Best Impregnated Poems
Sue dated an old bloke called Darren
He said surgery'd made him barren
But one errant sperm
Escaped from his ‘worm’
Now Sue’s had a baby named Sharon!
05~24~17
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
For his sins he surely will pay
Strong little swimmer went astray
There's tears in his eyes
No nights with the guys
And Susan turned out to be gay!
05~25~17
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
Darren went to the doc to get snipped
The doctor was drunk and he slipped
He was seeing double
And that spelled trouble
Poor Darren got his wiener clipped.
05~24~17
WRITTEN BY JAMES ANDERSEN
Darren wasn't really a talker;
He spent all his time in a rocker.
"But don't worry, Dear,"
He'd said without fear,
Knowing that his sperm used a walker.
05~24~17
WRITTEN BY DALE GREGORY COZART
Darren told Jane the same story
She gave birth to a son named Rory
He thinks he's slick
he's really a prick
And deserves his own category!
05~25~17
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Sue told Darren she was on the pill
But she managed to get pregnant still
It would have been better
If he "wrote" a french letter
Now they have a baby boy named Bill!
05~25~17
WRITTEN BY JOSEPH MAY
Young Rick peed on a stick.
The result made him feel sick.
His emotions went wild.
How could he be with child.
Impregnated by his own seed.
05~25~17
WRITTEN BY RICHARD LAMOUREUX
So Darren was over the hill
Said Susie'd no need for the pill
One old guy
One old lie
Easily told for the thrill!
05~25~17
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
Jan that's not what I find
I disagree if you don't mind
Over sixty they droop
When I take a look
His number if you would be so kind?
WRITTEN BY JEAN MURRAY
Poor Darren developed a cough
Sue put him to bed in a trough
While discussing his manhood.
Sue said, this is no good
I'd feel safer if you had it off.
WRITTEN BY JONATHAN FRENCH
Gone are the fields of winter white
soon to be replaced by hues of greens and yellows,
in the interim, fields of barren brown and dirty gold
turned, to breathe warm air from departed winter chill
Plumes of black and gray from mans machine
kneading the back of Mother Earths desire,
before impregnating her with the many seeds
that will produce offspring to quench mans many needs
oh, how lonesome she looks, so alone
holding yet to some remnants of children past,
left only to cradle her dead, left by man
yearning to suckle new life, as only a Mother can
Above, from the heavens, Father prepares
to germinate those so many seeds,
with life sustaining necessities only he is allowed
sunlight and life giving rain, loosened from the clouds
within days Mother is impregnated
she can feel the multitudes of organic life,
moving within her womb, yearning,growing, needing
the escape, to be warmed and nourished by the Sun
Minutes turn to hours, hours to days
suddenly weeks pass,and yet another life,
giving rain, descends from guilded clouds
arms and fingers, of her children, open, sustained
nearing the end of a warm and wonderful summer
it is time for Fathers other children,
to reap what he has sewn
time for Mother Earth to let her children go
My, how they have grown, tall,lush and full
of the fruit they were meant to bear,
to provide nourishment for the masses of seeds
grown to maturity, in need from the father
Again, the gray black plumes of mans machine
come to life, they move through her fields,
her children, like a predator among prey
until, she is left again, with remnants of children past
Soon she will be blanketed again in winter white
gone will be the warm breath of life,
her children taken from her, she is again barren
only to be betrothed to a promise of new life.
I wrote this on a day trip to Illinois from Iowa across wide open farm land.
God Bless....Taz
...He said: "I believe there is a God.
Something ingenious was most definitely
at play.
But, I've asked some other
reverends, pastors, and ministers,
where are Jesus' bones?
Not one convinced me, which repulsed
my eagerness to fellowship.
We have
dinosaur bones, giant and dwarf bones,
archeologists artifacts and a slew of other
things that prove that these historical events existed
or occurred.
I'm a total believer of proof!
(with a grin on his face)
Can you answer that"?
The other guy paused and prayed
before taking the quiz!
He says: "the miracle is prophecy since the Old Testament.
And the sacrifice of foul offering
became displeasing to the Creator's taste buds.
And, don't forget about Abraham who was willing
to sacrifice his own son when God asked him
to pledge his allegiance... an Initiatory joke
that the creator ante up one
with a pure scarifications and sacrificial lamb;
his own child!
You and I have bones from our parents
meshing. The sperm penetrated the egg.
Mary, a virgin,
impregnated by a message
that she would bear a child.
Without the meshing of two
those bones
left the same way that they arrived... Miraculously
with dominion over hell and a graveyard".
OUT OF THE BELLY
Highway sixty pours into the Ottawa Valley the same way sunlight rips through the drapes of my darkened motel room. Every Monday I knife my way through the darkness and Algonquin Park to toil in the trade that chose me and rip at the bowels of duty and then every Friday I head back in the opposite direction yet into another abyss. The darkness has impregnated the Darkness. Emerging from the womb I am welcomed in Petawawa (is that Dante drinking coffee at Tim’s?) by the Time Traveler who transports me into the 18th century and my French voyageur past. The timeless river calls…
Ottawa Valley
Reborn, out of the belly,
Darkness…Orion
Waves as he fades into the
Light. Work is an hour away.
My toes squirm
like fat little worms
through this moist soil
they let go of their convolution;
disconnect from the brain that tells them
each day
what they are
and are not.
Here they are just so.
My hands grab
like the beaks of birds
these golden blades of grass
let go of the rocks they carry;
wipe clean the slate of crumbs they leave
each day
their way home
to evidence –
now left just so.
My lungs burn with life
a crisp morning air
razors through them
ecstatically.
My eyes caress such
fine tendrils of light
called dusk and dawn and
mystery.
My ears collect an orchestra
of locust song and wood
bursting forth in a crackling
warmth.
My mouth kisses a
saturated breeze impregnated
with ocean and pine and flirtatious
berries.
Their juices stain my chin.
These feelings stain my skin.
And draw out pricks
from parched follicles
with neural fingers
that trail over
and into
and through
my being
“this is it”
My breath whispers carelessly
in an ice-shackled cloud
that veils my face
with its truth.
A maternal gesture
of nature
towards itself.
For it is I
and I surrender
to this sensory onslaught.
“this is it”
Being alive is a wondrous
wondrous
thing.
When the smoky quartz sun
slumbers into a cold winter,
we see the aftermath of a garnet twilight,
it is then, we find rose stars
that refuse to abandon us in shivering solitude,
and beneath snake-skinned skylines of nadir,
we learn to appreciate
the truest colors of nature……
Hope is but a hollow rope,
hanging loose on empty lies~
splattered across eclipsed skies,
and this aching heart sighs,
singing to the fallen flowers,
fading into depths of
black-magic silence,
for peace is a distant memory,
frozen within pixelated Polaroids
of poignant pain.
I remember the night
I was unplugged and strangled
in toxic tremors,
slipping into fatigued negligence,
too tired of fighting a
battle with no prudence,
but no one hears the unspoken,
amidst the tears that
croon in tragic tunes.
Now my mind is a muted mausoleum;
weathered and withdrawn,
impregnated with deceased dreams~
and remnants embalmed in poison ivy.
Yet diabolical thoughts
keep whirling
through funeral chaos,
to cloak my conscience in
a glass casket of sleepless uncertainties,
smothering the last breath I held.
I do not seek an orchard
blooming with butterfly orchids
and pristine pansies,
yet, somehow, I am the wrinkled
willow~
awaiting dancing rays
of diamond twilight.
Perhaps this is how a poet grieves,
writing epitaphs with
bloodstained ink,
when familiar faces are
clothed in ivory farewells,
to rest amongst the forgotten,
away from the cruelty that creeps.
I know not the synonyms for healing,
the poems I’ve woven beneath
starry skies now flow undone,
and I am burning,
in my crippling confusion,
pondering why the sun is now
a curse in disguise,
why do I long to walk
through forests of ruins,
where the mauve moon was,
when insomniac
instruments of galaxies
strummed broken strings
of feathered fate.
So take this poem, weave these words
it into the final line
of tasteless satires,
streaming in the
rhythm of zestless zenith,
for I have no desire to
pretend and play,
or swirl and sway
when all I knew now is a
melancholic mystery untold.
So listen to the rhapsody of tears~
I am a frazzled firefly,
eloquently tangled in the
ruthless roots of jinxed junipers.
all the pheromones circled around me
without knowing, we will gather you all
and we make a world
you draw like the silver treacherous snails
pressed intersections
some over others in translucent layers
ah, here, this is the time you said
and we gather around
all around
extreme words and states
I was photographing the world with one cyclopean eye
cramming it into one night
glasses, cups, plates
how many sets I broke
stockings how many pairs I broke
a silky mountain to circulate mathematical butterflies
invented by the statistics of the managers
on the thighs
and house noises
on the dress painted by your hug
we were young
we are working on an abyssal constellation
our bodies craved warmth
and the hugs
and expectations
friends were watching us too
getting under their skin I was growing
move forward
I made leaves and flowers
and they gave birth to other planets
and other trajectories
and other plans were intertwined
we cannot say that the walking has slowed down
and neither did I forget
I waited until everyone arrived
so far away
that no sound was heard
shouting from one to another
density increased and voices
they were impregnated as the leaves in the geological layers
one of us will have to come
from the future
to research them
to understand what I said today
so far we have each come
that
it will be necessary that on the wall of this embrace
to give birth to children
let's give birth to voices that forget us
Dullness slowly gives way and comes to life
As sunrays gently warm a sleepy earth
Blooming dreams in colors devoid of strife
Annual cycle silently gives birth
Air impregnated with vibrant yearning
Nurturing tender lover's kiss and nudge
A compulsion too strong to quell burning
The miracle of buds begin to budge
Spring's balmy droplets of gentle rainfall
Awake a frenzy of thirsty verdure
Provoking sudden surge and free-for-all
We’re moved by such miraculous allure
Spring is in the air with steely resolve
Evolving sure as earth and sun revolve
AP: Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
We're in the foothills of another civil war.
The divide between left and right is burning and widening.
They have we the people, distracted and divided.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Peace undermined by rich squeaky mice
The silent behemoth of indifference.
The bent, dormant scales of justice.
The uneven eye of the media leviathan.
Universities raping our children's minds.
Impregnated with Stalin, Lenin, Putin, and Xi's dirty seeds.
What's right is wrong, what's wrong is right.
Slapping Lady Liberty in the mouth
with metal tongs of intolerance.
Cutting out tongues of free speech-
of religion-of differing opinion
The socialist/commies and pacifists wonder why
we the people dream upon high-caliber nights.
It's because mad clowns and liberty cleavers
are running amok in the government.
The elite and naive are emptying jails onto our streets.
Rabid dogs are defiling peace, warping our history.
Useful idiots are slicing the stars from old glory.
Always burning and cutting and reaping and running.
Never sitting-talking-loving -discussing-seeding.
The entitled and elite sitting smug in gated communities.
The war eagles are quickly awakening as arrogance sleeps.
Not nearly long enough, a king’s words
what to expect from a tyrant's paradox absurd
She holds the cobalt blue bowl to her lips
making sure not a drop is lost as consumed
a grape tint gauze tied gently around her hips
it tells of an impregnated womb
a farewell toast to the warriors aboard ships
or a drink of what they’ll lack, that and more
of the destiny a young husband has in store
departing are ships, she ponders them upon the sea
the open book in front of her kept unread
behind her, replacement ships underway, as relief
what has been too long, for any sailor this dread
out at sea in despair of the unknowing, the grief
Of sailors jumping overboard, an S O S ignored
what any wife can’t bear, their king has no empathy
furious are the wives of the lies told
a sword has stricken through the hearts of gold
replacement ships finally, underway to relieve
what has been too long for any sailor out at sea
When you have lost everything, and you are left stood upon flattened barren ground
Where the drones around you create a deep hum but you no longer hear their sound
A small body alone covered in dust; and in this child’s eyes nothing but a vacant stare
A family and friends wiped out in a matter of milliseconds, no one left for him to care
Tears rolling from his un-blinking eyes creating their own cervices on his clay like face
Such a bitter lesson on this small boy of a war he never asked for or wanted to create
Taken in the arms of the rescuers, and whisked away to a foreign land not understood
Destined to grow into a great leader of peace, his destiny as impregnated in his blood
Who took in that unsacred moment of time to see and feel the reality of a wasted war
Brought about peace to all nations, no weapons of war ever to be raised again he saw
Mommy is a neighborhood feline stray.
She has two 5 week old kittens. I feed them all everyday.
Mommy had more to her litter, but a roaming male stray
slaughtered most of them, but these two miraculously escaped.
Believing that she had lost all of her offspring,
Mommy immediately went into heat again
and was impregnated by her roaming male companion
who moments earlier had killed most of her children.
Her maternal instinct is now geared towards her unborn offspring.
As for her two surviving kittens? She has abandoned them.
These poor kittens will not survive and most likely die suffering,
but not on my watch. I'm rescuing them.
It is we who decided to domesticate them.
We made them and so in essence, they are our children
and we should all share our responsibility
for making the lives of our children just a little more easy.
*
Soon there will be two more additions to my foster family.
This added responsibility I do not need,
but I do so out of love unconditionally.
*
A MAN RECENTLY SAID THAT THE FUNDAMENTAL TRUTH IS THAT OUT OF MANY, WE ARE ONE. HOWEVER, PEOPLE DEEDS TODAY, TRANSFORM THAT FUNDAMENTAL TRUTH INTO A LIVING MYTH! THERE WERE MANY HISTORICAL LEADERS WHO FORGE THIS DOCUMENT THAT WAS SUPPOSE TO HAVE BEEN THE CORNER STONE OF AMERICA. ALL MEN ARECREATED EQUAL. YET I PONDER! IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY, OR IS YOURAMERICA A BUSINESS?
ITS EVIDENT THAT A WRITER CAN MOVE THE HEARTS AND MINDS OF ITS READERS TO SUCH A DEGREE, THAT THE RECIPIENT OF THE WRITERS WORD WILL BLIND ANY BEING TO UNDERSTANDING, WISDOM, KNOWLEDGE, AND THE QUEST FOR TRUTH. THOMAS JEFFERSONWAS TIRE OF PAYING TAXES TO BRITISH, THAT HE WROTE WORDS THAT INVOKE MEN TO BELIEVE AND DIE FOR THOSE WORDS AS HE SAT COMFORTABLY ON HIS LEATHER COMFORTER AND DRANK WINE TO SUCH A DEGREE HE BECAME A WINE BABBLER.
HE NEVER BELIEVE WHAT HE WROTE, BECAUSE HE, HIMSELF CONDONE, TOALLOW HIS OWN CHILDREN TO LIVE IN SLAVERY. OF COURSE YOUR HISTORY BOOKS WILL SHEDDED LITTLE ON THAT MATTER. ITS NOT GOOD FOR BUSINESS TO SHARE SUCH TRUTH! HE FATHER SEVERAL CHILDREN AS HE SECRETLY IMPREGNATED SLAVE GIRLS UNDER HIS MASTERSHIP.
IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY OR IS YOUR AMERICA A BUSINESS?
FROM THE TOP TO THE BOTTOM, THEY SAY WE LIVE IN NEIGHBORHOODS, COMMUNITIES, TOWNS, AND STATES. IF THAT'S SUCH A TRUTH. THEN WHY DO YOUR DEEDS REVEAL THAT'S ITS EVERYONE FOR THEMSELVES? IF YOU TOUCH MINES I'LL HARM YOU, IS THAT THE TRUTH? WHY IS THERE ON 20 COUNTRYS THAT'S ALLOWED TO CONTROL THE GLOBAL ECONOMY? WHY ARE AMERICAN BUSINESSES SECRETLY SELLING LARGE DEGREES OF LAND TO THOSE ENTITIES WHO HAVE THE GREATEST DEGREE OF CASH-FLOW? I ASK YOU FINALLY! IS YOUR AMERICA A COUNTRY? OR IS YOUR AMERICA A BUSINESS? OR DO I CLOSE MY EYES AND WEEP, BECAUSE APPARENTLY ITS JUST BUSINESS? ITS NOT PERSONAL!! PART 2
Light it, hiding in his eyes, because he calms my soul,
he calms me down, and claims my dignity,
I kiss his lips
because he helps me dream, and inspires my thoughts.
The breath that comes shows me the unknown,
Imagine the impossible, claim the stolen visions and
Helps me to dream again.
When i kiss him in the dark, he gives me pleasure and strengthens
My strength
When i kiss him,
I dream the impossible; see the shining stars in the cloudy weather
His breath makes me want to kiss him again and again
When i kiss him
I forget the past,
i hardly see the depth of the present, for he only shows me
The future, what it will bring not what it might.
Man, you've got to try him,
in the dark he's gentle,
in the light he's invisible,
in public he's a shame.
I kissed Him because
He brings me joy, excitement that i never thought it existed.
Now that the restroom is too small for our little secret,
Now that the dark can’t handle our intimate he slowly coming out, kissing me all over,
You my weakness, you are no longer my roll on,
My arms can’t let you go,
my lips are longing for more
And my body desires you more than yesterday
I can’t escape from your presence.
Now that i want to release you,
You go behind my back, break boundaries and kiss me in front of my pastor,
Man, I want to let you go,
But my emotions are saying "yes"
Yes and my body can’t live without you.
you stole my reality naturalism and made it yours.
I kissed your lips for my pressure,
And you impregnated me in return,
Now that I want to escape
You lock every door, and lock me in.
I want to go, I want to return to my me.
i want to let you go,
but I’m addicted to your pink soft
Lips.
i crave for your presence,
i crave for more of you,
for I no longer own my life you do,
I kissed his lips for fun, in return He swallowed my pride.
Cigarette you my addiction.
Our Paddy had a strong liking for whiskey
When under its influence he got a bit frisky
Didn't think he was able
But impregnated Mable
A reminder that his kind of behavior is risky
Mark Twain-Sometimes to much drink is barely enough