Long Ovaries Poems
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The attack against faith began
when those promoting human sacrifice
shouting and roaring to keep your rosaries of our ovaries
To insult the Mother was one act the government played a big part in
now they sit on their hands like the corrupted force that drives them
next they removed blasphemy laws to protect themselves
Now they attack the Mother and Her Divine Son through media
the character of this country is fast fading bankrupt souls
As the Pearl of a great price will be lost to those blinded fools
Look in the mirror and see chaos is coming to those rotten fruits
in the end hate will be trampled by Love for the snake it possessed
craving Innocent blood to be sacrificed is inhumane politics
where *Sharia reigns
women are precious jewels
hide them from the world
let no other man behold
the diamond that you possess
guard that precious gem
her ovaries will get hurt
if she drives a car
yet Sharia will permit
your woman to be chauffeured
letting jewels drive
could lead to prostitution
yet young gems are mined
and driven to Syria
Al-Queda’s ruby pleasures
dancing in the rain
two Pakistani sisters
shame their family
honor killings rained bullets
on pearls that smile on YouTube
where education
is horribly unbalanced
Jihad goes crazy
a gem shot by fanatics
receives the Nobel Peace Prize
For Richard Lamoureux's Let's Talk About It Poetry Contest
*Sharia (Islam) the body of canonical law based on the Koran that lays down certain duties and penalties for Muslims
a five- tanka series done in traditional syllable count. (Well, I hope at least a few of them are decent tanka!)
Inspired by and Written 7/17/2015 for the Patriarchy Contest of Thomas Martin
To see the short dance of the Pakistani girls killed to save family "honor", please click on my link at the top.
Stoned out of concentration, my eyes stared deep into the padded grey church walls, ambient coloured lights flashed through the tinted windows dancing up the ceilings, and tunes of melodious worship shadowed past my ears.
I never wanted a cut on my body. "you have a cyst in both ovaries and it requires prompt surgery." The doctor's words eluded my thoughts, fleeting like flickering LEDs.
I wanted a miracle desperately. Shattered in tears, I spoke to God, asked him to heal me,
to give me a first-hand embrace of his mercy and I'll share mine too.
Faith is a mix of troubles and losses, dreams on hold, hurts and tears. But with it, God sends a blanket of stability. One month later, the test came back negative. I testified.
#Earth_has_swallowed_blackwoman's_pure_seed_of_life
Hopes and wishes, dreams and expectations, observed as they derail, watched as they grew thorns, losing their shape, changing into pain and nightmares, tormenting and devastating, turning bitter and sour, daily. Like a cancer virus, festering
Watched as a blackwoman, shook her head in disbilief, braking down into tears. Diagnosed with medical conditions, she never had, brought to life in her body, her mind and blood level fuming, cardiac arrest and suicidal thoughts invanssion. Her lil innocent ones, denied the blessing, gift of having to grow with someone to call 'mom'. The curse of blessing gift, of bearing life
Men, introduced health endangering substances, drugs and intoxicating beverages. Genesis to short life span. Inhumanity and canibalism. Fornication, nephews and heirs which were once sacred in a healthy and normal ovaries, now in shortage, scarce. Distinction of blackwoman's pride and honour. This is worse than death, the emotional burden of having to carry dead soul cross with you everywhere, for as long long as you still alive
Nyaope, placing blood chasing thought to what reality is, well homoured, smart, innocent, dark,light, thin, big, small, rich,poor, sons and daughters of blackwoman, walking out of their senses, sanity and purity, held hand by this drug, Quickfix, quick death.
Stress and confusion, complexities of life, trials and tribulations, hunger and desparation, circumstances and denials, faillure and hopeless. not to ignore jealous and witchcraft.
Ooh! Human! Earth has swallowed blackwoman's pure seed of life.
