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This is a safe place to post your poetry. Poems can be about anything, not limited to motherhood or parenting...be creative and in this thread I ask that there be no feedback except <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.mothering.com/discussions/images/smilies/love.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="love"> unless the poet has specifically asked for it.<br><br>
I can't wait to read <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.mothering.com/discussions/images/smilies/smile.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="smile">
 

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Ash Grey Ascension<br><br><br>
Climbing into the cavern created<br>
long before I understood the mythology of friends<br>
a story quieter than I recalled yesterday<br>
sleep dragging me into a soft flutter<br>
breathing over my shoulder<br>
warm and foggy, until the tingle<br>
opens my eyes, tangled<br>
amongst running from monsters and a deep silent lull<br>
forested in the rolling hills, skirted grass<br>
dripping from rain slick fingers<br>
not stopping-louder, louder, screaming<br>
the circle tumbling until legs stumble<br>
bodies piled atop<br>
Here I am wondering if I can stand<br>
next to it, inside it-before the last crumble<br>
of sanctity wraps neatly in my palms<br>
the present I never asked for<br>
never received<br>
oft-forgotten pleas rambling in drunken sleep<br>
anxiety beating farther,<br>
nimbly grasping fingers sliding into place tonight<br>
before the last ash flies into soldered night<br>
not quite waiting<br>
and it’ll still be morning, hands outstretched<br>
pulling one foot before the other<br>
landing before I remember why.<br><br><br>
**I'm just getting back into writing after a 5yr haitus(ie kiddos). I feel like I have a million cobwebs in the brain to wipe out. Feedback welcomed!<img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.mothering.com/discussions/images/smilies/winky.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="Wink">
 

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I enjoyed it. keep typing!
 

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here's my newest, feedback always appreciated<br><br>
God’s baby<br><br>
Sneering, lucid animal<br>
Tears at your dresses, masks tape on your mouth<br>
You stand at the front of the classroom and hear their taunts<br>
It is the dilemma of strange girls to be pressed up against brick hallways<br>
While eager horny males examine you like a science project<br>
You look at the clock and plan your exit<br>
You mind works out the details and hopes you should be so lucky<br>
While the man in the corner with the glasses<br>
Refuses to look you in the eye, and grades papers<br>
Barely able to touch yourself in the shower<br>
You nap all day, they don’t notice you anyway<br>
And eat alone while parents lay behind locked doors<br>
And then at 3, there is him<br>
Who digs into you as your mind goes out<br>
You are held to these chains by rings<br>
And lip glosses and prom dresses dance uncomfortably<br>
You cannot lurk in these skins<br>
Young girls take large doses of Tylenol<br>
Smoke cigarettes from plump young lips<br>
And bleed ferociously in the nurse’s office<br>
Abdomen twanged and pulsating<br>
Later that weekend in back seats<br>
Hand brakes against our spines<br>
We hold our Mary medals<br>
Look up through the sunroof and wonder if we<br>
Dare step off the cliff<br>
The white wall of death impenetrable<br>
But walk past heavy stares near lockers<br>
Whispering younglings giggle and sting<br>
These things we do not question<br>
Our legacy born<br>
Pink satin and lace to be trimmed<br>
Our teased up hairs and perfumed breasts<br>
That which we bear stays no recourse<br>
Such are we as soon as we bleed.
 

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Joanna this is really good and the reason I say this is because it has given me a pit in my stomach...you know...a knot...the kind you get when you're worried or getting caught doing something wrong. It reminds me of my not so pleasant teenage memories and of shame and fear. It makes me feel sad and alone. And for all these aweful feelings your poem drudges up for me...this is why it is so good.<br><br>
Angela.
 

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I've been working on this particular piece in my head for about a week now...finally got it down. I'd appreciate feedback...The title I'm not sure of. At first I had put untitled but dh said "only lazy people untitle their work!" so I titled it!!!! What do you think? Sometimes I feel a piece of writing can stand on it's own without a title.??????<br><br><br><br>
What We've Become<br><br>
She awakes<br>
Electromagnetic energies<br>
Surge through her<br>
Sound<br>
Beeps<br>
Not natural<br>
Pierce her sleep.<br>
Shuts the alarm<br>
The plastic cold<br>
Under her painted plastic nails.<br>
Slips her feet<br>
Smooth legs<br>
Waxed yesterday<br>
Slip softly<br>
Into polyester slippers.<br><br>
Fits big silicone breasts<br>
Into underwire<br>
Bra<br>
Puts on<br>
Aluminum deodorant<br>
Aerosol hairspray<br>
Makes up her face<br>
She's ready for the day.<br>
Grabs her coffee<br>
Her chemical sweetner<br>
In her plastic carry mug.<br><br>
Steps out<br>
Into smog and rain<br>
Her plastic coat<br>
Keeps her dry.<br>
Drives her plastic car<br>
While her angel sits in plastic carseat<br>
Sucking plastic bottle<br>
Clutching plastic doll<br>
Waiting for the plastic park<br>
where she will play.<br><br>
Smiles at other mothers<br>
Fake smile<br>
Teeth whitened<br>
Just last week.<br>
Digital mozart<br>
Fills the air<br>
Plastic radiation<br>
Hello?<br>
Fake laugh.<br>
Pulls out of pocket<br>
Plastic bag<br>
Chemical colored candy.<br>
It's all too sweet.<br><br>
Closing eyes at night<br>
Closed eyes<br>
Closed mind<br>
Ignorance<br>
In it's highest form.<br>
Pray<br>
To a form of higher self<br>
A God<br>
Is anyone there?<br>
Empty<br>
Empty thoughts<br>
Empty life<br>
Fills up with nothing.<br>
Hope<br>
For tomorrow<br>
A better tomorrow<br>
And wakes up again<br>
The same as yesterday.
 

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Discussion Starter #7
<div style="margin:20px;margin-top:5px;">
<div class="smallfont" style="margin-bottom:2px;">Quote:</div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="6" cellspacing="0" width="99%"><tr><td class="alt2" style="border:1px inset;">
<div>Originally Posted by <strong>pinkmilk</strong></div>
<div style="font-style:italic;">Joanna this is really good and the reason I say this is because it has given me a pit in my stomach...you know...a knot...the kind you get when you're worried or getting caught doing something wrong. It reminds me of my not so pleasant teenage memories and of shame and fear. It makes me feel sad and alone. And for all these aweful feelings your poem drudges up for me...this is why it is so good.<br><br>
Angela.</div>
</td>
</tr></table></div>
ITA
 

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Pinkmilk, First of all, I love your poem and the sentiments behind it. The only feedback I have is about the repetition of the word 'plastic' throughout the poem. I must admit , that is one of my 'things', I think using different descriptive words would make the poem more powerful.<br><br>
Peace*
 

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I enjoyed it very much. I live in the subirbs of las vegas and I find it amazing just how true that is here.
 

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Why does he stand there like that<br>
behind the door and the welcome mat?<br>
"Welcome" it says but welcome is unheard<br>
He says "LEAVE," now that's absurd<br>
I just came for my child, my boy,<br>
the son who fills my heart with joy.<br><br>
He trembles with anger and fear<br>
as he prays we won't see nor hear.<br>
Truth is my sword, my blade<br>
so "Good Day" to him I bade.<br>
A knowing smile flashes on my lips.<br>
My love is to his hate an eclipse.<br>
I walk tall beside my best friend<br>
because my honor he will always defend.<br><br><br><br>
So, what do you think?<br><br><br>
**Edited for an "oops"**
 

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pinkmilk: I like it. I like the repitition. It's a plastic world.
 

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i posted this on single mamas, as well as a drug addiction forum. SMs suggested I post here. Sad but true...<br><br>
I was born underwater<br>
Eyes wide open<br>
Searching the hushed room, my Mama's eyes,<br>
The Universe.<br>
Daddy said he knew I'd come when the lilacs bloomed.<br>
Where was the beautiful deep voice that sang to me in Mama's belly?<br>
Where were the strong hands that felt me move inside,<br>
That promised to catch me and lift me into this new world?<br>
Only one moon ago, he held up the tiny socks that I would soon wear, moist eyes and a sweet smile on his face.<br>
It was Mama alone who pulled me to the surface,<br>
Her face wet with sweat and tears of love and joy,<br>
Tears of heartache and loss.<br>
It's Mama alone who holds me so close at night,<br>
Aching and wishing for the once strong body<br>
Of the man she loves,<br>
Who created me with so much anticipation and joy,<br>
To materialize in the empty space beside us,<br>
To hold us close again and sing us into sweet dreams.<br><br>
AdaMae Margaret Sparrow Grace. Born 5/8/06.<br>
Daddy disappeared down the dark road on April 29, never came back...
 

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Mother Salt<br><br>
“Salt, sodium chloride or common rock salt is dissolved in the same proportion to water in the Earth's oceans as it is in our blood, amniotic fluid and tears.”<br>
-- “Salt of the Earth: Homeopathic Natrum Muriaticum” by Peggy Sawyer. Midwifery Today 68 (Winter 2004)<br><br><br>
Since becoming a mother, my dreams are made of salt.<br>
I watch nocturnal dolphins leap and soar<br>
Amongst florid underwater landscapes -<br>
Sunlight shoots wildly into the blue<br>
My skin feels cool and smooth<br>
And tastes like brine.<br><br>
Diving into the waves,<br>
I meet a giant gray octopus.<br>
It waves its tentacles gracefully<br>
In a slow-motion, watery dance -<br>
My palm presses against rubbery, viscous flesh<br>
I am engulfed in a slippery, saline embrace.<br><br>
I have observed the flight path of whales -<br>
The massive forms barreling silently<br>
Through the ocean’s infinite depths.<br>
Their whale-songs vibrate across the surface of my skin.<br>
In dreams, I can breathe underwater.<br>
My lungs expand with salty sea...
 

