Best Fetuses Poems
(This poem is political satire;
don't read if you think you may
be offended. No truth in any of it,
considered by many to be
tasteless -- Not meant to be taken
factually nor literally -- Sincerely, Joe)
New strain of Virus detected
just a minute ago! Predominately
in Democrat run cities and states:
Seems to be 3 trillion times more
infective. CDC is calling it the,
S.T.U.P.I.D. Variant. University Staffs
hard-hit! Early signs, loss of Sense-
of-Smell, Gullibility, and increased
fetish for Designer Masks. Best
detected by examination of Cancel
Cultures -- microscopes prohibited
per Fauci. The most vulnerable group
seems to be those who have already
had 4 doses and 2 boosters. To treat
Fauci recommends, 4 doses and 2 boosters
for everyone, preferably administered
as young as the womb to developing
fetuses by his personally trained
omnipotent physicians at Unplanning
Parenthood -- Biden and Pelosi
say, God Bless America!
1.
My grapefruit tanned
toothpicks
bow above
the five-day flattened
spot
in an olive shag carpet
tracing grandpa Leo's
blueprint,
with one encapsulated
toe –
this is the femur, this is
the head,
this is the fist, the ring
finger, the soul.
I search for any blunt
white quivering slivers
of Caroline's purported
fly fetuses.
2.
Huddling behind the
corpse
of an old hospital bed,
a framed photo
smoke browned and
wearing my toddler face,
watches
his children choke
hushed, broken
sentences
this will be yours, my
plate, separate the
holiday china…
an enigmatic language
that hovers in
smoke stretched rings
to wilt
upon the hallway
bulb.
3.
I am left
the ceramic cygnet,
and an ivory carved
dromedary.
These artifacts
plucked
from his porcelain
menagerie
that I decipher
through dust fingerprints
for
one small inheritance of
a memory.
4.
Tomorrow,
Aunt Rose
puts price
to his bibelots,
the olive shag carpet,
even cousin Amy's
plastic horse,
who was accidentally
left to pasture on an
afghan.
A silver plated glass cage
image of her past,
she says she will whittle
all of him,
from the
wooden
house
bones.
ARE YOU RIBBING ME
GIVE us back our rightful place
Matriarchal society - was not broken- when you fixed it -
you need to stop playing games with yourself.
When western heathenism became patriarchal--
the feminine energy was still ruling--
We allowed you to realize whom came from whom.
Was it not the womb who gave birth to the?
son and the moon.
Was it not you who slid down our milky way.
Was it not you that we gave the power to.
Because you are our creation.
Give truth back to our men
the out of control concepts has bred deception-
Before too- many more myths create
the polarity- desires, pulling men
between masculine and feminine…
In the beginning the one who had all power
Created both male and female not to rule over
One another but to be as opposite attractions
Giving life -love- and-
Joy and to make more
Creations through pro-creations.
I WAS Placed in the womb
and in the womb, I was formed.
When I got here
somebody told me
I came from a Rib.
Did the research and found
it wasn't me
I am a womb-man
came from the womb
people.
I met the "Rib People"
heard their fantasy,
and they do not like me,
because I am woman.
But still they place more
seeds in my womb...
and give mystery to my history,
even though they know
They came from me.
The rib story gains
popularity as It's
entwined with the bibliography.
Now instead of love," Jealousy"
has reared its ugly head,
and female fetuses by the millions
are ENDING up DEAD!
Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017
Abortionists are heroes in this Christian's book of man,
They save a fetus from a Hell that 'Christians' seem to plan!
A mother left to fend for self, with rapist's child to raise,
While many who claim Christian views, obtusely share a daze.
A bastard born of woman "has to be the victim's fault,"
While fetuses that "God Saves" are paved over with asphalt!
What proof that fetus has a soul when God treats some like trash,
Your claim to understand His will? Seems genuinely rash!
If Bible is 'the word of God,' 'your take' is not 'His Word,'
And when you say you understand you're 'giving God the Bird,'
Your fire to live a 'Holy Life,' may help you to survive,
The judgment of another's soul? May God's Grace help you thrive!
