Best Afterbirth Poems
With a loving heart,
filled with peace and harmony
In the afterbirth new life emerges
An eternal optimist in Spite of living
Starlight sparkles in this globe softly glistens
Everything seems to be perfectly normal
Gentle spirit refines where the thought is good
Dream you shine a warm sunbeam gift
We live for truth and justice sake
The numbered days and duration of happy feelings
A glimpses of human life takes shape
Golden delicious fruit of Eden
Happiness can not be conquered,
it must be openly received
A sun melting inside warm thoughts
Staring across the horizon clouds pearl white
My desires, my needs, my happiness
As fallen people with meaningless deeds
Dreamy cotton skies echo into one song
The ability to grasp facts of nature around us
Faraway mountains sailing yearns
Over the hills a warm thought in breeze blows
Starlight twinkles in the eyes of a dream
Coasting along on a deep blue sea wave kiss
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :) 25.08.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
With a loving heart,
filled with peace and harmony
In the afterbirth new life emerges
An eternal optimist in Spite of living
Starlight sparkles in this globe softly glistens
Everything seems to be perfectly normal
Gentle spirit refines where the thought is good
Dream you shine a warm sunbeam gift
We live for truth and justice sake
The numbered days and duration of happy feelings
A glimpses of human life takes shape
Golden delicious fruit of Eden
Happiness can not be conquered,
it must be openly received
A sun melting inside warm thoughts
Staring across the horizon clouds pearl white
My desires, my needs, my happiness
As fallen people with meaningless deeds
Dreamy cotton skies echo into one song
The ability to grasp facts of nature around us
Faraway mountains sailing yearns
Over the hills a warm thought in breeze blows
Starlight twinkles in the eyes of a dream
Coasting along on a deep blue sea wave kiss
Written by L. Mcdaid & A-L Andresen :) 25.08.2015
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
no end to this neverending sentence...just a sour note and a few mad quotes from the afterlife
afterlife? more like ants in the afterbirth...once a mighty warrior now a worm...i slither and i squirm...
no fire and no heat just chained to this seat...forced to view the victims of violence from this man of misery
with eyes and ears open...not even a blink...with every scarred soul the lower i sink
the movie begins and the theater is dark...and i'm not alone...i can hear other dead dogs bark
these innocent faces turn insane just in seconds...i can feel their disease...turning blessings to curses
a sad symphony and a choir of chaos keep spewing their venomous verses
i once was the greatest but now i'm the worst
i just can't breaK FREE from these shackles and chains...i hear the word NEVER into eternity
the echoes of screams they just come back from the screen
now the skeletal masses are laughing at me
i ask for forgiveness 1000 times a day but my tormentors just laugh..."NOT A CHANCE"
graves of ghosts empty and they all come to me to thank me in person for just being me
no uniformed ugliness just brutality beasts...they all take their turn from the
a to the z
i cry out to God and he says, "IT'S TOO LATE"
i talk to the devil and he says, "you'll be free any day"
vengeance was mine now i'm getting slain...for all of my sins and my murderous ways
for attrocities all...from the small to the large...i turned good men to monsters and massacred love
i turned peaceful neighborhoods into ghetto battlefields
i broke apart happy families as they cried,moaned,and squealed
more than six million got sent to their makers with lead sleeping pills
i lived the devils deal...now repaid with revenge...i'm sad,seedy and sour...still no suicide syringe
like blasphemy on a binge i tore hideous holes in the fabric of time
yes to my children of darkness i made the demonic seem divine...i even claimed to turn water into wine
now truth and terror has me thirsty for some kind of a release
from this concentration camp i NEVER can leave
please just one tear from heaven can put me at ease
The track marks are exposed, so you’ll have to look twice without getting caught. Your mind starts to wonder what it is he’s been shot full of, Cocaine? Gasoline and formaldehyde? Fabric softener or blue ne high. You’ll have to swallow hard because your throat’s gone dry from the bone dust. Reality is a broken jar of afterbirth, no longer able to contain the past remnants of truth, and shame… leaking all over the shag carpet. Spilling behind the couch into the cracks in the walls. Everyone can see the cigarette burns in the drapes. The neighbors are complaining about the sound of braking glass. Your smile’s gone cold and grey. The lines in your face run deep as wood grain and as smooth as a razor canoe on a river of flesh. You’ve taken shelter in the dry hardened shell of yesterday’s corpse. The sound track to your dreams are of rusty things that scream and clang, and “never mind” is the only thing that follows when you speak your mind in bits and pieces. Father, bless this child of sin. Consume her eyes and salvage her skin. Drape it across her mother’s face to bind and hold the tears in. The sweet nectar of heaven drips down from the trees onto your brow, anointed, salvation….religious disease. I don’t deny these things in my life that I can’t quite grasp, cold winds, locust song, and haunting gasps. Invoke your true self in the blood without fear. My smile’s a scalpel across your eyes. There’s no denying these things that dwell within your bones.
The visceral pains were sharp, stinging and stern!
She swallowed them, in the bloody biting bitterness.
The gory talons of the fat obstetricians hung loose,
Ready to clamour for the afterbirth, salivating like hungry female canines.
“Think of the baby,” said the stony-hearted, vampire-looking hag;
Whose fat mouth dripped blood.
Back home, a shrieking owlet flew over her husband’s hut.
A strange whirlwind shot through the door, and tore the roof atwain.
The news broke: she had gone mortis gestationalis!
The evil child had popped out his left leg first, in protest;
And had strangled mama with its hands - from inside!
It was not about the flat-tyred ambulance.
The drunken doctor,
Who stored his equipment at Mama Phina’s bar, was not to blame.
Neither was it about the theft of sanitisers and lignocaine,
Nor was it about the leaking roofs;
And the stench all around.
It was the craving for sweet blood and tender baby flesh!
William Smelly lay snug in his grave,
As we lowered the two caskets to their final resting place.
One carried a dysfunctional human factory,
And the other was empty.
All life is precious;
This, the sculptor and carver know.
They see the veins in the stone and the breath in the wood; they free the elemental life, from its bondage.
Chisel and rasp, deliver the life, that no one else sees; birthing is never an easy process.
Not all wombs are, amneo-laden; stone and wood afterbirth, are more easily cleared away; newborn creations emerge to be admired and prized by, all who encounter them.
Twice around the world he sped
pursuing madness, folly
Unrequited lover he
denied, his desperate volley
Once ignited, passions roused
flames obey no limits
Wildfires scorch the tender earth
unbridled desire's afterbirth
Behind the reaper, glistening beneath
the fading rays of light,
crude elements of happenstance
lie in its wake, passed over
and awaiting those who glean
the afterbirth.
Yes, there is that querulous
persistence of the poor,
that stubborn cadre of the prescient,
who will peer into our souls
and find us bankrupt,
mind and consciousness already unaware.
It is a curious, stolid procession
passing by--these ghosts
on their ironic quest into tomorrow.
No one may cheer them on; no one
may find a voice to hold them back.
There is no choice, for
we must be content to find ourselves
among the gleaners, though it is we
who sang our welcome to the reapers--
we, who watched the harvest come,
and hungered after it.
And it was we who faced the disillusionment
of barren fields with gleaming bits
of paper bibelot
to laugh and mock us
as we ploughed them underneath.
But fullness too, lurked there
in silent modesty behind the plough.
Patient gleaners know
that down the long, slow hall of history
there is a single echo:
Truth is unchanging...paradox!
There was triumph in the air,
and no man was a slave to it.
I deeply sighed and took a breath
and opened up my eyes.
And it was good.
~
On the day I was born a band of demons rejoiced in hell.
Under Satan's spell, I grew into a man with an empty shell.
Darkness still hangs over me like a stormy black cloud.
I thrive on violence, and silence can often be so loud!
I enjoy the smell of decomposed skin, and the taste of afterbirth!
My energy is fueled by my sin and I've come to terrorize earth!
Many angelic beings have tried to put an end, an end to my demonic crime.
My foes can't seem to comprehend how I travel back through time.
I've worn the crown of destruction, and I continue to conquer the lands.
Without bloodshed I can't function, so I need blood to drip from my hands!
I bathe in hell's flames, and bargain for souls by fulfilling peoples fantasies.
I am called many names, but Antichrist is what the Bible has labeled me!
Soon I'll unite the world's governments, and put my face on all currency.
The mass media will be my instruments, and I'll have the world fooled to believe in
me!
I'll have all people under my control, and flood the world with sex and drugs like
cancer.
I'm determined to win every soul, for that is my goal, and I'll hold all the answers!!
Eye control darkness
Standing in creek consciousness
Eye pain portal
Me maladjusted myalgia
Hyposyncratic virilence
It tick, me tick
Bit me
Me sick
Loads shells, no click
Arabic apotheosis shrouded in defamation
Famine lives thru sublimation
Disgorge over the stern of the barge
Decrepid canal lazes with crude afterbirth
Charged with aborted sludge
Stripping the last shreds of life from the shopping carts that pose on the bottom
Fist-nose, lymphnodes spliced with tar
Near here the fear steers clear from afar
The fetid bargeman stalks the scape defiled
Drapes his rape on the nape of the last paedophile.
What do the poor hang onto?
When all the trees are gone.
When hearths are quaked to crumbs...
With nowhere to hide from the whirling gray eye of the storm.
In the afterbirth, show boaters will arrive.
One spoonful at a time. To feed a million shaken lives.
One blanket to warm the sharky shoals.
One cross to shelter the fractured mast of hope.
Soon after, show boaters will flee to silver ships.
Setting sail for gilded homes.
Wrapped tight around paper souls.
Far removed from Haiti's howling winds.
That lick the salt from burned black bones...
No invitation to board these ships of privilege.
Like there were so many years ago.
(Sing along to the carol, "We Three Kings...")
We three Kings of Orient aren't,
Really three queens, we came from afar,
We arrived on time,
Fed sheep and swine,
Delivered the afterbirth,
Cooked food, and then made Peace on Earth, Oh......
(Sing Chorus)...
Star of wonder, star of light,
Star of royal beauty bright,
We didn't get lost going home,
We didn't leave Mary all alone,
We swept the stable,
Gave her soup in a ladle,
After the afterbirth,
Then we made Peace on Earth, OH...
(Sing chorus)..
We three Kings of Orient aren't,
Really three queens, we came from afar,
We arrived on time,
Fed sheep and swine,
Delivered the baby at the birth,
Then we made Peace on Earth, Oh....
(Sing chorus)..
They taught us what to do if there's a bomb.
A big bomb.
A bomb they removed in a biopsy on a God
A big God
Scooped it out in armfuls from the body of a God
My God the blood hanging on the tresses where the speshes operated they
Taught us what to do if there's a bomb.
No point working out who it came from;
Cus wherever it came from is gone.
They taught us what to do if there's a bomb:
A big bomb:
Get the rubber round your face.
Then you radio the base.
Lie down on the ground
While your pants get browned
Are you closer to the cloud
Or the sound that pounds like a house shutting down
My god who lives, who lives to see me live a life as terrible as this my God!
Get drenched in the fear
Too thirsty to tear
Up your ears disappear
And the skies won't be clear for a long time
Peek up through your goggles for the last time
That's it soldier step up and take your prize,
And pray that you don't get vaporized My Eyes!?
My Eyes!?
Can't remember if my mom had me baptized!?
I swore I'd rather die, the great evac-in-the-sky but
Would I!?
I want to live but not like that with my tissue-pissing body like a sieve
To live is terrible
It's terrible man to survive
And you feel like you did when you were five
Tummy hurts, full of earth, where the hell is the earth
I'm rising from the ash like an afterbirth
In the mist missing what used-to-be
The mist is made of my mother and its killing me -
What was it they told us, told us, soldiers
What was it they told us, sold us, soldiers:
They said survive to fight.
My lungs are always tight!
They said survive to fight.
There's never any light!
Survive to fight.
Before I wasn't brave enough but now I just might!
Survive to fight.
Give her arm a bite!
Survive to fight.
Keep the squad white!
They started this mess it's what's best it's what's
Survive to fight.
Not for what you need
Not for what is right
Not for what your dad said when you woke him late at night but what's left!
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
We fight for what little is left, not right!
And left right left!
Right left right!
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
In the unlikely event that there's a bomb;
...
On site of this forgotten Babylon
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in this annihilated place
What strange creature’s kin
to inhuman race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Uncanny things creep
and scurry in forgotten realms
where Poseidon reigns in dark
crumbling cathedrals built
to worship cryptic gods from
outer voids darkest empires
What hell is this of undiscovered divinities
Babylon burns as nations
of man conspiring to touch
the face of an imperfect god
sink to depths deeper undefined
What afterbirth of leviathan
hide in secret chambers
plot damnation to human minds
insanities spawn monstrosities
that doom mens soul and break their realities
In sight of this forgotten Babylon
Along a desolate Mesopotamian shore
What powerful unrecorded species
dwell with in this annihilated place
Where strange creatures akin
to the human race
Dwell deep in antediluvian hells
Ode to Lovecraftian lore…
I used to write like
Jack Kerouac.
Words
crumbling down
paper.
Stark thoughts
marked
by dots
and dashes.
Flashes of schoolyard brilliance
The hill I would
climb over
to be
someone different.
I never saw life
through a dot.
LSD.
My father
was on mushrooms,
when he and my mother
created me.
Psychedelic sperm
meets
bitter weed
infested ovum.
BANGED
into existence.
Transient spirit
sloughing off
afterbirth long
after I hit
the cold.
I have chased
paper
ever since.
Dipping my bones
in ink.
To paint a
masterpiece
of you.
Broken, homeless, loveless,
privileged, safe, warm,
sheltered, shattered
reconstructed.
All in a backdrop
of perfection.
An abundant Earth
housing an
ungrateful patient.
Most of us,
doctored
unconscious
sedated.
Waiting for
something
to wake us
up.
My own words
often
broken and
falling off.
Leaving only
snapshots.
I get ties and
sketches
along the
road.
I would bargain
my dreams
for pious acceptance
and my revelations
for wicked
indulgent
self
flagellation.
I have been
bound to my
vision
of exclusion
behind an
iron fence of
history.
Trapped
in pages.
Tapped and
wasted.
I used to write
as if I didn't
I would die.
On my knees
shattered
under
that perfect
silent sky.
Head bowed
shoulders cowed
frail and pasty.
Screaming
raging
breaking pages
with my pen.
Attempting to bring
black and white
to color.
Now I write,
because
I die.
A thousand times
with you.
Its glorious!
Over your
unfinished portraits.
Your shortcuts
your detours
your ache
your lust,
and your mindless
wandering.
Beautiful
and championed.
I pray to make
my prose like
a Sistine Chapel
after all,
you deserve
it!
Only to fall
very far from
grace.
At the
Inadequacy
I have
at coloring
your face.
I used to write
like Jack Kerouac,
jotting a shot
of you
in between
heaven.
But I figured out
that I would
rather capture
my own
splinter.
And be satisfied with
a sliver of you,
than die like him
at forty-seven.