Glancing into her brown eyes
you can see the reflection of the sunrise up in the sky
She wears her hair as her crown
you can’t deny the beauty lies in front of your eyes
Voice carries soft, soothing as lullaby
Big nose, big lips, childbearing hips
The body that bear a child for nine months
And snap back right in a matter of a glimpse
The type of woman to speak with her movements
To pronounce her words fluent as they watch and feel
Threaten
The type that is in better than the essence of a black woman
Airing my opinion to my wife.
Daring to suggest another child,
Caring for the family I loved,
Sharing our noble thoughts, she smiled.
Where would we find enough to live on,
Aware of all the needs for us to care?
Dare we tempt our God with our needs?
Prayer, we said and went to our lair.
Valkyrians
We live in a time when high education
among the middle and higher middle class
get work in a notable occupation
many are women who find a profession
often within the state apparatus
One can say that the female sex has been
set free, but for what?
There was a time when it was vital to have
children, our very existence depended
on women's childbearing capacity by doing
what nature had intended
With educated women in work position
childbearing is not a must; hence, fewer
and fewer children are born, we may
see shrinking population as a prize for
the thought after, freedom from choirs
from the hassle of the nappies
Women at the top of their profession
nearing middle age, realize the hunger
they had was the need to procreate to
have children, alas, far too late for many
Childbearing must be a priority for mothers
ought to be extolled for the effort to
keep the world going around and around
Sadly, we have lost sight of what is important
Salacia
Where two mountains almost meet, there is a canyon
Of boulders and unfriendly nature, such as thorny bushes
And self-hating trees and among thistles, snakes roam
It was there in a deep cave the lady of clear water lives
She is Salacia, the goddess of spring water and rivers
Where salmons thrive, and trout wake at dawn
Myth has it the mountain woman had wide hips made
For childbearing and undiluted frizzing of lovemaking
Naturally, any young man wanted to conquer her love
To get to the god who had the key to the origin of water
To meet and drown in the bosom of spirituality was
An adventure only the bravest dared to risk their life
Torn to shreds by bushes, snapped by the branches of
Tree of hatred, and to avoid snakes and scorpions too
Much bloodied, they came down from the mountain
It is said a few met the Salacia, who avidly loved them
Sated, she threw them into the river ending at the ocean
For Poseidon, the king of Briny, to find her an answer
Looks like a nice day
When my wife has treatment for her legs, I notice most patients are women
who in their youth had worn high-heeled shoes; but what do I know
it could have been childbearing, weakening the bones.
I sit outside a small café; the weather has gone from overcast to mild sun.
Four workers enter; three of them are black, painting the house
for a man who looks Irish but isn’t, he is middle-aged and has curly grey hair
and drinks a pint of ale while painters in sudden sobriety drink water
they eat a stew of meat and beans
On another table sits a tall black man, I think he is a poet, If, my old friend
Jimmy, who has been sober for 30 years, would have said the tall man
was an alcoholic drinking wine so early.
It was a nightmare going to a restaurant with Jimmy, scanned tables
and if anyone had more than two beers, he said they were alcoholics,
I didn’t dare drink in his presence.
Sometimes, Jimmy went on my nerves, was hectic and got irritated
when things didn’t go his way also smoked like a chimney
This working-class neighbourhood is blessed, a place peaceful,
free of racism and the dreaded BLM.
