"repopulate" poems
Many have walked the path of life only to be cut down violently. I can hear the voices of the dead whispering their last words. A trace of their souls forever stationary in time. Can you walk past a graveyard of white crosses protecting those who fought for freedom. When you do do your eyes remain level and thank whoever it is that you pray to that such men lived. We should not be thankful that such men died for freedom but rather we should be grateful that such men lived. Or when you walk past that graveyard do your eyes blur as if you see right past the lost selfishly thinking better them than yourself. I say let the voices of the dead ring into the stillness of the night and awaken every living person. Let the voices chastise and haunt the living. Let the living know that we are still here and we must act. We can no longer sit back as if the world does not concern us. As if the spread of disease and death across the African continent is someone else's problem. As if the slaughter in Cambodia and Vietnam are but the problems of tribal people. Or the slave trade which runs rampant in South America along with the disease of man into madness of drugs. Or the constant gang warfare which spreads in our own nation. Are these gangs any different then the very terrorist which we fight in the middle east. They **** and terrorise in the hopes of personal glory and living a lustful selfish life. Let us put an end to the ******** and apathy which reside in the so called European Union. Which cares nothing of the problems of the world, which vetos every vote to make the world a little safer. Or the starvation of the North Koreans under the madness of the tyrannt. The oppression of so many people in the middle east by by the hands of their masters. Treating their women as mear slaves to which to repopulate the country, tools of breeding. Using their children as instruments of warfare. Is that what we fight for. Is that what the dead whisper, or rather are the dead tired of the living **** Listen closely and you will hear the dead speaking into the realm of time and history.
Nov 25, 2010
Nov 25, 2010 at 5:03 PM UTC
Many hundred aeons travelled,
Over many days.
Though I know, with certainty,
Just where all my love stays.
Like a bee to pollen, it is
Instinct, finding you,
As, if somewhere else it went,
All life would turn askew.
So give me all your nectar and
The usual clichés.
Pollinate, repopulate,
Until the end of days.
I promise not to sting you
If you promise not to *****
For when it comes to both our love
No honey is as thick.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
After the doomsday
Our relationship
Wasn't much left
My heart turned into a barren wasteland
No signs of life
Zero survivors
All feelings that used to flood my body had fallen victim to the slow disease poisoning my flesh called heartbreak
There was a deadly epidemic
No emotion was spared
Widespread and timely demise
From the word "goodbye"
Now living through each day is torture
Within a huge desert landscape I roam
To find a way to repopulate my soul with happiness again
The apocalypse ended up being a real *****
Sep 20, 2020
Sep 20, 2020 at 1:46 AM UTC
Exterminate
repopulate
overcompensate and
so exterminate
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
People always wondered why I grow plants
shouldn't I be cultivating children?
they always look at me dumbfounded when I ask them this question..
"what is the difference between growing plants and growing children?"
They gave me the most obvious answers
"hello, it's freakin plants. They can't talk, they don't have no emotions, you can't use love to "make" them,and they are boring"
What they said was mostly true, as their answers came from a surface of understanding.
But actually plants can talk.Without their communications skills they wouldn't be able to survive and repopulate
plus I'm not actually a talker
they do have emotions. Their desire to always want to taste the marvelous sun is their happiness as well as when they get depressed when they don't have the sun or each other.
"I can't use love to "make" them" Well isn't that ignorant as if I didn't "love" these plants in the first place I would had never "made" them. You don't exactly need two humans to make love
and the most dreadful thing to say was that they were boring. Well they must be the most interesting creatures as I see them more than I see you
So while my parents left after being disappointed of what I'm doing with my life
I went back to planting some plants
the happiest thing that gives me life
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 8:56 AM UTC
When we last saw Noah,
He was about to embark
On a long, stormy journey
Aboard his mighty ark.
For forty days and nights
The heavens constantly drained
Their waters upon the earth,
For it rained and rained and rained--
Covering the towering Mt. Everest,
And the great Kilimanjaro.
Noah exclaimed, "It's raining
Like there's no tomorrow!"
Ham and Shem said, "Dad,
With our small, measly crew,
Feeding one million species
Is kind of hard to do."
Noah pointed outside
And looked at his sons and said,
"I suppose instead of in HERE,
You'd rather be out there--dead!"
