work

~
spring rains cloaking warmth,
summer's stunning sunsets
demand submissive awed silence,
autumnal leave drops anointing
your refreshed humanity,
and yet,
one more time,
it is only within winter's white bitterness
lip tasting,
million tear-shaped snowflaked words,
is the crowning visible
of the head of
a newborn babe poet

                                        ~                  ­                            

hard.

Capital Hard.

in the beginning,
there was one,
a first work

and the knowing,
if it wasn't hard,
it could not be
any good,
makes it possible
to ease on
down
this fearful
revelationary road
trip
Born May 22, 2015
My first poem.
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
Beaming parents,
Newborn christened,
Warning issued,
No one listened.
Caterers
And a marquee,
But someone failed
To invite me.

Baptismal gift
Almost apt
Dragged behind
Badly wrapped.
Turning circles
With the blackboard squeal
Of an antiquated
Spinning wheel.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Obsessing over pregnant thoughts of the life I’d longed to live
Looking for blue patches in the rain.
Now through eyes of newborn hope,
I wait until I see you once again.

You’ve been the life I’ve longed for, though not knowing what it was,
Assured always that someday you would come,
but afraid that I wouldn’t recognize
the voice, the face, the touch.

Now I hold onto you, jealously guarding these days that are us.
Looking through your eyes and seeing myself,
finding joy hiding inside,
loving the person of you.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
”good night, good travels, pitch black”

depending on how one counts,
cause size matters,
do have I
one small blessing


though little do I get, more-less,
in each twenty four measuring cup,
when the sleep gas has come-for-inhaling,
lidded heavy with greatful/tearful anticipation,
it’s less than sixty seconds till
dispatched to where all poems
plead like unborn angels for
good parentage

the spoken good night ritual signaled and completed
with a perfect half turn skating axel onto ones side,
preceded by, a single solid smacking of
an innocent but flaccid, equally tired pillow,
then lost in pitch black galaxy travels
with other sleep-drunk little princes

instead of the wavering, singular word,
a traditional goodnight,
a parting and a haling simultaneous mumbling issuing,
undebated and a wish shot to all within dream-shot, a title,

“good travels”

to places where ferment the aging words under
the winemakers watchful caring eyes opening,
names or titles, same difference, for the newborn babes
Julian D Aug 2018
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
Now upon this stage I stand
with bloodied heart and soul in hand.
It’s mine to choose which step I take
and mine a lone decision make.

Forgive the painful sins long past
and rise above this hate at last?
To love this life once more I find
was just beyond my heart and mind.

Forgiveness which is just the start
for now I’ve found inside my heart
To see you in a different light
as guided by a Hand of might

I’ve waited for the strength to stand
To dance upon this stage again
I feel the cold black curtain lift
and greet this day, a newborn gift.

Many more will come this way,
for those of you I only pray
may you find peace as love’s restored
and find the feet to dance once more.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Sally A Bayan Aug 2014
(10 X 10)  

What a prudent choice, to walk under the pouring rain,
enjoy its cool, refreshing comfort, touching, sliding down one's toes,
walk over the puddles, and spots that are so muddled ...
body, mind, clothes, soaking wet...stained, ingrained with stubborn dirt,
now, washed away...you, courageously surviving acid tests of life,
emerging cleansed, transformed, filled with more sense, wisdom and tolerance,
no more airs, just compassionate, sharing more, this time around...
It's like a new YOU, facing the same world, armed
with rekindled enthusiasm, an enhanced attitude, and fresh, newborn perspectives.

Be brave, be drenched with rain...let it cleanse you.


Sally


Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
*** ...rainy days, rainy thoughts, somber mood,
a mug of hot coffee...hmmm...***
winter sakuras Jul 2017
The newborn shock and delight of a handlit firework stick
can dissipate in less than 3 seconds.

The patience in an hour standing in line for a 30 second thrilling roller coaster ride, is what everyone thinks living in the moment is.

But sometimes I don't mind the longing and emptiness that remains long after

because I want to be a splash of exurbance in people's lives, disappearing in a flash when love is finally settled.

I'd want people to miss me for eternity, but at the same time I'd escape eternities full of flaws and misunderstandings with them.

So if goodbye is what it takes to be remembered or longed for so achingly,

Capture the person's smile and all your favorite things before
letting go.
07.04.17
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