Long Childbearing Poems
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You proclaim that every woman here is a paragon.
Isn't women's subjugation still a phenomenon?
Only a small minority of women might feel well.
Isn't the life of a rural girl here often a hell?
"They're in aeronautics, you say; they're in astronautics."
"Aren't they epitomes in the empire of robotics?"
Thus, you endlessly recount the progress of politics.
I see the rustic girls carrying hard crucifixes.
I've come into existence, having escaped foeticide.
To all, I looked like a piece of debris from a landslide.
They tried to kill me many times, even after my birth.
Could this feather be a heavy burden upon this earth?
My brother looked good to them in sleeping and waking.
I had to work hard to the extent of my back breaking.
He's sent to school. I was not. I had to take care of him.
I had to stand, smile, and say yes, as per everyone's whim.
I work from the time I rise till the time I go to bed.
Most of my life is spent in the kitchen and cattle shed.
How many eagle-eyes of men gape at me each moment!
Within me, I ferment with a yeast of embarrassment.
I wear a veil in adherence to societal norms.
Thoughts of disgraces and rapes awe me like summer storms.
I feel like prey and am unsafe from human predators.
I'm harassed often like a debtor by the creditors.
I am auctioned and sold in a fair called arranged marriage.
Who's worried, even if my spouse is my grandfather's age?
I am a machine for his carnal pleasure and childbearing.
Who appreciates my nature of caring and sharing?
I obey my father, my husband, and my son.
I know; I'm weighed down by the burdens of men who seek fun.
I do not pity myself, yet I live up to my goal.
Though they're harsh on me with their wrath, with love I fill my soul.
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©
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
My family is like a quilt
Full of beautiful patterns no one fears
Or feels guilt for passing down
Like the way one frowns or smiles
Charming patterns in most everything
his cheery fast speech hogs conversation
just like grandpa Jones no hesitation in opinion
The brown tan from sun also causing
Blond streak in her hair so telling
Of our melting pot ancestry
Charming patterns in a face that traced thin lip in him
Her thick lips with matching hips childbearing
And his flaring nostrils soaking summer breeze
Bearing passionate breaths as he sips beer like his uncle
Baby boy so joyful with big dumbo ears
from the paternal side of his gifts
Maternal instincts he rises with a certain cry
And the pattern of love never denies at least an eye of concern
Each family has a quilt patch of mystery
That one with clairvoyant skills
He or she never hiding yet not speaking on all it is
Pattern in temper and even in life dilemma
Some dance and chance with spirits and smoke
Grandma prays and prays the most for them
To avoid the path of alcoholic like soldiers
Who became bolder earning purple heart patch
Patterns of eyes brown blue hazel
All possessing a glare when upset and share
The most warm glances of happiness I confess
Such patterns in my family body a quilt
Ever changing patches yet wearing the same blue genes.
CHARMING PATTERNS POETRY CONTEST
10/21/21 SPONSOR JULIA WARD
LOVE’S APPLE RED LIPS
At night the horse appeared dark.
It stared like a dead man -
perhaps into the pit itself.
During the day - -
Up and down, he would go,
and children would hang on.
Mysteriously, the devil himself
unassembled the amusement ride.
Tired and bored he went home.
The horse lay on his side -
as if suffering, ailing, in a
cardboard box green with mold.
One day the devil arose,
after resting in fire and gloom,
and spied a couple in love.
The serpent began to whisper in
Eve’s ear, for he loved her name, for
great harm, he inflicted her namesake.
Like the Eve before her, curiosity drew her.
Evil pointed to the old cardboard box,
and she inclined her ear too closely.
“We must put this carousel back together!”
Her beaux thought her a bit too excited,
but he pulled out his tools, Adam once again fooled.
That night the horse stared straight through Adam.
He shivered. He dreamed. He shook it off.
“Hop on the horse,” said she.
Not wanting to disappoint, he climbed way too high.
She loved his new prominent spot, elevated above the park.
“You look so regal! All the guys will be jealous!”
Eve never spoke to him this way. It scared him a bit.
“Tally-ho!” She said as she released the lever.
“Won’t you join me, Eve?”
He thought he heard a hiss! Shook it off!
His imagination galloped.
Up and down, round and round.
Like the first bite of an apple,
he felt a crunch, almost like a hickey kiss
“Eve, I’ve been bit!”
“Adam, don’t be silly! Enjoy the ride!”
He seemed to sleep after a couple rounds.
Eve thinks he must be comfortable now.
So in love, Eve - with her gorgeous golden hair,
her apple red lips, her childbearing hips.
She comes to her senses too late.
Adam slides to the ground.
She shuts the old ride down.
Eve runs to his side.
The horse has turned pale with envy.
His eyes on fire as Adam’s stare into eternity.
Eve’s tears burn and sting like hell itself.
She hears a laugh emit
from the horse’s mouth
sounding something like a hiss.