Some atheists live Christian lives; their 'faith' shows Grace I think,
Impossible to prove belief! But doubt has far less stink.
For 'Doubters' serve humility and display more restraint,
'The Saved,' so sure that they've arrived, own corners that they paint!
Brian Johnston
May 24, 2018
Poet's Notes:
I'm sure that this poem will make some folks angry, but I do not judge you (though God may). I submit this poem in humility (though you may feel condemnation), for I genuinely care for all of our souls and called on by God in the Bible to witness to others. Please testify back to me if you feel God calling you to point out any error!
lottery tickets and scratch offs cause nothing but litter and
make the poor poorer and the rich state richer
prayer is not allowed in schools yet the money which
builds them says in God We Trust on it
the killing of babies is of free choice and is widespread
it is legal just as is the killing of criminals
epidemics of sexually transmitted disease and of drugs is rampant
and unnatural homosexuality is promoted as normal on prime time TV
and in many churches
hundreds of cults make millions of dollars as they brainwash
many and target the youth
sexual slave trafficking coexists along with them in every major city
in the country
thousands and thousands roam the streets homeless while
churches set on almost every corner locked and bared
pawnshops strip clubs and prostitutes abound
most young children are raised by daycare
to them and their parents it's not at all fair
there are few jobs and little healthcare anywhere
there are too many foodstamps and too much welfare
there like putting a bandade on a wound from a grenade
theres no more money for social security or medicade
the ten rules on which our country was founded
have been grounded
psalm 9 says
" The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations
that forget God "
statues are crying fetuses dieing
blood on the sand in the promised land
miss American pie
I Love You
WAKE UP
graydye 3-3-2010
I’m sick of hearing that guns don’t kill --
Without an assault-style weapon in his hand
no bullets would have been fired in Uvalde, Texas.
Nineteen children would be alive and happy;
Two fine teachers would be grading papers!
Trample me down, if you really must,
but these children were blown away like wind picks up dust
and, as far as I can tell, those who could do something
have done nothing to stop it since Sandy Hook!
Shame on our state and federal legislators!
You commend the dead to the care of a heavenly father,
but you do absolutely nothing to stop the carnage!
I’m here to tell you, Jesus isn’t the answer. We are!
When I ask myself “What Would Jesus Do?” I know.
Jesus would say rid yourself of your precious toys, for they
are instruments of Satan!
I am appalled that so-called Christians,
who rage against abortion
refuse to support gun control, while assault-style weapons
are killing real live, human beings…not fetuses,
but our sweet, loving children!
Spare me your righteous intonations, for
until you see the problem for what it is
and do the right thing to stop the killings
they will proliferate and you are to blame!
Don’t pontificate and tell me you are pro-life,
for you are not!
You are not, I repeat.
If you were pro-life, you would be standing up for our kids,
You would be doing everything you can to protect them,
You would be supporting anti-assault weapon legislation,
You would be for confiscating them,
You would be for penalizing those who traffic in them.
Wake up and admit the truth,
Guns DO kill people…every day!
Written May 25, 2022
AEONIA-
AEONI-
AEON-
Vestal purity, all men succumb- the Virgin whose eyes stare silver beams- crystallizing his very soul. He, and all who gaze upon she.
Aeonia writhes behind fallen lids, unable to awake. Betrayal of her psyche-. Silk whispers upon her sweat soaked skin. 1000 nights have come and gone as she still writhes, unable to awaken.
Her **** swallows the evil the world has delighted in - all betrayal, lies and sin.
Dripping from between her great legs are left the dregs of green heat,
jealous heat that slides down and puddles on the floor.
The vacuousness of her **** has left no good...
fear, hatred and rage are ****ed inside of her... pounded into her birthing, ever birthing animosities.
Sludgy sperm of bastards evil- threaten to fertilize her eggs. Gray fetuses passing through her pose the question- "Why?"
She dares not answer, for to open her mouth would invite flies to lay their maggot eggs upon her very tongue...
Still she cannot- dare not open her eyes...not yet.
Screams! tortured hyena throes of Thorazine echo in her mind.
Do Not Open Your Eyes!
Aeonia- and her aeons!
Ever lay bare and never to see, never to move.
Aeonia! Why have the gods punished you? Fair one of the crystalline silver eyes?
Time immemorial, leperous tongue dies piece by piece, inch by inch until nay but a smarted stub exists.
Who hears you anyways? No one to hear your cries whore!
Whore of all women, shall we call you Eve?
Cocks of man and gods and kings all rape your syphallic cave-
one by one.
Whore! You are blamed! Oh Aeonia, for misbegotten deeds by every wife, woman and queen!
Succubi, WITCH! A potion of cat claws and rat maws you brewed, from Adam to the last man standing, you are to be blamed! For his infidelity, his disease, his shame!
I mourn the worst sorrows.
The shifty deception of
gullible children and
senile elders.
The blindness to reality
injected into many unlucky
fetuses, the worlds of
wonder they are born into,
smiling and ready to
accept these evil lies.
Like the wise men and women
they were, they rejected
their own teachings and
trampled upon the covenants
of their fathers, replacing
them with the tyrannical
anarchy of natural man,
forever a beacon in the vacuum,
a warning to those who dare
dance at the edge of the forest,
and dip their feet in the water
of unclouded streams.
We aborted the Christ a long time ago
What with the successive thousands of gentle fetuses strangled.
Stop stop! Why lament? Let not the wind be rankled
By thy silly bleats and unbaked ego.
Thee killed the Christ
Thee impeded his coming.
Thee cruel beast flaked with lies
O thee daughters of Jezebel’s sinning!
Thee killed him, that young Christ in thy womb
That lamb sent down to our sins loom.
What did so meek a lamb do to thee, predators?
What vice did he depict, O executors?
There, thee shake those cursed heads of thine.
That lamb committed none, but thee went for its throat.
When thee felt it kick in glee in thee
Thee hastened in terror for that mountain yonder
Where thee crucified him still like done on Golgotha,
Fronted by those lascivious Romans in their creel.
Those Romans were of a less cruel breed
For I watched thee in triple trepidation murder the Christ.
I peeped as thy hands pulled it forth from its manger
While that stiletto went cutting and shredding and beheading its soft cord.
I watched thee squash its throat:
A young lamb that has neither learned to kick nor croak
Nor mastered the humanness of weeping.
I watched thee young Jezebel, thee came stabbing. And stabbing. And cursing.
I watched thee as the sun set in the East
While darkness fell speedily from the mist
as the sun hid its head in fatal shame,
While thee with the stealth of Lucifer
Cast that messenger from the heavens two feet below
And again cursed it to the bowels of hell.
This is the great big world we will see.
It begins inside this hatchery.
Since Our Ford made it reality,
it has been home for both you and me.
These are the children of tomorrow.
Give them happiness without sorrow.
In harmonious community,
we are strong with solidarity.
Zygotes renew our identity;
each a pillar of stability.
We will expand our society.
It is possible with you and me.
From the alpha down to epsilon,
the quilt is sewn at each echelon.
We insure that life shall carry on
We shall make each stitch continuous.
All our borders are contiguous.
With Ford’s help, it shall be congruous.
Take pride in your working as you go.
Care for the fetuses. Watch them grow.
These are the children of tomorrow.
Based on the 1932 novel "Brave New World" by the late Aldous Huxley
She was pregnant
She named her daughter Emilia
She was quarantined
Daughterfreed
* Based on true stories of abortions of female fetuses in India.
(In Tudu Hospital in the former Saigon,
several hundred dead babies have been
preserved in formaldehyde. They are
hideously deformed as a result of their
mothers having been contaminated by
Agent Orange, a chemical diffused in
Vietnam as part of the American military
offensive, Operation Ranch Hand.)
Things To Do
Everything's sterile. The quiet reek
of formaldehyde seeps from neat shelves.
Tall glass jars, the size of mega-buckets
of Colonel's chicken, line the walls
floor to ceiling. Let's take a look, friend.
Downtown Hanoi, at a loose end,
we'll see the sights.
But they won't see us.
These fetuses and newborn babes
gaze out uncomprehending,
the faintest hint of surprise
darkening their big bug eyes.
Here, a head is elongated like squash.
There, a tongue cascades from a mouth
to fuse with a sternum. Tiny heads
hone to a point, like someone tried
to put them through a pencil-sharpener.
Faces that will never blink look out
and seem to ask, rhetorically,
if this was really meant to be.
By what rule of law or war,
by what technological advance
could it have served somebody's end
to make us monsters,
before we even had the chance
to be born?
We come
Those of us who make it through
That tenuous canal
Fraught with more peril
Than ever before
Compliments of those
Who deem us
Mere jetsam
To be jettisoned
For any whim
In any month
Of the nine
Combined with normal exigencies
Create a journey
Which is both
Physically
And mentally
Exhausting
How do I come to such knowledge
You may ask
We have ways
Far beyond human comprehension
Of communicating
With each other
We, the fetuses
(As ordained by those
Who not only permit
But encourage
Our demise)
Who have navigated
Within
And been nourished
By
The vessel
(We once called them
"Mother"
But ceased to do so
When we were roundly dismissed
As "Fetal tissue")
For ninety days
Know our rights
And yet
Our voices
Alas
Cannot be heard
I, however
Am seven months along
My peers, jokingly,
Refer to me as "Einstein"
Not without merit
I, modestly, admit
For I did design
The apparatus I am using
To print script
Which outsiders
(As we call humans)
Can comprehend
I have two more months
Until I am free
Still, I cannot rest
Easy
For my vessel
Is a single woman
Who could decide
Legally
As current laws stand
To have me
BUTCHERED
If, however
I should survive
That which
I never asked for
To begin with
I vow
I shall
Someday
Tell the story
Of my journey
To all the world
Pray I win
Please
Kindest regards
Timothy
PS
Please force
Every vessel
To view the sonar
Before they terminate
The fetus
Perhaps that act
Will cause them to
See us as
Babies
And allow us to
Once more
Call them
Mother
There is no greater darkness now than the desert sun,
…no sorer sight for her mournful eyes than this,
An apocalyptic jumble of craters and rippling dunes,
The corpses of skyscrapers, the fetuses of malls,
All of them half-buried by the shifting sands…
It speaks to her of Hell, this yellow-ochre world,
Of demons and death and slow decay
It whispers in her ear, a death rattle, a death knell,
Until she shudders and retreats into her earphones,
Into those two slender cords that are her only escape…
Obedient the music rises, drums in her ears,
Rumbling like the thunder of the distant sea she misses,
It is a grateful reprieve…
And yet nothing can drown out the visions she sees,
No matter how much she wishes her eyes sewn shut, no matter
How she squints and peers, searching for beauty, a scrap of it,
A morsel of loveliness for her starving soul amidst this abyss,
These devouring dunes of ugly marching doom dominate,
Oppress, they loom over her like titans, ready to collapse in a wave
Of golden fire and swallow her whole, until she can see the sky no more…
H ow many senseless murders
O rphans left by acts of war
W hich man will next receive orders
M aybe the world is tired of the gore
A nswer me if you can, is murder right
N ow tell, should fetuses be swept away
Y ou think because they'll your plight
A nd how long will God put up with man
N ow don't you think He's had enough
D o you think hundreds of murders each night His plan
H onestly don't you think we need to be ready
O pen our hearts to His love
W ithout the Holy Spirit our lives unsteady
L onging for something missing, that being the Holy Dove
O ptimistic or pessimistic analyze these words
N o! God is not happy with His highest creation
G hee, He still loves His birds!
God still loves mankind, but He wants mankind to love Him and each other.