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Leah, perhaps it's late but while having no constructive feedback, I love it, makes me want to go to the beach <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.mothering.com/discussions/images/smilies/smile.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="smile">
 

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I wrote this poem 9 days before my brother in law died of cancer and I think enough time and space has passed that I can address some of the things I don't like about it (most specifically the last verse which sounds contrived to me). This poem was written in about 3 minutes but I haven't even liked the ending.<br><br>
Constructive criticism appreciated!<br><br>
Steph<br><br><br>
Protest Sleep<br>
(for Ron)<br>
Created on 8/3/98 10:19 PM<br><br>
He is ever the philosopher<br>
Even through the haze and drug-induced glaze<br>
He speaks truth.<br><br>
They call him by his baby name now<br>
Even though he is a man grown and dying<br>
He has for them become something to protect rather<br>
than the protector<br>
It makes him angry I see…to be thus coddled and<br>
soothed<br>
Like a toddler just learning to walk.<br><br>
It grates his nerves to be the subject of conversation<br>
rather than a participant…<br>
A bystander, an onlooker<br>
Lonely and alone living with a lifetime still in front<br>
of him,<br>
Children still young enough to need him.<br><br>
He speaks about protest sleep,<br>
Not fair, only goes so far<br>
You can rail against the unkindness, the injustice so<br>
long,<br>
And then you sleep.<br><br>
Not a good sleep because it comes from resignation<br>
Can’t beat it, get around it, climb over or under or<br>
through<br>
Can’t win. Can’t even call a truce or a timeout<br>
On it goes, to the end<br><br>
Yet, sometimes we see the essence, the person though<br>
bruised and battered<br>
Still fighting, still strong,<br>
Dignified and proud,<br>
To the end
 

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<div style="margin:20px;margin-top:5px;">
<div class="smallfont" style="margin-bottom:2px;">Quote:</div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="6" cellspacing="0" width="99%"><tr><td class="alt2" style="border:1px inset;">
<div>Originally Posted by <strong>leahida</strong></div>
<div style="font-style:italic;">I am engulfed in a slippery, saline embrace.</div>
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Love that alliteration...very effective! I really liked the whole poem...very visual (and wow I have underwater dreams too LOL)<br><br>
Steph
 

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That is beautiful and sad. Congratulations on your wee girl!<br><br>
Steph<br><br><div style="margin:20px;margin-top:5px;">
<div class="smallfont" style="margin-bottom:2px;">Quote:</div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="6" cellspacing="0" width="99%"><tr><td class="alt2" style="border:1px inset;">
<div>Originally Posted by <strong>samwitch</strong></div>
<div style="font-style:italic;">i posted this on single mamas, as well as a drug addiction forum. SMs suggested I post here. Sad but true...<br><br>
I was born underwater<br>
Eyes wide open<br>
Searching the hushed room, my Mama's eyes,<br>
The Universe.<br>
Daddy said he knew I'd come when the lilacs bloomed.<br>
Where was the beautiful deep voice that sang to me in Mama's belly?<br>
Where were the strong hands that felt me move inside,<br>
That promised to catch me and lift me into this new world?<br>
Only one moon ago, he held up the tiny socks that I would soon wear, moist eyes and a sweet smile on his face.<br>
It was Mama alone who pulled me to the surface,<br>
Her face wet with sweat and tears of love and joy,<br>
Tears of heartache and loss.<br>
It's Mama alone who holds me so close at night,<br>
Aching and wishing for the once strong body<br>
Of the man she loves,<br>
Who created me with so much anticipation and joy,<br>
To materialize in the empty space beside us,<br>
To hold us close again and sing us into sweet dreams.<br><br>
AdaMae Margaret Sparrow Grace. Born 5/8/06.<br>
Daddy disappeared down the dark road on April 29, never came back...</div>
</td>
</tr></table></div>
 

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Drawn by the whispering water,<br>
You pull my hand through the woods<br>
And drink deeply with your eyes.<br>
“It’s just like the river near Pipa’s house,”<br>
You tell me, and flickering across your face<br>
Is the memory of another morning,<br>
Another stream, which led us<br>
Under the trees to an empty park filled<br>
Only with the hush of our communion.<br>
With you riding high on my shoulders, or<br>
Piggyback or clinging sidesaddle<br>
(Dotted by kisses and sweet nothings),<br>
Dreamlike we moved as one body<br>
Again, but this time it was I<br>
Who perceived the world through you<br>
While we played and wandered<br>
Around the pond and back<br>
To your grandparents’ house,<br>
Where we found everyone<br>
Still asleep.<br><br>
***********************************************<br>
My DS has autism and sleeps very poorly as most autistic children do. This poem is about what we do when he's wide awake and ready to play at the crack of dawn. <img alt="" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.mothering.com/discussions/images/smilies/smile.gif" style="border:0px solid;" title="smile"> His night-waking has really strengthened our bond and helped DS develop a sense of emotional memory, which is particularly slow to develop in people with autism. So nighttime parenting has turned out to be a type of therapy for us both!
 

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Thanks BelovedK and tuffykenwell, for the feedback on my poem...it is much appreciated. I actually ended up changing it a lot...but poems are always evolving, aren't they?
 
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