"placenta" poems
Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs,
Eyes rolled by white sticks,
Ears cupping the sea's incoherences,
You house your unnerving head -- God-ball,
Lens of mercies,
Your stooges
Plying their wild cells in my keel's shadow,
Pushing by like hearts,
Red stigmata at the very center,
Riding the rip tide to the nearest point of
departure,
Dragging their Jesus hair.
Did I escape, I wonder?
My mind winds to you
Old barnacled umbilicus, Atlantic cable,
Keeping itself, it seems, in a state of miraculous
repair.
In any case, you are always there,
Tremulous breath at the end of my line,
Curve of water upleaping
To my water rod, dazzling and grateful,
Touching and *******
I didn't call you.
I didn't call you at all.
Nevertheless, nevertheless
You steamed to me over the sea,
Fat and red, a placenta
Paralyzing the kicking lovers.
Cobra light
Squeezing the breath from the blood bells
Of the fuchsia. I could draw no breath,
Dead and moneyless,
Overexposed, like an X-ray.
Who do you think you are?
A Communion wafer? Blubbery Mary?
I shall take no bite of your body,
Bottle in which I live,
Ghastly Vatican.
I am sick to death of hot salt.
Green as eunuchs, your wishes
Hiss at my sins.
Off, off, eely tentacle!
There is nothing between us.
19.4k
some want it, I don't want it, I
want to do whatever it is I do
and just do it.
I don't want to look into the
adulating eye,
shake the sweating
palm.
I think that whatever I do
is my business.
I do it because if I don't
I'm finished.
I'm selfish:
I do it for myself
to save what is left of
myself.
and when I am
approached as
hero or
half-god or
guru
I refuse to accept
that.
I don't want their
congratulations,
their worship,
their companionship.
I may have half-a-
million readers,
a million,
two million.
I don't care.
I write the word
how I have to
write it.
and, in the
beginning,
when there were no
readers
I wrote the word
as I needed to write the
word
and if all
the half-million,
the million,
the two million,
disappear
I will continue to
write the
word
as I always have.
the reader is an
afterthought,
the placenta,
an accident,
and any writer who
believes otherwise
is a bigger fool than
his
following.
7.9k
Sitting calmly aligning in-between the three sitters
Adorn with a silk from milk
Thinking about the libido of her crown
Like a star lost in the galaxy
After seeing a Ghanaian movie
A sudden push through her opening
as placenta push through during birth,
as water break through from underground
a cloth of blood, fought through
She felt it,
she saw it,
But what to do? What not to do? and how?
Was a question demanding an answer,
Like a man lost on the crossroad
On his wedding night,
On his bed
Close to the bride like a ****** bird
To be and not to be like Shakespeare
She shouted
What is this?
Blood!!!
This is the making of a woman
An end to her holiness
A new spring of emotion and pain
No more daddy and mummy play
Remember "Always" always
When the visitor is around
you are now a woman
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 4:45 AM UTC
My mother enters the kitchen, says that her hands
are dripping, begs my father to finish his work
at the sink. I observe, for a moment, the expression
upon her face which seems conflicted between
a desire to laugh and a need
to feel clean.
I interject that clearly her fate is to have
dog placenta on her hands for all eternity.
Her disgust and amusement seem equally to rise.
After she has washed herself, she speaks of
Ponyo's last intermission between long
intervals of birthing to nap three fleeting minutes;
another contraction gave way to a wriggling
new mole who squeaked and groaned with
bizarre endearment, seizing my heart and causing
its mother's head, after jolting awake,
to go limp.
Mom says it's sad-but-sweet. Dear dog
has spent herself six times already in increments
which, as they increase, draw her spirit still closer
to a totally inevitable chasm of fled energy;
as soon as she falls asleep, yet a new indignant mass
of living parts swaddled in loose skin and wet fur
shoves its way outward, forward, world-ward.
Ponyo is not selfish. Immediately after birth seven,
she begins to lick her offspring clean and nudge it
towards her belly, where it may feed itself.
"Only just got a break, and already she's
back to work."
I'm one of five children my mother has carried
and raised--and for a human, five are many!
I'm afraid to give birth even once, despite
that a greater want of mine is to hold
my own child someday. I wonder if that
is motherhood: discomfort and indecision
concerning the worth of the effort in labor,
in birth, in the weak moments thereafter--
stroking one's child's downy, collapsible head
and feeling a need to protect her, to nurture her,
that is more pressing even than the so-
alluring whispers which Sleep may breathe--
and even beyond these moments, when I have said
to my mother that I hate her (because
to me, it was obvious that I did not,
and was too callous, obtuse, and insensitive
to think that she might just believe it)
and then missed church the next day to stay
with her when she felt ill and tired--if this
is motherhood, I wonder. It must be more even
than I could ever have thought like wanting
to laugh and to wring one's hands
(and even just to go to sleep)
all at once.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 11:05 PM UTC
To all who come to
this happy placenta, welcome.
