Short Weaning Poems

Love is
    like the lady's
full tipped bosom,

        It swells
afflicted and affected
  weaning with time,

        As it is
by the circumstances
  of each occasion....

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Jack and Jill recovered after their spill,
weaning themselves off of all the pain pills,
both out of work,
hired at Jumpjerks,
becoming first nursery rhyme stunt people.




11-20-16...

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alighting
bees
ceding
deeply
easily
foraging
garnishing
homesteads
into
joyous
kilns
lithely
moving
nourishment
over
parading
queen
routinely
screening
their
unborn
valiantly
weaning
xiphoid
young
zygotes...

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FOR THE MAIDEN AT THE IN, 
OR THE BARMEN WITH A GIN?

FOR THE PANETTIERE IN THE BAKERY,
OR THE WORKER AT THE FACTORY?

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS?

FOR HIM OR FOR HER?
FOR THE WEANING CHILD OR HIS MOTHER?
FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS?

FOR THEE, 
CHIMES THREE....

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I tried to write in rhyme
Of nights I’ve spent awake
Weaning my infant love
Humming a silent lullaby

I took my ball point pen
And jotted down your name
In the space of an hour and a half
begging the letters to come

Every letter I wrote spelt love
And every pause, a prayer
That those who love
Should rhyme in love....

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she spoke to no one after he died,
words no longer had any meaning,
friends and relatives she had world wide,
her intense love needed weaning,
she smiled at a rose and thought of him,
then blew him a slow kiss, on a whim!

Honourable mention
Written 5/Nov/2023
9 syllables each line ababcc rhyme
Bite size poem 75 poetry contest
Line Gauthier sponsored...

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Depicting all my thoughts
like words without meaning
my soul slowly rots
like a mother's gentle weaning

they tear down the wall
that makes me who i am
to see me stumble and fall
like the forgotten lamb

nothingness consumes me 
with each breath i take
and every thought i free
will ensure me to break

Of all the things, that do conspire
in my mind, madness's fire
will burn inside, until i tire
And i will be the poetic liar...

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Pieces of poems in my mind,
here a broken word
There a webbed line
It’s absurd.

Once vital viscous webs,
Now dried with distant days’ dust,
Blowing in flows and ebbs,
Of bright dawns to dog eared dusks.

Life’s experience may be the milk
That feeds the spirit.
A poet's being could starve ,
if he lived to fear it.

Birds of a feather stick together,
the Spirit is still preening.
Poets muse in whatever weather,
wisely we never stop weaning…....

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Endure sufferings to learn how to earn
Your futures. Do not dodge hard times,
Violence of all sorts: weaning, circumcision
Crutches, the farewell of the souls created
In couple, steps to manhood and success
Mind not. Partings bring pains but also bliss.
Needless to reject anything when to the
Master of Qalam you are totally submitted.
Keep the family knot, read and with all His
Attributes ask, seek help to firmly face your
Fate, greatly, and the races humbly....

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the confidence of my heart is going blind
since you crept away from my existence
the advancing state of my loneliness leaves my sanity in a bind
i am feeling blue all over with no hint of resistance

the smell of your sweet scent drives the last calm elements in a rage
now that all feelings that i once felt has no sense of meaning
i might as well be a moping misanthrope locked up infinitely in a cage
i am now driven to childlike mannerisms with an odd obsession for weaning...

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