4/7/2017
Nayda’s Urban Legend Contest
From: urbanlegendsonline.com/the-merry-go-round
when you leave home in your childhood,
ne’er returning
until Fall
after childbearing years,
oh the hues kaleidoscopically whorl in your eyes.
i’d nearly forgotten Oz,
dreamlike leaves clipped on trees —
dazzled us in Louisiana.
we wanted to follow its trek
to New Orleans.
yes, we had the boogie board blues
of Oahu, stirred by rapturous waves.
but oh how we craved to drive
off the island, and drive and drive,
on and on... for miles at a time.
we stopped to visit kith and kin,
didn’t fall into the Grand Canyon
even with three very small kids.
we hearkened to Carlsbad
with its alien eyes,
the open sky inviting to all,
then hiked the caverns
with one daughter
strapped to hubby’s chest,
two more kids in tow.
After these extremes the wonderland of trees
red, gold and burnt orange —
I Remember these!
how had i forgotten,
fooled by surf and turf —
the swoosh of sirens
rocking me to sleep,
the witch of the West
waving her wand,
“and now my beauties,
something with poison in it I think,
with poison in it, but attractive to the eye
and soothing to the smell…
poppies, poppies, poppies
will put them to sleep.” *
we left the land of lush leis
and ran right into
yummy Autumnal daze.
9/8/3019
*Quote from the movie The Wizard of Oz
Three Cheers To Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday
during month of May
can be traced back
to ancient Greeks and Romans
devotional festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday,”
the other three hundred
and sixty five or six,
when leap year occurs,
especially Jewish mothers smother
also manifest courtesy
eldest sister or brother.
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
(a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's embolden
greeting card companies
such as Hallmark generated a market
(money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed
companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea
of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite
of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
fêted, lionized, revered re:
formed unsanitary
squalid living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where
greater longevity doth hum
bull all because, she sought to regale mum
(mine) deceased after rigor mortis
immediately thereafter her sole son
found himself saddened severely glum,
and uncomfortably numb.
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday
during month of May
can be traced back
to ancient Greeks and Romans
devotional festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis
(a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies
such as Hallmark generated a market
(money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed
companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea
of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite
of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
fêted, lionized, revered re:
formed unsanitary
squalid living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where
greater longevity doth hum
bull all because, she sought to regale mum
(mine) deceased after rigor mortis
immediately thereafter her sole son
found himself saddened severely glum,
and uncomfortably numb.
Incomers
From the middle east and Africa, people seek European shores
dispossessed and poverty struck, they seek, a better life
a promised life of democracy and work for everyone
Many, when reaching Europe, cross the channel from France
in Britain, thanks to the BBC World program.
Their point of embarkation is Libya, once a successful state
now a rough country laid low when their leader, Ghaddafi
was murdered by Western power getting their blood dripping
hands-on petroleum.
With many races and cultures coming to Europe, one asks?
Is there an upper limit for this invasion; is there a moment?
When, this must stop for the sake of the individual nation-states?
Is this influx good for Europe, making it malleable for business
a low-wage economy and no bothersome trade union?
The truth is, in Western countries, have a net loss of newborns
because of a high standard of living and top-educated women
who no longer want to be burdened by many children, this
make perfect sense not to waste time with childbearing.
When Russia noticed the population was retracted, they did
something about this and introduced an economic plan to
counter this and gained; we see the same in Nordic countries
In Portugal, say, too few children are born it only takes
a couple of generations to empty the land of its inhabitants
Migrants to our shore can be a blessing infusing new blood
to an ageing population, it may not be like the nation of Yore
two cultures merge, that is better than being forgotten. No?
Momma mia man date
comb the second Sunday during month of May
can be traced back to ancient Greeks and Romans
festivals held
to honor mother goddesses Rhea and Cybele
setting precedent for Mother's Day
where early Christians fancied festival
known as “Mothering Sunday.”
Fast forward to the early
twentieth century 1908 when
Ann Maria Reeves Jarvis (a social activist then,
and community organizer
during American Civil War) era to quieten
grief fraught era also cited
as informally memorializing her mother,
who begot said noble men
touring daughter
paying homage to woebegone
lachrymose role with accolades
to endure tragedy and loss put upon
childbearing women,
this event held (rain or sun)
at St Andrew's Methodist Church
in Grafton, West Virginia, which did quicken
in subsequent decades to formal fete,
where poets (like me) did open
the special occasion with ranked midshipmen
commercialization cropped as ken
be expected by the early 1920's imbolden
greeting card companies such as Hallmark gen
er rated a market (money making of course) even
though Jarvis believed companies sought profit
NOT prophet, thus misinterpreting
and exploiting idea of Mother's Day and met
aforementioned founder, who tried to jet
tis sin the vulgar appetite of the ole mighty dollar,
but her lofty ambition did get
thwarted by mass marketing
the quaint idea,
plus she feared going in debt
and though the industry
(initially proposed entailed low key
acknowledgement, the originator
(Ann Marie Jarvis) still esteemed,
lionized, revered re
formed unsanitary living conditions with zee
less ness and aplomb
set a course where greater longevity doth hum
all because, she sought to regale "mum."