Long Midwife Poems
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It's the 24th day of December
Christ was born tomorrow
Two thousand twenty-five years old
He still cries in his crib
Breathe through Mary’s labor unscathed
Children are dying, still immaculate
What if He were never born?
Like It’s a Wonderful Life
George Bailey out of the picture
Crusaders will keep it in the pants
Manifest Destiny, a fable dismissed
But history can’t stop TickTok
The mental still commands guns
They still post their Good News
Black Friday deals waiting for clicks
But, birds on a wire will go on
It’s Christmas Eve in Bethlehem
My son is far from me like a diaspora
I'm left as a midwife to little Jesus
Do you wish you had never been born?
Jesus must have felt the same
Tell the wise kings to stay home
Burn down the manger with spirits
What is history without the Good News?
Even if it was just yellow journalism?
Unlike today’s whitewashed headlines
Announcing greed Trumps babies
Dead children of Gaza do rise
School kids in Somalia are found
Mothers of Ukraine find a home
Ghettos in America flourish
Christmas is a morning light
That never gets off the ground
But we will survive another year
As children and mothers of Christ
We need milk and are milked
History can’t be rewritten
But it can have fresh eyes
Even if Jesus can’t be undone
Ressurection happens
Hope is beyond history
Like a child in a trough
Growing to manhood
Turning water into wine
Needing salvation Himself
Then evaporating
Like Selma, addicted to blood
On Christmas Eve, unavoidable
The day before holy labor
When hope becomes
Incarnate, reserved
For another year
Wanting connection
Ever still born
Leftward went his stride, counter to the sun he strode.
They said he was magicked hence by the fairies
or was a mechanical manikin
witched up from a pot of spells.
Old widdershins had a stove pipe hat
and his clothes were plucked from a crow
he was a longshanks, and wicker-boned,
when he circled a church counterclockwise
old wives muttered about the ‘devils work’
but he was just crook-legged and addled.
Queen Mab midwife of the odd and less ordinary
made him from willow cane and burnt straw
and when he circled the wrong way all day
it was only to stabilize the penny-farthings
that roamed around country churches back when.
The land, despite dire warnings,
did not lose itself in a maze of sorrows,
for all was an enchanted misdirection
a hocus-pocus roundabout detour,
a contrary conjecture
that right was always right despite,
and left was just a gauche and a gangly wish.
An
Adorable Blessing
A baby cries!
Born Christmas Day,
Cheer, delight, ecstasy,
Dawns every face,
Eager family gather,
Father gleeful host,
Greets his invitees!
He is Jubilant?
Innocent joyous Kicks!
Jubilant Kids laugh,
Kind Lovely Midwife
Leads mother’s nursing
Mother’s night ordeals!
Nan offers prudence,
On postnatal qualms.
Peace quiet restored!
Quiet rest sleep!
Require singers tonight
Songs to uplift
Tuneful unbridled vocals
Undulating Violin waves
verily welcome X-mas
Welcome X-mas year
X- mas Year’s Zacharia
You Zach adorable”
Zach adorable boy!!
Amen!
Sponsor Beata Agustin
‘Share your blessings’ poetry contest
Written 16/07/2020
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
Mary had a flock of sheep but just one was a ram
She also had a giving nature… and a brand new pram
Mary tries so earnestly to tend her grazing flock
Not so easy since the day she slipped out of her frock
Her boyfriend like a Navy Seal was in and out post haste
And she was left so unfulfilled, her virtue gone to waste
She stood her ground and watched her sheep until she grew so tired
She dozed off while she watched her ram do what her ewes desired
She woke up when an evening chill had given her a shiver
And nine months on a midwife had a baby to deliver
So now she sleeps on duty; tired from tending child and ewes
Her nightmares feature needy sheep and children stood in queues
The guilt she feels for sleeping while she should be tending sheep
Is worsened for she has a child to watch unlike Bo Peep
She stood up and she checked her bairn like any decent Ma
Her bairn, so sweet, gave her a smile and made a little Baaaaa!
*
But then a shadow blocked the sky and Mary woke for real
She saw the farmer’s gorgeous son and made a little squeal
Mary told her baby, “Shh,” and double checked her flock
And as the sun went down again she slipped out of her frock
That little white wand gave us such magical news
and I purchased baby magazines for us to peruse
So much information, far too much to take in
By all means read them, then put them in the bin!
Each baby is unique, use gut instinct as a mother
A new life grows inside, so much you will discover
We didn’t tell anyone until I’d had my first scan
The midwife helped me prepare my birthing plan
One day I discovered that I’d lost some blood
We dashed to the hospital as quick as we could
An ultrasound confirmed everything was alright
I admit at the time it gave us a terrible fright
Tears flowed freely as I’d been so terrified
That the baby inside me had tragically died
After that it went smoothly and I put on weight
I was so enormous, no longer a petite size eight!
