yelluw_always
Poem Published
6th Jan 2019 9:05pm
6th Jan 2019 9:05pm
Grunge
In eighth grade, she nailed on a pink shirt, a pale pastel
and felt exposed to the future. It had been years pulling it out
of the drain. She tied off a knit around the mess
borrowed from her mother’s narnia. The wrapping and knot
with limp arms like a lioness carrying her cub. Her idol
graduated and visited, opened her flannel podshell:
“Look at these things!” Unripe cheeks, a glance
at the eyes in the plank, at slivers and cracks.
She felt as if I could pass through them, in the...
and felt exposed to the future. It had been years pulling it out
of the drain. She tied off a knit around the mess
borrowed from her mother’s narnia. The wrapping and knot
with limp arms like a lioness carrying her cub. Her idol
graduated and visited, opened her flannel podshell:
“Look at these things!” Unripe cheeks, a glance
at the eyes in the plank, at slivers and cracks.
She felt as if I could pass through them, in the...
#teens
#motherhood
#childhood
#identity
#LifeChangingMoment
21 reads
5 Comments
cabcool
Poem Published
Yesterday 2:55am
Yesterday 2:55am
april songs: journey of life 3
april song 03—embryonic
he cannot rescind the order
of his freewill compromise
who makes void the sovereign border
that restrains the worldly-wise.
embryonic ill is fatal
to the unborn innocent
who does not pursue postnatal
rectitude with bold intent.
well might he the father’s grapevine
nurture with its bitter ink,
or else walk hope’s trim and thin line,
though he teeters on the brink.
offspring of a fallen father,
well might every child aspire
not of broken genes to gather
harvests of...
he cannot rescind the order
of his freewill compromise
who makes void the sovereign border
that restrains the worldly-wise.
embryonic ill is fatal
to the unborn innocent
who does not pursue postnatal
rectitude with bold intent.
well might he the father’s grapevine
nurture with its bitter ink,
or else walk hope’s trim and thin line,
though he teeters on the brink.
offspring of a fallen father,
well might every child aspire
not of broken genes to gather
harvests of...
#birth
#motherhood
#LifeCycle #NaPoWriMo2024
#LifeCycle #NaPoWriMo2024
23 reads
0 Comments
cabcool
Poem Published
Yesterday 3:02am
Yesterday 3:02am
april songs: journey of life 4
april song 04—foetal
offspring of a fallen father,
well might every child aspire
not of broken genes to gather
harvests of unspoilt desire.
post-coital foetal pleasures
nurse the womb of every mom
whose gestation days are measures
of the days of femme et homme.
through the dark, unfolding ages
of the journeyings of man,
comes the Ransom for sin’s wages—
liberty for everyone!
thus the specimental blueprint
nurtured by umbilicus
comes to terms with awesome foot-sprint,
whose...
offspring of a fallen father,
well might every child aspire
not of broken genes to gather
harvests of unspoilt desire.
post-coital foetal pleasures
nurse the womb of every mom
whose gestation days are measures
of the days of femme et homme.
through the dark, unfolding ages
of the journeyings of man,
comes the Ransom for sin’s wages—
liberty for everyone!
thus the specimental blueprint
nurtured by umbilicus
comes to terms with awesome foot-sprint,
whose...
#birth
#motherhood
#LifeChangingMoment #NaPoWriMo2024
#LifeChangingMoment #NaPoWriMo2024
33 reads
2 Comments
oskar
Poem Published
6th Feb 2024 1:54pm
6th Feb 2024 1:54pm
the execution
the night of the executions
On the roof of his loft room, there was a half-open window
by climbing up on a chair, he could see over
the rim and eye
the camp for Russian prisoners of war.
on clear nights, especially when the moon was almost full
he was fascinated by the details and could see the upland
and the village bathed in blue and silver.
it was in the middle of a war,
the boy was five years old
and had been sent to a farm to be safe from nightly sirens
that had frightened him
it was on a night like this,...
On the roof of his loft room, there was a half-open window
by climbing up on a chair, he could see over
the rim and eye
the camp for Russian prisoners of war.
on clear nights, especially when the moon was almost full
he was fascinated by the details and could see the upland
and the village bathed in blue and silver.
it was in the middle of a war,
the boy was five years old
and had been sent to a farm to be safe from nightly sirens
that had frightened him
it was on a night like this,...
#birth
#motherhood
#aging
#nostalgia
#dating
42 reads
0 Comments
Nizana
Lauryn
Lauryn
Poem Published
13th Apr 2024 2:04pm
13th Apr 2024 2:04pm
Chapter 10 - Prayer at the Park
Chapter 10 – Prayer at the Park
David had left early for work. They’d both been tired the night before, but Brittney felt rested after her shower and a little breakfast with her girls. It was a beautiful day and they reminded her they wanted to walk down to the park.
While the Bella and Grace played, Brittney looked at their flexing limbs as they climbed. Bella was 8 years old and Grace, 7. She marveled at the beauty in their faces. How could so much of God be held inside such little parts of his creation, she thought.
She whispered...
David had left early for work. They’d both been tired the night before, but Brittney felt rested after her shower and a little breakfast with her girls. It was a beautiful day and they reminded her they wanted to walk down to the park.
While the Bella and Grace played, Brittney looked at their flexing limbs as they climbed. Bella was 8 years old and Grace, 7. She marveled at the beauty in their faces. How could so much of God be held inside such little parts of his creation, she thought.
She whispered...
#motherhood
#marriage
46 reads
3 Comments
Ald
Poem Published
6th Aug 2023 9:44am
6th Aug 2023 9:44am
The tradegy.
I have no man to love me.
#motherhood
58 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Least Read Poems About Motherhood
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