Mammary Poems | Examples

Waiting for my Mammogram

While waiting for my mammogram,
A most annoying test,
I had a thought no poetry
Has up to now addressed.

About the ones whose job is
Squeezing every woman’s breast 
And manipulating angles
‘Til it’s properly finessed.

With each mammary maneuver,
Getting patients more distressed,
She keeps kneading and adjusting,
Like a potter who’s possessed.

What a way to make a living!
Though it’s time that I confessed
That I feel much better getting
These reproaches off my chest.

To the Girl After Me

but as last she of the (my surname)s
me, (my name), just me.

I write,

  to the girl after me
be confident
be I want this and sure
neglect your heart once

   to the girl after me
Obey
her you ruined her mammary firmness 
desert don't tell your parents

  to the girl after me
hug me on arrival 
for if you grasp poetry
how grateful you would be

Daylight Savings

A lad asked his dad for the score
And was told, "All ladies want more!
First you hold hands
Then mammary glands
As they grow rich and you grow poor!"

Blue Stained Teeth

pregnant with flavor
blueberries pulling at the mammary branch
ready to release

they drop
onto your tongue
crushed by blue-stained teeth

they roll
down deliciously 
deserting
the tree

apropos applauding
seasonally

6/29/2020

And Have a Nice Day

Humanity has banned swearing
i don't know what the coitus to do
Stubbed my toe
Blancmange does not seem to do the trick
The mammary gland in my work
such a coituser too
This plaster born out of wedlock
Doesn't give a phytoplanton
Manures hit the fan
Cannot understand
Nobody tries
Even beneath the gentleness of words
the truth sometimes lies

Afrika I Mourn

Afrika I mourn 

After all, I had to resume, disparities taught
Good and evil, to acknowledge virtue of vice
Halfnaked I walk trailing the ethos of culture 
Footprints that are permanent and so rinsed...
Their marking ever fixed for generations yet
To perceive the absurdity of humiliation wry.

As of the trend, Mwenemutapa denied violent 
Utapwa, Nhapwa. And now it resonates too
Her anger, Mama Afrika I mourn of today's
Tragedies and brotherly genocides impetuous.
Alike Saul to Damascus, I need the lighting 
Conversion into an instrument too alike Paul.

A genesis of this generation is my quest storm
From your bitter taste of liberty I had sacked
And violence became the means, resolving exit
I am weary of that philosophy Mama Afrika.
Changes I bellowed alike an agitated swam of 
Bees, stings of truths to inflict the relaxed one.

Diplomacy the ripped beasts of my beauteous
Memories of bad dreams, Awake Ma Afrika.
From the rinsed fancy and nurse thy children
From your nakedness, let for once your own 
Mammary glands slowly drill the cavities that
Your nourishment be of a redemption of ethics.

A Doe and Her Fawn

A Doe and Her Fawn

On wobbly legs, the fawn staggers behind the doe,
Who pauses to let the newborn catch up.
The fawn appears to be just a few hours old,
As revealed by its arduous locomotion,
And the white, freckled spots on its back
Melded into its butterscotch-coloured fur coat.
The fawn’s softly adoring oversized eyes
Plead for nourishment,
And the whitetail deer doe (patient as mothers go)
Licks her offspring, bonding, and cleaning,
As it instinctively nudges her teats with its nose
To stimulate her mammary glands.

The fawn suckles the mother’s milk,
Which provides it with the nutrients to grow.
The doe stares at me without fear
And lets the fawn satiate its hunger.
Its little head bobbing and its tail flagging
As its craving is abated and appetite satisfied;
It is contented and ready to continue its journey
In the ways of nature and survival.
The doe slowly moves on as the fawn struggles
(Those steps must seem an eternity to complete,
Requiring a great magnitude of expendable energy),
Which the doe senses, and so she lies down,
And the fawn, from all fours, plops down
Beside her for a much-needed rest.

Signposts

The streak of grey hairs,
  a tell tale sign,
A reminder of many
  seasons,
Come and gone.
A signpost of phases and
  changes.

The voice, an alter ego;
Pubic hairs and mammary
  endowments;
A signpost of the changes of
  many moons
  gone past.

The full bust of a woman,
In the prime of life,
Like the Sunflower poised,
  to the Sun in obeisance;
But only at noon day,
  does the zenith of it's glory glow.
A signpost of the times.

The loins of a teenager,
Brazen with absurdities',
A signpost of the seasons
  of development.
The cycle of life turns full circle.