Disneyland is your lane.
Here, agency relives fond menageries
of the pastiche,
and here yo-yos may savor
the chamber and promoter
of the fuzz.
Disneyland is dedicated to the identification,
the dregs,
and the hard factors
that have created America... with hope that it will be a source of jubilation
and installment
to all the wormhole.
Jul 7, 2012
Jul 7, 2012 at 7:48 PM UTC
to sleep i may, but not the dark vessel
of mine eyes, over stormy seas of placenta and albatross
tossed from the palm of a rough hewn, Five-Headed Crane
raking five beaks across a canvass of my wounded fires -
and my brazen black honey, trembling on the lip
of mis-fortunate birth...,
in the cataract of
a fine hat
on a fat
rebel.
my public spaces engineered
to come from the inside
the wastelands are beautiful
as you gawk
at the red
sun
a bead of red plasma,
flowing from an
open vein
in a mind shaft.
with a bad back
and no front.
but a lasting gasp....
Sep 23, 2014
Sep 23, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
lightning crashes, a new mother cries
her placenta falls to the floor
the angel opens her eyes
the confusion sets in
before the doctor can even close the door
lightning crashes, an old mother dies
her intentions fall to the floor
the angel closes her eyes
the confusion that was hers
belongs now, to the baby down the hall
oh now feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.
lightning crashes, a new mother cries
this moment she's been waiting for
the angel opens her eyes
pale blue colored iris,
presents the circle
and puts the glory out to hide, hide
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 2:15 PM UTC
A bond grows into
a form long and sharp, shining
with thin deception.
The knife stabs through her
unceremoniously.
Satan waits to chew.
Within the briefest
moment, the knife releases
spermatozoa, the seeds.
Earnestly sowing
themselves into her innards,
she writhes, expecting--
The lumbar region
swells in perverse production--
Mock maternity.
The formation of
a placenta from the spine--
Woeful womb of Hate.
Betrayal as long
as the knife from which it came,
borne long after Birth.
-LP
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
they were undeveloped.
fetal figurines in preservation
still and detached from
the placenta of a better time
tiny knucklebones
grew miniature orchards
half in bloom
out of season, tracing palm lines.
(deciduous wrists)
forever in the interim,
encapsulated
while clock-hands
melted through ceramic face
and dripped over cream lids
sealing their last breath
like hurricanes in a time capsule
Mar 27, 2013
Mar 27, 2013 at 1:39 PM UTC
Where bathes you the morning dew
lights you the sun
colors you the dawn's hue
a moment newly begun.
Where shelters you the blue sky
soaks you the rain
lets out your heart's cry
words shape your pain.
Where dazzles you the sunshine
glooms end of day
hope is the silver line
living the only way.
Where gnaws you the sorrow's worm
runs you the smile
speaks to you the soul's calm
happiness is only a mile.
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 12:48 PM UTC
Buddha belly, rabbit’s foot,
how much luck can you get
from touching the dead?
(Maybe that’s the reason behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s slaughtering of
seventeen men;
maybe that’s the reason why we break wishbones—
to remind ourselves that this bone is dead
these hands are alive
do something with them.)
In some cultures, it is socially acceptable to
eat your child’s placenta—
there is good fortune in it, power in it.
(I wonder if this is the reason why cannibals eat their victims.)
Number seven. Cross on the wall.
I wish you good luck.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 5:36 PM UTC
Humble beginnings
To the bitter ends
Frantic boot heels
Optical illusions
The **** of a joke
Last but not least
Whatsoever
Then again
Telegram a trigger word
Dangle from an umbilical chord
Eat the placenta
As the deadlines fluctuate
And the ambivalence
Is sealed in a canopic jar
It's experimental
Mental experiences
It's elemental
exemplary mentality
It's explicit
To solicit
The illicit
And go ballistic
-Tommy Johnson
They're so generous
To call me and my work sui generis
I'm just inter-being
To learn from ignorance
By my own volition
To achieve total consciousness
"Of all the nerve you sure got a lot of some of it"
Coming from oblivion
Ideas composing
The appreciation
Imagination turn into materialization
Expand and contract
The sensation of feeling
We crave and we cling
Becoming, we're born
A phase, we age
Sickness and death
Cessation, ratify or deny
Die gratified
These are the type of things we discussed in the Agora, all those times ago
-Tommy Johnson
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
The placenta of poetry.
At 25
still young and arrogant
but with some modesty creeping in
more fully fledged
in the void's vale
of dropping foundation blocks
into pools of quicksand
tenements are always prey
to vulnerabilities of one kind
or other
if someone sneeze
I am uncomfortably cold
one sleeve of my pullover
is rolled up above the elbow -
it is threadbare!