#Poetic_Ink
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
POINT ZERO
Birth slipped into fast flowing
rivers of patterned fissures
her arching brows brazen
searching sagaciously
microscoping every moment
tangoing across thorny
thickets
Hope gazed at her prayer
puzzle poised with pensive
pencils plaintively planting
plantains for pink parakeet
caressing spines singing
softly stirring custard
pudding
Love thought she was best
berry fruit from which fragrant
juice poured jetting jewels
a silver sabre silently stared
further from truth she stood
a sacked saga sagged
Death smiled enigmatically
held Birth, Hope and Love
in oblong esteem observing
Time’s oval ovaries to strike
sublime a node through
which she sodium sucked
Point Zero zipped in sidelong
zaps dishing each zappy
zodiac zones showering
all four with Infinity’s
zygotes zooming
Point Zero was Hero !
©GhairoDanielsPoetry
&Song2021
I love my little corner of the yard
when nearby Lilac Bush perfumes the air.
The human dwellers treat me with regard.
They sit behind their house and simply stare.
They gaze on me while I am in the pink
and blooms on me are streaked with white and rose.
They sometimes deeply breathe my scent; I think
they like me best when I’m in fancy clothes.
In time, their small ones stay around all day
and swing from ropes strung from my strongest arm.
I’m glad to serve my young friends in their play.
But later, I bring forth my greatest charm.
My ovaries expand and overlap. . . . .
My luscious fruit gets plucked, and then I nap!
Feb 17, 2021
for the 'Open Poetry 2' Contest of Charlotte Puddifoot
(I had severe endometriosis that led to infertility. Through years of treatment and after a laser surgery, (not common in India at my time, so got it done in the U.S.) my condition improved and had two sons born to me after 12 years. But endometriosis came back with greater vengeance and at the age of 39, got my uterus and ovaries removed)
Ever since I became a 'woman', suffered from acute pelvic pain
After marriage, waited for years with rising anxiety, to fondle a baby
The boon and blessing of every mother, but for me, a bane.
With every menstrual cycle, I saw hopes withering away.
Running from clinic to clinic, doctors found endometriosis, my swain.
With laser surgery, the condition was more or less rectified
And two fledglings were born into our nest- two adorable sons.
Still the villain had his onslaught. In me, he continued to bide.
At 39, terminated the culprit that gave me constant aches.
Now with two organs missing, through life’s current, I peacefully glide.
Hot then cold cold then hot
Peri menopause is that all you got
Frying my ovaries sunny side up
Serve them with cheese to fertile love
I get frisky then change my mind
I’m like whisky or unnamed wine
Not too ripe nor too young on vine
Still a bit spicy for red valentine
Looking inside I’m more mature
I’ve learn to glide past pride’s manure
Settling into my middle amethyst age
Life plays fiddle am I set in my ways
Oh my goodness never had time before
To think so much and be self absorbed
I find myself feeling like an island moon
Not at all sad to watch night flowers bloom
I try to be an ear for those needing cheer
Reminded of my days I shed teal tears
I love people but I can’t stay close
For my empathetic brain would burn and roast
I’d take on too much of their burden
Feel too much of their hurt and
Unless I can refresh and start anew
Would be depressed stuck like glue
Saved by music and purple poetry
Happiest to use it as turquoise therapy
I am a tree with leaves turning
Embracing cool breeze still learning
Looking forward to the next chapter
May it be filled with more of life’s laughter
A packet of seeds I got in the mail
from China it said. Well, isn’t that swell?
Having nothing to do – thought I’d plant them for fun,
so I watered them daily beneath summer’s sun.
Next thing I knew, there were tiny tails showing!
Attached to those tails, hamster babies were growing!
I then took the packet the seeds had come in
and had its words translated by Doctor Chin.
He told me the females of hamsters Chinese
had incredible medical properties!
“Their ovaries,” he confided in me,
“are used to make Prolia. Rich you may be!”
Gobsmacked was I. I could sell to Big Pharma.
From stuff out of China there sure comes strange Karma!
Aug. 12, 2020 for Carolyn Devonshire's "Mystery Seeds" Poetry Contest
Note: While hamsters coming from seeds is ludicrous,
I find it hardly any less ludicrous than the fact that the
drug injected for two years into my body contains the
ovaries of Chinese hamsters! Freaking hamsters!
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_hamster_ovary_cell