'o' My Ma-Ma Mu

An unborn baby, 
From the womb,
Scratched the belly,
Over and over of its mom;
She minded not once;
But when was frequent,
Rubbing her belly she fondled;
Oh! You impish,
Don't tickle with your tiny nail;
No-no baby I feel too pain;
Again a scratch,
But this time it had sound;
O mu, ye ma-ma mu, 
I feel thee, it's so sweet,
Thy touch embellishes,
My tender body,
My heart vacillates in festal;
When thou cohere papa in sleep,
I feel so warmth;
Stimulates my soul,
Feel like sleeping, 
In the middle of both;
When papa flirts,
Thy 'no-no' vibrating sound,
Turns my ears on, 
Feel thy playful deeds;
All I feel, thy surroundings,
Good mood or bad;
'O' my ma-ma mu,
Thou carry, endure all pain,
Thou made for me,
A doll of mine;
'O' my ma-ma mu,
I am so tempted,
Pull me out from thy womb,
Can't wait, no more;
Want to suckle and play,
With thy mammary glands;
I imagine in all my dreams,
Sexy suckling sound, 
Ooon-mu-mu-moo,
Cohering thou, touching thy chest;
Thy lap is paradise,
Made of silky skin;
Let me take my place;
Please let me out;

© sadashivan nair

Lord Ha-Ha

Blessed be the name of Lord Ha-Ha.
I worship at the altar of Ha-Ha.
In his blood I am washed.
In his raiment I am clothed.
In his breastplate I will conquer
And in his name I will trust.

The honor of his blessing I will seek.
The grace of his presence I will covet.
He leads me to channel 60
He splitteth my sides. 
My cups runneth over with mammary juice.
The fruit of his womb is as ambrosia
And I will dwell in the house of Ha-Ha forever.

The Right

This conjugal thing
Blissful before his arrival
Brief I thought, then loaned
In hope to wean our baby

The father’s allowed property
To take the right in dowry 
Who truly owns her mammary?
The child or the payer of the dowry?

Suck not to dryness these oranges
My favourite little ornaments
To me her parents granted
The rights to suck and caress

Weak the soul of the mighty
Like a candle to the fire
Weak the heart of a warrior
When child borrowed his woman

My Favourite Song

My favourite song is in play which moves me even when decapitated
shocked not to know where I am
nothing recognizable only my clothes, myself and the song
when about to begin its dance moves
a flash of time and space sweeps away.

My favourite song is in place- unbelievably in a car
with a girl I dated more than a decade ago
same face, same smile, same voice but on a bigger anatomy
and mammary glands I never had an idea of 
resisting her urge to follow in dancing
the growth of the anxiety of my lost exacerbates.

My favourite song is in play- both of us freely seated
and none driving a car in full speed on the highway.
A truck coming to give a head on collision,
so much screaming opens my eyes
to realize but only my favourite song in play.
Oh that favourite song! 
Translated into my dreams from the alarm

Embers of Memory

embers of memory- solitude
a rugby inside me trembling
jerking off seeds, heat yolk
furtive cells melt in furnace

a secret pleasure perfumes
a little room an eve garden
my son learned how to erect
shadows still lurk -odorous

I felt soft sea froths salty
mammary pain oozing silk
oysters and lemons, orange
saffron, blue vain of throb

there I lay my child sinks
night chilly never had winks

The Woe In Man'Woeman'

Seven ribs made from a single bow
fragile like the morning glow
shaped like an hour glass
bosom like a molded brass
skin like the finesse lace
Thought to move with grace
All from a single rib 
Oh what a gem to behold

Her tiny belly
Carries a life within
Out of the tiny verging hole
Comes the cries of a whole
A pain beyond words expressed
A cry to life the young express
Tears not enough to explain
Memories from the mid-death plain
Oh what a site to behold

From her mammary comes the 
ceaseless flow
Food to make her young to grow
Sleepless when the fever stems
tear like flowing stream
Filled with fear for the baby's life
Never drained of hope as the tot 
strife
Moved from weary to worry
Oh what a misery to behold

Weak as though she's called
Bold as mountain she stands
Her strength lies within her tears
A frail looking being
A giant within 
The woe in man
Woeman

                      *tot* > a little child

Unloosing

Maligned, the
space between us
lets go the mammary

a flame scoops up the void,
we speak no names,
I carry you in my skinned arms
to the weeds
for seminal mutability ;

shipwrecked, i fear of depth
turbulence, I will honor the drop
on the cheeks of sea, green shores

in the night I will walk out of the snare
the gulls will come in a flock



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