We are the ones who carry babies for months
We feel anxiety of an upcoming delivery
We do our best to keep them healthy
We worry the most when they are thirsty
We rescue them when hungry
We are the ones who look after them, for the sake of their well-being
We ensure our kids’ lives are worthwhile
We find ways to provide optimum care
We are patient in seeing them grow older
Yes, they always run to us for cover
We are the ones who are called names when things go wrong with our children
But given no credit when they excel in life
We create conductive environments all the time
We bravely take the bullet for our loved ones
We brace raging storms on their behalf
We are the ones who walk miles
In search of better opportunities for our offspring
We sleep very late and wake up too early
We guide them to achieve great things
We say prayers for them to prosper
God was right to entrust women with childbearing because Mothers are so wonderful
Tristan's Torment - The Villanelle Of The Butterfly
Tristan couldn't stop thinking about the butterfly
It was just so thin and daring
Never had he known anything so dry
It's morning, Tristan encountered a butterfly so wry
He found himself feeling rather overbearing
Tristan couldn't stop thinking about the butterfly
Later, Tristan was spooked by an eye
He tried to focus on a meringue
Never had he known anything so dry
Charlotte tried to distract him with a fly
Said his mind had become too wearing
Tristan couldn't stop thinking about the butterfly
Tristan decided to do something high
The butterfly was like a toxic childbearing spider
Never had he known anything so spry
Tristan nosedived like an intense oh, my
His mind became dangerously raring,
Tristan couldn't stop thinking about the butterfly
Never had he known anything so dry
4/20/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
BOAT OF INTEREST
Something troubles us certainly
Something always drums trouble
To us
Some have children yet pockets of
Troubles outside childbearing lives
With them closely
Some can eat but no food while
Others have abundance but with
Much troubles dancing around them
Some have wealth without heir
Many have heirs without wealth
Yet many sticks of troubles live
Behind them like family garden
Some are beautifully rich but live
At the back of health
Some with too much pen without
Rewards but illiterate hands with
Laudable green prove
Certainly something troubles us
Something kills us and something
Makes us great stars to be starred at
Get into Shape Maureen
Scary words for a Square
Or if you are a fat get like me
My head is the shape of a potato
My waistline resembles a Burger
And my bum takes the shape of a Doughnut
Because I can't keep my mouth shut
And I have Pear induced childbearing hips
And my thighs pass for ships in the night
So I can't wear anything tight
For fear of splitting the seams on my skinny jean's lol
And i have to wear a sport's Bra to flatten my bust
So I don't get asked out on many date's
And on-line dating is out of the question
Unless I fail to mention
When asked to describe my body Shape ?
Because I then would have to reply ?
Round a kind of figure of 8
Not so much a Shape
More a Pyramid with uneven side's
Or a Poached Egg attached to a head
You say Shape
I say Clay
Or children's putty
For Maureen Mcgreavy
Get into Shape poetry contest
Christ bearing Dove, wind-blown, sail
On, beyond the Flood's deep, to
Land. In nativity's bay,
Under the low sun rising,
Maria sinks, childbearing.
Between the Virgin and land,
Uprising from whale's belly,
She bears Jonah to the day.
True Valentine
By Nate Spears
Published 2013 in “Death OF A Rose” By Nate Spears
A lost woman the mirror reflects
Young; and it’s apparent
I can see it in her eyes
No focus and childbearing
Just ass, legs, and thighs in mind
No marriage
If she knew better
Learned better; and
Wanted better,
He would show her a better way of living
Instead of dealing with cowards
Seek a man with moral and merit
He’s stealing your joy
He’s bringing you pain
Removing your youth
He’s playing games
The truth at heart is
Reality should be your first thought
Loneliness is not your fault
It’s a part of life for most
Don’t let it destroy your values
Just wait,
You’ll find a true love to treasure you.
It isn’t hard to find a heroine
among the women that one knows.
God had enough faith in their valor
to trust them with childbearing woes.
There was an outstanding heroine
in the news when I was young,
of whom the praise was endless
and admiring songs were sung.
Aviation was still in infancy.
Planes had barely out-grown their pedals,
when Amelia Earhart was crossing oceans
and winning high flying medals.
There was one first she hadn’t claimed,
first woman to fly around the world.
They feted her before her 1937 flight
with pride and the flag unfurled.
She and her navigator, Fred Noonan
had all but reached their destination,
when their plane simply disappeared.
They were mourned by the whole nation.
She had promised her loving husband
she would quit after she flew it.
Though well aware of the danger, said,
“I want to do it just in order to do it.”
Written May 25, 2012
2.03.09
Two women -
Two women who've lost Him,
Lost Him once and for all.
You - through the pain of childbearing,
I - through cruelties of love...
Two women -
Two women who've lost Him,
So close and yet so far apart -
So uncompromisingly different
With the very same pain in their hearts...
And even though I may not know You,
Before You I'd stand in deep awe -
You gave me true Hope, always precious -
You gave me the man that I love...
[Dedicated to the Mother of my still beloved A.K...]
Like hungry wolves with ribs showing, men huddle at her heels.
Waiting for any little drop of inspiration from her paintbrush.
Like a wet dog shaking its coat droplets spray everywhere.
Bluffing they have the power and not the need.
Every woman has mother's potential for nurturing , feeding , nourishing.
Where does Inspiration to paint come from? Why is painting sacred?
Why are they so hungry for mother's attributes and blessings?
Is it because she is a creator , to carry and grow a soul inside her?
To carry , bear nurture and raise many souls for generations to come.
So then how is painting and creating akin to the creation of childbearing?
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