Best Incubator Poems
Dedicated to My Darling Son, My Kyle the Smile
There was no joy when I gave birth,
scary words kept getting worse.
When my baby boy was born
every face was quite forlorn.
He came fresh from our Creator
to be placed in an incubator.
I could not take him in my arms
or shelter him from any harms.
Doctors all had dooming words.
Negativity was all I heard,
“He may never… and he may not ….”
Oh, how I prayed this would stop.
He was two days old when I was told
I could finally lay eyes on his face.
Tubes and wires were every place
in a sterile, see through trundle,
where laid my precious bundle.
Suddenly, I felt a sign and less sad
because my son looked like my Dad,
who had amazing, sure willpower.
I couldn’t have heard God any louder,
saying, "like your Dad, your son’s a fighter."
And fight he did, my beautiful son,
my heart, my love, my special one.
For three months he grew and thrived
defeating all odds of staying alive.
Then on hospital day sixty-five,
he came home on his first ride.
Lying in the incubator amid her nursery ?
Tiny eyes fixated upon the light as gazing
Beyound this wall of glass; their little heart
Swaying soft purity while they stare; lovely
Such innocence entering into a brand new
World and reaching these, precious hands
Trembling with joy their Spirit recognizing
Love's touch; in this, the apple of life's eyes
Lifting them gently from birth's white pillow...
Whispering as cradling Beauty's kiss; a breath.
FROZEN SOUVENIRS (( Collaboration * Nette OnClaud ))
by~ NETTE ONLAUD
frozen with pain she woke to find daybreak
slumped on her crumpled bed again, laid back, cast
aside from god knows what, an unbecoming haven.
at least, this time, this bed was hers and hers alone,
dimly broiled by smells of yesterday gone
stale, drooping limbs to vaguely unbecoming souvenirs.
no longer wrestling fires but lighting them,
hope drained from flesh that craved for expired lotion
crush-boned dreams mocked her unbecoming senses.
she backed off tears that asked how this all happened,
plunging into her heart’s junkyard searching for answers
from wounds buried in near burial of an unbecoming night…
by~ POET D.
Gently she is weaving in and out of her own bed near the sea ledge,
faith will be drawn in the sand near the watery shores
broken down heartsick sea walls of loneliness will triumph
yet another frozen sad mood, a shadow that feels like it will last forever,
only to rest upon her own will of over flown solitude lids
her eyes are still like fireflies throughout the ebony in the dark night sky
The lengthy halls carry echoes in which silence the memorized souvenirs
dusk announcing the end of another frozen day;
there she sits in an incubator waiting to hear her name in the wind
A deeper, more intense treasure she found in her own reflections
with an open mind she is in mourn in hopes that these feelings don't last long —
a few hours or maybe a day or two she will bliss it all away
A Collaboration with *NETTE ONCLAUD
~MY COLLABORATION CONTEST~
The Pipe
(irrigation)
I am a city girl,
I have never,
until now…
Ridden a horse across the desert,
held a tarantula for longer than…
five minutes,
used an incubator to raise chickens,
helped keep track of puppies (twice),
cut tails and sewed them like material.
keep fish in a pond, raised just to eat,
and my garden is not organic,
it is simply blessed.
I bought, fixed and "care for"...,
my Own John Deere…Riding Tractor.
This is not a boast.
I have crawled under houses,
into attics, painted barns and chased a PIG!
The rooster would not quit crowing.
The altogether too close neighbor did the same.
Oh…
and the rain was coming down
in the middle of the front room,
inside.
While on the outside…
I, was knee-deep in water.
Not from above, although he lent a hand.
The corner of the yard. That mysterious place.
Behind a tree, a stump and two bushes.
It came from there, like the flood of Noah.
Now a gaping hole, where the river came to visit.
Fast and slow, in and out everywhere.
The middle of the night…
The top and I, do battle.
Cold and merciless… I shake, freezing.
I will win. Stop the gush, in a rush.
I am a city girl…
But I am a warrior.
Here is my metaphor
Don't touch it now
I am a fisherman with a deceptive line
I throw back nothing
But by clever design
I bait and hide the deadly thing
Word like a bomb exploding
When you shackled my feet
You did not undersatand
You were walking on oral quicksand
My tongue is crucified if you fetter my hands.
In a coffle
There is no need to negotiate
The eleders have left the tree and closed the gate
I have no home again
I am your fate
This metaphor, this oil on water
This incubator of fire.
Gifts are nothing but a parcel of love
with or without expectations.
When one gives -another receives.
I have been bestowed with wonderful gifts by God..
And those are my parents!
And my parents in turn have given me
the most precious gift ..
which was wrapped in a soft creamy towel
that lay in the incubator,eyes closed tight,
tiny fingers grabbing its shiny black hair,
cord clamp stuck at the navel,pearly toes curling,
cute belly raising high & low ..with each breath.
When I peeped through the glass clearly..
I could sight the skin that was pinkish red,
i lifted my feet to reach the box and touch
the soft palm, but a blue dressed nurse
shushed me with a wave..
The tiny ones lips were like strawberry that
carried a divine smile :My eyes filled with light
receiving the sunshine warmth whilst glancing
at the bright neonates face.
And that was a" he"
My little brother.
As they took him away from me he screeched..
I grew emotional being an 4 year old.
Then I eagerly waited for five long days for my mum
to bring him home safe and healthy.
He is a living gift that I received
whom I love unconditionally..now and forever.
20-6-2020
Note:Gifts poetry contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
Premier Contest Winner~Second place:-)
Contest Judged: 6/21/2020
More and more now, discomfort has become my constant company. I do not like it! Then I think of others who are cursed with conditions far worse than mine. I imagine those born with genetic mental illness or sans limbs, and I think of incubator babies who might struggle on throughout their entire life with miseries. I ponder the helplessness of parents dealing with the constant care of sightless or autistic children and the horror of small children when faced with the knowledge that cancer grows inside their bodies or courses mercilessly through blood or bone. Across the world, refugee children weep from hunger. Oh, the many people born to woe while others live with mirth upon this earth. I wonder at the unfairness of it all!
in the flower bed
thirsting roses droop their heads . . .
sun keeps beaming down
April 9, 2021
for Malabika Ray Choudhury's Moments Of Reflections - Haibun Poetry Contest
Your heart is what God gave you. Your life is what God made true. You was nothing, not even a feeling. When God created you, he loved you before the beginning. Just a thought of love is what made you appear. Just a touch of sight is what made you see clear. You were the one that God has chose. Your the one is why God rose. This is all about you and true love from our divine creator. You was born and put into a incubator. Their is no other greater love for which we can find. Their is no greater soul that would cross the line. Jesus is the only one true savior, he is the only one who can correct our bad behavior. It goes as deep as this, when he see’s you he see’s right through and gives a trillion bunches of kiss. His love just wants to make you shed a tear, his love is what we hope for at the end when our time is near. If you look way past space and galaxies even stars you can see that we are healed through Jesus scars. He made another person for us so we can love. He interacts with us from heaven above. Here is a song that you would dedicate to someone you love. Imagine how much more God dedicates his love for us, sooo many beautiful doves. As the river flows, the trees glows, the wind blows, God’s love never goes. So forever we are who God made us, let’s all praise the lord because he is the only one we all can trust. God bless and love each other like God loves us!!
Sam Adams
Was born prematurely
Spent his first moments
In an incubator
Born with bad hearing
Bad vision
Bad teeth
And a speech impediment
And a learning disability
But he learned to cope
As he was a genius
Reading college level
In the second grade
When he was in high school
To overcome his fear
Of public speaking
He joined the debate team
His specialty was impromptu speaking
He found that he excelled
At making speeches on the fly
Overcoming his fears
Of public speaking along the way.
That is how Sam Adams
Learned to speak in public
Becoming a good speaker
In the end.
Based on a true story
It's much too close in here
for loneliness,
or companionship.
Either way,
I grow too small
non-existent
non-essential
undervalued domesticity with insufficient commodity,
just another over-populating parasite
underneath Earth's glamorous backside;
Suppressed incubator within a more integrating place
of nonverbal language
and full-octaned relationship toward outside
somewhere, marginally surfing
flowing symbiotic omni-nutritional fluid
umbilical corded string
for receiving ever more formative function
energetic unction
massive combustion
rebirthing my new Elder synergetic IdEntity
through Ego-recession,
contracting unrhymed rhythm
of fear of fear of fear...
Double-Binding negative threshold
toward appositional Eco-Love prehension;
echoing across echo-developing hemispheres,
inter-wombed regenetic too slow and tight economy
creating EarthTribe's Beloved Ecology
of paradise boundaried with pain
Longing reconnected within universal agency,
being primally related through
RNA's coincidental Hollow Womb Presence,
Earth's self-optimizing cornucopian abundance
revolutioning joyful grace,
redemptive polycoloring place,
regenerate revolving Memory time
as love-drenched EarthMother's space.
Ambidextrous-ionic amniotic fluid,
Janus-faced dual destined
to internally bring forth new life
by purge erupting each metamorphic fertile sac,
draining past generations
into future's new-born hope,
to emerge a womb with sufficient empathic communication
to compassion Earth's warm-wombed community;
reconnecting humane nature's transactional economics
with sacred nature's transcendent ecologics--
Great Transition deducing permacultured functions
inducing biological forms of regenetic polyculture.
We're much too close for racing loneliness,
at loooong sloooow last,
our time to become Beloved CoElational together.
Small town hospital in Chariton, Iowa, USA
1952
Dr. Yocum had a recurring dream every night for weeks
God was telling him that he had to buy an incubator.
In 1952
An incubator cost $100,000!
He finally broke down and bought it.
My identical twin and I were born at three pounds each.
We were five weeks early
That incubator saved our lives.
Dr. Yocum’s wife felt invested in us.
She bought us tiny pink going home outfits with matching hats and booties.
We were in the hospital for two months!
Our mother's blood would not clot, so we almost lost her.
She was in the hospital a month or two longer than us.
We went home to grandma and grandpa with seven aunts and uncles
They fought over who was going to carry us around.
Mom told us we were TERRIBLY spoiled by the time she got us.
Written 5-20-2022
Poetry Contest: Divine Intervention
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Diseased incubator of mutated humanity
A festering cesspool of rotten ideals,
And ancient plots of religious restraint
Or the liberation from.
Acidic with greed and selfishness.
Base and seductive, the nature of societal allure
Indulgence, self-satisfaction and gross misconduct
Or just inaction is even worse.
At least those atrocious individuals have a spine.
They have picked a side.
Bought into all we are suppose to.
Grow up believing and hoping to become a productive member of.
The death machine they are rivets on a gear.
They may not be hero's or martyrs but they know their place.
You on the other hand remain complacently paralyzed in fear.
Can not recognize bondage for what it is , what it makes you.
A spineless disgrace. A causeless activist with no identity.
A blank slate, a featureless face.
BLUE EYES AND BLACK FLESH MESH TO COP DOPE
The smoggy air was thick atop a Harlem high rise
The only thing out of place was a boy with blue eyes
He was a youth in search of peace not found at home
And so the boy with blue eyes was begotten to roam
He ventured forth into a world of darkness to search
Having long ago been abandoned by school and his church
Neither religion nor education could comfort him so he took to the road
Headed afar from the comfort of his family’s hearth and abode
So there stared blazing blue eyes on a rooftop’s domain
As he talked to a man with a way to ease his pain
Thirty dollars and a smile would send him on his way
And so he returned to Harlem day after damnable day
Long Island had raised him but that island wasn’t long enough
And middle class madness left him with sadness to rebuff
Day after day he’d climb the stairs to where they would meet
A tall black man and a boy with blue eyes trying to be discreet
The black man sold his wares by dollars and a bag
The boy with blue eyes fearing his toes with a tag
Because in Harlem death was an indeterminate threat
And a boy with blue eyes had better pay every debt
Sometimes the air was thinner during winter’s cold weather
Yet and still the two faced fear while huddling close together
Harlem was his teacher and a rooftop was this junkie’s incubator
And writing this poem is blue eyes still with a habit forty-three years later
© 2012….copyright PHREEPOETREE.....~free cee!~
Hot as hell, emotions fire the flames,
Nervous about meeting doctors, nurses,
Curtain separates them from congregation,
The veil is not torn in two, but steamy adulation,
Courts their friendship sessions to distance,
Bible fanatic from mum, with a secular pretence:
Stationed to obey that mile that you go,
Faithful to womb child who does overthrow,
That divine validation of mundane everyday life,
Which never does blot his copybook, he’s your invisible wife,
Just because nothing bad happens, then he’s loving,
To be a feature of your relationships and thinking,
So good to give you a furtherer of your animations,
So fine to set converts and following by time within your devotions:
Baby born, and the first thing they said was Jesus!
But I did adjust like a jet, right arm spasm, religion to suss,
Because i had not related perfectly to my mum at all in her beauty,
By getting into a tizzy, a fix about her vaginal cavity:
The umbilical chord did suffocate around my neck,
Three times, and three times to many, ‘cos i hit the deck,
Put in an incubator, a machine my life to sustain,
Where i didn’t depend on maternal caresses to obtain,
That blooming continuation that does greatly assure you of your future,
You expectations, your understandings and boundaries to nurture;
The machine of oxygen and warmth did suffice,
To love this new born child as cold as ice,
To spiritual things and to worlds unknown,
By humankind who only know hell when it’s thrown;
And as I did lurk in my hospital bedroom, or ward,
Like a businessman who is playing the sure investment card:
I wished so much that black book to just disappear,
As it only wrought despair, anxiety and tumultuous fear;
My parents friends, stone cold as delinquent thieves,
Prayed though those days as they sang “Bringing In The Sheaves,”
Whilst appendices of nurses added that they’d do,
Convincing my parents, including doctor-trained dad, that I’d pull through,
They just read the bible to me, over and over,
Through glass ventilator, that separator which did cover,
Happy as chuck, pleased as punch and relaxed enough, in that clever machine,
I clearly didn’t see what they did mean,
Because I was dressed in the NHS, nothing less,
Never this sin to render or confess.
Mantle--a fluid shelf that cradles all existence;
Soil--a table that nurtures all subsistence
Flora--a cultivated canvas that neutralizes resistance;
Fauna--a habituated benefactor of indulgence.
Wind--a mysterious force of ambivalence,
Dispersing seed and spore with diligence.
Fondling cloak that cools with benevolence;
Powerful menace that uproots with violence.
Fire, generative force imbuing hearth with resilience;
A temporal light that provides luminescence.
Warming incubator, glowing candescence,
Brooding killer scorching with indifference.
Water--a random discharge of providence.
A vast reservoir of expedience.
An enervating stream that fuels with prescience;
An extractor that disperses with each recurrence.
Immutable elements with primordial affluence;
Material objects manipulated for human ascendence.