"preemie" poems
there are those
who read this stumbling
bumbling
work who are truly
beautiful
compassionate
people
thanks beforehand
for understanding me
without judgement
IN SEARCH OF THE LOST CHORD
i've been searching
all my life
for the lost note
there is a chord in the
cacophonistic chaos
which is my
existence
i simply miss
my otherwise
nimble hands simply
can't bring out
the magic
the music
the majestic
harmonies which
i hear in my mind
but are not translated
to my fingers
i believe it
is due to my assertion
that i was unloved as a child
i was not a planned
pregnancy
my mother fell
on her stomach and
i was a preemie
I was not touched
as an infant due to this
i was in an incubator
i was also
severely neglected as
an older child
due to my mother's
inability to cope
with two very small children
(I was born nearly one year after my sister)
I have also been
TARGETED
for twenty years by
by the
"CHURCH" of SCIENETICS
(name has been changed)
so if I am
slightly dark and
seemingly insane in
certain respects this is why
ONLY GOD CAN HELP ME
I've already learned
not to play my music
drunk or ******
but i am still
in search of the lost chord
♡ love ♡
Catherine
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
If you're really good I might let you see them, that is, if I can find the pointy-toed knitted pink preemie booties some coworker's wife gave my parents....
(sonnet #MMMMMMCXX)
Suppose I'm but a nymph whose sprite in frail
Excuse wars, tangled by long cherished thence
Auld loves, and sorrows which I canna hence
Shrug off. My father aye, and brothers hail
Me as so oddly wont to in betrayl
Don effervescence, whiles griefs own my sense
Of whither, glad to see this warm eye whence
These yellowed fields bask, dead, as if'd avail.
I dabble in the thought of Death as twere,
Like twould thus ransom me from here, though blue
Skies whisper to my soul of yonder fer
All that. Yea, I hate aught, but love each too.
Or praps I hate myself cuz joy is poor
And crimnal, left a prisner, whence I rue.
01Feb17b
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 10:18 PM UTC
There is no more straddling state lines for you.
You are no longer teetering on the edge of
life and death
because you are now deader than my father’s
dead bell heart. You are laying in a morgue and
I am sitting on a train, miles and miles from you. An
early bloomer, a preemie baby boy, you are
one day too soon.
I am watching the trees of Arkansas of Missouri of Illinois
pass me by, but you are being
whisked
and
twirled
and
whirled
through the stars.
(I am trying to imagine what it must feel like to
explode into a supernova, to
implode into a constellation.
I am trying to contemplate what it means to
reach
i n f i n i t y
and
n i h i l i t y
at the same time.)
Careening headfirst towards the midwest, I
am heading towards a home I no longer wish to go. I have
spent my night in a daze between
asleep and awake,
listening to a man snore and a baby cry, and nothing is stopping
me from thinking about the steps in post-mortem care. I have
seen dead bodies before. I have touched dead bodies before.
I do not want to come in contact with yours.
My problem is not that you finally finished your
transition from boy to skeleton,
my problem is that you did so without
asking your mother’s permission. I read the
Book of James the night before your surgery two years ago
and forgot it the very next day. There is nothing I want more
than to swim laps and crochet scarves and write bad poems and
become void of all the information that I currently hold.
I want to forget that I knew you.
I want to forget that I thought I loved you.
I want to forget my attachment to you so it won’t
hurt as bad now that you’re
( d e a d ) .
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
The Dragon's Egg
To understand my addiction
You have to know the
Back-story.
I was born in the dead of
Winter. Wednesday's child...
Full of woe. I was a preemie.
Mom fell on her stomach while
On a chair trying to change a
Lightbulb. As unpreposessing
A child as ever was born...
I won't go into my childhood
Difficulties too much, as they
Might prompt your judgment
Upon my parents. They were
Not really at fault. They did
The best they could based
Upon their childhoods and
Limitations....
Mom was sick.
A great deal. The victim of
Horrific migraine headaches
And an undiagnosed (therefore
Untreated) bi-polar condition.
She had aspirations of being an
Actor. She really should never
Have had three children. She
Simply couldn't handle it. I was
Born only 16 months after her
Firstborn, my sister Chris. This
Definitely didn't help matters.
