Best Infertile Poems
In my vantage-point the vast oceans are warming,
The sea levels are rising, while today is melting,
Cracking thick ice-shields crowning Artic, Antarctic
And ferocious intensity is churning Atlantic, Pacific,
As yesteryear in rear view flashes blunt warnings,
And future is admonishing~ morrow is drowning.
Snow-white Alps, soon forgotten dreams of past,
Rockies, Himalayas, barren as dethroned crowns,
Productive farming lands, infertile lacking rainfall,
Breeze of winsome winds, belching carbon dioxide,
Elixir of life poisoned by chemicals in water supply,
Paradise on earth soiled by callous human assault.
Proponents believe it’s true, deniers claim it’s false,
It’s an inexplicable dialogue of a human paradox,
Some assert it’s here now, others are nonchalant;
Tomorrow is troubled~ warns the flipped hourglass.
God! here comes the flood, here comes the storm,
Here come the disasters, hurricanes and cyclones,
Here comes the famine, here comes the drought,
Here on our display~ are shortcomings and faults.
Raise your voice, shout aloud~ dares anxious heart,
Apocalypse now! clamors an ubiquitous time clock,
Time to act is now, commands a flipped hourglass,
Before shore-lands vanish and coastal towns drown,
Before the earth’s scorched, before life is parched;
Before the game’s over, before checkmate is called.
February 8, 2022
Placed 1st: Pick-A-Title, Vol 28 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Title chosen: Flipped Hourglass
Categories:
infertile, environment, natural disasters, pollution,
Form:
Free verse
He was still breathing,
but they did not hear his sighs.
His heart was shivering,
but they did not see it trembling.
His body was on fire,
but they did not feel the heat.
His tongue spoke,
but they did not know his words.
Her perfume still lingered,
but her image was now a distant silhouette -
a figment of dark pigment, haunting his mind.
Maybe infertile seeds,
were the reason for her vulnerability.
Maybe his adolescence,
struggled to understand her delinquency.
There was no explanation for the voices,
as demons had disturbed her existence.
Nobody understood.. Not even he.
Who was confused to why she let them in.
He always remembered vividly,
he could not stop her blood from flowing,
nor did his kiss of life save the day.
Songs from that era,
haunted him for decades.
Too bitter to shed public tears,
he constantly cried in his sleep.
Till the day he forgot to cry,
motionless, he felt nothing.
If only he had listened to his conscience:
Because right from the start,
she was born to break his heart.
Simple musing
Silent One
5 March 2018
Categories:
infertile, death, loss, suicide,
Form:
Prose
For many many years her dream was denied
Every month she prayed, every month she cried
Hospital investigations she painstakingly endured
Sadly she was infertile and this couldn’t be cured
She spoke to her husband about adoption
It gave them hope – it was a possible option
Application forms completed, then test after test
Would they be accepted – they hoped for the best
With guts and determination they continued their dream
Would their chance of parenthood ever be seen?
Then they got a phone call, a baby had been found
Abandoned by its mother and left on waste ground
When she finally held the baby for the first time
The smile on her face was simply divine
No longer childless, with her adoption they did gain
Finally parents with a daughter named Charmaine
Contest: Guts and Gain - Olive E Guillermo
07~08~15
Categories:
infertile, blessing, child, hope,
Form:
Couplet
The Pact!
True love intact
headstone unravels all,
their land infertile took them both.
Invoked.
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Categories:
infertile, death,
Form:
Cinquain
Abandoned and alone in the middle of the ocean,
Rummaging in the dark,awaiting for the lighthouse flash,
Soaked into the series of failures, lost all my motion,
Come on, blow out my misery with your powerful splash.
Surrounded by the concealed hatred and the phony veils,
Certainly a knotty task to intuit fake faces.
When the truth never prevails and the untruth fails to fail,
Come on,burn evils and save goods with your generous grace.
Like the refreshing rain droplets on infertile dry land,
drench me unconditionally with your pure love showers.
Like an oasis in the desert, moist my hot dry sand,
Like a spring, adorn my garden with alluring flowers.
I wish you fathom my unformatted hidden prayer
and bestow me with sheer confidence and courage to dare
Categories:
infertile, prayer,
Form:
Sonnet
Reflection - The Fragrance of Grace
Mail order catalogs seem to have the ability to procreate in my mailbox. Just when I think I have rendered them infertile they give birth to multiple sets of quintuplets right under my nose as if by magic fertilization! And, of course, I have to examine these newborn opportunities to raid my bank account just to make sure I haven’t missed some article of clothing or thing I can’t possibly live without for the survival of sanity and my eternal happiness. They are like new spring leaves!
spring sprouts in new leaves
boughs sport jackets of light green ~
chartreuse convention
A new arrival from a New England country store pictured a garden of stately purple iris that immediately grabbed my hand and took me on a ride back into my grandmother’s iris garden with delicate, yet eloquent, perfume wafting from silky petaled garden royalty.
