Best Breast Fed Poems
Summer love, a man, a woman, conception, a new born
Ring the bells, amplify megaphones, bugle the cow horn
The ceremony begins, baptism, cries, holy water
From two one, family, father, mother, son or daughter
A priests blessings, proud grandparents, proud parents, birth anew
Hospital papers, a birth certificate, much to do
Tears from parents, tears from baby, tears from all, tears of joy
Breast fed, nipples, milking mothers, changing diapers, oh boy
A songbird sings, rock-a-bye-baby, lullaby's at large
Aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, sitters take charge
A pacifier, a cradle, corners of stuffed toys
Hanging crib toys, singing toys, jingling bells, rattling noise
A new generation, of life, all this, in summer love
A woman, man, baby, a family, from god above
Categories:
breast fed, baby, family, life, love,
Form:
Sonnet
Memories of goodness from collaborating nakedness
are more than strong appetizing captivity from hot omelets and lasagna
serving as the foundation of a strong intimacy
planted in a greenhouse of mythical pleasures
growing in the natural mood of the angels,
joy of a breast fed toddler and
the blossom of a newly wedded bride
making each episode of our erotic escapades
fit in perfectly like fried bricks placed by an experienced mason
to always anticipate holy crimes, godly naughtiness and tempting tenderness.
Having a voice formed from taking Nature’s tea
your happy reactions feel like wrapping thighs over my soft abdomen
and playfulness like your tender pelvis greasing my trunk.
your anxious tongue convulse at the slightest touch of any body part
like the dancing tail of a fast swimming fish
padding my inside to softness to provide sensual oxygen
giving constant preservative to our gritty and never decaying romance.
Such love always create classic dreams
with slow melodic settings showcasing proactive kisses
from nuclear minds so spontaneous and rhythmic,
liberal skins ready for intense foreplays
making even our under wears carry so much envy
because of such a walled passion
impenetrable by any radar and unsinkable by any disaster.
Our essence of clothing is to take them off
the significance of our schooling is to garnish up such affection
the creation of this heat is a powerful reality
standing between men and angels
summing up a traditional fairy attached by
a never ending chain of irresistible desires
this exactly defines the two of us.
this bond is just conservative to our unique and inferno experience
and so therefore, the ultimate hope is, we should never stop!
Categories:
breast fed, love, romance, romantic, sexy,
Form:
Romanticism
Wherever she is tell her
Tell her she is a woman so strong
Her words are always never wrong
Tell her this I said
Tell her every word I obeyed.
Tell that good woman
That I am now a man
Her wisdom flows in me
Opens my eyes to see
Tell her wherever she is
Tell her I said this.
She raised me up
Breast fed me on her lap
To correct me pinched my ear
She wiped my every tear
Tell her I am now a man
Tell that good woman.
Mother of four
Her I will live for
Her care
I will share
Her wisdom I will pass on
Till I too pass on
Tell her.
Tell her happy I am
with her words in my ear drum
Her wisdom in my mind
Her love in my heart so kind
Tell mother her son
will shine bright like the sun
Tell that good woman
Her son is a man.
Categories:
breast fed, age, mom, mother, mother
Form:
Ballade
FATE
Conceived was I in the vastness of infinite
Time,
Developed in the womb of never dying
Cosmos,
Born under the watchful eyes of the vault
Of heavens,
Breast-fed by destiny’s inescapable
Commands
And
Nurtured by the laws of unyielding
Providence,
Thus
The unswerving path of fate, now, obediently to
Follow I have!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
06 NOVEMBER 2013
Categories:
breast fed, life, philosophy, , fate,
Form:
Epigram
The Perfect life, a wife half his age
Their house grand, with a zip code to match
No hawkers, appointments only
The library full of Shakespeare
Never opened, for it’s the show that counts
Dinner Parties, A new painting
Purchased, because we can,
A favourite phrase for American wealth,
Pompous talk of Wine and Poetry
Vinegar, and Plagiarism their only worth,
Still the new boob job to admire
The children, off to England, Trophy kids,
Breast fed by American Express.
The Debutants Ball awaits them
And a hoorah Henry wedding their destiny
Church on Sunday
New money at the front
The old money sitting in the private pew
God for sale,
And the greenback will mop the saint’s brow
Even in death a grand memorial
But decay gives no privilege
Let’s hope the pearly gates are the right colour
And god has the right zip code
For pomposity, might just send them to the wrong house.
Categories:
breast fed, funny, money, , memorial,
Form:
Free verse
He will leave me low
he will leave me not ...
oh, flower, do your petals know?
If I sleep with him, sparks won't keep; knowing my truth,
he'll cut me loose. Each day and night, I plot and plan to
avoid sleeping snuggled with my man. He has love's need
to cuddle bed deep but I know he'll either laugh or weep.
Flower, to him I'll confide I'm ever wishin' that a garage
door sealed my kitchen. Smiling, I'll say I sleep-eat;
wake with berries in my hair and bits of eclair. I'll tell
him lowering sheets may expose chip bits and also relief
there are no dips. I'll say I eat unaware and can't be
woken, but will he run after I've spoken?
Once I've told of sleep crumbs, I have to tell him I sleep
sucking my tongue. Putting another smile on my face, I'll
say my fingertips rub my pillowcase. I wasn't breast fed
so, I fell in this mold and my tongue noise is loud, I'm told.
The pillowcase must be my mother's skin and sucking my
way of drinking in.
Flower, will he cuddle in my bed, knowing I'll chew, suck
and rub near his head? I'll leave out that scratching the
end of my spine makes me go pee, every time.
He will leave me low,
he will leave me not,
he will leave .... running with all he's got.
Categories:
breast fed, funny, sleep,
Form:
Dramatic Monologue
The importance of Pomposity
(Not to be taken seriously)
The Perfect life, a wife half his age
Their house grand, with a zip code to match
All bought and paid for.
No hawkers, appointments only
But look closer
The Wife bides her time, waiting for his demise,
A heart attack would be nice
For she has her own dreams
No love baked bread here
No roses from seed.
A plastic hug, on a plastic lawn his reward
The library full of Shakespeare and Keats
Never opened, for it’s the show that counts
Dinner Parties, A new painting
Purchased, because we can,
A favourite phrase for American wealth,
Pompous talk of Wine and Poetry
Vinegar, and Plagiarism their only worth,
Still the new boob job to admire
Perhaps a recipe, her mother’s creation
Michel Roux the real star.
The children born out of lust not love
Sent away to England, Trophy kids,
Breast fed by American Express.
The Debutants Ball awaits them
And a hoorah Henry wedding their destiny
Church on Sunday
New money at the front
The old money sitting in the private pew
God for sale,
And the greenback will mop the saint’s brow
A church of Pomposity
Even in death a grand memorial
But decay gives no privilege
Let’s hope the pearly gates are the right colour
And god has the right zip code
For pomposity, might just send them to the wrong house.
Categories:
breast fed, people, satire, wife, money,
Form:
Free verse
If I had seven days,
I'd feed the hungry...
give milk formulas
to the needy mothers
of the suckling babies
who can't be breast-fed;
what a big smile I'd put
on every infant's face!
And from within, I'd certainly
feel a joy never experienced before!
I wouldn't stop there,
I'd continue searching for them...
for those children who ask for bread,
and a bottle of spring water...
if I were the Pope, I'd sell all the gold
in Vatican City and make them full,
hoping that others will follow his example!
Why do they have to die uselessly;
has society turned away
from human compassion?
If I had seven days
to do as I please, I would be
an ambassador for peace,
stop the violence which causes wars
by asking nations to come together and negotiate...
I would be much delighted to see them shake hands!
Some will listen, some will not
and despite their negative reaction,
I will try to convince them with an imposing voice
that they will be sorry for the destruction which will come!
Categories:
breast fed, family, children, friendship, love,
Form:
Lyric
Boys or girls matters not
Birth is a divine gift.
Blissful in every way,
Blessed by their parent's love,
Breast fed garners good health.
Beaming faces bless us...
Bringing us happiness.
8-15-16
Pleiades B Sponsor Kim Merryman
Categories:
breast fed, baby, birth, blessing, joy,
Form:
Pleiades
A terrible earthquake rocked
Bidding adieu left us shocked
Rescuers worked on the third day
Looking exhausted and in dismay
Suddenly mixed feelings filled the air
When they lifted two up the metal stair
Shielded from the falling fragments
Embraced and protected within a mother’s garment
Wrapped in a carcass that offered comfort
A live six month-old baby girl put her effort
She moved having been suckled on that fateful day
By her mother who had entered the unknown gateway
Only this could have crammed her mind
Let me die so that they could find
My child alive; my child must live
So, she breast-fed until alive
One could compare her love to a mystery
Her life after death is but history
Tears trickle from stony hearts
Also from those carrying debris in their carts
Like a mother longing to hug her child
Our Creator waits to embrace us His child
He can pick us up from any rubble
And in us can make joy bubble
Categories:
breast fed, death, devotion, mother, mystery,
Form:
Rhyme Royal
The cradle of humanity.
The brain behind thousands of civilizations.
The mother of generations and the charm behind many beauties.
Even before empires you were formed.
Even before the days of the pyramids, you were formed.
Before horses took on foots and chariots raced in battle, you were formed.
You gave birth to Kings and Queens and breast-fed many heroes and heroines.
Kingdoms were build and named in you.
Africa- live free, rule well.
Because many things have been said and many more will be said about you.
AFRICA:
A- Admirable
F- Free forever
R- Resolved, resolute and resourceful
I- Indomitable
C- Courageous
A- Attractive
Africa- the cradle of humanity
Africa- live free, rule well.
Categories:
breast fed, art,
Form:
Prose Poetry
Stepping backwards into our future,
blowing into the bag of our achievements.
Fabric stretching reality; ready to burst
Indianapolis track of progression.
Conscience, hard wired from the system
and morality, a discarded well worn tyre.
Digging mines to bury nature,
while we sing a laments lie.
Wailing that our television dreams
no longer satisfy.
Rosacea landscapes “proudly” proclaim
testaments to our “care.”
While we machinate on peaceful accords.
(A bloody blade already drawn.)
Subfusc faces, in rainbow towns,
knock fairytales to the ground,
all wrapped in debts boa embrace
we wear our plastic crowns.
Hero’s come, hero’s go,
like ice cream around children.
Old warriors barricade park bench castles,
sipping 100% proof amnesia.
A generation weaned on high fibre ignorance,
apathetically observing Pandora’s box.
Glibly strutting towards suicidal genocide
beneath peroxide standards of progress.
Do you see the white flag of innocence?
Blowing in the ether of bull-sh1t.
Do you see the hand of hope?
Dead flesh from the severed arm.
Do you see the words of faith?
That fall so easily from blasphemers lips,
and what of love; a four letter word spelled f-u-c-k.
An enlightened people? We shield our eyes,
bounce from walls of our tunnel vision.
Forever throwing problems at the framework,
expecting it to hold.
The faster we run, the slower we move,
sowing dreams on barren ground.
Death; we’re breast-fed on its demands.
Can’t you hear the world screaming,
or is fairground music to loud?
Evolving devolution,
green-mile macadam,
we rush to oblivion.
Categories:
breast fed, life, people, social,
Form:
Free verse
Milk sacks here,
Milk sacks there,
Milk sacks now
Are everywhere.
Milk sacks right,
Milk sacks left,
Be they big,
Or be they small,
Heaven knows
I’ve seen them all
When on the streets
They point at me
And seem to hate
Their cotton shields.
Free lactose for all alive!
Oh my! How very kind.
Here is some bread,
Who’s got a cup?
I’ll have a squeeze
To go with those.
Someone please
Clear the crowded streets
Before we all get breast-fed!
Categories:
breast fed, funny, satire,
Form:
ABC
Atheists,
nihilistic babies
weaned on void milk
They raised themselves not to partake
of any faith-altering substance —
God and religion
is hard liquor and hardcore ***********
to their pure humanist, temperance sensibility
They don’t believe in spiritual invisible things ...
yet, they can touch the unseen air they breath
The spirit of unbelief ... spirit of the Sadducees,
rest within the bosom of their dry souls
Breast fed on prayer emptiness,
so many miracles of God they dismiss with ease
On womb birthdays and tomb holidays,
they eat cheerfully the sumptuous Devil cake:
(a dark angelic spirit in whom they don’t believe exist,
of course, in the first place)
A pasty pastry which contain twin ingredients: malice and avarice —
hate and greed leaven mixed into the ugly bake
They take such preening pagan pride
in denouncing the very existence of God
But, in cremation ashes they can’t hide,
from the holy, divining Resurrection rod
When their atheist flesh and bones
get reconstructed from the urn grave
It will be too late
for them to wanna believe and be saved
Categories:
breast fed, religious, spiritual, truth, wisdom,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
I was holding my slasher In the cold wet season
That's what we call it here
Then i saw his head coming from the east
Like the morning sun rising from sleep
Wounded like a might hunter
He stood head to toe
With a spear in his right hand
And a fruits in his left
The defeat on democracy was on his face
His begging spirit was gone
The story of disease no more
I saw Africa stand
All villagers came
To witness walking houses
With four balls rolling on the ground
Made by this great giant
He was no longer trembling as he spoke
We had his voice speak to our souls
We once down trodden
But now we arise
We looked as though cursed
But blessed we stand
We walked as dependents
But today we give
He spoke with Charisma and we all
Shouted
Yes Africa we rise
To change the world we live in
Africa we stand tall
To impact souls
To impart morals
To claim our heritage
As we mentor the worlds
That breast fed us for millenniums
Today
The Man, Africa
Stands and will never fall
Categories:
breast fed, africa,
Form:
Free verse