Best Fertility Poems
This pain is not my fault
I was just unlucky
It brings my life to holt
Each stabbing pain, twisting ache
Strikes as hard as a lightening bolt
This cramping is so hard to shake
Endometriosis is its name
We're not playing this is no game
It takes away so many things
Each person its sorrow it brings
To know what we go through
If you only knew
You see sometimes we can't do much
Apart from lay in the fetal position
People judge as such
Oh she has that condition
Never fully understanding just what it takes to paint her face
And show the world she's not a waste of space.
So to you fellow endo sisters
Out there
Your not your illness
Your beautifully flawed and are so very strong
We are here for each other in this mess
I'm sorry this poem is very long
So I hope these words have helped you know. Each time you get told your lazy, making it up
go and prove them wrong
We are survivors and we know
That this awareness for this condition should grow
From one endo sister to another with love ??????
He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer
Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies
Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under
And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes
He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility
The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes
(Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly
will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases)
And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow
Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin
And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show
He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him
He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage
Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor
These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses
Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core
He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons
And the brown earth beginning to expose itself
The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze
And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell
The fattest land mass within the borders of Europe
is also a mother with an extremely fertile womb
to once go third in the global grain export.
Sitting on a ground blessed with hidden treasures,
it has unfortunately been blown by the nuclear disaster of Chernobyl.
Its architecture, literature and music are a mirror reflection of its faith,
the borscht and verenyky- the appetizing symbols of its meals;
built ‘the Dream’ to wow the world of flight and weight
and emits the radiance of the Carpathian mountains
through the longest musical pipe ever played.
Home to the greatest ever boxing family
and having cities with their individual bragging rights.
Accumulation of cafes stands tall in its western giant
to the point, one of them exhibits masochism in soft core;
while its heart is home to the deepest Metro station
and also a sustainer of the chronicles of the Bald Mountains.
Among all is its amazing feature
of having the globe’s most beautiful women.
From Stalin to Putin, its road flirts with Russian misfortunes
and restricted by the limitations of corruption’s chains.
As one of the detached buttons of the soviet design,
it falls off but still tied with a closely knitted Slavic thread.
From such a connection,
it has since been under the suffering of its disowned father
to mount the stones of instability on a ground up north the black sea
for its identity to remain fully eastern.
It was dusk and eerie, rain dripped from
Leaves that rustled in the trees
Of the nearby woods, each shadow cast
A reminder that danger lurked about!
A shrill scream cut through the darkness,
Bringing with it fear and dread,
A certain warning, that murder was the mood!
A fox sneaked back into its hole,
As a snake slithered in after it and the
Rain turned into a torrential downfall
Lightening was the only form of light
In this frightening scenario, the thunder
Boomed forth, as the storm came nearer
And nearer, until another scream was heard!
The storm abated and stopped and the
Moon lit up the sky as did the many stars!
It was the 20th March, and the Pagans were
Celebrating the Spring Equinox, so they
Danced around a fire, reason, ritual fertility rites
The vampires were also aware of this festival,
Hiding, Drooling, and fiercely hungry !
Their sharp dirty teeth glinting in the midnight
Moonlight, their filthy rags already soaked
In blood as they had snacked on latecomers.
The pagans unaware of their pending plight
Screeched and screamed, as the vampires
Fell upon them chaos ruled, as they drained
Their blood, leaving them dead, and shriveled.
Overfed, they forgot that dawn was nigh,
The sun now showing, the vampires scampered
Away, like cockroaches hiding their ugly bloody faces
From the sudden sunlight engulfing them, but their greedy
Feast resulted in karma for these haunting, daunting
Monsters, then came the werewolves and finished off the
Skeletal Leftovers! Don’t visit the woods on the 1st May!
I danced to the tune of horn-blowers
At the edge of the twilight jungle
And my lover jiggled her waist
Bead-laden, to the shy-faced moon
Peering, cowering thro’ the green foliage
As the drums sang tum tum
My heart echoed tum tum
And the bare breasts of Wanjiru
Up and down tum tum
The warriors’ lion-like roar with virility
The fecund maidens respond
With feminine alacrity
The village awaits the blessing
Ripples of joy flood the harvest
Love is nurtured with stiff erections
Cajoling the eager, thirsty
but moist and dripping mouth.
Fertility, excess,
I know in me the whole seed process of everything
enlightening the sun to new distances.
and I am famished for attention.
and the conditions are still not right.
still you blame me for
my lack of demand - "Go Make The Conditions" -
but alas, I cannot. I am a man
but (will you ever believe me?)
Fertility
is what I am. Not who, but what.
Spring's Fertility
blue jays hop off branch
borne worm caught from sprouting grass
mountain dresses' up
connie pachecho
1/11/17
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
You’re wasting all my fertility years
She said
With genuine anger.
Dave said
Nothing.
He sloped away and put a single slice of rye bread in the toaster
Popped a hard-boiled egg in his mouth
And thought about his robust spermatozoa.
circle of fertility hidden deep in the valley
Come, women who want to conceive
feel the nurturers, Gaia and sun break
bring your waiting wombs
Productive habitat overrides destruction
Rousing happens atop ground otherwise reluctant
Entities touching, same faith entertained
Grass burst brave weaves together cracked terrain
Gaia time turns pages, plot twists threaten pattern
Arrested in laughter at last season's barren
Nudging sprouts mouth new determined language
Terra pushes Spring, customarily established
16th December
- send in the cow -
I find a great deal to learn
from Republican
Supremacist
Nationalistic
Nihilistic Evangelical Rapture
about how to lose eco-political sanity
and lose ecological health.
It feels important to remember
and respect
basic nutritional dumping facts
of public health through reinvestment
and global climate pathology through extraction
apartheid
blame and shame
Some movements smell,
but this does not remove them
from appropriate gut matters
for poets
saints
and sinners.
We civilized Western straight white people
worry about this so much
we dump our waste into our water,
intentionally polluting and sacrificing Earth-generic purity,
rather than planting it in soil,
where healthy scat can grow robust
resilient public and private nutritional green wealth.
Of course poop stinks
or it smells of developing resonant possibilities
for healing polluted
stagnant
depressed
economies;
Fragrance of probabilities
for redeeming corrupted political dissociations,
Sentient scents for a truly multicultural
salvific
robust
resonant
resilient sacred theology
advocating spaces
and time
for natural ecology.
Of course your body waste stinks
of outside wealth-nurturing memories.
But, does it smell healthy,
or too red meat-eater
predative RightWing
toilet twittering
of rapaciously OtherUnWise eco-politics?
Baal spent time in the underworld with the lesser gods
Learned how to make man miserable with the weather
Thunderbolts and lightning announced his earthly arrivals
Baal relished in the misery of lost sailors and dying soldiers.
He was a key deity in weather changes and stubbornness.
Thus, he was represented with a bull, ram or thunderbolt
Rider of the clouds some said; they were barely touching Baal’s strength.
He was the quintessential weather god, also, called
God of fertility, which goes along with moon cycles and weather.
Men bearing nakedness and strips of thong
running through and whipping the female throng
Blood red and milk white,
colors of delight.
A tradition for years that remained strong.
Young women wrote names with aim to belong.
Man drawing their name is their hopeful song.
Placed strip in an urn
for a mate they yearn.
The new couple together all year long.
Celebration of Lupa and Faunus,
the day is swiftly coming upon us.
festival of note,
formation to choate.
A fertile year for them was a promise.
Drip drip drip
There she is, curl up like a ball,
Hands pressing hard, raw is the pain,
For a moment the heated pad works.
Thud thud thud
Powerless she's against the shedding,
High and low, her hormones play tennis,
Giggles of laughter turn into tears.
Drip drip drip
With every drop of Vermillion,
A raging pain rise in her low back,
The room is spinning, her head is pounding.
Thud thud thud
“Those are the scarlet drops,
That could make her a Mother,” she thought
As the light faded from her pain-filled eyes.