Long Incubator Poems
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What do you do when she’s born two months early?
Nothing in place but cute baby clothes
Wishing we could at least kiss her on her nose
While in the incubator she had us in a scurry
Expecting a boy, peering through the glass was a girl
So my folks asked the two nurses for suggestions
They just smiled and didn’t have any objections
So I ended up as Wilma Nolene in a twirl
Mom and dad were quite happy
Little old me had no say
Only saw mom for the first time on New Year’s Day
My name, I think is quite savvy
I wish I could meet those two ladies
Whose names I now do carry
I would take them out to someplace splashy
Just to say thank you for looking after us babies
Wilma derived from William
Meaning determined keeper
I can be a real teaser
At times a bit fearsome...
*a true story, two nurses named me*
Contest: What's In A Name
3rd Place
October
October, the month I was born.
Was delivered not just a preemie,
no sign of life, a blue baby.
My parents’ hearts were torn.
There was a notion for a newborn
with no life to be taken out through the back
door of the house to avoid bad-luck.
A superstition in the town I was born.
The midwife did not waste any time.
She took me and bumped her elbow,
as she went through the narrow
door to prevent the family from hard times.
The impossible happened, I cried.
I needed an incubator to survive
or the steam of the eucalyptus leaves to be alive.
Hurriedly, she took me back inside.
This wise midwife told my parents
to boil eucalyptus leaves for thirty days
for me to breathe the steam in a safe place
and they had to strictly follow this adherent.
That was sixty nine years ago this October.
I am so grateful He gave me life.
A very wonderful blessing that is life.
The event I will always remember.
Here I am, thinking of this miracle forever,
as well as the talents and gifts He gave me
that I use, apply, expand, share to better me.
Always, celebrating me and my blessings in October.
October Poetry Contest Regina McIntosh 9/28/20
Sam Adams
Was born prematurely
Spent his first moments
In an incubator
Born with bad hearing
Bad vision
Bad teeth
And a speech impediment
And a learning disability
But he learned to cope
As he was a genius
Reading college level
In the second grade
When he was in high school
To overcome his fear
Of public speaking
He joined the debate team
His specialty was impromptu speaking
He found that he excelled
At making speeches on the fly
Overcoming his fears
Of public speaking along the way.
That is how Sam Adams
Learned to speak in public
Becoming a good speaker
In the end.
Based on a true story
To hear the mermaids singing. Not quite.
To make sense of life. No experience, no nonsense.
To make life better for future generations.
Why care about the future? The dead don’t live to see it.
To save people or nations.
Poets just wanna have fun.
To exceed one’s limits, derivatives with limits.
The one power that a man can have is in the perfection of himself.
Clear commentary from which many people will derive meaning.
Having nothing to teach I tell a joke. The snail joke.
To produce knowledge, nuance and pleasure.
Whatever you do to one side of the equation you gotta do to the other.
There are a few mirrors in which I imagine myself.
The dream mirror in which I’m killin the villains.
The public school in which I teach, energy incubator awesome biomass
collector innovation inhibitor introduction to classical mathematics
memory organizer promotion celebration teen lovefest testosterone
uncontrolled substance.
Jail’s the alternative, alternate noosphere, foreseeable force,
intemperate penance, meditational penitentiary, prayer cellblock,
library laundry, aborted love life, deflating genes, judges’ chambers,
movie night.
Bad movies in which the logic switch is turned off.
The end of faith in which acts of war are mistaken for religious acts.
Photographs in which the name and face don’t match.
Measurements in which the last significant digit is the Other.
Might as well go to market.
Might as well believe in that higher power.
More and more now, discomfort has become my constant company. I do not like it! Then I think of others who are cursed with conditions far worse than mine. I imagine those born with genetic mental illness or sans limbs, and I think of incubator babies who might struggle on throughout their entire life with miseries. I ponder the helplessness of parents dealing with the constant care of sightless or autistic children and the horror of small children when faced with the knowledge that cancer grows inside their bodies or courses mercilessly through blood or bone. Across the world, refugee children weep from hunger. Oh, the many people born to woe while others live with mirth upon this earth. I wonder at the unfairness of it all!
in the flower bed
thirsting roses droop their heads . . .
sun keeps beaming down
April 9, 2021
for Malabika Ray Choudhury's Moments Of Reflections - Haibun Poetry Contest
She did everything she could
And yet somehow it wasn't enough
She did everything right
Yet she still lost the fight
From the very first moment She was born
She was was Stripped of her voice
There were complications with her mum
But before they could help she was gone
Her father was falsely imprisoned
The child was silent
But there was a faint heartbeat
A glimmer of hope
For the daughter
As her cries echoed across the hospital
She'd been trapped in a box
An incubator
For most of her life the hospital was her home
The doctors and nurses became her family making sure she wasn't alone
But when she was older
The walls spoke to her
With each crack in the wall
The truth Of her mother's death began to unfold
The very same people who she called family were the ones who made her an orphan
She was never taught the rules of survival
She was surrounded by all white doctors
Her parents were gone
She felt like she'd been failed by the system
Those around never helped with hair
And when she would try they would stop and stare
Behind Her back they'd call her a nightmare
They thought she could not hear but
She knew What they meant by a comment like that
From then on she swore they would never see her crack
She had realised that she was black
In that moment her innocence had left something she knew she'd never get back
She had noticed she was the only black person in the ward
She knew she was hated
When she was constantly ignored
While all of the others got continous support
But when she was in pain
Their eyes filled with disdain
Calling her dramatic
Gaslighting her health making her feel pathetic
In moments like this she wanted her mother
It killed her knowing that they were the ones who murdered her
She wished she could have someone to love her
She was the only one without a mother
In this hospital she felt like a prisoner
Her mental health began to crumble
When she opened up They told her she was being a problem
That others had bigger struggles
By the age of twenty
Her health had worsened
She begged For help but nobody had listened
And one random night her body had succumbed
Her cause of death,
Racism
When I was a young girl, they said I could have an empire
Careers and businesses, money and trophies, a family of my own
Lies twirled off the patriarchy's serpent tongue
For my womb became their personal storage space
I couldn't wear a dress too flowy or short
They worried my male peers would stare
Not even my favorite rugged dark jeans
Because XY chromosomes had their eyes on me
Like a stone wall only built halfway
Their promises felt atomless
We fired, but only grazed the target
And fortification didn't patch our wounds
Twisting, turning, my body was never mine
Just a vessel on their puppet strings
Only another human incubator
Because what if the kid's straight, White, or male?
I'm more than my fountain of fertility
I love and feel just like a man
But I'm given nothing to wipe my tears
Only the birth certificates of my hypothetical kids
Don't remember me for my body and face
Think of my fists raised in the air
Shouting until my larynx gives out
"I'm also a human!"
TOGETHER WE ARE STRONG
9 months apart!!!
three brothers
first one died
second one blind and retarded
third one turned oldest?
together we are strong
maybe, suppose to been twins
if so this was God's business
9 months apart
mother, father heart
premature
birth in the frost
God children
one of the 1950's and 1960's scare
were humans birth in this condition
together we were strong
you were diagnosed blind
and mentally retarded
I knew of a boy
this preemie, my older brother
he who was like twins separated at birth
he who also had a still born brother,
they too, were nine months apart
together we are strong
haven been on this earth very long
incubator baby, incubator was our first cradle
under lights, till this day can't handle this...
the world doesn't understand us
because we're not in their norm
but God created us in this storm
I were your(his) eyes, we sat on the floor
ate real popcorn out of a bowl
on the kitchen floor banged on pots and pans
perfect rhythm could have been in a band
just like a drummer a perfect retainer
could retain and sing any song on the radio
did I say he had perfect rhythm
this totaled recall for memory of verse
could have been a singer
a second Stevie Wonder
but alas this 60's scare
put him on the radar
for NO parent in this State were supposed to house, keep
the retarded...
