Long Infertile Poems
Long Infertile Poems. Below are the most popular long Infertile by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Infertile poems by poem length and keyword.
I play a requiem
The notes follow
The path of my tears
Down my stricken face
A requiem
For what I carry in my heart
Passion that has died
Leaving no hope for revival
Now to be enshrouded
In layer upon layer
Of misplaced trust
Deceitful dreams
And infertile words
I mourn, I weep
I rend my clothes
And keep
A vigil in this empty chamber
Of my heart
Guarding the dead
Beating my chest
In time with the requiem
That plays incessantly in my head
As I walk along the bier
Refusing burial rights
Hoping for a miracle of light
The requiem plays on
And I sit in a stupor
Exhausted...spent
Tears soaking my gown of mourning
Unable to make sense of it all
What will I do now?
How will I go on?
Without the beat of my heart
Without my little words
Without my passion
I play a requiem
embellishing each measure
with note memories and tears
A requiem for the dead
The impetus for me
To live on....
Eileen Manassian Ghali
I roam this barren desert isolated with fear.
Solitary am I; neglected and left apart from
those who used to love me. For I am but a
lonely woman who bore a loss too deep.
This infertile oasis has given me nothing
but grief, and I notice I thirst for emerald
fields and cascading reveries to ease my
empty soul. I hear a “splish-splash” and
my yearning to be quenched by love has
overpowered my need to always be so
self-righteous and filled with selfish pride.
my heart uninhabited; I am left dehydrated.
I used to believe in the comfort of passion;
now I am unaccompanied in this wasteland.
I only see ahead of me my pure desiccation.
I am relinquished; I feel a fever with chills
running down my sweaty back and I no
longer will be satisfied nor quelled in love.
For I am wandering this forsaken desert
alone- renounced by the life I once knew.
Date written: October 13, 2018
SPonsor: Edward Ibeh
So young and so in love
in a marriage from above-
Countless surgeries on my
ovaries,
How much can one woman
suffer through?
The allure of having a baby
was always a dream come true,
yet when I was told I was
infertile, I felt less than my true
value.
Twenty-three is too young
to find out a baby is not an
option,
I just couldn’t see in my future
the choice of adoption.
Forgive me for my admittance,
forgive me for my greed,
I knew I deserved remittance,
my hopes far away…Godspeed.
Crabby days came with a tummy
ache indeed,
crying for no reason,
for my body did mislead.
A doctor visit approached
and I was scared I needed
another procedure-
but how many heart aches
can one woman endure?
...I just wasn’t sure-
An ultrasound confirmed
a baby I was to give birth,
right then and there I
knew my life had...
...hope and worth.
A dream come true, but still
felt apprehension to lose this
life,
for it was always my dream to
be a mother as well as a wife.
Thirty-eight weeks later a
baby girl in my arms,
my world changed and I’d
forever protect her from harm.
She just turned eleven yesterday,
as February twelfth two thousand and six
was my life changing day!
Gratitude and appreciation for
my beautiful creation-
oh, what an outstanding situation
that changed my life...
-in the most positive way.
February 13, 2017
The mind enraged grows small and dull
Destitute from thought formed by confusion
To voice contempt with its self-righteous gull
To attack is the only conclusion
This impoverished moment is void of light
A deep dark realm with no exit to flee
Whether wrong or right stubbornness will fight
Parched and infertile truth, allowed with glee
Rage comes only with worthless purity
Token words shouted will soon disappear
And hide in shades of their impurity
To cling tightly to the heart of one's fear
Rage is a demon that feeds off your pain
Soon turns your master, yourself you disdain
12/3/18 contest Voices
. For so long the ground has warped
. depressed about my frost frozen feet
. For so long the sunlight
. has not glazed
.within the R E S T of trees and
.roots deep infertile om
.For so long IN solitude did I
. find sleep uncared for
. within the P E A C E of the church
.yards keep undisturbed
.For so long not until this
.night regret did inward
.seep to me and mourn
. within the ground a old
. soul lies asleep alone.
.For so long but now it’s
.~Hall-o-ween and I may rise again to moan.~
.~ For within the grave nothings as it seems ~
/////////////and there is no going home.///////////
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For many many years her dream was denied
Every month she prayed, every month she cried
Hospital investigations she painstakingly endured
Sadly she was infertile and this couldn’t be cured
She spoke to her husband about adoption
It gave them hope – it was a possible option
Application forms completed, then test after test
Would they be accepted – they hoped for the best
With guts and determination they continued their dream
Would their chance of parenthood ever be seen?
