Burn, Baby, Burn.
I was born in flames
In the screams
In the tears of despair
On grief that never healed
On bodies left broken
On shattered glass and empty hands
Just rage
And night
Burning through their eyes
I was born in fire
Burning with city fever
On July 14th
A night when time froze
Tweny-five hours.
No light
No mercy
Just blackout
A hole with no fireworks
A silence too loud
Dark night
Dark hearts
Cardiac sirens
No trace of kindness
The heroes hid
And “Son of Sam”
Yes, “Son of Sam”
The lover-slayer
Wrote love letters dipped in venom
His poetry
A slow, cruel burn
Each word
A loaded match
Each line
A whispered threat
But even then
Even there,
Something still breathed
I was born in flames
Between a siren’s scream
And a DJ’s scratch
Patching the universe
With stolen vinyl
And holy defiance
I was born in flames...
Aby M.
Everybody loves my baby
She’s so sweet and she’s so fine
Everybody loves my baby
The one I call Clementine
We go dancing every Friday
When the lights are turned down low
Impossible grooves then there take
Us on the dance floor all aglow
We go where the music makes us
Out of time and out of space
Everybody loves my baby
As she melts in my embrace.
(9/21/25)
What is it we love about a baby’s smile?
What’s the magic in their smile we all see?
Is it purity, innocence, acceptance, happiness
beatitude…peace and harmony.
Or…when we see a baby smile…is it more than, at first, it seems?
Perhaps we see a shadow of our hopes…a reflection of our dreams.
A baby’s smile gives us a chance to think about our journey…
where we’ve gone in life…how far.
a reminder of who we once were…
and in this moment…who we are.
It’s possible…behind each baby’s smile we also see
a reminder of the person…we were meant to be.
If a baby’s smile has the ability
to give our heart and spirits a lift…
then every time a baby smiles at us
we should think of it as a gift.
And if an innocent baby can give a gift
to someone he or she doesn’t even know..
perhaps that is the reason
we tend to love their smile so.
Life’s realities are numb to any dream's sincerity. … poet
Life has given all I sought,
just not as I dreamed.
If I wished for a tree, I would
surely get a twig with leaves.
When three, baby doll love began -
life did not match my vision.
Challenges were not in my dream,
but my child's life was strained.
One favorite dream was of love -
not the remorse from divorce.
Once failures had their way,
love did come bearing joy.
Since a teen, I dreamed of
one true, lifelong friend.
It’s too late for dream’s intention,
all friendships met an end.
I have one staid mate - my pen.
Lifelong I dreamt it would cash spawn
but life was day office dizzy
then night, mom and wife busy.
I had my share of dying dreams
stripping me to a raw mind.
Dead dreams do leave bits behind,
I have felt their seeds peek thru
to aid all new dreams conceive.
Many women feel they have lost themselves, either during pregnancy, postpartum, or maybe in the process of raising their children. We used to go have fun and do whatever we pleased, not worried about consequences. We used to wear clothes that showed off our bodies without hesitation or not leave the house without a full face of makeup. We used to be down to have fun anytime day or night no matter the hour. Now we take care of a house and family, worrying about getting everyone else squared away. Now we dress in whatever is fast, hiding the imperfections under baggy clothes just to feel comfortable. Makeup is never a thing unless it’s a special occasion or funeral. Now we have fun maybe twice a month if we are not too touched out by day's end. Never did I think I would have to schedule that quality time. You might not look the same. You might not feel the same. But keep pushing forward, I promise it will get better.
Love, your future self.
A baby acquires natural habit
to take a soft toy in bed while to sleep
accepting that as the most favourite .
Child develops an attachment, truly deep.
I can't recollect a special toy
owned by me : Nobody cared to tell,
but my daughter and granddaughter enjoyed
same practice: I'm telling ih detail.
My daughter was fond of a woolen doll
who secured permanent place beside her
in the bed as if her child after all.
When pressed button, doll to address' Mom , Dear !'
Doll could close eyes in lying position,
sleeping with my daughter till reaching Ten.
Twelve year old Granddaughter holds obsession
for a monkey-toy which till entertains.
She named it Gloria and
September babe, can I only sigh?
You have silenced me with twinkling eye:
Would you ask a siren why she should sing?
Or say, "Cupid, must you, your arrows, fling?"
To Pan, would you inquire, "Why play flute?"
So, why ask a baby why she's so cute?
Those
days are gone
When anything makes
You Angry or sad ,stressed
You just cry
Fresh off the teat, throttle on bottle
Fresh on the feet, waddled a toddle
Tot spit out a noodle
Then spit out a doodle
"MOM!...You gotta swaddle my waddle!"
A wealthy gal and I once fell in love
We two spent all summer on the verge of
Planning our future marriage
Just us and baby’s carriage
Come Fall, she gave me the old college shove
Mama, did you know the precious amethyst shadow hours
I spent beside you, cuddled cosy-close, nestled in blankets of light,
shawled in your red-gold hair? I kissed each tear you cried;
each one a starlight pearl forged from the depths
of your fragile soul. I rocked seashell-shut to each lullaby note
and silently watched as you rocked my cold, empty cradle.
Sometimes you sensed me coiled at your breast -
a small, balled knot of grief. You felt my tiny fingers plucking at you
as tingling shivers. And sometimes I bounced sunshine-free
on your knee, a giggling orb of light.
Little one, once again I felt you here,
entombed in the womb of this eternal everywhere room,
your spirit sifting through my fingers like hourglass sand.
Pain has blanked my mind wraith-white, but I felt
your lips nip the warm rosebuds of my nipples
as I pressed a lullaby to the delicate shell of your ear
and brief blessed seconds spun out like years.
My sentient heart will always hold you, my grip will never slip
as my earthbound hands, human-warm, reach through time
and heather-shadowed ether to love and care for you.
cry baby cry
you will from your first breath till you die
breath and leave behind
what was before will meet you on the other side
By Poet "A mother's love is never ending, always with a gentle hand."
With a gentle hand,
our life starts off being held and rocked.
As we grow and learn,
life will grow with us.
With a gentle hand,
we are told no many times.
Sometimes we learn,
sometime we do not learn.
With a gentle hand,
hopefully we get straightened out.
In life one day we will need to take our baby,
with a gentle hand.
don't blame the kid
baby birds are one wide mouth for what their parents spit
There could never be a more gentle hand
than that of a mother and her loving touch.
The emotional bond takes place, unplanned
by the one who loves her child so much.
Even months before her babe is due to be born,
her shielding hands can often be found
on her tummy, protecting the child she's sworn
to keep healthy inside of her, safe and sound.
When she hears the wail of its first cry,
her gentle hand will count toes and fingers.
Her tears will then fall, and she'd heave a sigh
while on her infant, the mother's sight lingers.
With comforting hands, she will offer healing
when her toddler falls while learning to walk.
Applauding hands when proud and revealing
her pleasure at the first words her child will talk.
Soothing hands, she has through childhood days.
Year after year, a mother's story will unfold.
Tender hands showing love and affection ~ always
in her heart, a child is a treasure, no matter how old.
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