Best Ovum Poems
Embryo formed.
Fetus became.
A girl baby I am.
My creator I do not know. Procreation states that ovum and sperm conceives. My question is how does this evolve – from God?
We are told there are ninety-nine names given to the omnipotent. Let us take
a walk.
Imagine a vision that all us possess of The Almighty.
He states, oh I know you call me God, the Lord, Jehovah.
Some call me Allah.
I tell you that all these names make no difference.
I am your creator.
The creatures of the Earth are animals.
The beings are my people.
You are of the greater intellect and animals’ spirituality is their understanding.
The world is ritualized to both.
Each knows their subsistence.
Affluence is all way of life divided for profusion.
Prey...
Work...
Both have no indifference to a certain extent.
I am of man and woman and I am the eyes of human.
Life will form for me within humanity.
Animal is part of this divinity.
____________________/
From this visualization, what knowledge did I received; that my creator is ovulation and conception. This is an ascertain principle that in the beginning my creator gave me life that formed within modern time.
Revised and edited August 30, 2018!
Wanna make a baby?
Here's how it goes....
The ***** enters the vagina.
Then out comes a flow.
Meanwhile from the ovary,
down the fallopian tube.
A tiny egg is swimmimg
and plops into the uterine lube.
After a fierce battle
the fastest sperm wins.
Brakes through the egg's shell.
Then multiplication in ovum begins.
Oxygen and nutrients flow
through the umbilical cord.
From after birth on uterine wall.
Or placenta as it's sometimes called.
A little baby is growing fast.
Nine months to be exact.
The womb then contracts.
These are the facts.
Out pops a baby...
Simple as that!
a spermatozoa competition
for there is an ovum to won
so they race
to fertilize
and fight until they're left only one
My curvy bouncy young mum bump
Of unjoy pump by punk guy jump
You wormy crony cuckoo cyborg of my numb womb grow
My ovum mock your wrong grown coup
Go mourn by of onyx orgy you grow
From crummy mob of gory cum you bourn
No cub run cry mummy for you my young unborn
No young curvy bouncy puppy boy by norm
Upon gun my coy gown for fun won
Now burn or bury my crow cow born
Ode to Silence
O primordial prelude, thou ancient sound, present before the earth was found. Interrupted by the voice of One who predated you, saying, “let there be,” and then allowing you to witness His creative power at work.
O ubiquitous companion, witness of the moment when sperm penetrated ovum and zygote was formed. You saw me before I entered mother’s consciousness and beheld the formation of my members.
Thou welcome interlude, who daily rescue me from the exhaustion of the incessant demands of daily life. As a soothing massage to an aching body, you cradle me in your arms and restore my body and soul.
O Divine command, utilized by God when He wants to get the attention of His children. “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10), He says, and we tremble and are silent in His presence.
O inevitable postlude, the destiny of mortal man. “His spirit departs, he returns to the earth, in that very day his thoughts perish” Psalm 146:4 and he enters your world of silence.
But because you were there when God made man, you were privy to the plan that man should live eternally. So you are content to hold him fast, till he’s resurrected by His Savor at last.
(alternately titled one me silly more till manufactured
from go win addle American
non refundable private parts)
each set of twenty three chromosomes
the basic biological building blocks
of life came out cervix
when second hand of analog clocks
barely and scarcely swept across dial,
wrought offspring appearance
as a pier a docks
closely resembling a monkey
perhaps...hmm...
maybe mother mated with a chimp
assimilating chromosomal flox
genetic combination brought about add hocks
viz bouncing baby boy skinny and fair game
as a pluperfect future target for jocks
when I took first gasp of air sputtered
like an old engine that knocks,
now just easing into ma deuce score
and xix year with hair reed locks
twittering, snorting, rattling nonetheless
became precious human dependent
with mat chew anti body mox
see for father and mother
to care despite expelling nox
shuss gas out derriere, which profuse flatulence
natural immunization
kept away infected kids with pox
nicknamed little buttock blaster
now sits in a comfy chair and rocks
reminiscing about boyhood
and a pooch named Socs
who told time applying faux paws vox
like tum make sounds resembling tick tocks
Nowadays every potential mom and dad
disappointed unless offspring(s) feverish follow fad
decreeing qualified as gifted birth of lass or lad
go wing great lengths to prod and push
progeny until a genius to be had
rather tubby thankful and gratefully glad
regaling robust surprise
packaged traits of yore
inheriting genetics descended
when early apes did de tour
terrestrial virgin earth
anatomically complete store
reed awesomely astounding miracle from spore
sized fertilized ovum (healthy
and sound baby boy or girl) hood roar
if lionized, which feline bellow mew might mean
change my dye ya pore
and pamper me sum more
gnome hatter wailing mama or papa ignore
thence nurturing baby pipes por favor
kinship knits omnipotent bond evermore
where tis instinctual to adore.