That shut up the boys
Who attended to their tasks,
Saying, "We're feeding the lions
In case anyone asks."
Shem whispered to Ham,
"I like that lion, but she
Is always licking her chops
Whenever SHE sees ME!"
Ham said, "That kangaroo,
Who looks so calm and mellow,
Has a nasty kick.
He's not a very nice fellow."
After many days,
The waters receded; then Yay!
They were back on dry land;
All could go their own way.
The Bengal tigers went east;
The penguins headed south;
The skunks and beavers went west--
According to word of mouth.
Noah grabbed an animal
For a sacrifice quick and succinct,
And turned to his sons saying, "Oops!
I JUST made one species extinct."
Ham, Shem, and Japheth,
Had little time for mirth,
For now it was up to them
To repopulate the earth.
Growing grapes for wine
To Noah was time well spent,
Until he got drunk and naked--
All sprawled out in his tent.
Walking in on his father,
Ham saw a sight not so splendid
And ended up with a *** deal--
(Silly pun intended)--
For Noah cursed poor Ham
For having walked in on him.
So what if a guy saw him naked;
Hadn't he been to a gym?
Actually, the curse
Was more on Canaan, Ham's son.
How had poor Canaan managed
To be the guilty one?
I guess that's the nature of curses;
They don't always make much sense.
There also wasn't a lawyer
To come to Canaan's defense.
To live to be 950
Requires a very strong ticker.
But Noah had a weakness:
Trouble holding his liquor.
- by Bob B
*Sequel to "Noah's Dilemma"
Oct 15, 2016
Oct 15, 2016 at 3:02 PM UTC
people operate under the wild belief that
survivors are strong by nature
strong is a weak word
adaptable is better
The meek shall inherit the earth
the strong will die trying to save it
Me? I’m a survivor
an actor master of disguise
playing the part of a self-righteous anti-hero
but when the bombs start falling
you aren’t coming in my bomb shelter
hell no
and when the mobs are chasing us
I’m tripping you for a few more precious seconds
too stubborn to die quite yet
but don’t worry
when the dust has settled
and the cults have left their caves
to repopulate this rock
I’ll tell the story of your heroic sacrifice
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 11:40 AM UTC
Her lips were soft,
Moist as Her clothes fell off
Anxious I would never be lost
In the maze of Her loft.
Crawling around in the dark,
Wrestling with who we are.
Thinking that if the world were to end,
We could repopulate the ark.
Slowly losing sight of Her heart as I
try furiously to split Her apart.
Sweating swearing turning yearning
Trying to be smart.
But it is beaten by an evil lurking somewhere in the start.
I just wanted to remain inside of Her for a lifetime,
Remembering that the only love She had ever felt was mine
as I finish up just in time to avoid his eyes.
I'm sure Her boyfriend is still quite blind,
Just how much She shines without him in mind.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 5:43 AM UTC
The permafrost recedes and the animals peeking their heads out of the burroughs they were buried in and they begin their quest for a lover, to repopulate the species again and to feed after the long harsh winter, and to gain experience and memories of how to do so.
The frosty winds turn cool and the sun warms their faces and souls. The hope of meeting their potential partners are enough to defrost and soothe the ice on their coats, rendering them capable to breed. With their legs stretched and active, they search.
They hunt and breed for the whole spring within their respective community. The revirie of their population gaining on other predators give them a better chance for survival amongst all odds.
I have been buried in ice for thousands of years. I have been waiting for my turn to hunt and search for my lover, my community, and my wife. I have been straggling behind my species for a lifetime.
Is it my turn yet?
Is it my chance to do well amoungst the Mohikans?
I certainly hope so.
Happy Spring, poets.
Mar 27, 2017
Mar 27, 2017 at 11:24 PM UTC
The arc is long and it bends towards -
and then away and seems to circumvent the gateway to better, to truer and rather it dips and, for some unfathomable reason, detours through bone aching drivel which we sit through lest we cause offence and in defence we smile until someone offers a glass and we can distract the conversation to something real and relevant and alive – preferably with alcohol.
