Best Amniotic Poems
Stepping past the crater towards your door,
I am reminded of warm days
surrendered in flowery abandon while
brushing against cool veins of
leafy promise, requiring only the slightest
compassion for the flow of life.
The scope of our crusade sings bitter,
like absinthe in a Fanta bottle;
tangs of anise and wormwood persist
within ether's truthful vision
resisting factory flavors in a curtain,
velvet reminders of flesh.
Lap your moistened shape. You dissolve,
my expectant sugar cube, no longer
made jagged by expectation or campaign
but fragile again, doughy in
blissful rapture upon my snacking,
curling up in a fetal calm
until we flow once more with the surge
propelling us entangled yet
unencumbered, finally breathing our
amniotic potential within this
spiritual umbilical making my stomach
spin within these tugs of finality,
despite my carpenter's heart yearning to
mend or create. Do arrogance and
industry compel mankind's devastation? Such
a question drifts unanswered as I
kiss your wrist before strapping on my boots
to hurl my blood into the fray.
In the womb my golden days,
warm with twin and thump of
mother’s heart, give a kick
Now and then, good for friends
and family ahh!
not hungry ever: want for nothing
Here with twin: we have a little dance
amniotic, you might say, and often
acrobatic, give us a twirl and I’ll
Be your partner in our chromosomal
twisting, umbilical, fluid-trance; Ahh!
so many words, images, thoughts, but
No language yet, to put a name to our
uterine caper; so I think in images:
ha ha!...clever or what? But he, the
Other one, in our mischief made,
just floats around; yes floats!
I kid you not:
(how long can this last?)
Windless, the somber winter shore is welded
imperceptibly to the ashen water, the
horizon hemmed by distant dams of fog.
Advance, advance.
Gloveless, the chalky hands stand out
starkly in the pervasive greyness,
charcoal vestments completing
the monochromatic movement.
Disperse, disperse.
Gritless, the soft sand absorbs all.
The solemn sea tastes of tears,
warmer water, almost amniotic,
the all-mother's hypnotic allure.
Recede, recede.
Relentless, a distant bell dutifully tolls.
The shivering figure rises, reluctantly
trudging to the waiting limousine.
Return, return.
February 5, 2016
She remembers the night they met at the ball.
He asked her to dance by the Gatsbian pool.
She remembers the sight of women who tear
their clothes off to dive in, and she leaves
the thought of him for one of purifying water,
as she rips off her string of gaudy beads.
Sweat collects on his brow in angry beads
as he strikes at a painted, glossy ball.
His brains are a sack of amniotic water
secreting through his glands into a pool
and he drowns in his mind, which leaves
room only for a single, lonely tear.
Her heaving womb appears to tear
through her crop shirt- her blood in beads
gushes and drops like leaves-
a release of tension- her stress ball
drops- bounces- through a game- of pool ?
She fears- her bloom will die without water.
His turn is over, and he takes a swig of water.
The next player strikes, and the fibers of the cue tear
the threads of the felt, aqua pool
table. The liberated lint forms beads
on the moving stick that strikes the cue ball.
His heart leaps and he leaves.
The plants in her garden have leaves
that wither when she forgets to water
the earth and give each one a ball
of fertilizer, and now she even forgets to tear
out weeds that creep into beds and between beads
in the ejaculating fountain of her avian pool.
He remembers diving into her bottomless pool
on the blanket of her lawn abreast feathery leaves.
His maddened sweat mirrors her beads,
broken, like her emergent water
that announced the internal tear
making way for the ten-pound, screaming ball.
Their voices patter like beads of rain landing on a pool.
They can again have a ball together, even if it leaves
the white water of her breasts in one, joint tear.
HOSPITAL
A new energy-incarnates
rips, knocking head first
hoarse cry …
oh dim light knife in the pupil !
oh metallic ice bath on the bloody skin !
oh great fall into void ! ...
night - endless night -
roof-quasar fleeing fast
How can a mother in anesthesia vapor
touch the lonely cry of the child…?
How can the useless little hands
swim back towards the warm amniotic ocean?
Oh separating body!!
An own spirit has been given to each body
Each hermit has received his load
The hospital doors are wide open
two shaking wanderers re-learn to walk
and welcome the new light full of painful noise
Hospital, you have injected energy into living matter !
In the middle of the road
a tumor seeds chaotic entropy
a stressed body has lost its order
the immune system army runs scattered …
the patient
is a silent moan between two worlds
is a collapse dragged through naked corridors
In the operating room
energy spreads its huge wings
and dances on a tightrope
Perhaps the traveler
will cry through his salty blisters
the sea will bathe him, returning him to the first cell
the sun will toast two bodies
in total loving embrace
with ultraviolet caress and infrared
It's much too close in here
for loneliness,
or companionship.
Either way,
I grow too small
non-existent
non-essential
undervalued domesticity with insufficient commodity,
just another over-populating parasite
underneath Earth's glamorous backside;
Suppressed incubator within a more integrating place
of nonverbal language
and full-octaned relationship toward outside
somewhere, marginally surfing
flowing symbiotic omni-nutritional fluid
umbilical corded string
for receiving ever more formative function
energetic unction
massive combustion
rebirthing my new Elder synergetic IdEntity
through Ego-recession,
contracting unrhymed rhythm
of fear of fear of fear...
Double-Binding negative threshold
toward appositional Eco-Love prehension;
echoing across echo-developing hemispheres,
inter-wombed regenetic too slow and tight economy
creating EarthTribe's Beloved Ecology
of paradise boundaried with pain
Longing reconnected within universal agency,
being primally related through
RNA's coincidental Hollow Womb Presence,
Earth's self-optimizing cornucopian abundance
revolutioning joyful grace,
redemptive polycoloring place,
regenerate revolving Memory time
as love-drenched EarthMother's space.
Ambidextrous-ionic amniotic fluid,
Janus-faced dual destined
to internally bring forth new life
by purge erupting each metamorphic fertile sac,
draining past generations
into future's new-born hope,
to emerge a womb with sufficient empathic communication
to compassion Earth's warm-wombed community;
reconnecting humane nature's transactional economics
with sacred nature's transcendent ecologics--
Great Transition deducing permacultured functions
inducing biological forms of regenetic polyculture.
We're much too close for racing loneliness,
at loooong sloooow last,
our time to become Beloved CoElational together.
(Dedicated To Submariners All Over The World)
Dived deep in the bowels of the seas
My steely shell’s a womb.
Deep down amidst the oil and grease
I am at peace in the Lovecraftian tomb!
What’s with the antonyms, you may ask?
Two opposite words you’ve used -
One’s a warm and wonderful cask,
The other’s dead and worm-abused.
The words are apt, as you’ll soon realize,
For a sub’s a Faustian hell
Where the soul imperceptibly dies
A place where sub-human’s dwell!
Dimmed lights cast a sepulchral gloom,
Myriad machines sing Orphic songs
Of palpable peril and impending doom;
Each one of us a Houri’s groom!
To us’s denied the kiss of the sun,
Not for us the fresh blown breeze,
We know not when the day’s begun,
Nor when the night’s a-freeze!
Up periscopes and down again
The klaxons’ strident screams
Make us jump from where we’ve lain
To drilled duties in well-oiled teams.
The sighting of a laggard prey,
Spells sure a petard blown,
For a homing submarine fish tail spray
Brings terror to hardened men and grown.
Though through silent prowls of the deep we hunt,
Like coin could be our fate.
Our shell could crack with the depth charge brunt;
With Davy Jones we’d have our date!
But when heightened pulse and throbbing heart
Have ceased their labours wild,
Routine sets in and all is “back to start”
Each one an unborn child.
The sub becomes a womb, you see,
A place where your thoughts get sorted;
An amniotic envelope, safe and cozy,
With fair chance to get aborted!
So I hope now that my ditty’s run its course
The message’s plain and grim
That life and death share the same source -
For a submariner womb and tomb are synonym!
Take me back to my mother's womb
A peaceful place where eyes remain closed
Not to witness the tragedies of this world
Where ears hear not the horrifying sounds of this earth's brutality.
Take me back to my mother's womb
And let me stay there where worries and sorrows are absent
Let me stay there where day and night makes no difference
There where food and clothing matters not.
Take me back to my mother's womb
Where I will forever rejoice for I will be having
No idea of whatever is happening on earth
Because there, exist no one else but myself in my world.
Take me back to my mother's womb
And let me swim alone in my amniotic fluid
In a world where jealousy, hatred, anger and bitterness
Exist not for the placenta allows nothing malevolent.
Take me back to my mother's womb
For the world today is rotten, chaotic and painful
Meliorism is the only inspiration we have
As brutality dominates the earth with ruthlessness as a new norm.
Life on earth is full of tears
The future is doomed and hope is lost
Please take me back to my mother's womb
Because that is where I wanna stay forever.
The mourning sun struggled to shine
over the good earth
longing for uprooted seeds,
O-Lan’s second bamboo shoot
harvested far too soon.
The eighth page of
my American newspaper
casually mentions
Sixty Million
Missing,
as is our rage.
Silent choruses
of Asia's daughters
during this thirty-year long
monsoon of tears
cry out in unison:
Was gender our only crime,
or was it the cruelty of order?
(to form an even
more perfect union,
one child-no second chance,
second child-no first chance.)
Inhuman actuaries
compute the
fair market value of
rare Punjabi jewels as
the opportunity cost
of their ultimate dowries,
while surplus men pine.
O blind new world
proud of its
amniotic intelligence,
so unaware of the
consequences of
unnatural selection,
last night I dreamt
Heaven’s narrow gates
welcoming millions
scarcely born,
its vast expanse
unable to contain
our aggregate guilt,
the billions of us who
remain.
Gently drifting in the womb, these angels are the most in tune.
After birth they intuitively seek ocean, river, pool and lake.
Excellent swimmers they do make, intuitive angels with wings in water.
Perhaps one is your gentle daughter, hold them back, I tell you naught
for in the water they are divinely self taught. Dip them in the pool when young,
it is where their song is sung. Inherently part of their dioceses, water is the sign of masterful Pisces. Born under the sign of fish for a reason, all water sports
belong to their season. Salt or fresh matters not, its the allure of the un- tethered, feeling of weightlessness, lack of gravity like a floating feather. Splashing in the womb guarded by the heartbeat of mamma, the sanctuary where no harm looms, peace of heaven is slightly remembered, only the attachment of placenta to hold the connection of love past, present with no worries of future. Three quarters of the body, little wonder it feels like home, no matter how far your earthly roam. Does your heart remember drifting inside life's comfortable splendor prior to the worlds agenda? My mind, unfortunately, has forgotten but the liquid of my heart yearns for a moment in time to relish the love connection of the amniotic fluid of my earth mother gone to heaven. I ponder, is it coincidental that tears from the eye are comprised of water too.
2/26/2017
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
I swallow my secrets,
sharp little shards of the bizarre
that would gossip of my weaknesses
if allowed to converse
with the light.
One by one,
they scratch along
a cervical bridge
between my heart and mind
before being accumulated
in a churning pit
of reason and conscience
that constantly folds self into self
and manipulates the flavors
of my life.
I never intended to invite you
into my sacred archipelagos,
I meant to sample the sweetness
of your flattery,
the ambrosia of the forbidden
and metabolize your motives later
but you defy my volcano
and oxidize in my stomach
an embryonic gallstone
feeding on the amniotic bile
that disintegrates
my most caustic emotions.
You could extinguish my hunger;
the lightless, empty craving
for content-edness
and alleviate the peptic erosion
of my islands
by accepting their idiosyncrasies.
But I fear you will overfill me,
nauseate me with your revolutionary rites
and that I will regurgitate
the occult within.
Yet, I can't suppress the craving
for more crumbs of your affection.
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.
The Great Success
********************
I sat alone meditating and contemplating,
Deeply thinking about the universe, the human being and life.
I asked myself:
What would a fetus say if I were to phone him,
If I were to ask him about the circumstances there in his mother's womb;
How is he living?
I called him up and asked him to tell me something about his life….
His answer was:
Although my world is tiny, I am very happy here …
An umbilical cord feeds me,
A strange amniotic fluid protects me against any outside effects.
My world is ideal…no lying…no cheating and no hypocrisy…
I asked him if he had anything to add.
He replied: for the time being, he could not form his impression of the other side of the story
His last exact words were 'good-bye! Till we meet in your world'.
I waited until the plane landed after that nice short journey,
The delivery had already taken place
The child was still crying
People around were cheerfully laughing.
Then I asked the new born baby: as a newcomer to our world,
What would you say now?
His answer was: although your world is huge, I see it gloomy and dark.
This life is weary; a tear, a sigh,
Then I'll say good-bye and die.
Your world is full of lying, cheating and hypocrisy.
I wished I stayed in my mother's womb forever.
I told him 'there is a way if you follow, you can change the terms of your life.
Your tears can become candles;
Your sighs can become smiles
Even your death can become life in itself.
You have come to this world while crying
When people around you were laughing.
Following that way, you die smiling
When people around you are crying…
He immediately asked me: 'What is this way?
Please tell me?
I told him: ' The only way to achieve this is to believe in Allah (Glory be to Him):
To believe in His beautiful names and attributes
To believe that He is: Allah, the Peace, the Merciful, the Loving, the All-Knowing, the Gracious..etc
If you do so, you will win paradise and gain immortality
And in paradise you will have:
Life without death,
Youthfulness without old age,
Happiness without misery
And health without sickness.
And this is the real victory
The Great Success & Everlasting Delight and happiness
Hyperbolic
Parabolic
Symbiotic
Life
In the amniotic
Catatonic
Platonic
Life
In the mnemonic
Esoteric
Symphonic
Rhythmic
Life.