Then, because my little brother
Mark was born just as her
Acting career took off, she had
Much less time for my sister
And I. She had a newborn, a
Career, a husband and
Postpartum depression. Chris
And I (and eventually Mark)
Were neglected. Not really
Mom's fault. It was what
It was...
Dad was a complex man.
A hot-tempered stoic. A hard
Worker who hated manual
Labor. A war hero who also
Became a runner (he would
Become a severe
Alcoholic - an addiction he
eventually overcame).
A generous miser.
A cultured plebian.
A spiritually minded atheist.
I don't blame him. But the
Last dichotomy was our
Downfall. We were
disallowed from church. Went
To an atheist Sunday School.
We learned about all the world
Religions save Christianity.
Or maybe I missed THAT lesson.
But as a result I had no real
Moral compass to live by. My
Parents tried to teach us
Ethical behavior, but because
Jesus and the Holy Spirit weren't
A part of the equation it was
Doomed to failure. One can't
Simply be "moral" or "ethical".
Without Jesus, we are all
Rank sinners. Sorry if this
Offends some of you. But it's
TRUE. Jesus paid the price.
Only faith in Him can make
A person right with the Father.
All else is vanity. My father
Spent his lifetime trying to be
A "good" man. He tried to
Be a "good" husband. A "good"
Father. But his efforts
Always stymied by lack
Of the essential puzzle piece....
JESUS.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 7:08 PM UTC
One day so long ago it seems I fell in love with you, the best dream out of all my dreams was finally coming true. The months crept by so slow, I thought they'd never end, Motherhood, so much to know, a new life to defend. Six weeks early my time came, and there was so much pain, but I disregarded it, I had so much to gain. I laid there as they worked on me, and I was scared as hell, I hadn't heard my daughter cry, just why I couldn't tell. They wouldn't let me see her, they didn't tell me why, I was behind the eight ball, and i felt like I could cry. They finally let me see her, but not till the next day. She was so tiny, delicate and cute in every way. The first day that I held her, was the best day of my life, but when I had to put her down, it sure cut like a knife. The day I left the hospital a sunny day in May, but I was not so bright inside, my sweetheart had to stay. And now I feel lost at home my nerves on edge and jittery, I sit and hold her teddy bear, and cry to bitterly. I go and see her everyday, but it does not seem fair. I have to walk out every night and leave my baby there.
May 5, 2010
May 5, 2010 at 11:37 AM UTC
To move beyond my darkened confines,
and gaze at the world now by light defined.
Alive outside, on a day with the sky so blue,
white clouds, green leaves, shades of every hue.
Sweet air to breathe since my early birth,
of touch and scent - the things on earth.
The sound of children filling my ear,
of parents and loved ones soon drawing near.
To gaze in wonder at my own worldly visage,
now reflected, at last, in a smooth mirror's image.
But especially, I want to behold my mother,
whose meaning to me is like no other.
The face that is God and the universe for me,
whose vision means love, and allows me to be.
To sense the warmth of that gentle caress,
that calms me down and soothes my distress.
And nourish beneath her soft velvet *****
gaze up at those eyes, whose intent I must fathom.
It is nature's way that she decides my soul's fate,
that I die alone , or make heaven wait.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
I lie here, as God intended to be,
for better or worse, shouldn't he judge me?
A chance of nature was how I was created,
but now that I'm here, should my life be debated?
The right of the living is my simple defense,
to play out my time regardless of consequence.
Perhaps a future of suffering, sorrow or pain,
or the joy and comfort where love remains.
But, whatever the reason of my earthly flight,
I come from the Father to claim that right.
Jan 8, 2019
Jan 8, 2019 at 12:24 PM UTC
I was born premature
I came out tiny, skinny,
A whopping 3 pounds and whatever ounces
My parents told me they didn't expect me to have full use of my lungs
But I did
Premature babies don't grow very quickly in early childhood
But I don't think I ever saw that
I mean I always knew I was small
But I never realized how small
Looking back at all the pictures of me,
I was always the smallest, skinniest, and shortest kid around
The boys would scoop me up and carry me down the halls,
But not in the cute princess way
It was more of tossing around a toy
And I'd sit there kicking the hell out of them screaming to put me down
But it never occurred to me there was a reason I was so small
It was fourth grade and I weighed a whopping 47 pounds, the boys still carried me off, and I still didn't take it
Turns out, puberty wouldn't hit me like it would hit all the other girls
In fact, there wasn't even a need for my mom to have "the talk" with me
In fact, at seventh grade I didn't know what the hell a period was
I didn't even where bras.
In fact the first day of high school I wasn't wearing a bra!
And I cried the first day when I realized that holy **** everyone had bras on and I didn't even own one
And to my dismay I realized my mom had actually bought my little sister bras, but I didn't have any
And I was the point of interest at hushed family get togethers
Hearing hushed conversations like
Poor baby, it obviously won't happen any time soon
Im sure she will catch up
And I certainly didn't realize why my little sister was taller than me, bigger than me, and now curvier than me!
That was my job ******
And my favorite was when my mom introduced us to friends and they would always ask my younger sister how high school was and I would have to interrupt and say "Hi I'm the oldest actually"
I never thought it to do with the timing of my birth
But now I'm discovering that it turns out preemies are at high risk for physical developmental problems, learning disabilities (especially with math), ADHD, depression, psychosis, and anxiety in the teenage years
And much more likely if the birth weight was under 4 pounds! (Me)
But just like when I was four and the boys carried me and took turns lifting me off my feet
I won't let it stop me
I won't let it get to me
Being a preemie is tough.
Especially when you were born as early as I was, and as small as I was
I'll always look younger, I'll never look my own age, and I'll never be very curvy,
But I guess that's just something to add to the list of things that are supposed to hold me back.
I won't let them
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 2:21 AM UTC
I was a preemie.
Fate tried to **** me
Before I was born.
My poor beleaguered mom
Fell off a chair while pregnant
With me... thus did I come
Into the world.
Beat up from the feet up
And lookin' like a prune...
My childhood was horrific.
I have huge holes in memory.
I can only tell you I was
Starved of love and terribly
Neglected. Mercifully
I don't recall the molestation
And assault I know I endured.
It wasn't my parent's fault.
My father worked 16 hour days
And mom had blinding migraines.
And undiagnosed behavioral
Health problems. She is bi-polar.
But what I remember most vividly
Are the trips to visit my mother's
Sister and her family.
In the Sangre De Cristo
Mountains of New Mexico
Up above Taos.
My mind touched furred mountains
And inhaled the aromas
Of sounds... aspen's disc leaves
Sibilantly soughing
And the Red River flowing
Through resplendent green.
Indian paintbrush and columbine
Sparking on the verges of roads
And nodding their soft blue heads
Respectively.
Once we took a hike to
Horseshoe lake, and
Caught flashing trout,
Their scales making rainbows
To grace their silver sides.
We ate well that night!
On the way home it rained.
A cold, piercing downpour
That soaked our clothes.
All the other kids cried.
But not me.
I was in fairyland.
Coming from the
Sonoran desert I've always
Loved the rain...
The rest of my life I fared
Little better as far as fate
Meted me out a VERY tough
Hand. But I remember
The long hikes on Venice Beach
boardwalk... I walked 8-10 miles
A day. And lost a total of 138 lbs.
I've had to fight like Muhammad Ali
For every square inch of joy.
But I still float like a butterfly...
... and I really try to put a cap
On my stinger. I have one.
But I want to go through this life
As wise as a serpent... gentle as a dove.
Because now I know that
all I've gone through
Had a definite purpose.
I'm a Blues Brother's sister...
... on a mission from God.
*But it's never about ME.
IT'S ABOUT
H I M.*
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) September 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
*I doubt,
I woke up this morning with doubt
I doubt I would ever find happiness
In a spike smoothie
I am being driven more toward;
the sea madness
I doubt I will ever take that trip to California
Or print my name on the wall of Jericho
because of the Israelites;
I doubt I would ever buy that $3000 Gucci bag
Just to empty out my account
I doubt I will ever swim in the ocean, again
my courage always rises with
every attempt to intimidate me.
I doubt I will ever walk the lonely street late at night again
If a pervert **** his mother,
No doubt what he would do to me
For him I am a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.
I doubt I would ever be able to write a sonnet, because
The feeling of frustration comes as a result
of my mixed emotional states
My parents doubted that I would have never made it this far
Because most micro preemie baby never survived
I doubt, doubt would never leave my side
Through the pain, through the doubt, here I am
today the doubtful unknown poet*
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC
You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.
Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.
The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.
How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?
The living god was to
become a marbled statue.
Jan 24, 2017
Jan 24, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC