Long Stillborn Poems
Long Stillborn Poems. Below are the most popular long Stillborn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Stillborn poems by poem length and keyword.
Love in the forenoon
It was a struggle, a poem insisted on giving birth
I refused and insisted on abortion, as I no longer write
poetry, when she stood in the doorway of my
study, asked what I thought of her hair she had
had colored the hair dark, but not shiny black
I said the nice things one says concerning hair
She was going into the kitchen to make toasts
I joined her, and at 80, she is still wonderful age has
not made her grumpy or lose pride in her looks
never mind the stillborn poem I have written
enough second-hand stuff to last a lifetime
now, the time is for a simple life, smiles, and tea.
Some were born to be show horses.
Pampered and fussed over to the extreme.
Accolades outperforming accomplishment
Living for tin-can applause.
Some are born thoroughbreds.
living for glory and the golden oats
blinders ablaze- racing through life
oblivious to the rattle of time...
Then there's the humble plow horse.
Overworked, underfed, underappreciated
Swaybacked from society's harsh gaze
smoothing the way for both sashay and racer
forever looked down upon-never any applause
bending over for the ones
that will eventually eat them....
The plow horse will bury the stillborn in the fields
and crows will give it a name-
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
The apparent insanity of inmates
and prisoners
and addicts, conspiracy theorists and paranoids,
does not prove,
nor necessarily even suggest,
the keepers are not also self-entitled nuts
with unhealthy powers,
narcissistic self-serving authorities,
delegated detached responsibilities
primally loyal to ratchet race competitions.
Passion Story
When you are crucified, naked, poor
and occupied by RomanRed yangish powerful voices
and Loser commodity values,
unhealthy fought and sold colonizing authorities,
irresponsible fury-power occupiers,
violators of healthy green peace objectives
applicable to any sanctuary
with humane organic embodied rituals and behaviors
yet still WinLose divine punishing evolution-machine minded,
then we have all become historic asylum invited
to purge messianic homeless egos
perpetually hanging on HolonicSpirit's centering Earth-cross,
rather than remain comparatively imprisoned by traumas
to the disassociating left or right cross of hopelessness.
Health History Story
A. Earth was born, still, flat, without form and ZeroCentric void.
B. S/he remains newborn and young,
springing organic life
WinWin preferential solidarity with all EarthTribe,
inmate prey and predative keepers.
C. S/he still grows mature healthy Heavenly summer sun
over nurturing MotherEarth,
sacred/secular health/wealth care conjoined.
D. S/he co-emerges Northern revolutionary Yang/Yin bicameral,
bilateral healthstream co-arising poly-paths,
-phonics,
-cultures,
-nomial maps,
-meme messages,
-asylums for growing non-sectarian communal nutrition.
One Flew Into the Communion NestEgg
See "Health History Story" above
The apparent stillborn insanity of original patriarchal residents
need not predict
Yang/Yin co-redeeming caregivers
are not also ego- v eco-logical sanctuary sociopaths
sabotaging our own potential opportunities
for polypathic sacred communion passions.
Ego laying
and nesting
and active resting
and birthing
and raising
and lowering
back into EcoAsylum's non-sectarian EarthPeace nest.
Between mankind and other animals,
The Creator sees no difference.
They breathe the same air,
they all need the waters,
they all must feed,
they all require shelter and love;
they all reproduce
and care for their young.
The all mourn a loss
and revel in joyful play.
They all bleed and pour forth tears;
the Creator has made them so.
You are all the Creator’s family,
children, siblings
a soul connection binds you
and Mother Earth feeds, nourishes,
shelters you and your kin.
Do you not hear the howl of the wolf
when a pack member passes?
He is as you, left with a void
in the heart that will not be filled.
Do you not see the tears
in the eyes of a dog
for her stillborn pup?
Mortality does not stop
at the biped;
it stretches far beyond.
The compassion of the creator sees,
hears, knows all and loves all
unconditionally.
Do you not see that he gifts humankind
with opposable thumbs
for the care of his brethren?
An animal is an animal
whether bi-pedal, quadruped,
finned, or winged
and that we all exist
is by the grace of the Creator.
We are all, our brother’s keeper.
1-11-2022
A STRAND (1050) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
From within - all life come to light .
THE WOMB OF MOTHER NATURE
Before the womb of Mother Nature, stands
two offspring's, feeding off her old life's hands
One day, a long way down the road of time's passing
they will stand tall before the memory of her place .
MOTHER NATURE'S VULVA, ****** .
A flower before the beauty of Motherhood,
one day, a month ago, before me stood .
To day, in the photo, the vision became clear
as I enlarged the picture, bring it near .
Life's journey, before these eyes, was there
for all to see, if but should they care .
Imagination in me runs wild
at the sight of man's stillborn child
looking out at me from within her ******,
past the beauty that is all vulva .
This unborn child - so old - of man,
his skeletal skull, eyes so sad
slipping into dust, as all before had,
kissing the lips all life passes by
on it's long, long journey to be .
This unborn child - so old - of man
reaching up it seems, trying to hang on,
but out into the light we all must go,
past the gap between Mothers legs
we must, he must, as dust, fly
out into the great expanse, of blue sky,
living a life fated, dictated, or chosen .
This in a photo - this day - caught my eye .