The nursery was painted in a light lemon shade
I borrowed a crib where the babe would be laid
The labour started when my hubby was at work
I said get me to the hospital - I was going berserk!
My labour was long, but when the baby arrives
Everything’s forgotten as you hear those first cries
Cherish every second when your baby is here
They change almost daily in that very first year!
A poetry soup baby is ‘souper news’ many congrats Olive and James
Joys and Tears of being an expectant mother
Sponsored By Olive Eliosa Guillermo-Fraser
THE CONTEST CLOSED THEN FOR SOME REASON IT RE-OPENED SO I FINISHED MY POEM I'D STARTED
8/7/18
Smooth the day,
seize that curled and tousled head
grease its creased and mottled entrance
come all wailing to a waiting world,
slide from the arms of midwife night
attempt to keep the light
as round and full as well remembered,
bend each hunkered cornered shadow
pull it hook and line
pierce the fish flesh bone
stretched and knotted twine about your fingers
skewer any little patch of dark that lingers on
heavy in that morning scented room,
fling the curtained windows wide
cast that latch aside and breathe,
fill your foggy winter lungs with spring
embrace the gasp and grab yourself
a newly minted season
bursting fresh with sweet unsullied air
this is not a moment,
it’s a revelation
just for you
and one you might not want to share
I fell ill.
My heart dilated.
I had a pain on Christmas Eve
where my heart should be.
I remember because my sister
called me from Australia.
I said "I have a pain in my chest Teresa."
I had dissolved my marriage and
my mother was recently dead.
My work as a midwife on night duty
was too stressful.
The doctor refused to come to
the too hot, too heavy,
newborn December baby.
Like a turkey out of the oven.
I fell ill.
The heartless cardiologist insinuated
I had four years to live.
My heart had dilated.
Teresa whispered in my ear on leaving
for Australia again after Mum's funeral.
"I will come home to nurse you."
I got a second opinion.
I told him "My heart is broken".
He treated me with respect
until I got better again.
My heart has healed.
My heart had to break
for me to break free from you.
I survived against all odds.
I almost ended it all. How foolish.
My heart has healed.
My future car from sealed.
"If you desire healing,
let yourself fall ill
let yourself fall ill."
- Jalaluddin Rumi
29/11/2016
TWINED POETIC MOTHERING AND FATHERING
My heart is inditing a good
matter…my tongue is the
pen of a ready writer.
(Psalm 45:1)
I
Poetic Intentions
Sitting here waiting, fogged brain—
Like an anxious womb—craves
Impregnation of creativity:
Pleading the fertilizing genius thereof,
To usher in the seed of the birth
Of the long desired poem:-
It’s soon painfully realized
That poetry is of the nature
Of the sowing mind, deciding
When, how, and indeed, where,
The midwife of revelations will be
Called to monitor delivery:-
The crisis of unawareness cured—
In awareness—I now cheerfully
Ponder in sage contemplation,
As the spirit of the poetic midwife
Soothes my anxious, suffering nature
With the coming joy of poetic parenthood:-
II
Poetic incubation
Here, woodshedding in the cave of self,
My pregnant mind seems to have gone
Into an eerie state of suspended animation;
Leaving excited, wiggling words, kicking
And loudly jumping around, as if they
Where in a kind of drunken stupor:-
And when so aroused, such words seem
To rise and hop onto a roving lexical
Poetic merry-go-round: whorl pooling
And wave frothing towards waiting shores
To be inked and moisturized into awareness
And hydrated sands of beaching enlightenment:-
Poetic minds do not just exist;
Rather, they are living mind-wombs,
Waiting the fertilizations of wordings—
Deeply sown in endometrial cognition—
To be reaped into waiting juicy fruits
Of divine wisdom and navigating guidance:-
The poem is not merely
A mental shot-out ejaculation:-
Rather, it’s the result of spiritual incubation
In the mind’s womb, and when it’s deemed so,
The Creator breaks waters’ flowing poetic blooms:
The man-shed, and she-cave, the mere waiting rooms:-
Princess Snowflake
Your about to fulfill your destiny
Said the midwife. You need to take
A break
Your going to have your own family.
Princess Snowflake
In six months you will bring in to this world
Your husband's namesake
Talk about authenticity.
Said the midwife. You need to take
More walks around fairy lake
Plus get ready your baby's nursery.
Princess Snowflake
Right now the stakes
Aren't high but you will have to be relieved of
Duty.
Said the midwife. You need to take
The stress off your husband Prince Drake.
Tell him this pregnancy isn't an urgency until
Your baby is ready to come then you will have
Exclusively a royal celebrity.
Princess Snowflake
Said the midwife you two go celebrate with a
Steak.