"parturition" poems
The baby is born to the death walls
that line the cellar. The cellar is dark
and musty like the inside of a mouth
that has seen every forest in the world
that needs to be seen. There is animal
screaming and cheeks wailing and blood
smashed. There is the floor: cold as bath
water or lungs or teeth or healing. She
wanted a midwife. The midwife looks
ashes of change, her hands shake
like a pale fire. Her hands shouldn’t
be shaking, I want to say please, leave
the shaking hands to us, we are only
a professional family, but you are really
a professional, your brain is snowed with
palms that knead proper parturition. But
my mouth is tight with breath and ash.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC
Whispers of heavenly death, murmur’d I hear;
Labial gossip of night—sibilant chorals;
Footsteps gently ascending—mystical breezes, wafted soft and low;
Ripples of unseen rivers—tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing;
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see, skyward, great cloud-masses;
Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing;
With, at times, a half-dimm’d, sadden’d, far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition, rather—some solemn, immortal birth:
On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable,
Some Soul is passing over.)
2.7k
Save me from this ailing sudate disdain
To pursue an oath to ordain,
Crimson dark stains yet uncertain.
Beneath a soul’s secret door to obtain
Pure pardon from this wretched torment and pain,
The sickening impudence…an implication!
Yet I try that Grace, Harmony and Love may win,
What am i…but a travailing mortal machine
Taking flight from this mundane plight to become even.
I plead that this conscious with mildness can reckon
In awe I cry out…
“Please don’t forsake me divine Logos”
In dilapidated pieces without price am torn
Helpless and lost behind the aisle,
Not more than an infantile person
Searching for a comfy path back home,
Sad but at times to admit the autism awoken.
In solitary at the center of crossroads
Were do I turn to run?
My heart so weak and slain without feign.
I have judged without concern
To satisfy an ego unknown,
On my stifles I now implore of the Passion
That she may patch-up for a peaceable Parturition.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:40 AM UTC
Memories exhumed like creeping camisados
are out here stalking once more. A cacophonous attack
of unsuccessful repression, screaming
of the foregone,
of the degredations you spat from profane pulpit,
and of my tongue, jarred, a malign antiquity.
And of what you left, burning from inside, that was
to emerge, in time, from what you liked best about me.
A fruit blossom blooming; a rose potted in ****
I put that out after thirty-nine moons.
Tip toeing towards tremendous plains,
a few times tripped, but never tumbled.
The cacophony’s eurythmic now, now
that I recall where the screaming first stopped.
A blossom, a rose (or something greater)
given to me to put things right.
My black turning blue, improved and renewed,
a parturition extinguished through love.
And now I bloom, faintly, in the shade of you.
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
From parturition to bereavement
Your destiny is there
To gather to embrace
Or discard without a care.
From the moment that a father
Holds a newborn in his hands
And dares his thoughts to venture
To his baby’s future plans.
From the little boy who ponders
How to scale the mountain high
And sets his sights to conquer
Till he reaches clear blue sky.
From the moment that a damsel
In her frilly party frock
Plans a life of strutting catwalks
Clad in classy, fashion stock.
When a young man battles conscience
In his fight with lust’s hot sin
And temptation’s call to deviate
To ******* or crime or gin.
From the sloth of doing nothing
In letting time just trickle by,
To the driven soul who strives
To win each challenge with each try.
From the numbness of exhaustion
Clad in cancer’s deathly quilt,
Where the chance of a tomorrow
Depends on, largely, how you’re built.
As the cloak of family mantle
Shoulders mortgage, wife and child
With responsible compliance
To secure commitments filed.
And the burden of an aged life
When capacities do fade,
There’s a burning need to champion
The good destiny's, displayed.
Wherein to demonstrate the honour,
To the new incoming teens,
In showing destiny’s importance
To fulfilling our bold dreams.
Through the realm of our potential
In the great unknown ahead,
The joy of running with our destiny
Makes the future read as read.
Marshalg
@thebach
27 August 2011
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 7:57 PM UTC
I thought that all my pains will go,
That was my selfish motive in love.
I never foresaw my health worsening,
Now my head aches more, sweetly, though.
I have her bouncing in my memories,
May be on my pure love she was bouncing.
I should have coated my love for protection,
Lest she entered a period of parturition.
I wanted to sacrifice myself more for her,
Less for myself in the game of love.
I never wanted her to turn rougue,
For I had sworn my loyalty to her.