B.J. "A" 2
May 24th 2009
He didn’t have a native land,
therefore, he had no reminiscences of any sort,
neither good nor ill, other than reckless killing
at the battlefield where he was compulsorily taken into
and deployed to fight unwanted fight: the legend of warmhearted provisions provided in the name of el Cid Rodrigo Diaz De Vival
to the foes is only the beautified story of Castile.
The Faithfulness that even risks own life for fidelity is
though lonely one’s heart’s desire, he knew not the friendship
for he lived the life without a friend other than ghastly cry of tottering, collapsed, crawling and mutilated bodies of neither to call the enemies’ nor friends’: the beautiful friendship that of Pythias and Daimon is
the drifting clouds above the Sicily, it is the fancy of dearest wish,
the concocted tales that to honor the tyrant of Syracuse.
He didn’t have a home; therefore, he doesn’t know what is the love,
other than the deep wound of maternal love he saw at the battlefield;
the grief that of an old woman who was holding her slain son in her arms
with absent-minded, who was washing the blood off
from the slaughtered son’s face with tears: it is the horrifying myth
of Persephone who can only able to have a stillborn child.
It is the dark shadow of the daughter of Demeter who goes back and forth
along the other side of Styx counting days till spring is to come.
He didn’t have wife, therefore, he lived his life without knowing
what is the intimate love, other than touch of a foreign woman
who sales long kept chastity for a loaf of bread in the gathering darkness;
who weeps alone in the ruin at the roadside where
the cannonade booms to deafen the air: it is the shadow of the curse
on Oedipus who though able to solve the riddle of Sphinx
able not to flee from the irony of life. It is the damnation on the king of Thebes, who roams in the darkness led by two tender aged daughters.
Germ of essence.
Human blob.
Shattered eggshell to the chicklet hatched.
Interlocking family of a kingdom.
Beget or begone? Antigone!
Pouch bearing mammal with no issue for her milk a plenty.
Enlightened species on
a zodiac sign.
Propagating genus wild and free yet stillborn.
Wet nurse in a pregnant phase but still a child at hearth or so it seems.
Meadow grazing Macropod fazes antipodean observer all the while.
New arrival signage whose laboured footprint chills on every impact.
Courier from catacombs, fateful torch aloft, flambeau at a glance where toddlers cheer, sonnet form heraldry ablaze with kindling verse.
Human destination thread that spins a hopeful tale.
Cave of legends halting site persevered by household zeal.
Stalagmite, stalactite, granite grey day gulag’s natal spasm.
Troglodyte who once did tramp upon a uterine tunnel trading in survival for relief.
Embryonic creeper stuck on dry wall canvas.
Border crossing cradle cordons off a check point, never mind the cost or inconvenience.
Acorn random toss, mighty oak seed trap between a leaf and fallen log.
Flower pollen stigma,
never seen as shameful to the fertile mind.
Tree of life penumbra casts a limelight shade.
Concepts pulse the mind like nascent parabolic kites that stymie outcome.
Genesis of brainwave.....
nurtured by insightful minds and marble carver tomes.
Olympic status offspring, budding Einstein player on the ball.
Thought, the inner urchin magnet probing deep inside magenta labyrinths.
Wheel of fortune‘s mumsy shadow
ova.
Masterful philosophy storing foetal logic on some growth cell’s wellspring fountain.
Infant augur embers fan their winter flame regardless.
Birthright , birthstone,
birth pang, the reproductive organs of infinity whose algebraic series has no final chapter scheduled.
Original prompt “The Song My Soul Never Seeked” by Hiya Sharma
Not for contest
The freedom you promised was finite,
Halfheartedly holding hope
Even as you eviscerated vows.
Stillborn, the song was silenced~
Obituaries written, often incomplete,
Names with no reference
Gone with the heartbeats of gold~
Mayflies and magpies and magical madmen,
Yestermornings and yearnings~
Still the song stays silent,
Only an occasional, old memory of ocarinas,
Unencumbered and undiluted
Like sorrow searching.
Neverending echoes of emptiness~
Even as life enfolds life~
Visions of vast wastelands
Etched like embarrassed prayers
Remembered too late.
Splintered and tossed aside
Every hope, every desire,
Every wish, every evening dream~
Kindness is washed away in rage,
Every note of the hymn is lost,
Deserted and desolate.
Chloe Broadbent
Stillborn 1899
My simple soul, my eyes,
Have never beheld the jewel of the night,
The morning star that ushers in
The dawning of a new day.
My brief inner heartbeat has never felt
The gentle pelting of the rain,
As it descends downward
Gently, peacefully, magically,
Like the mist of a cascading waterfall
Hidden deeply
Far away
Somewhere in the distance
In the mysterious grottos and crevices
Created by God,
My only friend.
Dearest mother.
Although we were together for those nine months,
I never knew you.
My simple soul, my eyes,
Never beheld your soul, and your eyes.
And although you held me,
I never held you.
Citizens of Earth:
You have no idea.
You have no idea.
A WISH -- In Memory Of
"I Wish"
I wish I could blow air into your little lungs,
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world.
Hold your little body warm,
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....
I wish,
I could look into your daring eyes,
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I wish,
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts!
~~~
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
~~~
How I wish you could be,
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?
Mostly, I WISH grandma could fix this and make
your mommy feel, the joy she was robbed of.
In memory of my grandson: ---Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013 --- RIP March 25, 2013
----------
by;PD :-(