Long Incubator Poems
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Small town hospital in Chariton, Iowa, USA
1952
Dr. Yocum had a recurring dream every night for weeks
God was telling him that he had to buy an incubator.
In 1952
An incubator cost $100,000!
He finally broke down and bought it.
My identical twin and I were born at three pounds each.
We were five weeks early
That incubator saved our lives.
Dr. Yocum’s wife felt invested in us.
She bought us tiny pink going home outfits with matching hats and booties.
We were in the hospital for two months!
Our mother's blood would not clot, so we almost lost her.
She was in the hospital a month or two longer than us.
We went home to grandma and grandpa with seven aunts and uncles
They fought over who was going to carry us around.
Mom told us we were TERRIBLY spoiled by the time she got us.
Written 5-20-2022
Poetry Contest: Divine Intervention
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Mantle--a fluid shelf that cradles all existence;
Soil--a table that nurtures all subsistence
Flora--a cultivated canvas that neutralizes resistance;
Fauna--a habituated benefactor of indulgence.
Wind--a mysterious force of ambivalence,
Dispersing seed and spore with diligence.
Fondling cloak that cools with benevolence;
Powerful menace that uproots with violence.
Fire, generative force imbuing hearth with resilience;
A temporal light that provides luminescence.
Warming incubator, glowing candescence,
Brooding killer scorching with indifference.
Water--a random discharge of providence.
A vast reservoir of expedience.
An enervating stream that fuels with prescience;
An extractor that disperses with each recurrence.
Immutable elements with primordial affluence;
Material objects manipulated for human ascendence.
Form:
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!"
The Pipe
(irrigation)
I am a city girl,
I have never,
until now…
Ridden a horse across the desert,
held a tarantula for longer than…
five minutes,
used an incubator to raise chickens,
helped keep track of puppies (twice),
cut tails and sewed them like material.
keep fish in a pond, raised just to eat,
and my garden is not organic,
it is simply blessed.
I bought, fixed and "care for"...,
my Own John Deere…Riding Tractor.
This is not a boast.
I have crawled under houses,
into attics, painted barns and chased a PIG!
The rooster would not quit crowing.
The altogether too close neighbor did the same.
Oh…
and the rain was coming down
in the middle of the front room,
inside.
While on the outside…
I, was knee-deep in water.
Not from above, although he lent a hand.
The corner of the yard. That mysterious place.
Behind a tree, a stump and two bushes.
It came from there, like the flood of Noah.
Now a gaping hole, where the river came to visit.
Fast and slow, in and out everywhere.
The middle of the night…
The top and I, do battle.
Cold and merciless… I shake, freezing.
I will win. Stop the gush, in a rush.
I am a city girl…
But I am a warrior.
prolonging pain
ongoing insane
subverting hurting
ain't working
dodging the day
gets me no pay
prices up wages flat
elect a democrat
who does better than
what's done by republican
spending more
on making war
apolitical is political
just gonna be inhospitable
give me drug to raise me up
and take me down wine in cup
was gonna say
everything go away
cats meow
neal meal now
no time poetry
gotta let it be
maybe later
check this incubator
used to care
for peace everywhere
became a methodist
only matters can boys kiss
and lesbians bliss
oh say can you sing
with wesleyan wing
a silent song of war
while we ignore
poverty bankruptcy
of non jubilee
duopoly economy
thought Jesus was
more than a buzz
of sweet sky pie
for when we die
but I reckon not
so I keep my spot
infer never new birth
meek really shall inherit earth
keep using currency
of private debt and usury
believe lie called scarcity
wink the eye at complicity
can grace restrain
leak from my brain
may hope restore
and better more
the garden in
new jerusalem
will holiness
that cannot bless
any hour wholly mess
unless we confess
we bottle the Spirit
and at Her we spit
will never let Her out
for She might shout
and take no more
unending culture war
running victory laps
on pseudo martyr maps
the fight must go on
til all earth left gone
maybe remnants rise
seizing ceaseless paradise
bridegroom become the bride
city come down no place to hide
I am having one usual day, as it is, most of the days
I, a misfit, wandering around, since
the ultrasound and incubator, they are ever invasive
The world with the main theme, and the off topic, outlier
A peace, to find solace, within.
You are a tiara, a bracelet a pearl and a teardrop too
When I think about the unbridled, unbundled gone spirits, my lion cubs
They are busy in angling, somewhere, elsewhere.
They grew up too close to a Skokie Swift Childcare, they surely do.
They used to tap around the keyboards, busy and always chatterbox
They hardly open up about radiant ways, as they are always busy to pave the gaps.
On a rainy day, they will be sitting inside with their jersey whims for a newer day
And I will be, the ever undecisive, is it the sky blue or the deepest wave, a say or a may
I wish I could be sitting around you, just to see the pristine may
A butterfly stroke on a lonely morn, a red leaf, and a grasshopper day!
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.
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
A day that started wrong, with chaos in its wake
A morning mess, with stress that wouldn't break
The alarm blares loud, the water spills and flows
A suit gets ruined, and hopes start to go low
The bus is missed, the taxi's costly ride
A sweaty arrival, with nerves inside
The interview's a blur, with coffee on the chest
A disaster unfolds, and hopes are repressed
But then, a chance encounter, a friendly face
A listening ear, and a helping hand in place
A new path unfolds, with opportunities to seize
A chance to shine, and make dreams release
The meeting's a success, the pitch is well-made
A spot in the incubator, a dream displayed
Hard work and dedication, with passion and fire
A project takes shape, and success starts to acquire
The investors are impressed, the future's bright
A significant investment, a dream takes flight
Success and fame, with a story to be told
A role model emerges, with a heart of gold
The day that went wrong, now a distant past
A lesson learned, that failure's not the last
It's how we respond, that truly matters most
A story of resilience, that forever will boast
The future's uncertain, but one thing's clear
The skills and determination, will dispel all fear
A newfound sense of purpose, a heart full of cheer
A bright future ahead, with no room for peer
The journey's not over, but a new path's been made
A story of success, with a heart that's not afraid
To take the leap, and seize the day
And turn failures into stepping stones, on the way.
Shiba Phumlani Vimbelasizwe (Travellers: The Singer - Poet)
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