The arc is long and it bends towards -
and then it rainbows, so you’d think that there’d be no excuse but to look up and wonder at the way in which each colour blends, leaving no distinct edge, no start or finish, leaving you in no doubt why spectrum is an apt term to capture diversity with harmony, and leaving you staring curiously while the world walks on, heads down, focusing on the familiarity of their grey, woollen comfort zones.
The arc is long and it bends towards -
the other side, it crosses divides, where bridges were long fractured, and diversions had left the land desolate - and now we can repopulate, reconnect and proliferate something that binds a kindlier fraternity wedded to justice indiscriminately.
The arc is long,
bending, not broken.
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 4:12 PM UTC
As a young gal I married a much older boy,
he was 8 and the love of my life.
Then we divorced when I met Nathaniel;
his blue eyes and love of trains were dreamy to say the least
we never spoke much though
the marriage was unrequitted.
Today I love only writing
people are too animal to keep commitments,
they must eat and hunt and reproduce to repopulate
words simply listen and convey
can be flaky at times when there isn't a word to describe an idea
but at the end of the day
words will not die
unless they are latin
and when enough are written
you will never feel lonliness or discomfort
but only inner peace and relief.
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
*Sis.
A story of sibling love.
By
Jude kyrie
Hey honey you're sixteen.
You're almost a woman.
Wow what happened here?
It seemed like just yesterday
You danced out the womb
To bug me your older brother
Can I come with you?
No it's not for kids
Why?
Get your coat then.
You always got your way with me.
Half my clothes were missing
Found in your room.
I like this shirt you said.
These tee shirts are nicer than mine.
Then you were twenty four.
Wow what happened to you.
You're a Mom honey.
He looks like just like you
she said.
He just spat up his milk
I replied.
You started looking a bit like mom
But you looked great love.
Then you were thirty
That kid turned into three more
It's bedlam in here honey.
Are you two planning to
Repopulate the earth
all on your own
I love you Sis
At thirty four the divorce
You guys all moved into my house.
Its a good job I was still single Sis.
These kids are noisy.
But your always welcome here love
Always.
Then at forty the hospital.
Hold my hand honey.
I will take you through this.
I said.
You're not going to lose
to that crab sign love.
We are not ready to lose you.
I brought you my favorite shirt
It aways looked better
on you anyway Sis.
Four years later
We visit your grave
On mother's day.
We lost you Sis.
But we still love you.
I got your four kids Sis.
They are getting all grown up.
Angel looks just like you.
You would have been so proud
They are great kids honey.
They call me Dad.
I am not getting any of my own.
I do my best with them.
They keep me busy Sis.
No I never did get married
Don't pretend you didn't know
I was Gay Sis.
I **** well miss you honey.
I gave our shirt to angel
She loves it and won't take it off
See you soon Sis
I love you honey.*
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
On the first day of the last week
A girl wrapped in gold did appear
She whispered to the people of the land
Who knew their ending was near
She softly uttered these words:
"This can all be avoided still
The destruction, the chaos
The end all be all"
The people shouted and cursed
Throwing rocks and casting stones
They all wanted to just return home
Each worldly word fell on deaf ears
For the rocks and stones clouted
The girl of gold with fear
On the second day of the final week
A boy clothed in silver did appear
He spoke to the people of the land
For he knew of the crimes they committed the day before
"You can repair the damages done
But only within one last day
You still somehow have hope"
The mayor of these people
Stepped forth and pleaded with
His kin, his brethren
But his words fell on deaf ears
For he and the boy of silver
Were slaughtered by once innocent people
On the third day of the final week
A screaming light tried to save them
But the darkness of the hearts of the land
Swallowed the light without thought
Days later
On the final day of the final week
The world was visited by the four who died
Each voice was powerful
Each voice was echoing
The people had been warned
But now their choices came back for hauntings
Each rush of negativity ever uttered
On the now barren earth
Fueled the four deities who had tried to help
And their great power
Engulfed the world in flames
On the first day of the first week after the final week
The grass was replenished
The sky was once again clear
The poison that rushed through the veins of those people
Finally eradicated
A new race emerged slowly
To repopulate the world
But they had not yet been created
So all that rested on the
First day of the first week after the final day of the final week
On a perfect green hill
Under a perfect blue sky
Grew a single flower
Seven petals
One for each day of the week
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 11:39 PM UTC
Of Anchor babes he cries foul
but it seems an empty howl.
