Long Postpartum Poems
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As the Dime Store sirens flared
bolts of irradiated invite,
my query was denied.
Their pimp-striped pilots only moaned,
their lust fueled by encapsulated
stench carried only by toothless carnies
from the canyons. Canyons o’ Crazed Confliction.
And behind… the dull dynamo hum.
I screamed for the Kelp Queen to come to me,
her tresses woven wave-like in the wabe.
My demands were simple.
The scars of the trucker's she must carry
(as war carries death)
for inbreeding has tainted her line.
“Can Omaha be far?” she pleaded
and tugged at my inter-ache
as tin balloons tug with time .
“For you?” I replied in a
flatulent belch.
The boiling madness was by now
beyond the horizon but kept in check
still by the neon dogs crouching by day under the interchange.
It is they who will now stalk the disease plagued ports
I sailed from so many
days
and
images
ago.
Until her kleptic crew of vagrants and priests
sprint with me in postpartum harmony.
Hipsters for TRUTH.
so harrowing, life journey from radiant light to pitch-darkness - quote by poet.
a (groaning) dread
nobody deserves
to muddle through,
day after day;
the loss of a spouse
via suicide.
postpartum depression is a drag;
it claims the wife
of a (grief-stricken) widower
who's suddenly left
to care for a newborn.
he struggles
to make sense of
a tragedy he never anticipated;
t r a p p e d
in the (godforsaken) no man's land
of confusion
and guilt.
just a fistful of months ago,
the couple floated
on seventh heaven,
clutching on to
the (gossamer) wings
of happiness
as they celebrated
the birth of their child.
mercilessly c r u e l
reversals of fortune can sometimes be!...
each visit
to his wife's (grave), he asks
a myriad of whys...
"baby, why leave me and your son?"
"why couldn't you hold on?"
"why did I fail to save you?"
"dear lord, why me? why let this happen?"
with the rusty gate of grief
closed behind him,
he wanders through
life's (ghostly), barren landscape,
perennially asking himself...
"what could I have done?"
no rain
can ever wash out
the pain
in his eyes.
aswirl within tremendous maelstroms
universal united uninhabitable cauldron
tempered with analogous:
outrageous, portentous
thunderous cacophony in tandem
with thick mucilaginous fog
metaphorically postpartum
nebulous placenta afterbirth
and/or proto planets aborted
per primordial material
slowly (millions of years) coalescence
annealed bubbling primeval soup
engendering (extant
via immeasurably immense stretches of time)
subsequent birth of quasi solar systems
where antediluvian cosmic midwife prepped
quintessential biochemical laboratories
across gamut of space
inexorably incurring, inviting, inuring
pseudo plasmatic phenomenal possibilities
vaguely concatenating, incubating,
nursing inhospitable
wryly, wrought-fully,
write-fully Weltanschauung
respective environmental, geological,
meteorologically rendered seething broth
conglomerations fused inchoate legions
of Ongepatchket protean quixotic
rudimentary shapeless threads
winding up at greased lightening
eventually simmering temperature
thousands of degrees
conducive for indefatigable living organisms
congealing despite galactic Golem
whiplashing microbial unicellular entities
subjecting globular linkedin progenitors
across the countless eons
where hellacious heat gave way to
punks like cool and the gang
drafted heady lagers produced
thickly *** bergs exceptionally humungous ice
hundreds of millions years ago Arctic vortex
preserved intact forebears of this writer
who still retains
one percent genetic Neanderthal Man
stock, lock and barrel.
I have no time Melinda argues
You need to take time for you, we tell her.
I am way to busy! She shrieks.
She is on her own last nerve.
We see it.
One aunt says she will watch the two-year-old twins.
A great-grandma offers to take the new baby home for the day.
Grandma wants to do her laundry.
We are all rebuffed.
Melinda is the only one who can do any of that.
She is frazzled, frenzied, and frantic.
We have seen postpartum before.
You really need to take some time for yourself we tell her.
A doctor’s visit might be in the works.
I am too busy! Melinda argues. “I cannot see a doctor!”
We are at a loss.
We cannot force a grown woman to take time for herself.
To relax, take a bath, play soft music.
Sadly, her entire family is suffering now.
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say how you should stand, sit and eat
While I munch on your blood and meat.
Just don't be upset
When they advise you on when I should be fed.
You alone know when my tummy needs bread
Mommy, don't be upset
When they say I was born lean or bulky, dark or fair
And force home remedies and weird aftercare
Just don't be upset
When they judge you for the cuts on your belly
Or the amount of milk generated by your body.
Don't be upset
When they rebuke you for keeping me on diapers
Or nag about your choices right from mittens to rompers.
