Short Uterine Poems
Short Uterine Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Uterine by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Uterine by length and keyword.
I picture myself on a bicycle
speeding past this fallopian tube of a man
with the stop sign
squeezing cars through one at a time
like unfertilized eggs
that disappear
into a blur
of uterine dust
I need to get to work on my own road
if he would just flip that sign over
I promise
I will go slow
Mama boy ...
that be me
Lactose weaned on nuturing apron strings,
tugging on uterine maternal instincts
Mama boy ...
always so needy
Taught spiritual hormonal wise sayings,
faithfully abide by those loving estrogen teachings
Mama boy ...
Father said that was me,
and I’m just like my daddy —
Splitting image ... umbilical unique
Midnight Anthem for a Chicago Alley
The lack of visitors is uterine
and that is why you porcupine
in this dark corner. Here
who can see the cobra
slither from your lips, spray
the phrases of your mind,
slip back to its moist nest.
Here, who can hear the jeer
of cheetah eyes. “Come,”
they cry, “pour on the light.
Your heart I’ll lacerate
with razor fright.”
Donal Mahoney
Flashlight: Stranger in the Gangway
The lack of visitors is uterine
and that is why you porcupine
in this dark corner. Here
who can see the cobra
slither from your lips, spray
the phrases of your mind,
slip back to its moist nest.
Here, who can hear the jeer
of cheetah eyes. “Come,”
they cry, “pour on the light.
Your heart I’ll lacerate
with razor fright.”
Donal Mahoney
the sentence,perdition
no move to acquit
on trial for offenses
hand tailored to fit
no pardon forthcoming
a curse she proclaims
then yields up her life
to the withering flames
and yet time never ending
as crime will avow
forever impending
from then to the now
where in uterine slumber
a shadow appears
of a spirit encumbered
with malice and fear
and it's memory burns
like the devils own den=
God no!......NOT AGAIN!!!!!
when the brain is bold
the pen is pregnant;
and nine months stretch
out over an inch
under the title still
like expectant father
waiting for a kick
and you’ll feel a flurry
but knowing this can be a trick,
those uterine lines
need nutrition,
don’t tear at that gut feeling:
let them gestate for
monday evenings
exceptional in convention
when your lady spills her drink
all over the bathroom floor,
and now your water’s breaking, too
all down your cheeks
and onto your
baby.
I have played thief. I
have gone a-viking, and
I have stolen the encapsulated equivalents of uterine
linings.
(from various species of fowl)
I at this very moment delight in the taste of the
unfertilized gamete, and may I just say that these lifeless
cholesterol bombs go very well with fried tubers and zesty
strips of fatty swine.
life, my siblings.
Life is beautiful, and
the true colors of nature are shades and hues of sanguine blood.
red/after oxygen
blue/before.
The groundhog is about
she’s fattening up
on hedgerow shadows.
Winter babies are carried
in small wombs over stark ground,
they have eyes and mouths by now,
almost human paws.
The snuffle of small rodents
awakens more as yet unborn.
My own inner child
opens its eyes, calls out once.
From all directions,
brown in-uterine orbs
glance my way.
Dawn, like a stripper,
takes off her long black gloves,
arrives in white thighs,
remembers that she too
is a working mother.