Just look at HIS life
A Serbian “Anchor” wife!
Plus a Russian first spouse
what a hypocritical louse.
And He reveres Vladimir
why, He holds him so dear.
His claims of innocence belie
perhaps HE’S the Russian spy.
Give Donny the code?
not well does that bode -
He’ll repopulate the earth
using his daughter with mirth!
Heaven forbid we elect this toad
for our fair States it’s the wrong road.
He’ll be busy building a wall
while the crazed shooter's at the mall.
With this whacko in charge
and his cabinet at large
All we’ve worked for is gone
while the lemmings follow the “Don”
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 3:04 AM UTC
I've built a bomb shelter type crawl space for us to hunker down in when the world blows up. If that isn't the ultimate proof of my love I don't know what is.
Sure you'll end up pooping in a bucket and washing in recycled *** but **** it woman, you will be alive.
You know how they say a person could get so hungry they would eat dog food. Well I left us mostly dog food. That way we can skip right to that sort of situation and experience it first hand. If that isn't the ultimate act of love I don't know what is.
You Know how you said you wouldn't have *** with me if I was the last man on earth? With only you and me in the bomb shelter, we'll have a chance to test that theory. Besides, it might be up to us to repopulate the world so that's going to mean making babies which requires lots of *** Sacrifices must be made. It's our duty. Count me in.
I'll have to extract a pint of blood a week from you to feed the crickets. Later to grind them up as cricket meat. Cricket burgers, cricket burritos. We'll mix it with the dog food for a unique pate'. Toss them in your mouth when snacking, like popcorn. And yes, crickets make noise but so did Beethoven.
Plus it will be cold down there in the bomb shelter but blankets take up so much room there won't be many. We'll have to spoon at night to share our body heat. It only makes sense. To share our body heat. Spoon at night. Body heat...Oh yeah...
Anyway, where was I? Oh right. So I dug you a bomb shelter to survive in, just in case the world goes kablooey. Maybe I'll even be the one who blows up the earth so we can be together. Now if that isn't the ultimate act of love I don't know what is.
Jan 30, 2020
Jan 30, 2020 at 9:36 PM UTC
when I was a kid
the graveyard across town
the one my father rests in
was significantly smaller
decades later it is quite big
and growing
because time is not slowing
and neither are we
where ever we are going
does not matter
because in the end
we become a spec scattered
across the land
and what if instead of burial plots
we were buried with seeds
that grew into beautiful things
we could save the bees
or the oxygen we breathe
what if as we die we repopulate rain forests
instead of taking up land people need?
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Whats so cool about ***
Why do people want it so bad
Is it because we talk about it so much
Why does it drive people mad
It has the power to make a good person perverse
It can make a man ****
But all for what
For a duty to fulfill
To repopulate
Is it simply what we are made to do
Or is it something totally exempt from all dimensions of knowledge
It does not make sense if im being true
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 3:55 PM UTC
you asked me one day
"zombie apocalypse, three people
who do you take?"
my first thought was you
so we could repopulate
but that's not what i would say
i'd just laugh and turn away
give you someone else's name
and make up an excuse like
he's probably good with a blade
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
How many women here
have been impregnated
by Elon Musk? looking for hands
He plans to repopulate the planet
single handedly - well, not handed
exactly - you know what I mean.
In Australia, great swaths of Texas,
and of course Mar-a-Lago, he’s a serial offender,
because his ***** is legal tender.
Factoid: you might catch a disease,
he’s sleeping with everyone north of Belize
and several of them, frankly, look ******
Of course, you’d have to listen to him talk. shivers
Unless you say, “Hey, can we do this without conversation?”
That’s when you’d slip on your sleep mask, and, well, you know.
But what would you be thinking about?
.
.
FUN! by KiNG MALA [E]
BLOODONTHETIMBS by Bren Joy [E]
Mar 3, 2025
Mar 3, 2025 at 10:40 AM UTC
When two is one
And one is nought
What is the magic
That makes one comport
What it is to calculate
The thing that makes us
Repopulate.
Oct 29, 2024
Oct 29, 2024 at 3:51 PM UTC