I know how you guarded me for nine months
Every time I kicked from inside, your heart went nuts
When my poor latching has hurt your nipples,
I felt the wetness of your tears on my nerves.
We ate and slept together
We screamed and sang together
I was in your belly and you were in my blood
To meet each other, we worked as a team and laboured.
Now, who are they to make you feel low?
No, whatever they say doesn't help us grow.
Just don't be upset, Mommy.
We'll do only that, what is best for us!
MAXWELL STREET BLUES BEGAN PLAYING ACROSS THE SOUTH WATER MARKET FUNNY GROWING UP IN THE VILLAGE WE ACTUALLY MOVED INTO THE BUILDING 1968 CHRISTMAS FROM THE WEST SIDE THERE WE WERE LOOKING FROM THE TEN FLOOR WINDOW I WATCHED THE CITY OF CHICAGO BEING BUILT MY COUSINS AND I COLLECTED WHITE ROCKS ON THE RAILROAD TRACKS ACROSS ROOSEVELT ROAD LEADING TO STATE STREET CARRYING MASON JARS FOR INSECTS CATERPILLARS AND GRASSHOPPERS MY MOM FORBID ME TO PLAY WITH BUGS BUT IT WAS OUR THING GROWNING UP IN THE VILLAGE WE FOLLOWED MY UNCLES ICE CREAM TRUCK DOWN 18TH STREET TO TAYLOR STREET LITTLE ITALY FOR ITALIAN ICES AND CHICAGO HOTDOGS THEN JEW TOWN SHOPPING AND LISTENING TO THE BLUES MAXWELL STREET WAS THE BEST MY AUNT WOULD PRESS MY HAIR WHILE BOBBY RUSH BOBBY BLUE BLAND AND BB KING PLAYED SOMETHING ABOUT MAXWELL STREET THAT MADE MY SOUL SING SOMETIMES I DIDN'T LIKE HEARING THE BLUES ON MAXWELL STREET HEARING THE BLUES DOES SOMETHING TO YOUR PSYCHY IT BRINGS DEPRESSION UP CLOSE AND VETY PERSONAL SINGING BLUES MEANS JUST THAT RATHER POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION HAVING A BABY COMING DIWN WITH BABY BLUES OR LIKE LOSING A CHILD WHEN MY BROTHER WAS KILLED IN THE VILLAGE MY MOM SANG THE BLUES WE WEREN'T ALONE MAXWELL STREET WAS FILLED WITH A LOT OF TEARS MAKE NO MISTAKE AFTER LOVE THERES TEARS MAXWELL STREET WAS FILLED WITH MANY TEARS MANY HOLD UPS ROBBERIES MURDERS KIDNAPPING HOBOS THE SILENCE ALWAYS CAME OVER THE CITY OF CHICAGO WHEN THE BLUES STOP PLAYING ON MAXWELL STREET
YOLANDA JOY NICHOLSEN
MAXWELL STREET POET
JEWTOWN
WOW I AM SO REMINDED OF BEING A SPONSOR SUPPORTER OF THW WIC PROGRAM I WAS HONORED TO BE ON THE COVER OF HEALTHY START MAGAZINE SPONSORING THE WIC PROGRAM 1992 ME AND MY PREGNANT BELLY THE PROGRAM WAS TO BRING AWARENESS HOW IMPORTANT IT IS FOR MOTHERS TO START THIER PREGNANCIES OFF WITH PROPER HEALTH NUTRITION FOR MOTHER AND BABY AND SMALL CHILDREN WITH GROWING BONES TEETH THE WIC PROGRAM PROVIDED EARLY SCREENING TESTING FOR LEAD POISON ALLERGIES IMMINIZATIONS EARLY CHILDHOOD DEVELOPMENT HIGH RISK PREGNANCIES POSTPARTUM AWARENESS PREVENTING WOMEN FROM DYING IN CHILD BIRTH STILL BORN PREMATURE BIRTHS PREEMIIES ARE VERY FRAGILE SOME BORN WEIGHING ONLY 1 TO 2 POUNDS THIER SURVIVOR DEPENDS ON THE WIC PROGRAM FOR SPECIAL FORMULA SO EXPENSIVE IT CAN BE 300 DOLLARS TO SIX HUNDRED A CAN FOR ONE MONTH WIC ISN'T JUST FOR POOR MOTHER ITS FOR ALL MOTHERS INCLUDING MILITARY MOTHERS BENEFIT FROM THIS GOVERMENT PROGRAM SAVING MANY CHILDREN UNDER FIVE FROM MALNUTRITION SOME BABIES ARE ALLERGIC TO REGULAR FORMULA RESULTING IN INTESTINAL DAMAGE UNNECESSARY SURGERIES NO DISCRIMINATION BRINGING HEALTHY BABIES IN THE WOULD CARRYING FOR A PREEMIE WEIGHT 2 POUNDS UNABLE TO NURSE FROM THE MOTHER ALLERGIES ITS SO CRITICAL MY EXPERIENCES WITH HEALTHY START MAGAZINE THE WIC PROGRAM WOMEN INFANTS AND CHILDREN SAVES LIVES THESE ARE THE TINIEST AFFECTED BY THIS SHUT DOWN 1 POUND PREEMIES RUNNING OUT OF LIFE SAVING FORMULA NOT SOLD ON SHELVES ONLY THROUGH WIC PROGRAM GOD BLESS THE HEALTHY START PROGRAM FOR HAVING MY AND MY BELLY ON THE COVER OF THE HEALTHY START MAGAZINE 1992 AND 93 CLEVELAND OHIO AND ON THIER COMMERCIAL ON FOX 19 RAISING AWARENESS FOR HEALTHY WOMEN INFANTS AND CHILDREN I AM FEELING BLESSED
so easy to fall, and so hard to break free
somehow as a child I knew
it was as if they knew my name before I had a clue
at 10 reading books about orphans
free from the church