(Please read part 1 first or this will make no sense)
To the scientist’s dismay, pressing the cancel button was ineffective. The plunge into his past continued inexorably. It, however, was not without its benefits. Henry’s skin became supple and his muscles bulged as in his youth. His hair returned to the light brown that he hadn’t seen in decades. For the first time in decades, Henry felt, not just okay, but good and joyous in his renewed youth. He decided to stop his slide into the past at about age twenty when he would have his degrees and could live his career over again. If his “other self” was there, Henry would assume a new identity and make a whole different life for himself. It was an unprecedented opportunity and he meant to make the most of it.
Near his birthday in the year 1970, Henry hopefully pressed the cancel button and was rewarded with a loud click. But instead of gliding to a stop, the time machine accelerated in its journey into the past. Henry experienced the hormonal rush of puberty and felt adolescent acne break out on his face. Within minutes, a reverse growth spurt cut his height by several inches. Soon, he was a young child at play, oblivious to the danger of his situation. The year 1950 saw a tot and then a cooing baby. When August 8th passed, the infant suddenly had an umbilical cord attached to a nonfunctioning placenta. Its two umbilical arteries throbbed desperately, but the return blood through the umbilical vein was not oxygenated, nor did it contain essential nutrients.
Membranes enveloped the devolving Henry who now had the “old man” appearance of a fetus. Then he became a blastocyst, ready for implantation in a nonexistent uterine endometrium. Within seconds he regressed to gastrula, blastula and then the berry-like ball of cells called morula. Like some weird countdown, he became 64, 32, 16, 8, 4, 2 cells and then a zygote.
The paternal half of Henry’s chromosomes disappeared next, leaving only an ovum ready for fertilization. Even that became an oocyte needing to complete meiosis before it vanished entirely in the immature ovary of Henry’s infant mother.
Henry Higgins, born August 8, 1950 and died November 8, 1949, physicist and time traveler is missing forever.
Hi guys please go through my new poem..
Mom: My Beauteous Lucky Charm
I came alone in this beautiful world,
And I have to leave this world alone.
Nowhere in this journey of life I wanna lack,
I have to live the life with its full spirit and wanna carry happiness in my sack!
Refreshing the moments when,
Two souls flamed in passion of love.
Merging the sperm and ovum.
Formation of egg, Resulting into a developed embryo,
They Created me!
Irritating my mom right from the start,
Ejecting me out and my mom is in pain.
Getting emotional around,
Both of us burst out in tears.
Sorry Mom I won't hurt you again!
Its the feeling which nobody can damn understand.
Connecting me around herself,
Introducing me with my dad,
Whatsoever I just love my Mom.
She is the one who caressed me,
She is the one who cuddled me.
She is one who actively participated in my activities,
She is the one who holded me happily ever.
She is the one who made me strong enough to tackle the things,
She is one who supported me when I need it.
Encouraged me, My energizer,
Dramatically she is the one who made me laugh when I am sad.
Thanks mom for whatever you, kind-heartedly shower!
When the moon fades, She started my day with a bright sunshine,
She never wanted to leave me alone.
She is one who gifted me my younger brother,
She is the one who taught me to value relationship.
She is one who controlled my patience when l am flaming in aggression,
Feeling glad to be a part of your soul.
Ferociously I flowed in your love,
Thanks Mom, As You bestowed priceless gift of blessings!
Her expectations l just wanna fulfil,
But be yourself, I pray god.
Don't change yourself according to the circumstances,
She is the one who tried to mould herself when the entire family is in sustained pain.
Hugging you, Releasing my thoughts,
Wanted you to be mine , My Sweetest Mom ever.
By Madhavi
I used to write like
Jack Kerouac.
Words
crumbling down
paper.
Stark thoughts
marked
by dots
and dashes.
Flashes of schoolyard brilliance
The hill I would
climb over
to be
someone different.
I never saw life
through a dot.
LSD.
My father
was on mushrooms,
when he and my mother
created me.
Psychedelic sperm
meets
bitter weed
infested ovum.
BANGED
into existence.
Transient spirit
sloughing off
afterbirth long
after I hit
the cold.
I have chased
paper
ever since.
Dipping my bones
in ink.
To paint a
masterpiece
of you.
Broken, homeless, loveless,
privileged, safe, warm,
sheltered, shattered
reconstructed.
All in a backdrop
of perfection.
An abundant Earth
housing an
ungrateful patient.
Most of us,
doctored
unconscious
sedated.
Waiting for
something
to wake us
up.
My own words
often
broken and
falling off.
Leaving only
snapshots.
I get ties and
sketches
along the
road.
I would bargain
my dreams
for pious acceptance
and my revelations
for wicked
indulgent
self
flagellation.
I have been
bound to my
vision
of exclusion
behind an
iron fence of
history.
Trapped
in pages.
Tapped and
wasted.
I used to write
as if I didn't
I would die.
On my knees
shattered
under
that perfect
silent sky.
Head bowed
shoulders cowed
frail and pasty.