this fear, this scare when on for decades
yet...
the world doesn't understand us
because we're not in their norm
but God created us in this storm
I were your(his) eyes, we sat on the floor
while parents when to work daily
I missed a LOT of school, so from kindergarten to end of six grade
I the youngest, took care of you
my blind retarded brother
premature
birth in the frost
God children
the world was scared of him
just like in Jesus days someone with a plague
or the 1980's-90's Aids scare
my blind retarded brother
I took care of....
together we were strong
Together we are strong
****true story of dedicated to****
Joseph Allen Lee
(Somewhere off the highway of the mind)
Dr. Incubator takes his chances in a trance
A transcendental state of NJ is where he lives
Each time he goes a little deeper into sleep
The heart rate slows but never stops complete
Speed limits never bother him while driving
90 miles per hour and rising on the highway
One sunny after afternoon in late October
Around the stroke of Halloween or later
While driving through the traffic signals blindly
Wind blowing in his scientific terrific hair
He takes a nap while cruising through his mind
A neighborhood that has no streets or signs
The tombstone epitaph would read like this
Here lies the master of deep sleep at rest
A man with fancy cars and perfect hair
Taking sharp curves while traveling fast
Lost in New Jersey in a transcendental state
Now six feet under in a simple wooden box
When all he wanted was a nap
Or at least a decent map
Poetry Contest sponsored by: Brian Strand
Posted and entered on: 10/12/2018
OCTOBER no2 2018,ANY FORM,ANY THEME,UPTO A MAX OF 20 lines Poetry
INT. SCENE 1 – THE AWAKENING – DAY
FADE IN:
It was born in a test tube,
Twitching organic mass, form skewed.
They fed it chaos and it grew.
More tests ordered. More data due.
They poked it daily for a phase,
Kept in an incubator daze.
Mesmerising to watch,
This new form scared of touch.
It was secret, shrouded in myth.
No regret subverting parental shift.
They caged it for safety,
They said.
It would rage, unsure of identity.
It bled.
But did it feel pain? Skins shed.
The question kept being asked.
They poked again—curiosity unmasked.
-
EXT. SCENE 2 – THE ESCAPE – NIGHT
The compound was a proud facility,
A bastion of societal stability.
But they had no idea what they had.
They didn’t know it was sad,
Or how that rage would come in waves—
Bursts of fury none could brave.
Of course it escaped.
It saw trees, tried their shape.
Standing gave no thrill,
So it moved on with sentient will.
No longer content to mimic or mirror—
Its form turned strange, its outline unclear.
INSERT: NEWSCAST AUDIO
“Smelly blob terrorizes locals—”
It became the talk of social vocals.
It smells, it looks forlorn.
It better behave or be clearly gone.
Edges undefined,
Obscure and growing all the time.
Tentacles and warped limbs,
A head that could be a stomach—or wing.
A sight to shake your footing if you dared to look up.
It reached the city, tore buildings down.
Huge now, destruction for a crown.
It stomped, it thrashed, toward the centre bound.
And the scholars in their coats
Poked again—
It hollered, several guttural throats.
-
EXT. SCENE 3 – THE BATTLE – DAY
They didn’t know what it was—so they tried to destroy it.
It ran amok. We can’t employ it.
We can’t live with what we can’t control.
We mustn’t underestimate our role.
Kill the beast.
Then—it spoke.
CAMERA PANS IN – THE MONSTER SPEAKS
I’m ill-formed.
You brought me here, gave me these tools.
I don’t know what I am either,
But I’m trying to find where I belong.
To roam, to take shape.
I want your help—
But I won’t get it.
In the tube, I felt defined.
Out here, misplaced.
Scared and angry feel the same.
If I must be killed,
Aim for the head—
But tell me first…
Where that is.
FADE OUT: sirens stop, dust settles, silence.