Short Foetal Poems

Teacups by the sink.
Lamentations laid to rest.
I, a foetal curl, 
Breathing  in your life, now gone
Cocooned in your unwashed shirt....

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dinosaurs wilted
their floppy necks curled
foetal position
defeated by life
lights suddenly out
cruel death peaceful



AP: 3rd place 2020

Submitted on June 18, 2018 for contest WHEN SIX LINES IS A PERFECT FIX sponsored by SILENT ONE  -  RANKED 2ND...

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Zygote ideas crowd cobwebbed thoughts.
Foetal creations evolving...
Yearning for life.
Crammed in empty wombs
Contracted by phantom possibilities 
Gatekeepers to life
Aborted hopes and dreams
Fear laced life blood...
trickles away with the sands of time...
Again....

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A shrivelled presence. 
A mere shadow. 
Curled tightly in 
foetal submission 
unconscious tae owr 
subconscious fears. 
Eyes dart back 
an fourth amongst 
the participants in 
this ritual of ruination. 
Never lingering though 
fir fear of also 
being snared in 
the abyss's gaze....

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Lose antennae?  I’m a beetle!
Not one bug in Aleghenny
(at least, none you’ll ever meet’ll)
lose antennae.

Luck with chicks? I won’t have any!
Directionless, centripetal,
wireless wimps are ten a penny!

What now? Curl up? Adopt the foetal
position? Move to Kilkenny?
No proud pest in any street’ll
lose antennae.




...

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I cry,
When I cut and bleed,

I scream,
When soap make suds,

I whimper,
To the sound of flushing toilets,

I thunder,
When my cereals are wet,

I yell,
At seeing a clear drop of water in a mug,

I faint,
In the wettest of weathers,

I curl up in a foetal,
When the janitor mops the floor,

I wish I lived in a desert!
Beside sandy weather,
And have pet vulture,
Picking the best parts of me!
Because my life,
Is not a day at the beach...

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A toxic tongue laps the ocean
and fish goes to sleep at bottom.
I do not know from where to start.
A distraught candle flickers.
The blast victim was pregnant and
the foetal head got severed off in womb.

There were big holes in intelligence.
Raw fledgling. The evil existed
in every room. I was not able
to open a single door.

Because they were blind,
taking roots in soil of ancestral graves
on the name of god,
throwing blue stars
in the eyes of believers.			


SATISH VERMA...

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