I know not where this vertigo will take me,
Everything shakes so violently in my head.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 1:12 AM UTC
I have been wandering how mommy
Sweet did come by such a tommy
Big, enquired the pretty darling
Of her dear dad. It's the Lord's doing.
A boon so marvellous to behold, that's true
And priceless. I can't take thee now thru'
The episode whole. But it did wilfully happen
Tween me and her, said more the pop, when
We blithely together laid for a marital affair,
Cheek and jowl, that we might perfectly pair
And have in unison our amorous-laced passion,
Melting them into one inseparable fermented fusion.
From that act of affection came her womb large,
From which a life precious like thou will emerge--
God willing--soon; after nine-seemingly-slow months of
Steady evolvement and care, it will be time enough
To bring forth. It might be twins or more, or a boy
Or a girl only; but when a scan is employ-
Ed, you can confirm the very gender and number prior
To the hour of parturition of that gift of honour.
Thou wilt be wise, pray i, my peering daughter,
As thou by age by and by dost begin to muster
In life empirical knowledge and understanding
To unravel the mystery behind a protruding
Belly of a woman firsthand thyself. In school
And everywhere prithee, my child, be nobody's fool.
May 3, 2012
May 3, 2012 at 3:36 AM UTC
Do detest somber concepts brought forth by parturition to the thoughts you cannot otherwise declare untrue in the dark hour that is trapping you,
sealing you
in. Do not enter thy darkened
grave, for isolation amongst
those horribly innate constructs breeds involuntary cries
for days -brought on
by
perusal within. Do not encounter some cold cell, where creeping doom stalks and that black dog walks; there under stained obscene appearances,"unreal;"
and where low bred
mouths are speaking
falsely in lightless
arid lands so stale. But rather let the rejoicing wind that purifies
The dawn give lift to your courageously
resolute wing.
This is what it means
to belong
with one Self
to maintain.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 9:21 PM UTC
Boorishly ****** into this diabolical world.
Parturition coerced from the amicable surrounding walls.
Fostered by what is a poor excuse of society.
Thereafter, and maybe preceding, all is fear.
Mortal until the day to meet thy maker.
...And in between? Alas, it is choice.
What shall it be? One of two, so you must resolve.
To exist, letting darkness cloak all, and fear be your consolation.
To live, fighting off the vexatious blanket of death, welcoming light to warm your soul.
Both are equally fought for in this insolent age.
Yet who are the victors? I will tell you, my friend a secret, a thought if you will....
How is there such thing as victor if there is nary a challenge?
It is told: accept the challenges so that you may feel the exhilaration of victory.
So, is the choice of dark and light that perplexing?
In essence, there is only one way to live.
The other is only a meager existence.
All face such this decision, oblivious to the simple fact that no challenge lay within existing.
There is only a fight in choosing to live.
Make a choice, and with that...
So Be It
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 5:59 PM UTC
If tomorrow never comes
It wouldn't make a difference
I know
It wouldn't make a difference at all
Must break these restraints
This isn't fair
Abandoned
Betrayed
Mine
The Sandman has given me a bed to make and sleep in
Why oh why? Release me
Unleash me
Unhand me
Remand me
Yahweh
Win some
Lose some
Great rich misfortune
Decayed withered family tree
Shambled moral poverty
Great
Hemlock
Archaic Apothecary
Toxic apple
Petrushka, Punch and Judy
Enunciate
Look at the pale reflection
**** my parturition
**** my ruination
Father, tomorrow may never come
Move forward from this lie
I must be on my way
I feel it weighing down on me
Shot nerves
It's here, times up
Get on with it, it doesn't make a difference
If it all ends today
I'm sorry
I wasted what you've given me
For a moment of weakness
You can fool all the people some of the time, and some of the people all the time, but you cannot fool all the people all the time
I deserve this, not your compassion
Look deep in my eyes
There is no way out of this
Illusion of existence
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 1:40 AM UTC
...
*it is really
interesting imagination
what happened
if there would not be
the process of germination
it is also out of imagination
if god changes the process
of parturition
put on halt all the inception
and forget the practices
of termination
~~~
god blessed us
the process
of creation
sustenance
and deterioration
but what we offered
to the almighty
we, in the name of
scientific research
and new inventions
always put forth
doubts and ambiguous questions
~~~
never put on complete faith
on the lotus feet
of our creator
although making all our efforts
to vanish the god's formulation
this is the time when
we have to introspect
our accusation and conviction
and follow such doctrine
which will lead us
on the path of creation*
...
(c) deovrat - 16.04.2018
Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 7:16 AM UTC