Each page was an adventurous journey through my childhood reminiscing about miracle wrinkle erasing creams, magic bunion healers and kitchen gadgets long declared useless by technology. But, one page made me stop, drop and drool - perfumes. No nascent scents but old friends looking at me from glossy pages bringing to mind the women who gave my life definition – the Royal Secret of my grandmother; Bellodgia and Gardenia of my favorite aunts; Tigress of my tigress mother and Blue Grass, a Kentucky meadow perfume of my teens.
These remarkable women straddled fleeing decades, crushing depressions, cataclysmic world wars often suffering the unthinkable loss of infants, children, husbands, siblings and miscarriages. Yet, through their signature scents, they taught me about thanksgiving in tragedy, faith in grieving and the irrepressible iron will to live in the fragrance of grace.
harlequin bouquets
fragrance of flower’s essence ~
sunlight washed gardens
4-21-21
Contest: Moments of Reflections
Sponsor: Malabika Ray Choudhury
Categories:
infertile, family, nostalgia, remember,
Form:
Haibun
Sandstone erode into dust harks history's fade
Effected by events, weathered
Crept century torture administers eventual taint
Withered time drives incessant
Battered slate roof removed promotes damage
Cold rain and blazing sun hurt
Cyprus seeds challenge infertile dust, establish
Passage through gathered dirt
Co dependent pieces redefine a weary structure
Fed full on counterpart stength
Capability maps character, freshened functions
Exchange worshipped sentiment
Protected rod trunk tree intersects better entity
Deep dug roots, a chasm shielding
Tumult inevitably threatens to reinstate tentative
Pledge prevails, reliance appealing
Dedicated to tasks, support and every day bolster
Ruin renewed by flaura's courage
Offers availed are automated, mutual responders
Hold each firm in order to flourish
23rd November
Categories:
infertile, age, appreciation, blessing, crush,
Form:
Rhyme
I have plucked the glory of the brightest star
and came close enough to touch its fingers,
searched the realms that inhabit its womb
or even felt that wildly young adult passion,
that I was inconquerable at 21,,, 30
maverick and a trail-blazer, yet present life
leaves me smaller options in this new generation...
a personal résumé now gauged by the sum
of all my human inadequacies and lost challenges
against mythical idols, godly super-heroes of a work-force,
of a pop culture that in a quest like a holy grail,
I strive to find myself in this new decade, writhing inside
my very core; hiding as a porcelain doll,
face unmoved---just following the crowd:
Fuelled by relentless doubt, I have no name
which can define my worth as a mature woman--
a mediocre artist, a reluctant lover needing to taste
the fire of life after being swallowed by cliché- roles.
Moths nibble my pores, staining my 90s graduation dress...
while the luminous star of individuation passes me by
in a flash as if to leave me naked again,
infertile among dry weeds.
Contest for Silent One
'That was Then This is Now 1/24/2019
Categories:
infertile, conflict, image, self,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
When social upheaval brews chaos of nihilism,
Forfeiting moral values, embracing skepticism;
Instability ensues, clamoring in emptiness,
Believing world is futile, life is meaningless,
As broken norms shout, voicing nothingness
From souls alienated by misplaced intellect,
Mislaid by thoughts, vacuous and mindless.
Barren is the landscape of infertile minds
Dislocated in grip of meltdown and melancholy,
Preferring to host anarchy, disharmony,
Abandoning the virtues of reason, and logic,
Rejecting bliss and benevolence of empathy,
As gloomy clouds of disengagements form
Roiling hearts in intense emotional storms.
When disorder harbors indignity, incivility,
Misery and despair lead to destructive society,
As lost, worn-out souls wander unfulfilled,
Rudderless, in angst of hollowness within,
Aching for love-lost in fractured relationships
Navigating purposeless-digressions adrift,
Going nowhere, hovering over pit of abyss;
Until from consciousness cogent voice speaks,
Enlightened by guidance of wisdom satori,
Harkening back to yore, of inspiring dawns,
Blossoming-seasons of resplendent bygones,
Reminding~ back then, how tranquil life was;
Empowering now to banish reign of anomie,
Exiting tenebrous clouds, shrouding sanity,
Traversing back to abode of grace and unity,
With compass-benevolent of love, and divinity.
Categories:
infertile, community, perspective,
Form:
Free verse
I AM THE BANANA TREE
I am the banana tree
That dwells where rivers meet ;
I am the banana tree
That dwells where sun lives;
On fertility I tower ; believe,
Your party hour has come
You shall now eat my fruits,
As these buds you see now
Shall wither not till fruits they become.
When they call me barren
And say I am fruitless and arid ;
They that once invaded my field
And carted away my buds,
I heed not their buzz ;
When they mock my torn leaves
And call me progenitor of scarecrow ;
They that once stowed their holds
Till cambers with my seeds,
I lend no ear ; when unschooled children
Call aleovera vegetable,do we blame them?
Their ignorance my knowledge
Though they don’t know me
I know who I am: sucker of millions nods.
My first pollination they arborted
When like gladiators they came
And destroyed my foliage like locusts
When they brought elephants to my garden
And scattered all my heaps and ridges
When they mutilated me like unedible snake
How so soon they forget that call me infertile !!!
Thanks for procreation that multiplies my breed
And erects a signpost of my lavish fertility
In their Lady and Lord’s vineyards forever.
Rejoice Africans;
Yours is not a barren womb
Rejoice, yours is not infertile -
I am the banana tree sprouting form the stump
Of old flourished tree the wicked cruelly felled ;
The sepulchre is opened , my resurrection has begun
It is dawn of my accession , my glorious hour has come
Because I am the banana sucker, this a tree you see now
Shall tomorrow plantation become.
Categories:
infertile, africa, hope,
Form:
Free verse
Hijab
Hijab, niqab, jilbab, or chador of ridah.
Draping eloquently the notion of obscurity with expressions so holy.
Living an invisible existence on screen of life.
Suffering in silence; and protecting honor of riwayaat daily.
Should I surrender the will of life, being, self, or khudi?
Don’t show, just hide: don’t feel, but survive.
Don’t love just subsist in this infertile valley.
Don’t cry,
You are a daughter of a contemporary,
Traditional, man of Islam.
For you life hereafter is the prize.
To find yourself when everything is hidden in the ideals of hijab
Is a miracle of love
It’s life greatest surprise.
Saadia Syed
Categories:
infertile, gender,
Form:
Nazm
(TW Infertility)
My body is built to bear children.
I must stop comparing my body to those
of women who are simply built....
differently than I am.
My stretch marks are an atlas of the
paths I've walked. From adolescence to
womanhood, I have a story. My body
tells, my story.
I'm coming to accept that I will simply
never be that small, and it is not
something to be shameful about.
I'm coming to accept this with little
anecdotes, such as, my body is built to
bear children.
But I still have days, where I feel like I am...
too much.
On those days, I try to make myself smaller on my couch;
but only end up making myself larger
with each handful I shovel to the pit,
in the bottom of my stomach.
What can I use to console myself
when my disappointment in my looks is
all consuming.
So much so that the doubtful light
at the end of the tunnel is more tempting
than the sun.
And what happens...where does my
anecdote go when, the children never come?
When my gynecologist finds similes in words such as 'barren' or 'empty'
My body-was, built to bear children.
Categories:
infertile, body,
Form:
Free verse
A broken promise, demoralized man who is incapable of being true,
A thoughtless coward, oblivious clown, this is what I think of you,
A woeful chicken, a runaway guy is how you're now portrayed,
A selfish critter, a prideful morsel is the reputation you have made,
When flesh spoils in a slaughter house the smell of you comes to mind,
For your manipulation has made you completely colorblind,
In your mothers soil you were the bad seed,
As you grew up we realized you were just a weed,
A fragmentation, with no revelation is who you really are,
A scab that stopped healing, the beggar who keeps on stealing, now just another scar,
A predicable cycle, a sick little mess, a hidden agenda that isn’t well dressed,
A miserable liar, disposable fool, too bad you weren’t like an infertile mule,
Just like a wolf, you would consume your own,
For apparently humanity was something you were never shown,
Just like wild animals that abandon their first litter,
You fit right in, you unoriginal quitter.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written:9/29/11
Contest:Angry
Categories:
infertile, childhood, dedication, family, father,
Form:
Couplet
The flying hills and its tinted gold
Its pyramids and the blinking moulds
Beautiful the night, a city behold
New dawn it was at Bur Dubai
The city that never boasts of mountain
Infertile the land unfriendly the grains
Until comes a dreamer called Maktoum
Muhammed, the son to raise the tune
At the sea end stands nations inertia
In father’s desires, Maktoum built to sky
Descendants of warriors, to sea he claimed
To build the Palms, the earth, for world to hail
Categories:
infertile, appreciation, dedication, eulogy, humanity,
Form:
Madah
Early morning I have to wake up and catch the train.
Distance long and crowd among, early start the only way
Mortgaged soul, lend heart and invested brain
Up to this journey what I've lost and what is gain
Calculated not what I posses and what to pay
Mortgaged soul, lend heart and invested brain
Daily spin the words, infertile ideas I toil to explain
They call me *babu, office assistant you better say
Early morning I have to wake up and catch the train.
Contrary policies and balance to maintain
Malice, greed, pride sharp word spikes and I’m the prey
Mortgaged soul, lend heart and invested brain
You know the story of rabbit visiting lion’s den
Heap of bones, going in foot prints no signs out way
Early morning I have to wake up and catch the train.
Call it cycle of life or the destruction chain
Earning sources, Means of livelihood taking lives away
Early morning I have to wake up and catch the train.
Mortgaged soul, lend heart and invested brain
First time exprimenting with Villanelle poetic form. comments are welcome!
babu is a common word for office clerk in India
Categories:
infertile, life,
Form:
Villanelle