the dignity of evil
nuns silently brought
the battle of addiction began without meaning
images crept into my head at ten
child orphans hooked on opiates
living on the street homeless
but somehow free
my time as a child skipped over
teen experimentation
no social life
and straight into motherhood
the first time I ran from myself
9 months of being a teen
happy, unknowing
thrown straight into postpartum trauma
with a child of an older man
who knew everything
gaslight dreams flickering
fading with every press
morphine drip, and 3 months asleep
surgical birth
I didn't hear her cries
asleep she was taken
my ship was sinking
bonds breaking silence
anger grew like a cancer
hurricane spiraling within
my fist at the end of the funnel
ready to blow
a target in the darkness
floating on hope
circled by the unseen voices
whispering my doom
seven years of a precious life
lost to me
“end it all”
“leave it all behind”
ashamed, grasping at threads
death refused to take me
shouting “fight with patience”
through the thick
the echoes lightyears away from my ears
20 years locked up as grown child
mentally fatigued
10 more years locked up in the standards
of what society calls marriage
an adult thing to do
pleading for help
from grandmother's psychology degree
with the words
“keep your mouth shut for your daughter's sake,
she needs both her parents”
I ran a 2nd time
chained to my abusers
demon bound chasing
with overbearing shouts
30 missed calls in a row
shaming me, nothing was ever the right thing
couldn't have me, so stole all that they could
and the only child I ever held
10 years of tears
angry and depressed
hating every new day
afraid of happiness
dreaming of death
unable to save my child
from barely escaping repeated
suicide attempts
kept away
stayed away
threatened by his constant
demanding
civil servants to tell me
no one could help
without a proper court installed judgment
hellraiser dug the chains in deep
waiting for me to succeed to the pain
that kept my nervous system alight with fire
Frankii <3 Fame
5-8-2024 1:11 am
Many women feel they have lost themselves, either during pregnancy, postpartum, or maybe in the process of raising their children. We used to go have fun and do whatever we pleased, not worried about consequences. We used to wear clothes that showed off our bodies without hesitation or not leave the house without a full face of makeup. We used to be down to have fun anytime day or night no matter the hour. Now we take care of a house and family, worrying about getting everyone else squared away. Now we dress in whatever is fast, hiding the imperfections under baggy clothes just to feel comfortable. Makeup is never a thing unless it’s a special occasion or funeral. Now we have fun maybe twice a month if we are not too touched out by day's end. Never did I think I would have to schedule that quality time. You might not look the same. You might not feel the same. But keep pushing forward, I promise it will get better.
Love, your future self.
He would never forget the raindrops knocking on his coffin,
painfully screaming in a postpartum (from life) depression,
nor would he forget the stiffness of his entire body
banging on the wood as the carriage was hurried
along the cracked pavement on the streets
of the Holy Land to the cheapest and closest "Ash House".
He had never imagined what the future would bring to him,
now, when the latest experience in physical death
had been caused by simply the absolute lack of love.
He didn't react too much to the beatings and mutilations of the hysterical fat maniacs,
self-proclaimed highnesses in control of a whole degenerated generation.
He still remembered though the permanent hunger of the soul
and the love he had never experienced.
Adnan was not a fighter anymore.
It was time to move on and die for a while...
But then...
for Gareth's Contest: "Leave Me Hanging"
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