From a microscopic spaceship,
I observed the following, unnoticed
(see the attached picture):
- liquid water on the planet's surface;
- the vaporized form of this compound in the atmosphere,
blurring the satellite seen on the upper right.
A female of the dominant species warrants attention.
She carries the reproductive portion common to this world's stationary life forms.
She, a moving organism, possesses similar qualities -
in their language, "beautiful".
Conjugal rights were done by 1971 ~
as reproductive rights saw the light of the sun
Something caught between the eyes of fellowship and the riddle of thought makes any setting unforeseeable. Yet, within the mannerisms of those declawed by the very societies they themselves conceived armed only with a utility belt of miraculous misconceptions springs forth exponential, autonomous growth, promised by the ancestors of preconceived notions.
Most often, the spirits of ideas formed upon the fragile spine of inadequate frequencies press us all into a reliable destination, one mastered only through performances of unseen archetypes, driving this windowless vehicle we insist on calling time.
My augmented delusions, I admit, disassociate from the fermentation of your reasoning, and so taint our deductive search for the emotions we struggle to preserve. The tropes of an enigma’s fragrance intoxicate the cerebral moments of free thought, undermining even the simplest reproductive solutions for advancing communication.
And so, as I tear this parchment, I summon an opportunity. Yet what a cumbersome opportunity it is.
I sometimes wonder why we were brought here?
Was it mainly exercising reproductive rights
Or was it to multiply the heads that will continue to endure the never ending pain of living with nothing
Why do we really have to keep going while there’s no way?
Would it not be best to stop?
Forget that, maybe that’s not what we were brought here for
Is it really living while we constantly fight for survival?
While we have to force ourselves to carry on to the next day?
When will it stop?
Maybe when life ends?
Does it really stop?
Does it ever gets better?
I bet not
Chiffonade
Basso Continuo Bolero.
The term "procreate"
refers to the act of reproducing,
meaning to have children or
offspring. If you are middle-aged
and wish to procreate, it means
you desire to have children later in life,
which may present some unique
challenges and considerations.
While it's possible to have children
later in life, fertility can naturally
decline, particularly in women,
as they get older.
Here's a more detailed look:
a hoax that owes their existence,
as well as their l
striking blue color
The human intellect itself has
evolved to contribute
to reproductive success.
Countertenor and.Fagotto.
Above-Board;Atwixt
conflicts sorted through
gettin ready for a Baby making
Getting the night ready for you!
A cute thing I saw on the internet
was a giraffe and an elephant lying in bed.
And the giraffe was showing her s.p.u.n.k
by fiddling with the elephant's trunk,
as he played connect-the-dots with the spots on her head.
P.S. Poetrysoup won't let me use the word with periods above (*****) (s.p.u.n.k) without the periods. I use it in this verse to mean 1. below.
I guess Poetrysoup must think I mean 2. below. And even if I did, why should Poetrysoup object?
1. The characteristic or fact of being courageous or adventurous
2. A sticky, milky fluid produced in male reproductive organs
3. The quality of having a firm determination to do something
4. Physical or mental energy or vigor
i sat down,
and filled out an online questionnaire ,
that they didn't write,
they wanted me to lie,
pen tapping,
like a slow drumroll before the painful hanging.
have you ever felt hopeless?
who hasn’t?
do you ever think of dying?
don’t we all?
do you hear voices?
only the single one that keeps me company.
the questions were rigged,
like a loaded deck,
at the hard rock casino here in Tampa.
she wasn't even a shrink,
and now her words decide my fate,
words scribbled for a paycheck
stamped official by women in white coats
who don’t care if I make it out alive.
they called the sheriff,
had me cornered,
had me drowning in fear,
be honest, but not too honest,
or we’ll make the choice for you.
betrayed by health and psychiatry
betrayed my trust,
betrayed by a system they help fix,
that never wanted me well,
just wanted me quiet.
i am,
closer to seventy than to sixty,
why don't I have the right to have some control over what I put into my body?
the same control that they want over
their reproductive rights, wombs and -
Recently, the President-elect
showed a noticeable lack of respect
when he opined that "Wouldn't it be great
if Canada became the fifty-first state?"