Screaming
raging
breaking pages
with my pen.
Attempting to bring
black and white
to color.
Now I write,
because
I die.
A thousand times
with you.
Its glorious!
Over your
unfinished portraits.
Your shortcuts
your detours
your ache
your lust,
and your mindless
wandering.
Beautiful
and championed.
I pray to make
my prose like
a Sistine Chapel
after all,
you deserve
it!
Only to fall
very far from
grace.
At the
Inadequacy
I have
at coloring
your face.
I used to write
like Jack Kerouac,
jotting a shot
of you
in between
heaven.
But I figured out
that I would
rather capture
my own
splinter.
And be satisfied with
a sliver of you,
than die like him
at forty-seven.
so two deviant demented souls decided to fill a van with fertilizer and magically and tragically turn that mini-van into a mighty bomb, park it near a a building housing human beings and suddenly a helpless daycare center laden with little tykes within and everyone else were atomized
and i'm certain timmy wasn't the bit surprised
so two abstractly obtuse souls came to kill
but i guess that was your god's will
so two sordid souls decided to tote guns into where guns don't belong and take out their twisted and misdirected anger on some innocent students studying stridently to achieve advancement when semi-automatic guns started screaming of death is specious terms. and in the end teachers and students alike, innocents all, lay dead or woefully wounded of body and mind
ah, but there are none so blind....
two psychologically scarred psyches came with innocent blood to spill
ah, but i suppose that was your god's will
so these two singular souls found each other within the wide world and then courting began with a cute little curtsey and dating with delight until one night upon his knee a man came to urgently urge a woman to become his and his alone. things progressed effervescently brightly until one night when something so willfully wrong occurred . alask, that's when the gentleman's sperm found their way to the woman's oval ovum and collided with an ergonomically shaped egg and nine months later the woman gave birth to a travesty
and that particular tragedy would become a me
so sex and sperm segued into human swill
but i suppose that was your sick god's fu**i*g will
(c) 2012..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
The female calendar
The night cosmos opens the earth to moisture,
germination of the moonlight rejoice.
Tenderizing the ground to reach the underwater sight,
mist of luminous Moon light from the pull of monthly tide.
Moon phases of the great cosmic dance,
fertilization in the ovum of darkness to advance.
Circulation of blood and sap in plants,
the mother calendar naturally grants.
More difficult to observe the orbit of the Moon,
then that of the earth around the Sun.
The earth spirit as transformer by protoplasmic intention,
capable of reciprocal relation with all its creation.
It is cosmos to those who know the way,
and chaos to those who lose it by rational stray.
The female live in the lunar circle of body,
becoming and changing the order of everybody.
The secret time keeper and its flowing,
the witnessing of the body growing.
Moon, mind, calendar, menstruation, month,
Honeymoon, fortnight, fertility crunch.
When the paradox splits into dualism,
the act of natures consciousness as prism.
FLOWERS GREET BEES Pantoum
Around flowers busy bees are humming
Flowers hold honey in heart to offer.
Bees suck, collect honey fleeing and coming.
Pollen sticking wings and legs may scatter.
Flowers hold honey in heart to offer
Honey is stored in bees’ home: honey-comb.
Pollen sticking wings and legs may scatter.
Ovulation occurs in flower’s womb.
Honey is stored in bees’ home: honey-comb.
Storage supplies food for bees in winter.
Ovulation occurs in flower’s womb,
pollen may fall on ovum of flower.
Storage supplies food for bees in winter.
Bees suck, collect honey fleeing and coming.
Pollen may fall on ovum of flower.
Around flowers busy bees are humming.
09/29/16
Pantoum Poem Contest . First Place
Third place
'YOUR CHOICE FLOWER VERSE' Contest by Brian Strand
who are we
she murmurs
slithering out
of the escape of sleep
pretentious beings
long line of dogs
waiting for
through the narrow
windows
infinite wisdom manifested
soil transforms to flesh
and blood minerals gathered
magnetised and liberated
cosmic dust
sprinkled on the black
of the space
exponentially
multiplying
who are we
million spermatozoa
released on a subconscious
spurt swimming
to find the energised
ovum in the
fimbriated tubes
dogs are relaxing now
under the palm grove
Form:
what is life
life is a gift gift
from love
million spermatazoa
solitary ovum
it s a chance
they swim against the current
upstream one wins if permitted
survival of the fittest
we are born
gamettes zygotes
cleavage and compaction
inner call mass morula
we are not morones
tropho-blasts blasto-cytes
hatching eggs
cavitiating lesions
we are implanted now
oct 1 2016
5.52 pm
Form:
i am a man
dressed in pink
diapers
she is a woman
we meet
we conjugate
million spermatozoa released
swim upstream in the fimbriated
tubes of love
one reaches and penetrates
maybe in the optimal conditions
ovum is the female egg
zygote is grown
an embryo is born
we are delivered soon
sep 16 2016
4.08 am
Form: