I haven't been late for a long time,
Back when I was 27 or so,
It's always been on time.
I'm 49 now and it's been three weeks, nothing.
Has my time of being on time come to an end?
It's likely an age thing.
I still get it at 49, maybe not as much but I get it.
What if it's not my age?
I ordered something, it arrives tomorrow.
At least something will arrive, on my doorstep.
It says first relief is best at wake up,
I think, change my life, no more killing it, be quaint, stay like that,
Like a new day, a good start, with first relief.
To be sure.
After the damage, it was quaint, it'll never happen they said,
One in four is how quaint life is.
It could be my clock has broken.
What will become of me?
Back to killing it, til the last moment?
Life would be quaint,
LIfe would be timeless,
Like the start of a new moment, a new day, a new face to meet.
Life.
Body.
Age.
Breed.
Baal spent time in the underworld with the lesser gods
Learned how to make man miserable with the weather
Thunderbolts and lightning announced his earthly arrivals
Baal relished in the misery of lost sailors and dying soldiers.
He was a key deity in weather changes and stubbornness.
Thus, he was represented with a bull, ram or thunderbolt
Rider of the clouds some said; they were barely touching Baal’s strength.
He was the quintessential weather god, also, called
God of fertility, which goes along with moon cycles and weather.
I woke up from a warm summer dream,
Winter winds were blowing away the stillness.
Bare branches danced with a quiet scream—
Once again, the world feels empty.
The earth shivers under the blanket of snow,
Hiding the path I once walked.
Dreams melt like frost beneath the pale morning sun—
All that was there is gone.
But even in frozen stillness,
The river flows quietly under the ice,
Carving its way forward.
Even in the silence of snowfall,
New hopes are forming quietly.
Once again, the earth waits,
Knowing spring will come.
The moon shines above the frozen fields,
Whispering promises of tender warmth.
The cycle continues,
And once again,
I hold onto the hope of blossoms—
Of trees painted with pinks.
Drip drip drip
There she is, curl up like a ball,
Hands pressing hard, raw is the pain,
For a moment the heated pad works.
Thud thud thud
Powerless she's against the shedding,
High and low, her hormones play tennis,
Giggles of laughter turn into tears.
Drip drip drip
With every drop of Vermillion,
A raging pain rise in her low back,
The room is spinning, her head is pounding.
Thud thud thud
“Those are the scarlet drops,
That could make her a Mother,” she thought
As the light faded from her pain-filled eyes.
Men bearing nakedness and strips of thong
running through and whipping the female throng
Blood red and milk white,
colors of delight.
A tradition for years that remained strong.
Young women wrote names with aim to belong.
Man drawing their name is their hopeful song.
Placed strip in an urn
for a mate they yearn.
The new couple together all year long.
Celebration of Lupa and Faunus,
the day is swiftly coming upon us.
festival of note,
formation to choate.
A fertile year for them was a promise.
forever fallow
nature returns the favor ~
rich fertility
circle of fertility hidden deep in the valley
Come, women who want to conceive
feel the nurturers, Gaia and sun break
bring your waiting wombs
Productive habitat overrides destruction
Rousing happens atop ground otherwise reluctant
Entities touching, same faith entertained
Grass burst brave weaves together cracked terrain
Gaia time turns pages, plot twists threaten pattern
Arrested in laughter at last season's barren
Nudging sprouts mouth new determined language
Terra pushes Spring, customarily established
16th December
- send in the cow -
Sense altering fertility:
a stoic female falters
Seven consecutive avid hours in each four weeks
I mull over mitigating my chosen ongoing celibacy
Primitive drive permeates realms where pleasure peaks
Stomach burgeoning coersion detects digital delicacy
Needy as a newborn, abdomen aches, resonates reason
Discarded inhibition of prudence pursues resolution, swollen
Tulip bulb split, affliction's blister is conceived procreation
Stupendous scenarios sordid, fluent imagination draws on
Widened with aspiration, desire requires instant unbridling
Materialising gluttony beckons with incandescent distress
Moans cryptic as ocean speak, freed from concious conspiring
Unboxed frolicked fathomings become loitering brain's duress
This pain is not my fault
I was just unlucky
It brings my life to holt
Each stabbing pain, twisting ache
Strikes as hard as a lightening bolt
This cramping is so hard to shake
Endometriosis is its name
We're not playing this is no game
It takes away so many things
Each person its sorrow it brings
To know what we go through
If you only knew
You see sometimes we can't do much
Apart from lay in the fetal position
People judge as such
Oh she has that condition
Never fully understanding just what it takes to paint her face
And show the world she's not a waste of space.
So to you fellow endo sisters
Out there
Your not your illness
Your beautifully flawed and are so very strong
We are here for each other in this mess
I'm sorry this poem is very long
So I hope these words have helped you know. Each time you get told your lazy, making it up
go and prove them wrong
We are survivors and we know
That this awareness for this condition should grow
From one endo sister to another with love ??????
You’re wasting all my fertility years
She said
With genuine anger.
Dave said
Nothing.
He sloped away and put a single slice of rye bread in the toaster
Popped a hard-boiled egg in his mouth
And thought about his robust spermatozoa.
Spring's Fertility
blue jays hop off branch
borne worm caught from sprouting grass
mountain dresses' up
connie pachecho
1/11/17
I danced to the tune of horn-blowers
At the edge of the twilight jungle
And my lover jiggled her waist
Bead-laden, to the shy-faced moon
Peering, cowering thro’ the green foliage
As the drums sang tum tum
My heart echoed tum tum
And the bare breasts of Wanjiru
Up and down tum tum
The warriors’ lion-like roar with virility
The fecund maidens respond
With feminine alacrity
The village awaits the blessing
Ripples of joy flood the harvest
Love is nurtured with stiff erections
Cajoling the eager, thirsty
but moist and dripping mouth.
Fertility, excess,
I know in me the whole seed process of everything
enlightening the sun to new distances.
and I am famished for attention.
and the conditions are still not right.
still you blame me for
my lack of demand - "Go Make The Conditions" -
but alas, I cannot. I am a man
but (will you ever believe me?)
Fertility
is what I am. Not who, but what.
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