AMNIOTIC FLUID
I am your amniotic fluid
imbibe me
I am your amniotic fluid
I nourish you
implode me
impetuously
lengthen laugh strengthen
through me
master thighs
thyroid open palms
create hips high
or low
lingering
touch bones bygone
birthing
within my dantien
dome
Source sparkles spice
from rice roses
rubies
I am your
amniotic
fluid muse
mould mysteriously
myself
gold goblets silver
spiral slivers
soft
exploring explanations
exploding
ecstasy
exists
endlessly
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2025
Morning
When you wake up each morning a
great start of
the day is a
glass of
amniotic fluid originating from
the womb of a
woman with a
baby or
babies inside her so
you can diagnose the likely abnormalities in the
foetus before they can be
abnormal. Possible side effects: part or
total memory loss, instant employment in
the public sector, parking tickets will
follow you around, stalk you, and
you’re voice box may turn to
static mode.
A silent world, a watery space,
Where shadows dance and light takes chase.
A soft, warm home, a cosy nest,
Where tiny limbs find gentle rest.
The world outside, a distant hum,
A muffled beat, a muffled drum.
But here, it's quiet, calm and deep,
A peaceful slumber, secrets to keep.
The baby floats a weightless dream,
In amniotic fluid, a silver stream.
No need for worries, no need for strife,
Just gentle rocking, a blissful life.
A tiny hand, a tiny foot,
Exploring space, a gentle loot.
The umbilical cord, a lifeline strong,
Connecting to the world, where it belongs.
The mother's heartbeat, a steady beat,
A lullaby, a comforting treat.
The baby listens, knows no fear,
Just love and warmth, oh so near.
The world outside is a distant call,
But here, it's safe, within this wall.
Awaiting the day, the time to come,
When the baby's journey has begun.
So, chill, little one, in your watery bliss,
Let the world outside, just kiss
Your dreams with whispers, soft and low,
For now, it's just you, and the gentle flow.
Every writer's work
a soulful surgery
we draw from mysterious
substance, submerged man's core
in fluids indefinable – amniotic sea of source
buoyant, yet only mistily determinable, unknown
were it not for subtle leaking
sort of a chill, in search of its draft
a stutter, keeping its voice from
apparent reason
how can I truly love
my God! my Christ!
when trapped on a page
with a pen pressured down
mostly always printing in
favor of
self-serving
human treason
The
human sperm cell is haploid, so that its 23 chromosomes can join the 23 chromosomes of the female egg to form a diploid cell with 46 paired chromosomes.
he bulk of our mind's contents is found in the unconscious.uns
The Gatekeeper of unconscious and of the conscious mind is the Subconscious,
Preconscious, the murky
the unconscious the mind undercover, the conscious the deliberate, the discovery of each is once again the big bang.
The sperm meets the egg and The bang of a life is created.
The life within the vessel survives on the murky, the clear amniotic fluid feeds the life, unconsciously feeding the unseen thoughts of the vessel, the delivery is where the conscious mind is slightly awaken, some our brought in pleasing serene environments, others are awaken by a slap in the buttocks with a violent twirl to cold hands, the conscious mind knocks out, the unconscious resides for safe keeping. The big bang ride begins
e her womb I grew to be
a fetus live and breathing free
With tender hands she did caress
a tiny bump, beneath her dress
Amniotic fluid, "WATER "
protecting her golden daughter
She sang to me as she did bless
a tiny bump, beneath her dress
A vital sign of heart and soul
I kicked inside her like a foal
Immersed in liquid no duress
this tiny bump beneath her dress
A Pisces child who chose to swim
after a nine month interim
An embryo of small, compressed
a tiny bump, beneath her dress
August 6th 2022
The lake is black, high country water,
ocular.
Beneath the surface, a species
reflected in an amniotic sky.
There are three here,
three progenitors
searching for the lost children
of mankind: -
water, sky and
that which watches.
Three wombs that wait expectantly.
The water stirs,
something born too deep
wants to emerge.
Let it!
For love of night I claimed my fears released them to the moon
like a crawfish in the sand I sifted through my magical runes
seeking symbols and answers but only finding the quiet croon
of a lonely seagull, over trees shaped like big black balloons
The ocean resembled tempered glass reflecting stars above
foamy sea spray, a roar, a wave then, silence...
leaping into the deep I probed the mysteries of my living essence
and found a kindship with the creatures of the sea
Watching a lighthouse from a distance I heard the foghorn go
three blasts from the lighthouse, "going astern"
returning to the amniotic fluids of my mother's womb
then reborn by the stability of past virtues, soul accepted day
For love of sleep I dismembered before the sea
diving into its partitions like a mermaid longing to be free
claiming meteors and shooting stars as my very own
I sailed away without a life jacket for I was safely home.
Some have watched her rising from the ocean for years.
These amniotic visions return at the pull of the moon.
No clam shell boats for her.
After she wades from the waves
she and the shoreline disappear
only to arrive in a Chevy convertible or on a donkey.
She likes desert nights and all the dance moves
of the free roaming wind.
She delights to drive, ride, or fly through starlit streets.
When the moon begins to starve she returns to the sea
vowing everlasting love
for those who still dare to dream of rebirth.
If so inclined with reservations
Amniotic baby will float on water
Just around the corner of a smile
Embryological y correct you could say
Adequately enclosed in fluid aquatic
Practicing goo goo and gaga for mommy
Clothes would be nice
Naked is better
A hotel will suffice
Is this a room with a womb?
With an ashtray to steal?
With a balcony overlooking tomorrow?
A window to parachute out?
A room with a view would be nice
Where's the glasses and ice?
Where's the towels and mommy?
Umbilical ready for birth
Thumb in the mouth for security
Cord is secure according to Forbes
Don't want to bounce off the walls
Not exactly a Wall Street journey
It's baby's first flight out
Lunar swimming in angry cerulean torrents
swiftly as primeval passing of blue equinox
sea-born of indomitable nautical command
to envelop cloaked within mother the ocean
Remembering in-utero wild amniotic hunger
I dive deep submerged inside Poseidon's lair
Senses burning alive tribal inebriated oxygen
embryonic aquatic kingdom, vibrancy revealed
Strong, steady, maritime language fathered
techniques of stout heartedness hold strong & fast
as I scan deep the watery sapphire horizon
multitudes of planktonic organisms weave dancing
The harrowing, drowning sailors sinking titanic ship's
watery struggles plunging to Davey Jones locker
obeisance to the kingdom the fisherman warned
no safety or surprise for the iconoclastic swimmer
Submarine amygdala hijack tsunami unfolding
losing myself to wave patterns monstrous in my brain
luminescent molecules reverberate to my touch
Gliding through hidden cephalopod realms
Spiralling up microscopic kelp-laden kingdoms
I rise to kiss the air with salt-water gasping
This holiest oceanic communion does heal
all my riptide scars, delivered within lands prison
Hyperbolic
Parabolic
Symbiotic
Life
In the amniotic
Catatonic
Platonic
Life
In the mnemonic
Esoteric
Symphonic
Rhythmic
Life.
Poets That We Are…
Poets are umbilical cords—
chosen links of the pregnant mind
and its births—amniotic guardians
of the poetic descendent.
As mere servants of the word,
we cannot be more of an apostle
than that of: Humble.
Let us who write, worthily walk
in our own integrity;
man judges—The Most High chooses.
We’ve been blessed with the creativity
of the griots and muses of our own reality.
No longer must we let ourselves be led astray;
rather, let us forever write truth each blessed day.
When the keyboard, cobwebbed in silence,
ceases to ink, let not stillness miscarriage the word;
and may our creativity become like Lazarus.
Amniotic emerging
Language judged based on merit
Tragedies on Earth occurring
Very few are those caring
People with messianic spirits
Goals in the messuage
Faith only brings untidy even though God is hearing
Human's we're loosing
Cheaper metal to conduct electricity
Opaque, fusible, ductile, lustrous
More respect for the cities
Love is damaged and had enough
We need matamerism is a brighter sense
Behavior acting to pretend
Lucifer was the metaphor
Now we're shutting doors
God is who we ignore
I was warm and toasty,
curled up, napping
in amniotic fluid,
without a worry
when suddenly
this metal thing
came into my room
poked around
and pulled me out.
The doctor stabbed me,
smashed my head,
cut off my arms and legs,
threw my pieces
in a bucket
with the others.
It's been a busy day
at the clinic.
At the closing hour,
a nurse dumped
the bucket
in a freezer sack,
took it out in the alley
and threw it in a bin.
In the morning
a private truck
took the sack to
the garbage dump.
The driver tossed it
on the highest pile,
launching flies,
at least a thousand.
Sitting up here now
I can tell you
I don't need arms or legs.
I can hear
the angels singing.
Donal Mahoney
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