Best Breastfeeding Poems
The minstrel and the rubbish
To a homeless in N.Y., who had a guitar to keep him company
But he that is greatest among you shall be your servant.
(Matthew, 23, 11)
The rubbish was blown aside
by the arid marching of the wind
leaving the whole street clear
for the minstrel who was crooning
his latest composition
to the street’s dream-recipients,
while the voltage of the wind
was going down at intervals
under the burden
of the unexpected stave.
The night was watchful
- you’d say she dreaded –
lest she bumped into the chords
and crush their solitary waving.
Breastfeeding music the minstrel
was opening up new pathways
to the question marks
of his melodies.
Me, what was I then
I still haven’t found.
Wind, rubbish, onlooker
or something else?
The minstrel ’s mute audience,
the rubbish, transcended its nature
at Time’s attendance register
and, after all, it would not
have always been rubbish
and some of it would have had
its own illustrious past, too,
and it must have known
what it means to have
eyes that leave Love
as a map to find them back
and warmth that has left,
as a memorial,
its fleeting past,
with Hope
as its one and only stamp.
All alone the minstrel,
homeless with his homeless guitar
housed his trivial dreams,
under the yoke
of the obese city’s wind,
in his Heavenly Melodies.
(translated by the original ‘O ???a??d?? ?a? ta s???p?da’, by the poet, from his book of the same title.)
"Trauma In my Mother's House"
Some mornings came whispering in my mother's ears the torment of being a lady;
It explained to her how by the kitchen knife
she was meant to breathe only from a man’s pocket
She was told that her tears undermine society
& her body worth not even a cent from a man’s wallet,
Because she is the object that cannot fit even in an empty set
the door of my mother's head was opened by another strange voice,
informing her that cooking is the degree she has earned naturally
& that anything above it, is a sin beyond reality
Situation has made her to see this world as a cooking kitchen;
The aches from there is the comfort air she inhales without regretting
In my mother's house,
she is strong like the wind that comes before rainfall,
Because she's the eagle that can withstand any downfall
Her power is the milk that's capable of breastfeeding this lazy world
& babysit any depression that wants to overcome her,
Because her current life is the hell she is defeating very well.
Poet:
© Cheto
I knew I loved you before I knew you were to be born, I made life long promises to you before I knew you were to be born. I just couldn’t imagine just how much I would love you at that time until the day you were born, the moment I found out that I was going to be a mother I was shocked at first but when the shock wore off I was beyond joy.
I couldn’t wait for the day that I would finally meet you, to hold you in my arms, to kiss your beautiful head and to rock you to sleep. I was scared about breast breastfeeding you because of how top-heavy I am, so I decided to bottle feed you instead.
I took parenting classes to make sure that I would know how to care for you, I want you to have a better life then I did growing up. I will make sure that you do because I’ll make sure with all of my power that you do have a better life than me.
I’ll get you whatever you want and need all you have to do is ask me, you are my special and precious little baby girl. You claimed my heart for your own when you were born.
By: Vera Rice
That rule was begging to be broken
Y’know the one about women?
Of conformity for cat calls and
Gift wrapped shoulders and legs?
How about “no” to breastfeeding
How about “whore” for “too revealing”?
I’m sick of these notions, it’s too unappealing.
I am a nonconformist of a woman
The one that daunts you in your wake.
Come at me with your “don’t”s for women
I’ll show you my scars of everyday crusades.
I’ve battled tirades of piercing tongues
Of sharp fingers engraved into skins
I’m supposed to be hidden beneath them
Because I walk like i’m a woman
Because I walk like a human being
But I stomp these woman feet of mines
To tell you “That ain’t gonna be me”
Nor will it be any woman in this world
‘Cause that rule was begging to be broken
When this woman marched for gender equality.
I am not apologizing for my sexual orientation
For loving what I want and not what society has dictated to me
I am not apologizing for my white skin
If you think it is privilege then walk in my shoes
I am not apologizing for being highly susceptible for feeling a lot
It has made me what I am today
I am not apologizing for speaking the truth
If I see you are abusing someone, I will surly let you know
I am not apologizing for my believes in God
He carried me, when you didn’t want to
I am not apologizing for not wanting to see a woman breastfeeding
No, it is not disgusting, I was just raised better
I am not apologizing for talking about my sexual abuse
I can show another victim that there is light in the aftermath
I am not apologizing standing up against bullies
I’ve been there, they need to know they not alone
I am not apologizing for my foul language
At times it is the most expressive
I am not apologizing for having a *****
It was given to me by the All Mighty
I am not apologizing for believing that woman must be able to stand alone
Their worth is not measured by a man or how many babies they have
I am not apologizing for my unsavoury past
It has moulded me to the person I am
I am not apologizing for history
It had nothing to do with me and I also was dealt a **** hand
I am not apologizing for believing that there are many huge false prophets
From potatoes to doom you should not be living large on selling God
I am not apologizing for when the depression hits me
It’s a matter of when and not if
I am not apologizing that I don’t always agree with you
Your view will not always be the same as mine
I am not apologizing for loving you
You show me that you have a good heart
I am not apologizing for things I didn’t do
I am already struggling with the things I did
O! Sickened soul, rejoice for forgiveness has come,
Eleven months of sin and dine, sawm to you has come,
O! Soul of mine, do not despair and go astray,
Do not follow your whims and desires and ways,
Do not deviate from the truth that has come to you.
O Soul! Decreed upon you is to fast and pray,
To worship your Lord and ask to be led to the right way,
O! Soul of mine, hear what your Lord has to say,
And save yourself from hellfire, regrets and dismay.
Fast! Fast! By the virtue of the command, Fast!
O Souls! healthy and able, from dawn to dusk abstain,
From foods and sins and that which hearts darken,
From gossips, slanders and in prayers do not hasten.
Know the young, the elderly, the menstruating, the ill,
Know the exempted, the pregnant, the breastfeeding,
Those under compulsion, the travelling, the mad,
Know them as free from fasts but on them are debts,
That they need repay later, in line with ayahs of the Quran.
Say in prayer, O God! I for many years sinned,
Lead me O God! To find that night that is blessed,
Say in prostration, forgive me and make me at peace,
With myself and strip me of any severe illness,
That may make me not fast, not stand up in prayer.
when I didn’t say it
i meant
on every single day
you spent
deprived of sleep
weary and blue
to say thanks
for all the things
that you do
thank you for producing two gorgeous dots
thank you for not losing the plot
thank you for going to Target and Trader Joes
thank you for picking up diapers, food and clothes
thank you for keeping the refrigerator stocked and clean
thank you for picking up yogurt, mushrooms, peaches and ice cream
thank you for working out our weekly meals
thank you for rushing to the babies when they squeal
thank you for looking after our team
thank you (again) for buying more ice cream
thank you for giving up so much sleep
thank you for dressing the girls as sheep
thank you for always making the bed
thank you for dealing with me and my sore head
thank you for being the person on who we depend
thank you for sending out thank you notes to family and friends
thank you for tolerating my bad jokes and lines
thank you for filling up my glass with wine
thank you for helping me recover from my bike fall
thank you for going back to work, tired and all
thank you for directing us through the easy and the tough
thank you for breastfeeding even when you have had enough
thank you for choosing this wonderful life
thank you for being a friend, mother and wife
Understanding:
Breastfeeding of the mind
With
The laws of eternal truth!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
19 FEBRUARY 2015
in the woods getting lost is a bliss,tall trees like mothers welcome me in their scoops, giving off comfort in my waning sense of insecurity,shrubs give tiny berries cool like candy under the blazing sun,to soothe avid soul; on arrival there's an all-pervading tranquility, the wonderful sagacity of nature,smell of petrichor earth, brings forth mother's breastfeeding, the sauce of my upbringing,as time passes on evening sets in, under the placid moon i discover the footprints of my life....
a creaky night-bird
roves the canvas sky in woods
paints my mother's face
haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mick Talbot
DOE: 06/25/2018
Don't take my meaning to mean anything
its my love for myself in its own life form surviving
and breastfeeding.
I could sit down and feel what i'm thinking
its a rare skill because I've died and still living.
No one knows but this is a funeral feeling
mixed with the smile of your best friend spiritually
healing.
This is the world presented at its saddest moment
with the possibility of happiness after all dealing
with your self as the only opponent.
So yea i understand
but i take all day to fight my demon
its not a serious problem
its more of whats meant while you read this as a
freeman.
I persist in crediting....
That breastfeeding hatred and animosity
Could barely occasion war atrocity
Demolish houses and blameless lives reap
Petrify crestfallen minds and infants' poignant grief
That airplanes,tanks and other war toys
Could ravage,destroy and only thieve joys
Annihilate life and identities liquidate
Amplify aghast mortals and not emancipate
That peace stirring words could promote
Long-term stability and eschew portentous faults
Make ravage and hearts assault
Imprison sensible souls and ferocity halt
For any lesion would eventually heal
Come to medicate and revenge conceal
But that words of malediction linger
Boost hostility and ran our trigger
You may say these are mere fantasies
Engaging in a wild-goose chase
Like a mansion built upon sand
But could enmity our worries appease ?
Remember,all things considered,we are all housed in the same boat.
Seen through Gia’s arch
A breastfeeding accident
Splatter night’s ceiling
Red velvet with gold corded embroidery
Old farmhouse faint smoke frost glittered
Spices wine honey candles milk apples
Orders farm produce meat game and fish
Great fire in kitchen preparing for the evening
Writing poetry ... baby cries for breastfeeding
Singing together begin to dance in fine dress
Young man singing melancholy love-song
When blackened at that time,
as the fate of this country,
In the Dai Nippon colonial era,
the baby was born.
Childbirth is true fate.
breastfeeding as God's gift,
laudatory nature and remarkable deeds.
Nothing for partus sequitur ventrem,
children born not to slaves.
Mom, who nine-monthed him,
happy and grateful.
The baby was exceptional.
The Colonial Army never sets claws,
unexpected obstacles,
grounding and sinking.
Where?
Who?
Naqaba, walked,
followed a narrow path.
The Guru,
Sekumpul.
It was great for a time
Sex and wine
Wine and sex
Then commitment and open and shut curtains.
Special delivery of child made the bond complete
Six months down the line
Breastfeeding was action watched from a distance
Intimacy was a tired look
The neighbour's cat looked hot
Killed the lonely nights
Killed the commitment outright
Got to know the lawyer through rapid bank withdrawals
Weekly child visit watched over by Brutus
Bar visits watched over by the world's condemned
Special occasion became a twice-yearly treat
Birthday and Christmas, a bit of hate thrown sideways.
Then the new man.
Felt good for her.
Maybe some pressure off.
Maybe missed that lobotomy bar lecture.
Years dragged the hate forward.
Time moved on.
One day I wrote her a letter expressing my anger.
She wrote back in triplicate.
I wrote back in double triplicate.
She sent a thesis on men and asses.
Suddenly, without thinking, we had dialogue.
After a while, we moved on from the anger.
We became human again.
I actually liked writing her letters and receiving them.
We never got back together.
But the letters kept us close.
Sometimes there would be a kiss at the end.
The little bit of love I probably never deserved.
I would mention it to her in my next letter.
Even an ass deserves a solitary kiss now and again.
The bar-room lawyers would probably agree.