is that a bunny in the bassinet ? you are not my gynecologist !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 17–23, 2026)
The baby laying in the bassinet, her twin brother nine minutes apart, a painful statement would follow her all of her life..baptized at birth, was that a curse.
We’re brought home, my brother is held close to his mother’s chest, new born baby smell is so calming, meanwhile the baby girl is still in the basinet, no knowledge of her birth did
the mom know..
The babies are now crawling, soon they will start walking, talking too bad only the son existence matters to this world…
Years go by, still nothing has changed, nine minutes not knowing of me being conceived will always be echoed by her family.
Here we are as adults, my family has gone separate ways, our mother is no longer here, she’s with the Creator, my existence on this earth as a mom herself, who fully knows her children were each conceived out of love, with a man whom saved her life, when she was an adult crawled into a fetal position protecting herself from her siblings who only inflected pain in words, abuse, and not of love. I was that baby who was born nine minutes too late..
As one dear friend said to me, “they saved the best for last”.
.
out uv mine bassinet
mine diaperz
mine
hmmmm
mine
kilt
clutch'd
'pon mine
walk'n stick
there she be
chavah
We’re joyful of the bassinet,
And fearful of the casket.
One, a place where life is new,
The other where the body’s through.
Bassinets, though temporary
Start a life’s eternal tarry.
Bassinets reveal new birth,
And caskets case a family’s mirth.
In bassinets, lie new creations,
While caskets are a demarcation:
A point in time when death imparts
Eternity as flesh departs.
In silence, contemplate the casket
Then voice the question if you’ll ask it:
We all have had our bassinets,
But who is ready for the casket?
Our time on earth is fleeting, feign;
For after death, forever reigns.
Bassinets begin life’s option:
To follow God and His adoption.
Set not your heart on passing pleasures,
But seek the Lord’s eternal treasures.
So when a casket lays you down,
You’ll rise again, forever crowned.
Psalm 49:15 “But God will redeem my life from the grave;
he will surely take me to himself. Selah NIV
.
I've known hern since
her simper
her bassinet
foots from
mine
we spoke no
language
just the
hear mine
cry
call me the loon
for say'n
"mine little remembered
the way
her lips and eyne
together
smiled
goodbye"
*occidental: from the west
oriental: from the east
I had a cat, a large one
I thought I loved the cat
The cat thought he loved me too!
Then, one day,
They took the cat away
The cat, with the bassinet, the little furry presence
And Sameeha’s science club chapstick
And I thought I was kissing scientific a book cover
Where he is artistic in a beauty in the other way, rare.
It was a cat. After all, it was just a cat
It had the nicest jacket ,
with hoodies on,
the cat used to sit on time,
the cat
And it had the fish, tummy time, happy face, and everything first time
For I never yearn to come back! For there, to chime!
It is just a known type of pain that I knew for far too long!
On a question paper, pm time, departmental too
Dealey Plaza, are you keeping right on the still unresolved Elm street?
Heavenly God , do you play around heavenly to utter Godsay, is your slip
Where you do not know usually after or before the strait the gate
You never knew Jack Ruby and you never knew Oswald
So you never knew other than too much other than, Please, other tall!
I dreamt I was in a church,
I was walking up to the candlelit altar.
There were clergy garbed in vestments,
whether they were Catholic or Episcopal,
I don't recall.
A mourning Mass was about to begin.
I approached an open small mahogany coffin,
an infant lost to abortion was lying in it,
instead of the bassinet it deserved to be
born into.
I placed my hand tenderly on the
lacy-robed babe.
Suddenly, the baby stirred and came to life,
gently cooing as many babies do.
The Life Dream,
sweet omnipresent Christ,
our prayers for unborn and born children.
Your infants of the ages,
of the earth's mother's receiving bosoms.
Our sorrows become our joys,
we saved through Your grace-
more of Your precious ones today. ~
The sunlight streams through the windowpane
Casting a rainbow around my newborn
In her bassinet as she sleeps.
Brightening my world with flickering magic.
Her silky blonde curls glisten with the spiritual light.
Her soft cuddlable skin, her sweet powder sent,
And a smile to melt anybody’s heart,
She’s a flower of radiance and perfection.
Oh, my heart warms as I hold her hand, so tiny
In mine, and in my world. I marvel and sigh,
How beautiful a gift I’ve been blessed.
My tipsy mind dances on beams of lights
And shadows of songs and merry, dancing
Upon specks of dust across the floor.
Ebullient memories will be made giving her
The courage and strength to move mountains.
Approach of Wind, it chills
in a particular way.
Unexplainable, how it carries in competing tandem,
of unknown elements brought into the arena, bare.
Doctor's bag opened of winds,
surgical biopsy underway,
in new mandated trailways.
Membraned channels of envelope streams
holds aloft vapors of vial serums,
like a bassinet with black wings.
Intheorium sends it's postage.
It soothes the Cesarean Earth in her pangs,
for mankind's evil is great. How can it stand to be.
So he sends them a strong delusion
so that they may believe a lie.
Armies shall pillage the Family and
upend the carts in the Marketplace.
Souls shall be scattered to the four winds, looking desperately for a compass
that can find the head.
Delivery, once slow, has increased exponentially.
Magma rivers will haunt the landsape like lions,
Nemian.
Great forges looking for gold to smelt into idols of Pompeii.
For he shall stand in his Pomp in the Temple,
then sit, as if he is God.
They shared a smile that will last forever,
as she gazed at him while he gazed back,
from within his little blue woven bassinet.
She reflects that he has his father's eyes,
and his nose as well, how it rounds by its
tip...charming, she thought in admiration.
The shape of his face is noticeably sturdy,
and bold, yet the shade of his skin, is fair
like her own--later on, it'll become bolder.
"I must show and tell your father, as soon
as he gets home from work and I think he
may know...so seeing that I care, I search
tirelessly our family trees, and your father
and I, are blessed having a son like thee."
Lovers gather, yelling "carpe diem"
Lovers kiss, living with totem
Lovers fall, counting walls
Lovers forget, crushing falls.
Love birds chirping as one
Under a tree skipping one by one
Above the bassinet where cuckoos nests
Below the cradle are loving breasts.
Rush to me and sail with me
On a gondola in Venice we flee
Gaping romanticism in idealism
Dying dualism without ostracism.
Paulette was a happy brunette
who now is forlorn and upset
for something, she cannot forget.
She backed up- ran over her pet
while driving her brand new Corvette
and killed her dear poodle, Suzette.
Tears flowing, she laid a rosette
next day on a pink coverlet
once used in her own bassinet-
and cried at the grave with regret.
November 13, 2021
Contest: Paulette - 1 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
Theme: Paulette Is Oh, So Sad...
There was a young girl called Paulette
with a temper that was hard to forget
she had a baby doll called Georgette
and one day when Paulette was upset
because she could not find her barrette
she threw Georgette and was full of regret
oh so sad, she put baby in her doll bassinet
and lay all night in bed weeping till the sunset
she acknowledge to herself a spoiled mindset
promising that her spoiled ways she would reset
___________________
November 10, 2021
Poetry/Monorhyme/Paulette - 1
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1405-680-10
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Paulette 1
sponsor, Julia Ward, Judged 12/14/2021
a pebble in the ocean
grain of sand on the shore
an ant on the sidewalk
and millions more
baby in a bassinet
or in a high chair
gently placed in a car seat
tender loving care
some say life's without meaning
speeding by in a trice
shh! mom and baby are snuggling
so lovely, so nice
May 31, 2021
All Yours (June 3) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Do not fall in love with a poet:
Breakfast would be a couplet.
Lunch would be a quatrain:
Personified, pithy and prolix on metaphoric train.
Supper would be a sonnet:
Smithereens of oomphs, entangled in esurience's enmesh.
On the spousal sunshine,
He would sew suit of slant rhymes.
For how long he would last in bassinet:
Measured in Troche, dactyl, anaspetic or iambic pentameter.
Advice for the shavers and doxy:
Lofty metaphors Clothed in paradoxical antithesis.
Talk more of many other things,
Your home is hyperbole of poetry.
19:05:05:13:51
Ancestor. Ancestral Pen. Ancestral piece. SOS
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