Short Feedings Poems

Early in the morning just beyond daybreak, the cooing of doves
Coo, coo, coo always in threes, conveying to its mate of his love
Soon sun will be higher, proof of love will begin with the feedings...

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A mom at fifteen,parts of my life,not yet seen.
Diapers to change,three hour feedings,
All my attention,my baby is needing
Friends ,doing thing that matter
my dreams,has been shattered
Scared of the things, I might do wrong
Raising this child,I must be strong
I want to ran and hide,Thanks to my parents,
that stood by my side....

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The second time I remember we meet. Looking at you upon my visit.
Rotted black encrusted feet. No longer lustrous and standing.
Nasal gastric tube in your nare. No running scheduled feedings.
Seeing you abandoned in the nursing home showed that the staff no longer had 
any cares.
Balled in a fetal position. Shocked that you were ravaged....

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Summer’s here and every day I seem to feel it slip away
In a turn around the sun a planet tips and Summer’s gone
Leaves turn and fall to carpet Natures halls of sudden naked trees
Squirrels rush to harvest hoard hidden Winter feedings
Soon in shivered cold I’ll dream of dancing Spring
For now I’ll soak in Summer’s sun
One day at a time
Another’s song to sing...

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WHY THE SWORD KILLS
When I give my mother a slap
She remembers the nine months
And years she nurtured me tenaciously.
When I bomb the temple of my religion
She regrets all the spiritual feedings-
And the ideals she showered on me. When I betray a trustworthy friend
The confidential confiding and love, will be remembered
If I betray my nation
The national pledge
I am forever indebted....

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He's 'King of the Home'
in his high chair and gown,
taking his feedings with 
dreams of being downtown;

his jazz band was playing
he'd blow and he'd sway;
he remembers those times
like it was yesterday.

Sneaking drinks from old Joe,
playing cards in the back,
going upstairs with Lil
so he don't lose the knack!

He's behaving himself,
but he ain't forgot tricks
he learned in the mean streets
as 'King of the Sticks!'...

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Not round or square
maybe slightly dented.
They are out of place,
removed during summerís heat.
She sits by her window
looking at the children play;
None are her own.
She daydreams of breast feedings
while she sits near her window.
She memorizes their faces.
Her ovaries are lost.
Somewhere in a jar?
Somewhere in a box?
No cocoon to look forward to,
no womb to caress.
Her ovaries are in a tin,
in a drawer,
in her brain,
tucked away deep in her thoughts....

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He's King of the Home
in his high chair and gown,
taking his feedings with 
dreams of being' downtown;

his jazz band was playing'
he'd blow and he'd sway;
he remembers those times
like it was yesterday.

Sneaking drinks from old Joe,
playing cards in the back,
going upstairs with Lil
so he don't lose the knack!

He's behaving himself,
but he ain't forgot tricks
he learned in the mean streets
as King of the Sticks.

          *******

...for all the old jazzmen...

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How do I love thee?
Let me tell ye
I’ll roll over
And show my belly

How do I love thee?
With a meow and a purr
And by leaving clean things
Covered in fur

How do I love thee?
Unlike his cur-ship
Because I love you
I demand your worship

How do I love thee?
With daily kneadings
Daily waters
Daily feedings

How do I love thee?
Tell by where I nap
Make myself at home
In your lap

How do I love thee?
To a great degree
In case you were wondering
How I love thee...

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