Short Ovaries Poems
Short Ovaries Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Ovaries by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Ovaries by length and keyword.
Tell me PD,
how does it feel to be gender free?
And by that I mean
how does it feel to be someone without any balls, be they gonads or ovaries?
If I had a Doberman
I’d never crop her ears
or dock her tail,
although she’d probably
loose her ovaries.
Just a silly hound
but she’d still
retain her teeth.
A reproductive structure in force
Sunflowers as tall as a giant
Pansies and Violas borders the garden
The magnetism of nature with the help of green fingers
Presents a corsage of wonderful blooms.
The sperm and ovaries reign supreme,
In that "What came first" eggy scene.
Without a cockerel and a hen,
Eggs would not be known to men.
It is true, it may be false
We still have the debate, of course.
What came first, the ovary,
Or the sperm, don't ask me.
Fat egg you're a mess!
I can't believe the scramble where you fell
There's slime dirt and yellow on your shell
Impossible, I must confess
With all the king's horses
all the king's men
and the ovaries of a hen
It seems quite ridiculous
a job so meticulous
There is no reason to feel
To heal for my hills are filled
With tomorrows and empty sorrows
Of withered and dead flowers that turn to grey like ghost
As they blow in the wind the shrill soft grim “can we just be ………”
It never ends and what started in poetry ends in poetry
Openly exposing me to a miscarriage in times ovaries
O-Outward she seemed fine and healthy
R-Really it was a dagger in the heart to hear!
P-Penetrated through the ovaries was a cancer cyst.
H-Happened that it was the size of a grapefruit before we knew
A-And it had metastasized so that numbered her days.
N-Now both of my parents have passed on, and I at the age of 43 am orphaned.
FOR EASTER
Humpty Dumpty – From the Chapbook,
A Neighborhood Child. Repost
Humpty Dumpty
You’re a mess!
Fat egg
The moment of your crash a fright!
I’ll never forget
The lightning flash of yellow and white
Did you fall face ward or back? -
I can’t tell
With yoke plashed over your shell
With all the king’s men
The ovaries of a hen
It’s still quite ridiculous
A job so meticulous
One picture appears to be ovaries.
said our rosaries
please protect our ovaries
here and overseas
on sabbatical
that had become tactical
being radical
investigated
then we had contemplated
interrogated
seemed stimulated
proving prevaricated
so poorly stated
had tolerated
was never educated
eradicated
while an allusion
would have caused much confusion
disturbed by delusion
Like a cave witch colapsed
or a slave in the trash
breakin his back
to get through...
It's proved; over and over again
that boarders bring morders...
witch hoarders sort through again...
Who am i?
just a studpid guy
with useless time
i'm spiritually bruised inside...
and trapped.....
Like someone who lost there lif savings in craps...
or a wemon with no ovaries due to crabs..
relax...
we all trapped!
My ovaries ache
I feel the cold
A childless body
While I grow old
As I whither
They will too
So I lay back
And wait on you
Always waiting
As season pass
Change their shape
Reshape our love
Poke and prod
Feed and plump
Turn what’s flat
Into a bump
Seed and prune
Ready to pop
Apples on trees
Groaning to drop
Fruitful pain
Wrapped up inside
My womb, a tomb
For an unborn child
Dear Darkness
You are trapped inside of me
And I am sorry.
I do not know how it happened.
.
Were you conceived of break-up?
Bullies?
Bastardization?
Backs bent over rocks?
Or did I eat you in the womb
Helpess,
Lifeless
Whole?
.
Dear Darkness
Please stop scratching at my insides
Tugging at my arteries
Clawing at my ovaries,
I do not know if you want me
To love you
Or let you go,
And I do not know if I am capable of either
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.