I have a proposal for the President-elect
and forgive me if I am less than circumspect.
Instead of imposing your country on us,
let America become a Canadian province!
That way, all Americans would get universal health-care,
as opposed to your system which is grossly unfair.
And say what you want about our flaws,
but at least we have strict gun control laws.
(And on that point -
although I know you don't care -
mass shootings in Canada
are extremely rare.)
Also, here in the land of Northern Lights,
we have respect for women's reproductive rights.
Yes, Mr. President-elect,
I know my country is not perfect,
but, unlike you,
we know a thing or two,
about respect.
Deprivation of my rights and freedom
Bodily autonomy, tossed out of
a terrace window, seventy-third floor
of a building in New York that touches
the same ground I walk on, yet reaches much
higher than I could ever imagine.
I scream to them, giant politicians,
but the shadow of their business loafers
overhead scare the sound from my pursed lips.
My individuality exchanged
for a man’s practicality; it seems
as though they've had their fun suppressing us
Toying with my consciousness like a cat
praying on a field mouse, so innocent.
They say: so innocent! Could I be, too?
or shall I wear my curiosity
like a garment, like an oddity for
men to squint at, confine my mind and bones
to the idea that women shouldn’t
bare the decision of what lives within;
shackles on my reproductive organs
dig into my skin like the words they spew
from hot mouths, pouring into the laps of
women, alphabet soup spelling, “no more”.
Let us breathe in the possibility
of respect and dignity, the promise
of true liberty and justice for all.
Far too powerful, they fear, women are.
Nesting and fabrication might lead to
the breakthrough most wish to
achieve.
It's much more than a marvel:
and less
speculative
then other could believe.
Confinements properties,Chheaper
and more frequent reproductive cycles.
Fields of fusion science and it's
challenges
will meet the must achieve status
The positronic net a field of
sophisticated sentiencing.
Comutationing and figurance.
Generative design.
Written by
Archemedes Primious
2024-2025
It's almost time for you to vote
Cast your ballot and do not gloat
It's time to put back
Our reproductive rights on track
Trump's MAGA is a farce, take note
ah the magical mystique of the moon
celebrated in folklore and mythology
goading howling women
who can frighten werewolves
the waxing moon
associated with reproductive cycles
of women, marine animals and wild life
ensuring we are more loving
the waning moon
connecting the celestial with deeply sacred rhythms
affecting our moods, toying with our ups and downs
shaking up people who are bi-polar
the full moon
she has amassed a reputation
birth rates rising, increased crime and hospital visits
she winks at us, loving her power
the moon is ever changing
cyclical like every form of life
revolving over and over
refreshing and replenishing us at her whim.
ah the magical mystique of the moon
celebrated in folklore and mythology
goading howling women
who can frighten werewolves
the waxing moon
associated with reproductive cycles
of women, marine animals and wild life
ensuring we are more loving
the waning moon
connecting the celestial with deeply sacred rhythms
affecting our moods, toying with our ups and downs
shaking up people who are bi-polar
the full moon
she has amassed a reputation
birth rates rising, increased crime and hospital visits
she winks at us, loving her power
the moon is ever changing
cyclical like every form of life
revolving over and over
refreshing and replenishing us at her whim.
EASTER BUNNIES
Maybe at their Easter celebrations
Monks may wear them, never me
I am not one for a religious habit
Long ears and fluff go down well
Playboys all like them, I can tell
Like a cute and furry little rabbit
But at all times of year, you see
Just walk in without reservations
But without a chocolate egg, no joy
One of the more popular traditions
But Pagan, Oestre’s festival and fair
The Goddess of Spring and fertility
And a rabbit’s reproductive ability
German tales of an egg-laying hare
Leaving gifts as one of its missions
The Easter Bunny, more than a toy
An infant shoot - a tight green crook
Boldly it rises to assert
With confidence its back unfurls
Now upright it spreads out its arms
Thus fronds set free from fledgling fern
Soon it grows into adult form
With reproductive spores to spread
And produce offspring fiddle-heads.
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