Long Miscarriage Poems
Long Miscarriage Poems. Below are the most popular long Miscarriage by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Miscarriage poems by poem length and keyword.
Poets That We Are…
Poets are umbilical cords—
chosen links of the pregnant mind
and its births—amniotic guardians
of the poetic descendent.
As mere servants of the word,
we cannot be more of an apostle
than that of: Humble.
Let us who write, worthily walk
in our own integrity;
man judges—The Most High chooses.
We’ve been blessed with the creativity
of the griots and muses of our own reality.
No longer must we let ourselves be led astray;
rather, let us forever write truth each blessed day.
When the keyboard, cobwebbed in silence,
ceases to ink, let not stillness miscarriage the word;
and may our creativity become like Lazarus.
Ileana Fuster ran day care in her house
Frank Fuster, a businessman, was her spouse
The preschoolers denied anything was amiss
Though one told her mom that Ileana gave a kiss.
But therapists played games with the kid's heads
Lurid tales ensued, where angels fear to tread.
Frank and Ileana prayed to Satan, while he wore a mask
Juries didn't think of questions they should ask.
Ileana was pretty, healthy with shiny hair
Health went downhill in that Jail's tender care.
She got sores, infections, was rarely hosed clean:
The attorney Janet Reno, didn't change that scene.
Ileana held out almost a year, said confession would be a lie.
Then therapists came in with new methods to try.
They told her to imagine she did the deeds
Step by step they implanted mind weeds.
She broke down, said it was all true
Added details involving snakes too.
Testified against Frank at the trial
He saw his wife betray him, walk that crooked mile.
He sprang up, screamed "You lie", but all in vain
Jailed for life, no rescue for his pain
Ileana left, to Honduras she flew
Ten years later, she recanted anew.
She said there was no crime, her mind was clear
Made a 40 page deposition, but then threats came near
A messenger from Florida came uninvited
Told Ileana that under Reno she could be extradited.
He got her to sign a letter, again admitting crime
Frank still jailed, forever, for all time.
He's been beaten by other inmates, one time almost died
Our justice system took us all for a ride.
So Ileana, you are free today to choose
Its Frank and you who got the real abuse.
But you can withdraw the lie, Reno is no more
Though Frank will never get out of that prison door.
There's a lot wrong with our justice system, if it can be so deceived
You can read the details of other cases, so really hard to believe
Daycare-givers accused of the most insane acts
How can our juries confuse such lunacy for facts?
And how can a woman be thrown into solitary for months at a time?
If there was justice, that would be the crime.
Have you ever journey along the browny dusty Sandy land of the sahara?
Have you ever sail through the proud staggering wave of the beautiful pacific water?
Have you ever wondered why we take our time and energy to grow a garden and later deprive it of its beauty
Have you ever saved someone that died
Where do we get all this answers from, a truth conscience is absence of
The key we bought was wrong and odd
Beautified with colours like the proud peacock
Standing tall in front of us
We failed and passed with cane and pain
While we await with moving hands the golden key we were thought
We passed through the four walls jumping through its fence as it had no key for her lock
Absence of thought education the key a lie we were still foretold
We failed you failed the tale a lie destined to fail
The lost as hard to forget like a barren woman's miscarriage
Hope travelled far from the mind wanting to revolt but had it's lonely hands to bit as no nail escaped the height it was
We sat down in absence thinking of the presence
Of course we bought the way but no key to unlock the door of this closed doors
We journeyed in absence in the desert with no crying voice in the wilderness a friend we await
Form:
My soul crys out for the love denied and secrets untold,
Awaiting in solitude these chains of loneliness in bondage they hold,
My heart great how it aches in a constant agony,
Regretted yesterdays still haunt Unforgiving blasphemy,
My spirit discontent robbed left restless the cradle now still,
Unpicked babies'breath the antidote that time will heal,
I counted to seven then took a deep breath,
Harshness in numbers realness is death,
Addicted to the numbness with intentions to change,
My plans interrupted and sickness arranged,
On the floor sweating as detox unfolds,
Unaware is the child ill not get to hold,
As the days go on and we drift apart,
Broken an understatement your little heart,
Good intentions have no meaning no acknowledgement this time,
No forgiveness will I receive for this unspoken crime
Guilt is my vail innocents lost in vain,
Im left with no words only my shame,
As though under Quarantine kept locked away,
Hidden in darkness no light from the day,
In this casket lonely but not alone I lie,
unforgotten unfairly and never to cry,
Sweetness taken but also givin in silence,
Lullabies that echo murderous violence,
As though under a spell awaiting a true lovers kiss,
In Catatonic stillness my unborn they wont even miss,
This pain that I feel has me immobilized and wanting to leave,
Entangled beloved in this web woven each beat does it weave,
Warmth takes over crimson lips of a lover,
Gone away forever sins beneath the cover,
Winter ends and the the snow surly will melt,
Just as days alone must fade and love again be felt,
Left alone abandoned by love and by life,
Empty my womb now no need to wife,
No more tears i decided unknowing though know,
In our perfect time will be joined together in soul,
My son I named you an hour before eight,
Forgive me for loving you moments to late,
What do you do when a poem’s not funny?