Then they got a phone call, a baby had been found
Abandoned by its mother and left on waste ground
When she finally held the baby for the first time
The smile on her face was simply divine
No longer childless, with her adoption they did gain
Finally parents with a daughter named Charmaine
Contest: Guts and Gain - Olive E Guillermo
07~08~15
Every month, ovulating
Yearning, breathing in and out
In and out, breathing – inhaling
Exhaling, panting, gasping
Yearning, begging, pleading
Please, God, please!
Every month, echoing
The past months, the years
The tears adding up, rivers
Of yearning, hopes shattered
Moons coming and going,
Hearts breaking, interrupting
The prayers for a small cry,
Every month, praying, praying
Imploring God for a child
Little eyes, small fingers, toes
To count and kiss, breathing
In and out, the prayers,
Beseeching, entreating, praying
Every month, the blood
Drenching soft linens,
Soaking like tears, softly falling
Quenching the dreams
The echoing of prayers, yearning
Hope doused, darkness all around
Optimism fading into the shadows
Every month, a heart swells with hope
Then breaks, crushed by the weight
Of silence in the nursery,
Emptiness in the arms who long
To hold a baby, a little one, a light of life!
July 4, 2022
A broken promise, demoralized man who is incapable of being true,
A thoughtless coward, oblivious clown, this is what I think of you,
A woeful chicken, a runaway guy is how you're now portrayed,
A selfish critter, a prideful morsel is the reputation you have made,
When flesh spoils in a slaughter house the smell of you comes to mind,
For your manipulation has made you completely colorblind,
In your mothers soil you were the bad seed,
As you grew up we realized you were just a weed,
A fragmentation, with no revelation is who you really are,
A scab that stopped healing, the beggar who keeps on stealing, now just another scar,
A predicable cycle, a sick little mess, a hidden agenda that isn’t well dressed,
A miserable liar, disposable fool, too bad you weren’t like an infertile mule,
Just like a wolf, you would consume your own,
For apparently humanity was something you were never shown,
Just like wild animals that abandon their first litter,
You fit right in, you unoriginal quitter.
By: Sabina Nicole
Written:9/29/11
Contest:Angry
The forest's hill is high,
not rocky,infertile or steep;
colorful and fragrant flowers
adorn its grassy slopes without gleam,
breathing among the fallen trees
as the ravens scrutinize and sigh...
My warm forehead is sticky,
and ready to drip sweat;
it's almost the end
of July as I observe
a brisk,yellow canary
seeping the pond's misty
and stagnant water laying beneath
the huge branches of a white oak...
Some raindrops hit my uncovered head,
I look up the the hazy sky
for sure signs of unpleasant weather
to end the unaccomplished task
of exploring nature in all its wonders
and strange mischievousness;
but despite the sensed danger,
I continue this very short jeourney...
Oftentimes I have ridden down
this bridle's path,where alone,
I have wittnessed changes in scenery:
gliding green tree-tops invaded by sunlight,
so brilliantly enticed by mistery,
and visible from the blazing sky...
My curious glance extends to the very end
of the stupendous and dense forest
to capture the shining rays of light, at noon,
penetrating deep through patches of blue;
and unlikely the trails of falling stars that
hold our breath in inspiring awe and fade,
they awaken a sense of wonderment
and admiration for such an enlightenment...
I am a hard, darkest charcoal born from the brightest flames that have named our continent.
I grew up breathing in the history of colonialism and slavery, breathing out the smoke of pain and suffering.
The rain that washes us comes from the smoke we breathe, and yes, just the faces, not the body.
Our roots moved many rivers and mountains; now our seedlings lack all they need to grow.
Our leaves were falling without new buds as our stems stood bare with paintings of our past, roots barely holding the shrinking infertile ground.
I grew up through this flame and became the only stem redder and hotter than all.
The sour water that washed my parents to my roots made me the hardest to be fallen.
I did not remain fresh; I had to shrink, dry, and burn, releasing the fumes that chase every ogre and beast.
I speak and act from the roots, so now our seedlings will grow.