Jul 15, 2010
Jul 15, 2010 at 12:43 AM UTC
lightning crashes, a new mother cries
her placenta falls to the floor
the angel opens her eyes
the confusion sets in
before the doctor can even close the door
lightning crashes, an old mother dies
her intentions fall to the floor
the angel closes her eyes
the confusion that was hers
belongs now to the baby down the hall
oh now feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.
lightning crashes, a new mother cries
this moment she's been waiting for
the angel opens her eyes
pale blue colored iris,
presents the circle
and puts the glory out to hide, hide
oh now feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it. I can feel it.
I can feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.
I can feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
I can feel it.
I can feel it comin' back again
like a rollin' thunder chasing the wind
forces pullin' from the center of the earth again
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
fresh coffee drips
into the ***
herbs on the stove
begin to boil
blood stained sheets
are now drying
hands and arms are being washed
with hot water
milk drips
from the breast
a wet chord is coiled
the placenta lays tired
here begins
a new life
Dec 6, 2010
Dec 6, 2010 at 5:12 PM UTC
it will always fascinate and horrify me
how the people responsible for bringing you into this world
are the ones who make you rapidly sift through the file cabinet in your mind labeled "suicide attempts you haven't tried yet" in order to exit it
young girl,
you will scream at the top of your lungs
and they will call your cries crazy and your eyes will swell
young lady,
you will run down the streets of a city that will consume you
and you will pray it gets to you before they do
and you will age and you will return
maybe for a visit, maybe for a funeral, maybe for an answer
and you will be quieter, softer, and a little less angry
you might not understand why they pinned you in a corner
or locked you in the garage
or tried to quite literally **** you
you might not understand why they bought you plane tickets
and cars and shiny new things
you might be haunted by long car rides, equally terrible in silence or otherwise
"you know we love you"
"i know"
say it back
say it back, you ungrateful *****
you want to complain about how oppressed you are but they gave you everything, didn't they
everything money could buy, right
what else mattered?
**** your spiritual sanity and intangible desires
what kind of hippie nonsense are you whining about this time
ungrateful
******* ungrateful
then leave
run away (again)
you won't have us when you come back
come back
how dare you abandon us
******* ungrateful *****
don't you know we love you
at least say thank you
at least say thank you
at least say thank you
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 9:07 PM UTC
Both parents together, intimate we know,
Delivered the package that started your show.
Millions of visitors, with every shot,
Only one found its way, into the right spot.
Grow and divide, a zygote you be,
Doing it right, someday strong like a tree.
Living inside mom's uterine wall,
Totally dependent, make sure she won't fall.
Placenta forms encasing the egg,
If its a girl, her name will be Peg.
Umbilical cord forms from placenta to me,
A network of vessels carry nutrients to thee.
Things all in place, first trimester is done,
Growing and listening and having some fun!
Learning the sound of moms beating heart,
Already in the family, now playing your part.
Rhythmic and soothing, loving the sound,
Moms gentle voice, you will always be bound.
To answer her call, even late at night,
When her voice is silenced, its a terrible plight.
Amniotic fluid helps you float around,
Spot feels babies presence, you first here his sound.
The water has burst, head against bone,
Mom you ok? I'm hearing you grown.
Stop squeezing my head this is causing me pain!
What's up with this pushing, muscles spasm again.
Turn off the lights, this stimulation can wait,
Getting me warm, this feeling is great.
Hello there new person, I give you my heart,
Hi mother mine, hope we're never apart.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:40 AM UTC
All those eyes
Slowly shedding their skin
Making small circles around each other’s
Substance
The look it seemingly undresses the nights
Ghosts
A blood fest of fists surrounds your head
The aroma of darkness covering my placenta dreams
An empty gun
Lays adjacent to the rooms open view
While in distracted light there appears my punch-drunk sanity
As it devours (all) the shadows
An uneven floor that injects my blood stream with dust and hollow words
Stumbling over you was the answer to my loss of hope
Like running thru graveyards and speaking in silence through tiny pinhole
Mouths and forever living and not finding what may be in stored
The afterglow of solitude
The disjointed smiles that grasps for air
Under your enormous wings of blame
My tonic suggestion to incubate my after birth words
A stillness of heart that shackles
A memory and mortar apprehension I have not escaped
In the long hallways of your past
My own blank stare dissolves in the sunlight
Then it was you
Inhabiting the smaller cracks of my skin
Taking my hurt and
Willingly
Being beautiful in the madness of blind faith
A sordid ball of ugly lights which glisten
And down the path where it leads
To me
You can place your gift to the dead crowd like
Unraveled wire touching your lips
A severed look of ignorance
Beings of soft shells
And broken by spinal cord modifications
The lustful grasp shrouding your heart
Makes its way taking shortcuts through graveyards
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 8:41 AM UTC
rooted into 60s soil
I arrived in the winter
was it my placenta
or did it belong to my mother
either way it was returned to the earth
discarded like so much *******
I have heard its edible
but that would be like eating myself
or eating part of mother
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:25 PM UTC
Label the worldly desires merely a necessity
Live the purpose, just float above this sin city
Sparks of the coils attract into their electricity
Here lies all sadness, it's nothing a felicity
Forces the other coils into mutual inductance
Draws closer if not expressed reluctance
Easy is to fall down when the body's dense
Dodge hazardous wires and move, hence
Consume the meat of their fashion raw
Sharpen the focus, copy their fierce claw
Effective becomes spreading embodying the law
Judge not others, first clear up your flaw
Scrape the soul into a clothing translucent
Devilish whispers dissolved by 70 percent
Introduce oxygen and begin your ascent
Fumes off such reactions diffuse a smell pleasant
Preserves the body, such that as formaldehyde
When the soulless is buried, just to hide
Acts out instructions in his four day ride
Or at least for the acceptance once had tried
Faith feeds through placenta of the heart
Birth, a destined process, transformation a start!
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 5:24 AM UTC
Godless Mornings
Trickle down my *******
The empty thoughts shrivel
Into a pulsating pyramid,
Blushing with ribbons of grief.
Dreams that others hear,
And I cannot see,
Spiral down towards
Shards of glass and the souls of feathers.
Bring me some thoughts
When you come back~
Thoughts of teepees
And of rain.
Bring me a cloud
To hold my tears
And place it on my wrist.
Do you not hear?
I'm asking to let go of this balloon.
Red...follows me.
Please leave--I want to see pinks.
Heavy laughter, dark and foreboding...
That doesn't sound pink.
I'm afraid in the dark...
My coiled dreams will send me to
Laughing Clowns,
Painted Smiles, and Crazed Eyes.
Move...just one finger...
The unknown entity of possession...
Breathe...Breathe...
Bushes in the background
And I pick Lollipops that are
Not Quite Ripe.
The roots are singing "Danny Boy"
And when they get to the
Snow-hushed valleys,
I am asleep
Entwined in their tentacles.
Angel's fish come to wake me...
Don't ask me how
Who's Angel?
I fly through the vents
Into your Room...
And there I shall ever Be,
A placenta protecting my Smile
The Terrible Twos never stop
What is that sound?
Wake up, Love.
I'd rather not--
It looks to be another
Godless Morning.
~christa elise cannon p------.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
I put a baby inside
Of the belly of my Bonney lass bride
Twice
Say the ****** covered by placenta
Looking through her *** to deaths eye
She may live he may die
He may live I'll lose my wife
Through the cream pie I stare down death
Between her ***** holds hemorrhage and life
Bleeding down her c-section
The acreted blood sac could cause infection
Already has
My baby gave multiple blood poisoned hits to her kidney
He's already a fighter I think he'll beat me up. He's going to come out with bigger boots than mine, prolly a bigger ****
Hope they both make it.
I can't fix it
My hands are tied in the cervical opening, my minds wrapped in the emboli cal cord, and my fingers are twiddling thumbs nauseously in Beccas ******
I should take Lornhes place in the amniotic fluid and gag myself in the fetal position
Or I could do what no one does these days.
Be a man of character.
Show him passion, knowledge, courage, and integrity.
Be a Father.
P.S. Son. All dads are letdowns, when you read this one day. I hope I have done my best. I Love You.
Lendon Partain
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:34 PM UTC
The silence is pristine in a shower.
Freely mulling in a cocoon of hot water,
You are safe, in the womb of the moment.
Nourished by this aquatic placenta.
Your mind is set free of the burden of noise,
To meditate and reflect on its own voice.
And grow thee to enlightenment slowly, steadily.
I leave with this advice, bathe thee readily,
For that is the key to life.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
October 10, 1999
I lost a baby.
Mine.
A tragic noxious night.
It’s presence forever taunting.
For it is clear as is one sight.
A part of me died that night.
As my placenta fell to the floor, you were with me...
No more.
Panda~
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 4:22 PM UTC
Cinnamon sonogram
Detect the abnormalities too late.
Morning after birth of
a placebo placenta.
Irrigate the porcelain
of a lost labor laboratory.
Love found not within the arms of
the golem grasping for straws.
-
Wailing a harmony of blue and red.
Pumping panacea.
Steady the pace, you hotheads
with elegant electric veins.
On Monday she sung so sweetly and
whispered her prophet tales.
Saturday appeared as an echoing,
hollow and halfhearted hymn.
-
They retreat in rebellion;
lapping at salt laced lacerations.
Rye, grain, roots, and grapes
for the Baroness of the Barrens.
Weeping waters leads to the
sleeping daughters that dangle
their threats like fishing hooks
off of the edge of a world so flat.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC