"ultrasound" poems
You do the math and I'll provide the irrationals,
as I tend to cling to panic in the asymmetry of life.
In this Twenty-First century women still suffer
from laws streaming out of councils of men.
These are not self-stabbing heroines,
they do not ask the heavy deluge of derision.
They are faced with laws stemming from an abbatoir,
from men who wish to usurp the birthright.
Men who have become strangers to their own mothers,
men whose ***** dispense a fouled milk,
men who deserve an **** ultrasound colonoscopy.
So, I beg you to balance the inequality of the equation,
gather our sisters in this non-Euclidean space:
this is one we solve by inspection!
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 10:57 PM UTC
As I read a Facebook post
I immediately get angered...
Someone had announced they were expecting their 4th child, they found out with a girl...
They went for another ultrasound and to their surprise it wasn’t a girl after all
It was a boy (“it” was hiding)
They posted a status saying “feeling emotional”
“Felling depressed “
I thought to myself “why?” Your having a healthy baby...
I continued to read and it says..
“ We are depressed because we wanted a baby girl, please pray for us during this difficult time and we now adjust to having another boy”
I was confused because your blessed to have another child as so many (like myself) aren’t blessed to have children...
I understand you were happy when you were told it was a girl, but to post your upset and please pray for us?
I don’t understand that part....
Many people around the world would be overjoyed to have a child and your depressed over this....
So sad, especially when you write this on a social media site for all to see...
I pray that you love this healthy child and come to realize how blessed you are to have baby #4......
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
when the lace
from my shirt
fell away,
you helped me
tie it back
together,
even though i know
you'd love to love me
uncovered
i knew,
you cradled
the scars
the sunlight
gave me,
you kissed
between my ribs
where the swollen
skin lay tender,
you would have
stitched them up
if you knew how
i remember
the ultrasound
my fingers took
of your heart,
i could see it
beating
red and angry
in your chest,
trying to
unfasten the ties
that held it inside
my palms
were hot, but
they healed you
my scabbed knuckles
brushed over your eyes
and you settled
into me like a gasp,
slowly but alive
sweetheart,
i would
end the earth
in one swift movement
if i could watch
the asteroids fall
in your eyes
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 7:07 PM UTC
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.
Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.
So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
I sipped upon your creative juices,
and drowned, another finger,
into that gory darkness
of thought;
these canopies breathe softly,
as I curl my fingers
and straighten my eyelids
to take another nap;
Yet that dying fetus haunts me-
it’s misted face still echoes
as an unwanted ultrasound,
of bubbling cysts;
I tried ******
yet the spirals scream:
in this pregnant mind-
and refuse;
So deal with me-
You’re mine.
Yet,
You’re born
...and never alive;
Oct 13, 2009
Oct 13, 2009 at 11:31 PM UTC
<!>
inspired by a conversation with Maira Kalman
strap on a name, adopt a persona, let my fingers do the talking,
place the instrumental sharp point tip upon the blankety blank paper,
maestro baton raised, coordinating,
the first sound, the vocal chords trembling,
the first thought, the ultrasound image, entrance of a first violin,
coalescing into, into the initializing single primary phonation,
the stinging geometry of chance at last,
throwing down the gauntlet, glove slapping, and the
tendons tense, the mouth opens, release and indentation,
a letter's curvature, a black and white downward stroking,
a sign is televised, revealed and released
a one way only sign
time bends knee, gravity suspended, terror morphs to
expelling rapid firefights of imagery needy for spacing,
even pauses mid-word leave just this:
where is the in in
intimate?
are you the in in
inmate,
or the jailor at the gate?
you swear never again
until committing once more,
a sentence commutation, by committing a first sentence,
and the greater toll taken and paid for,
and the in in in-nate,
questions your sanity
happily
<•>
9/17/17 10:55pm
Jan 12, 2018
Jan 12, 2018 at 3:47 PM UTC
The Joy of Ultrasound!
Drink a lot my dear they said.
As fluid made a picture.
Hazy imagery.
Heaven's own creation.
Echoes bounced, as picture back.
Beautiful image as yet unborn.
Sitting in a darkened room.
Seeing normal limbs.
Marked out four chambers.
Cordant
Brimmed with love.
Infiltrated full with blood.
Organs not of music.
Silent as in-vitro.
Visualised a photograph.
Captured on the screen.
Un petit-fils enroute.
Ma fille elle-même une petite fille.
Life anew.
Enters my world.
Due on the 4th of April!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 1:31 PM UTC
.
She walked naked into the woods,
where the moonlight danced with fog.
Where an owl competes with a coyote,
the rush of the creek drowns out a dog.
Fascinations overwhelmed her,
she just wanted to know.
Then a future reading of an ultrasound
appeared from within the glow.
She looked beyond the stars above,
as Saturn's colors began to swirl.
She thanked God and she walked back home,
she now knows that it's a girl.
.
Jan 31, 2010
Jan 31, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
He lives in his farm house by the hills, his
quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Oh he’s a scientist, and
he grafts his poem trees; Beautiful plumes do
they grow for flowers, which fly out eastward
every morning; Well now he does, the sweet
fruit of these: eat poems to live? Silencing
those who asked him once. Oh and some of the
plants can talk: beyond our hearing, ultrasound.
Penetrating objects our eyes otherwise.
see not: stones; metals; oh don’t we carry
venoms of hatred in metal tubes of
veins crossing our hearts, conveying darkness
across the seas? These poem trees, talking, can
see through. And tell, when some leaks out, causing
fires, and deaths in a school or train station.
Quiet life of contentment, seeking, creating,
discovering; Living in his farm house
by the hills. His work at http://dreamtube.stream
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
The divine gave the birth certificate of an angel to my veins
When the redness of Lamb's blood wrote on the walls of my heart.
It was on the finger of the Most High.
The doctors murmured I had to be cut out.
They pointed to me in the ultrasound and said to the surgeon: Cut it out.
Because otherwise the suspense of the womb would unborn me dead.
They say what the Lord gives He takes away
The doctors determined the only thing a normal birth could give
Would be to take me from myself
So that only a headstone would remain.
That stone would not cry out
But be silent, forever
The only place my name would appear
Would be in tearful sighs
And marked stones.
But imagine if that name was a question
That only worship could answer
The finger of the Lord scribbled Michael
Because He heard that cry.
Imagine that my other name was a statement that hoped I would live.
That prayed I would count as belonging to the land of the living.
Have strength like a rock
And not just a name on a stone.
The finger of the Lord etched Binka.
On the wall of a heart
That was made of living, precious stones.
God said I will redeem your hope.
So that when I was held
It was the first time since the beginning
I did not face the option of being disembodied
Now I had to be strength embodied
I would not ever have to claw myself back into the womb
Because I always climbed out into life
And now there is no turning back.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
These are days of change.
Eggshell cracks,
Sun rising differently.
Sometimes I put my ear to
The ground and listen.
Heartbeat choirs of
Our unborn children.
Seeds of poets.
Write love; not war.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
Thirteen week bump,
Thirty four week lump.
Tummy flutters,
Excited mutters.
Boy or a Girl,
Ultrasound swirl.
"Wow! Congratulations".
Silent commiserations...
Her friends all excited,
and she not invited.
Scream at the smiling,
hurt from the beguiling,
of the unknowing monsters.
The mothers and fathers,
of children not quite existing,
egg like and nesting.
They don't know her agony,
being in perfect anonymity.
but it eats her insides,
like a child that resides,
or once did.
So she logs off of Facebook
Where she can only look
and then logs back on again
Does she enjoy this pain?
One day she cracked
and her emotions hacked
through her rational thought
and she gasps like fish just caught
Shhh, It is okay. It is okay
one point seven second delay
Delete it now.
You stupid cow!
What were you thinking?
Oh you've been drinking.
Facebook friends
and their mid twenty trends
You will have yours one day
Like Anne, who was thirty three?
Just log off now and get on with life.
I can't... Oh look Hannah has a wife!
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 4:24 PM UTC
A frat boy's superficial nightmare
selfishly appropriates the dance floor with her all too big of a ***
with two legs like a grand piana
thank God mommy didn't name her “Hannah”
she ain't too nifty
but tries with the hope of one day weighing less than 250
with her love handles only do so with extreme caution
don't you dare mention how you sit next to her in a class of 60
though her desk is situated at the other end of the room
tell her she's pretty
but move into ultrasound when completing the phrase with a direct reference to plump or ugliness laugh if you find this funny
and don't if you don't
but don't don't don't tell me to leave subversion
to people who actually know how it works
because I do
but I do not think it's appropriate to call this satire
because it's so close to what I've heard and what so many young women hear on a daily basis
so please
remember your acne
your pygmy genitalia
and the embarrassing fact that you
and the last carbon-based life form you had as a ****** partner
share a set of grandparents
be a gentleman
keep your chauvinistic squeals to a minimum as you compare such women out of your league
to pigs because your tail couldn't be more of a spiral at this point
*******
get out of the way to make room for us sea cows
immaturity
jealousy
****** frustration aside
whether you like it or not
this is where we ******* swim
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:48 PM UTC
Why would you ask me if I'm okay
Don't I look like I'm okay
And stop calling me Jacqueline
I’m not Jacqueline anymore
No, I was never Jacqueline,
But I didn’t realize that when I was younger
And who do I ask about my gender
Don’t tell me God
I have spent so long praying
There are depressions in the floorboards from where my knees collided with faith
But I don’t think I have faith anymore
God doesn’t answer my prayers anymore
Why doesn’t god answer my prayers?
I know for a fact God answers my friends’ prayers
why doesn’t He answer mine
I think it’s because He doesn’t love his queer children
I think God needs to go to a PFLAG meeting
Or at least one needs to be held in a church so He can hear the words of acceptance echoing throughout his house
Mom told me they didn’t know if I was a boy or a girl until I was born
But I still don’t know
Let’s do an ultrasound on the part of my brain that decided not to feel like a girl
I must have decided
But I don’t remember doing it
I told my friend I didn’t feel like a girl,
She laughed and said, “I know, you feel like a woman.”
I told my friend I didn’t feel like a girl, and she said, “Not so loud, I don’t want my parents to hear.”
And she was right, because at some point “gender” became a dirtier word than ***
Because even though her parents won’t admit it, they wouldn’t kick her out if she was having *** as long as it wasn’t with someone of the same ***
And I’m in a same *** relationship with God
Because in religion class they told me He was genderless
But we still call God “He”
People still call me she
But I’ve never told them different
They said we’re all created in God’s image,
But I think I’m not
Because God doesn’t make mistakes.
No, I’m not okay
And stop calling me Jacqueline.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
there’s a lullaby the wind chimes used to hum as i sat outside my house. i observed synodic epiphanies in the sky until all i could do was make a dot-to-dot of your face out of the stars that were almost as intangible as you are and as you always were.
i always found myself searching for traces of you everywhere. the sound of your voice as a symphonic ultrasound echoing from the wind chime to me, just for me. your effervescent hazel eyes (you always insisted they were brown but i’d studied them as a psychologist studies mental health) but you never came.
and trust me, i waited --
i waited for so much as a murmur or a rustled blade of grass when the world stood still and i waited in the morning, the afternoon and i waited all night.
i waited all **** night in nothing but a pair of leggings (you told me i looked “pretty sweet” in them once) and your jumper, the jumper you left at my house on may 16th. hummingbirds were the highlight of your morning and the highlight of my morning was always you.
you made scrambled eggs with milk and only a dash of pepper because too much gave you an itchy throat and then you took my hand and we slow danced along to the sound of the microwave; it was like a heavy duty drill begging to explode but we didn’t care.
i wore your jumper then the way i’m wearing it now, except i’ve tucked my hands into my sleeves because yours aren’t there to hold anymore.
i always found myself not only searching for traces of you everywhere but also searching for you in everybody i've ever met (and probably everybody i ever will meet). where’s that succulent sense of humour? where’s that desirable distaste for all humans besides me? you were intangible but somehow tangible to me and i mused over your ability to turn me from a servant into a queen but my gratitude overwhelmed me too much to question it, or you.
your name is euphonious;
i swirl it around my mouth like expensive champagne.
my stomach can tolerate neither.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 7:22 PM UTC
another week
another doctor
It could be nothing
It could be everything
You could have a test
You could stop it now
But in grey ultrasound
We gazed at your face
A wriggled shift
To a comfier place
There's no going back
No not now
Your a child of us both
And we'll love you somehow
Jan 24, 2010
Jan 24, 2010 at 9:48 PM UTC
I used to think this a term for athletes
Late in their careers
Past their prime
Yet I sit here now
Looking at the pill dispenser
Filled to the brim each day
Not long ago I didn’t even own one
Until the litany of trials and tribulations began
A never ending trail to doctors
Blood and ***** tests,
CT scan, then MRI, followed by
an endoscopy and an Ultrasound
Now four separate ailments identified
The fifth without a diagnosis
Stealth, planning an untimed attack
No grandparents, parents, uncles left
A dear high school friend gone at an early age
My buddy for many years departed
Now this
My youngest brother passing
Far before his time
A two week cold or flu sapping my energy
Then some bug decides to invade
So I curtail eating, on mostly fluids now
I feel weak
And exhausted
And washed up
Andreas Simic©
Jun 17, 2022
Jun 17, 2022 at 7:24 AM UTC
You are the piano in my throat
You are the harp in my hands
You are the drum in my heart
You are the tune that understands
You are the violin in my mind
You are the theremin in my third eye
You are the whisper of an ultrasound
You are the chorus that never sings goodbye
You are the sacred note I've found
Listen, listen, listen
To your sound
O how marvelous you are
Like lightning against the sky
The music of your soul echoes
Against all of creation
Nature looks back at you
Her breeze is her hands
That comfort your anger
Her thunder is a smile
That soothes your pain
Her rain is there to
Teach you how to
Forgive yourself
Again and
Again
My sweet Music Box
You don't ever have to leave me
You will never forget how to sing
Like a bee on the seashore
Crawling towards the never ending ocean
The impossible salty sea
I will be here to guide you
Towards the light
Back to your life
Let me be your sonic boom
Let me be your favorite room
Let me wind your Music Box
So we can sing your
Favorite tune
You are the piano in my throat
You are the harp in my hands
You are the drum in my heart
You are the tune that understands
You are the violin in my mind
You are the theremin in my third eye
You are the whisper of an ultrasound
You are the chorus that never sings goodbye
You are the sacred note I've found
Know this by heart and
Listen, listen, listen
To your sound
You are the Music Box that I designed
Sing along with me
Listen to our chime
Listen to our bell
Listen to the psalm
That together we unveil
We are the sheet music of ravens
Perched like notes on wires
Across the skies as the
Sunrise inspires
Our call
We run with the magic
Of a brilliant ballad
We vibrate
We shake
We earthquake
Through it all
In between rocks
We are meteors and comets
My Music Box
We rock and roll
In this canticle
We are the original
The golden oldie
Of the galaxy
Be my anthem
I'll be your hymn
Listen, listen, listen
To your sound again
You are the piano in my throat
You are the harp in my hands
You are the drum in my heart
You are the tune that understands
You are the violin in my mind
You are the theremin in my third eye
You are the whisper of an ultrasound
You are the chorus that never sings goodbye
You are the sacred note I've found
You are the fire of a thousand choirs
You are the ecstasy
The Universe
Desires
© tHE tERRY tREE
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
Grammy is an Empath, clairsentient old soul
Mommy is an Indigo, not sure if she knows
I was born a Rainbow Bear to make the planet whole
Together we will change the world, at least that is our goal
Grammy plays with honeybees, loves entomology
Mommy is a healer, she gets it naturally
I'm completely fearless, we all are HSP
At least we’re slightly different, on that we can agree
Grammy hears the trees speak, scream when they are down
Mommy sees the unborn babes by using ultrasound
I sensate most creatures before they come around
We hope to stir you deeply so offer this background
I’ll share my involution with you every now and then
Speak with you of changes by taking up a pen
Together we bee wise ones who work for truth again
The world will be lighter, though I can not tell you when...
(Little Bear speaks of Starseed, from "The Book of the Bear")
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
Dropped like 50 cents into your wallet for later, passing the time hitting the pay phone. You turn to the pier ancient and stone, fumbling through your coat pockets feeling for your cell phone.
You hate calling long-D, but right now it’s a necessity. You take your call along the ocean standing at the present, wondering where the waves went. An old city bell rings this somber lick through the air, touching upon the ears cuddling annoyed peoples leers. You walk past them letting the dial tone drum at your auditory nerve, letting the sounds penetrate your mind to observe.
You function down some steps, closer to the ocean break. Rubbing your hands together, waiting for the warmth to take. You feelings conduct your pace, a slow and steady race. Waiting for the rose to thorn, the sea swells against rocks where mist is born.
You stop and look out at the water, a storm is seeking land. And yet you look upon that storm with love—you give it your command. You jump onto a rail, the line between the firm and wet, and you balance upon that rail, brushed black by white turned Violette.
You spread your arms and smile, in denial of your dying love. And fall down toward the raging sea—Heaven sent from above. You smash the water with loosing gasps, and rapture all around. Of water swirling temporal doom your hearts first beat at ultrasound.
In drowning you’re alive, the struggle helps you survive. And as you give it all away, your heart beats further from decay. Your veins can take the pressure, your conduit charges—a refresher. You breathe in water, to wash your lungs from the inhaled bull, and as the salt washes away the lies, you finally open your eyes.
Dropped in the wonder years, sea of brine and You change gears.
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 5:41 AM UTC
I am not one to placate beggars of description and hardly know where I lived besides. early on I picked up a stone and my friends passed it around after I threw it. few went braless. sex was something of a docile raccoon cub in a half globe of ice. fathers all were barked down from the same tree by the same poets. in the previous I will be refusing to enter the trailer home of my ninth grade love where for all I learn her hound might still be waiting for its ball sack to fall. I will inspect only what is already true. if in the following you do not come upon a series of blank pages just when the getting is good than my publisher was chosen too quickly and my brilliance is of less remain. as I am well versed in parental infighting I have little vote but to edit my mother and abridge my father and say they were kids looking at an ultrasound of an empty stomach other than my mother’s.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:00 PM UTC
When we live together, all will be swell,
but we don’t have much time ‘til you want kids so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.
You’ll do the dishes ‘cause I hate the smell,
I’ll do the bills ‘cause you hate math so
when we live together, all will be swell.
You’ll come with me for that ultrasound gel
But I’d want to abort this alien so
We’ll live together, at least ‘till farewell.
Donate to Goodwill so we needn’t resell,
We both love creatures - we’ll donate to them so
When we live together, all will be swell.
I’ll **** that child before it can excel
but it’s been your dream to have children so
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.
We’ll end up a story for me to retell
“Once, I was in love but it didn’t work” so
When we live together, all will be swell.
We’ll live together, at least ‘til farewell.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:17 PM UTC
I forgot I can love
You’re a reminder
Walking among the living
Upside down
I’ve always been so
Unprepared
But does it matter
I feel safe in your giant shadow
I am not new to walking in the wild
You know you don’t need to worry for me
But you do anyway and it’s magic
In a way
Cause I’ve always been so
Unprepared
A little girl of many talents
Staring at the gates
What will they think?
So great not to care
I’ve always known what I was inside
When others took a knife
magnifying glass
You don’t need to
You and your
ultrasound eyes
I forgot I can love
You’re a reminder
Walking among the living
Upside down
I’ve always felt so
Unprepared
But it doesn’t matter
In a way.
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 6:11 PM UTC
Mind is melding
Molding man to mutt.
And sea is churning
solid shut.
So stop your dancing Picallo.
Ill let you know
when it's time to go.
Defining self
seems plausible,
improbable,
illogical,
and most easily psychological.
Time is flying
as time grows older.
Riding bike
and falling over.
Time is now
and time is over.
Always looking
over shoulder.
Then, I picked my pieces back up off the ground.
Proving grounds
proved me grounded.
Each bone ringing
hollow sounding.
Man starts singing
leaping, bounding.
Ten fingers clinging,
you’ll stick around
to see man crowned.
Underneath compound
to new found pound
which is grave mound.
Then, I AM FOUND
by accident of ultrasound.
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
went to the hospital last week
saw my baby on the ultrasound
came home and i had'a write it down
My babies inbound
and this rap thing hasn't left the ground
I try to move but my feet dont follow
must think if i go ill crash like the Apollo
so i tell myself maybe it'll go better tomorrow
Friends telling me Congrats
when I'm still getting Richards education
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 7:05 PM UTC