What do you do when it hits a raw nerve?
What do you do when it’s not warm and sunny?
What do you do when life’s thrown it a curve?
What, when the feelings are less than enraptured?
What, when the poet wails life’s been unfair?
What, when it bleeds from a heart that is fractured?
What, when the voice is in depths of despair?
Hidden behind, there are pained people hurting;
Hidden behind, things are not all quite right.
Hidden behind, deeper issues they’re skirting;
Hidden behind, they cathartically write.
What’s the appropriate word to encourage?
Give the despondent the “nice job” spondee?
When we were young and we had a miscarriage,
Everyone left us adrift in pain's sea.
Community is just a collection of people
Connected enough to express words of care.
Intention here: never to urge, press, or wheedle.
Just to reach out, signal I know you’re there.
Tiny Heart
I carried your tiny heart in me
Though I never heard it’s beat carefree
Through tiny veins scarlet ribbons flowed free
Fragile heartbeat in unbridled glee
Mother and child joined in pure jubilee
But the future of your heart I could not see
Too soon the urge for birth took you from we
Rosebud unopened dropped from life’s tree
Then my teardrops fell in grief’s filigree
To Heaven’s ears I sent my plea
In eternity to meet your tiny heart’s esprit.
10-6-22
Contest: Single Stanza Monorhyme
Sponsor: L Milton Hanks
Rhymes check with www.rhymezone
This is based on the loss of our first child through miscarriage.
Though the necks
sighting of Ichabod Crane
humungous horror
helplessly harassing,
hellish hyena howling,
hideously hounding,
headless Halloween
hair raising happening,
regarding haunting
horseman spectre,
not due to arrive
(in gremlin, golem, and
goblin crawling theaters
everywhere in outer limits
of twilight zone),
come October thirty first
two thousand, and nineteen
divination trap
pings can never
be implemented overly
soon - to satiate subhuman
scary sightings,
sans mine ineluctable
supernatural drive
biz ease, this (gopher broke,
phantasmagoric over seer
grown wunderkind,
passionately rousing spooks,
where this droning
necromancer named
Matthew Scott Harris),
asper undertaking
luckless ghostly endeavors
also oft times finds
meat hoo experiencing
aborted, cancelled and retried
aim mush carriage
(i.e. thwarted, ejected,
and clobbered miscarriage)
off base when out fielding
paranormal activities,
qua catcher catch can
pseudo boxing
exaggerated shadows
striking mine attenuated,
elongated, and invoked
Hades monstrous silhouettes,
viz jugular vein bleeding
(heart liberal)
burnt umber umbra
pitching one dimensional
brokered, bricked,
and bracketed
wall size grotesqueries
detailing bloodless battles
silently creaking within republic
of my imagination.
I make my own pickles but they're no good.
When it comes to eating them, no one should.
They're even worse than the ones Aunt Bee made.
If you ever eat one, you'd better be afraid.
They taste like kerosene even though they're dill.
Don't eat my pickles, they've been known to kill.
A woman wanted some rat poison but she used my pickles instead.
In less than five minutes, every rat in her house was dead.
A man just took a bite of one of my pickles and he's gone blind.
If the dumbass had listened to me, he wouldn't be in this bind.
A lady wasted her money when she bought a baby carriage.
She ate one of my pickles and then she had a miscarriage.
If you come to my house, you'd better listen to me on the double.
Don't you dare eat one of my pickles or you will be in trouble.
(This is a fictional poem.)
Inside scrapings of darkness
how restless and doomed,
the bellow crashing in like
an agonized moon;
the tunnel hears blood whooshing
in pits full of rain,
hurling damn imaginings
of her fetus’ pain,
wails rip through the stained window
and grinds near right lung,
heart reeks for a babe frozen
knowing breath is gone;
if I could pluck her memories
from uterine wall,
to touch sun’s glint christening
new eyes on dawn’s call.
-----------
*Sadly,research estimates that approximately 1 in 4
pregnancies end in miscarriage; and most women
experience a grief period during such occurrences.
For Susan's If These Walls Could Talk Contest
We've begun to beg terrorist nations to supply us with dependence.
When the world's largest deposits of independence are underfoot-
Farmers are paid not to produce food.
So, we can no longer feed ourselves...
Meanwhile, Bill Gates just gobbled up 250,000 acres of farmland.
The world has been muzzled and repeatedly injected with a mysterious concoction called big pharma bonanza.
Our leadership keeps reminding us that we're a racist nation.
Yet millions of People of color race across our porous border-
We weep over a miscarriage while scores of full-term babies are being slaughtered every day.
Concerned parents are called terrorists.
While looters and rioters are encouraged and subsidized by V.P. Harris and similar ilk.
Police have been demonized.
While repeat violent offenders have been given the golden ticket to violate again and again.
Just a year and a half ago my vehicle got a sweet 35 M.P.G.- now it only gets a bitter sixteen.
We've got a president in rapid cognitive decline.
A V'P who's good at two things.
Opening the border and her knees.
We have a newly elected Supreme Court justice who can't define what a woman is.
Obama once said he was going to fundamentally change this country.
And boy was he dead on...
Only God can right this listing ship called America.