Just listening to my beats
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably gauge the profound sadness
enshrouding my countenance; by just ethereally
glimpsing at my shielding eyelashes,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably prognosticate the hunger in my
stomach; by just sighting me restlessly gnawing at my
bohemian nails,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably sense the maniacal desperation in my
trembling visage; by just the infinitesimally changed
tone; in the nimble cadence of my voice,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably comprehend the wave of bizarre
mortification enveloping my soul; by just the
capricious tinge of poignant scarlet; on my
impoverished cheeks,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably narrate the experiences of my day;
by just feeling the transiently cringed lines; on my
diminutively frazzled forehead,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably guess the thunderbolts of tumultuous
anger encapsulating my blood; by just witnessing that
inconspicuous iota of frantic vacillation in my
dwindling stride,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably feel the insatiably nostalgic child
in me; by just gently caressing my innocuously
vivacious lips,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably soliloquize the first day of my
birth; by just kissing my rampantly fluttering and
daintily gorgeous eyelashes,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably understand the diabolically
obsessive agony in my life; by just sighting the
augmented redness in the interiors of my palm; and
withering body skin,
She hadn’t give me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably analyze the state of intriguingly
inexplicable mind; by just staring for mock seconds;
at the ludicrously staggering curvature of my spine,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably construe the vibrant philosopher
entrenching my senses from all sides; by just inhaling
the scent that drifted; from my profusely wandering
countenance,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably conceive the insurmountable
reservoir of fantasy circulating in my blood; by just
kneading my pulse a minuscule trifle,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably perceive the tumultuous electricity
in my compassionate visage; by just the poignant
magnetism that radiated on every step that I gently
tread,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably apprehend the unfathomable carpet of
dreams in my eyes; by just witnessing the
resplendently shimmering twinkle that lay; therein,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably assimilate the unrelenting euphoria
in each element of my persona; by just tracing the
tiny globules of sweat; that ran down my chest,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably discern the ardent believer in my
body; by just witnessing the resiliently unflinching
contours of my chin,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably grasp the artist fulminating
inexorably in my ecstatic veins; by just feeling the
astronomical propensity in my fireballs of passionate
breath,
She hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably realize my uncontrollably escalating
desire; by just cuddling the fantastically zealous
moistness; which engulfed every trajectory of my
flesh,
And she hadn’t given me birth from her womb; but could
still irrefutably define my immortal love for her
divinely grace; by just listening to the marvelously
impregnable beats of my small; but perpetually craving
heart…..
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Womb to womb to tomb
I am born unto this womb
To be born again unto another womb
Before I take birth once again unto another womb
Then as mark of respect
A tomb shall man place on that womb
To remind the world
That this day a man
Was, born unto this womb.
Before another birth I seek
To live another life in another womb
In the seas of life I shall swim
Before I am once again ready
To take birth unto this womb
To be born again unto another womb
Before, I take birth once again to be entombed.
©cyclopseven. All rights reserved 290108.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eternal Creation
The Parent’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to the child; but to irrefutably ensure that the infant was nourished with their breath and blood till the time it could unflinchingly fend for its symbiotic survival; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created them for,
The Sun’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to light; but to irrefutably ensure that the rays optimistically enlightened even the most infinitesimally lugubrious cranny of remorsefully cloistered earth; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rose’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fragrance; but to irrefutably ensure that the majestic resplendence ebulliently blossomed into the lives of countless haplessly beleaguered and bereaved; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Peak’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to victory; but to irrefutably ensure that the royal triumph peerlessly massacred even the most ethereal iota of devilishness form this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
Nature’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to newness; but to irrefutably ensure that the evolution metamorphosed every bit of egregiously stagnating ghoulishness into a sky of rhapsodic freshness; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Cloud’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to rain; but to irrefutably ensure that the water stupendously ignited vivaciously iridescent life in every ingredient of hopelessly dying soil; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Conscience’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to truth; but to irrefutably ensure that the righteousness insuperably conquered every trace of diabolical lies on earth and the atmosphere; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Ocean’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to salt; but to irrefutably ensure that the tanginess wonderfully illuminated every treacherously spiceles and deliriously lackadaisical moment of life; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Poet’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to fantasy; but to irrefutably ensure that the dream spellbindingly impregnates the winds of Omnipotent romance into monotonously monstrous robots; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The Lip’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to smiles; but to irrefutably ensure that the happiness altruistically perpetually perpetuates into every dwelling incarcerated in chains of murderous gloom; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Rainbow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to vividness; but to irrefutably ensure that the color timelessly enshrouded every gruesomely befriended orphan; miserably deteriorating on the globe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The Shadow’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to tranquility; but to irrefutably ensure that the peacefulness granted celestial reprieve to every bizarrely estranged soul squandering on this Universe; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created it for,
The philanthropist’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to unity; but to irrefutably ensure that the oneness miraculously coalesced every spuriously staggering and cold-bloodedly fighting caste; creed and tribe into the unassailable religion of humanity; was what the Almighty Creator had eternally created him for,
The wind’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to freedom; but to irrefutably ensure that the liberation unequivocally freed every element of torturously enslaved earth till times immemorial; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The night’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to sensuality; but to irrefutably ensure that the passion brilliantly transformed every speck of infertility into the chapters of everlastingly Omniscient procreation; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The eyelash’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to flirtation; but to irrefutably ensure that the mischief serenely catapulted every fretfully frenetic organism into realms of impeccable childhood; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
The soldiers job just doesn’t end at giving birth to martyrdom; but to irrefutably ensure that the valor to timelessly serve the mothersoil; throbbed fearlessly in every chest; even centuries after his veritable death; was what the Almighty Creator had created him for,
The breath’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to life; but to irrefutably ensure that the exultation inexhaustibly transcended over; even the most inane anecdote of baseless corruption and demeaning death; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for,
And the heart’s job just doesn’t end at giving birth to Love; but to irrefutably ensure that the compassionate togetherness tirelessly bonded the entire planet into a paradise of Omnipresently unshakable strength; was what the Almighty Creator had created it for…
©copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. All rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Pricelessly Impregnable Humanity
You’ve taken my very own scarlet blood O! heavenly son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my astoundingly pristine and timelessly priceless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own venerated milk O! beautiful son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bountifully blossoming and unabashedly impeccable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own intriguing brain O! enamoring son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my celestially amazing and mischievously bouncing; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own silken shadow O! stupendous son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my wonderfully untainted and jubilantly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own uninhibited smile O! majestic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my inimitably magnetic and fabulously effulgent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inscrutable destiny lines O! effervescent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my incredulously handsome and victoriously unimpeachable; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own inimitably humble name O! royal son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my poignantly iridescent and eternally fructifying; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own romantic artistry O! blazing son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my triumphantly unfettered and symbiotically innocent; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own mellifluous voice O! charismatic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my bounteously emollient and euphorically fearless; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own towering height O! regale son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my indisputably peerless and synergistically truthful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own passionate eyes O! resplendent son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my fearlessly humanitarian and tirelessly discovering; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own chocolate brown color O! holistic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my invincibly wondrous and spell-bindingly ecstatic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own ebullient body contours O! benign son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my immaculately benevolent and magnanimously humanitarian; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own fiery breath O! rhapsodic son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my blissfully unadulterated and interminably bubby; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own optimistic face O! vivacious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my timelessly flowering and melodiously rejuvenated; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own broadened shoulders O! magical son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my gloriously unprejudiced and nostalgically rueful; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own princely dimples O! victorious son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my spotlessly unbiased and surreally panoramic; duplicate,
You’ve taken my very own compassionate heart O! unshakable son; so its irrefutably natural and nothing great; that you’re exactly my adorably sensitive and ubiquitously indomitable; duplicate,
So whereas it was absolutely natural and nothing great that you were my exactly astounding duplicate O! heavenly son;
The greatest of all virtues; the greatest of all gifts; the greatest of all endowment; the greatest of all power; the greatest of all virility; the greatest of all divinity; was infact given to you by the Omniscient Lord; who miraculously blessed you and every organism alike with the pricelessly impregnable religion of “Humanity” to symbiotically survive for an infinite more of your destined lifetimes…
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If Hadn't Got You
If I hadn't got you
If I hadn't got you
Whose friend would I be
If I lied all the time
If you never trusted my word
The love that we make
when feelings run high
Is all that makes sense in the world
And I can never go back, oh no
For a moment of sweet solitude
If I ever go back
I'd be looking for you
If I hadn't got you
Whose friend wouId I be
If I hadn't got you
I would die in solitary
If I hadn't got you
God only knows what I'd do
God only knows
Who's friend would I be if
I can't take a joke
If I can't pull a smile from a tear
The love that I feel
whenever you're close
Makes yesterday's hurt disappear
And I can never go back, oh no
For a moment of sweet solitude
With my head in my hands
I've been waiting for you
If I hadn't got you
Whose friend would I be
If I hadn't got you
I would die in solitary
If I hadn't got you
Whose air would I breathe
If I hadn't got you
God only knows what I'd do
God only knows
So don't turn away
Never go back
Hold onto love
Cos love is all we have
Maybe you'll be lost in this world
Without me
If I hadn't got you
Whose friend would I be
If I hadn't got you
I would die in misery
If I hadn't got you
Whose air would I breathe
If I hadn't got you, yeah
If I hadn't got you
God only knows what I'd do
God only knows
song performed by by Lisa Stansfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Still Borns Of Africa
we are still in the womb
swimming in the filthy fluid of corruption
we are still in the womb
battling to cut the umbilical cord of pollution
we are still in the womb
preying on the reminant of deprived relation
we are still in the womb
drowning in the congest world of deprivation
we are still in the womb
protesting against divisional segregation
we are still in the womb
exsalting the strength of voices calling for attention
we are still in the womb
reaching the spheres through screw faces and traumatic expression
we are still in the womb
paddling our ways through neglect and isolation
we are still in the womb
stirring gently towards the end of our active function
we are still in the womb of africa
waiting to be called the still borns of our mother
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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The Umbilical Connect
the umbilical chord's
severed to let me be
to know my 'self'
and ever since
i continue to struggle
but even while it's intact
you knew your 'self'
for you're blessed with
the wisdom to unravel
the ever intriguing
birth and death
while the chord nurtured you...
what blessed soul must have
descended to bless my womb
is that all i owed you
nurturing you within
the confines
of my womb...
blessed is my womb
to have sheltered
you on this earth
to deliver you back
to the realms unknown
no, no...
i don't pull you to
the earth bound travails
but
at times i wonder
what you, whom i called
naciketa looked like...
you showed me the way
that in birth, is contained death
30oct2009
15.54hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Daughter of my womb
Daughter of my womb
You've stabbed my heart so bad
You've killed the bearer of your life
Daughter of my womb am dying
My smile is but a frown
I have no idea whom I will crown
As the daughter of your womb
For you've sent them all to the tomb
My wrinkled hands needed a tender one
My closing eye libs needed to see before they are gone
The seed of the seed of my womb are no more
Daughter of my womb, you've killed the daughters of your womb
The medicine man in his robes
Administered the wrong root for a drug
Your womb is empty I have nothing to wait for
Why didn't you tell me of your planned atrocities before?
Daughter of my womb
Daughter of my womb
You've stabbed my heart so bad
You've killed the bearer of your womb
You've sent your seed to the tomb
You've dragged the generation of your womb
Daughter of my womb, you've killed us.
poem by Robert Abok
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Birth of A Feeling
There was a great storm in my mind,
I heard the thunder pounding in my heart,
Even lightning struck through my nerves,
The condition senseless and unusual,
The vibrations so intense and vivid,
My heart so determined and focused,
The muscles pulling and stretching,
My heart was in a labour room,
The birth of a feeling
I saw you and I liked you,
My sight impregnated my heart,
The world longed to witness the day,
Behold the day has came,
My heart in a state of shock,
Holding in its hand a feeling,
Behold let the day be remembered
The birth of a feeling
In an unexpected labour room,
With an unexpected general populacy,
For an unexpected pure lady,
A feeling was born, for her
Should the feeling die a young one,
Or should it reach adulthood,
It is a question of faith, yes
Spare her the good news,
Or keep the feeling a secret,
For how long will i hide the feeling,
For the birth I alone knows,
Yet the death we dont expect
I am falling for you,
Yet falling without you,
In the womb still I was not sure,
The doubts of a child in the womb,
I skipped my period and I knew,
Yes I was pregnant with a feeling for you,
Celebrate this birthday with me,
The birth of a feeling
You may never be the parent,
But the child is for you,
Adopt it maybe, or abandon it maybe,
It shall so mightly grow and grow,
Oh beautiful feeling of mine,
I celebrate, the birth of a feeling
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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O Infant Just Out Of Womb..!
O infant just out of womb
What are your thoughts
Of this world?
Who makes you to smile?
What your plans are for today
Or for morrows?
Why this cry at birth?
Did not like to exit cosy comfort of
Mother's womb?
Ever faulty are our guesses
Of your cries and smiles.
O god grant me
The power to read
The language of infants!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Earthly Laws and ‘in utero’ Baby Rights!
Womb’s environs must be made conducive
For growth of every seed God-implanted;
The birth-canal is road to every life
That seeks a state of separate existence!
Man ought to help the life within the womb
To grow and get nourishment that’s timely;
Let none convert the sacred womb to tomb,
Enacting laws to curb birth ruthlessly!
Why muffle throats that yearn to raise ‘first cry’,
And see their parents’ faces and God’s sky!
The laws on earth shouldn’t make life worse in womb,
Curtailing growth of human progeny!
‘Unwanted child’ is no excuse to kill!
God heals some unborn, unhealthy and ill!
A few jurors can’t decide mankind’s fate,
And tilt the balance against life each time!
All forms of life get innate rights from God,
Including growth, birth, earthly existence;
No king or leader shall undo these rights
Of life, God-made or hinder their free birth!
If those already born have rights plenty,
If birth alone can give a person rights,
Why can’t such rights be given to the child,
By making way for birth in the first place?
There is no reason good enough to kill
The life allowed by God within the womb;
The laws in sacred womb are Nature-made!
No earthly law should permeate the womb.
Give freedom to be born to the unborn!
No God of life can watch with patience more,
When man can destroy millions unborn lives!
No tomb can ever yield a single birth!
When save you want a life that’s ebbing fast,
Why hinder lives that yearn to see the light?
He/she who kills within the womb will kill
By habit anyone already born!
The soul without the grace of God could do
More heinous crimes upon the planet earth;
A homicide is taking others’ lives –
Within the womb or without are both crimes!
God spare the lives of millions denied birth!
How can such murders foul give someone mirth?
The unseen tears of unborn kids brings curse;
Their unheard pleas to man will make lives worse!
If man can kill his child before ‘first cry’,
When man can torture children while in womb,
And bring about their death and destruction,
His heart has turned all cold and loveless too!
Denying freedom of God-destined births?
The woman’s womb belongs to her, sans seed!
Once seeded, it belongs to her seed now!
Eugenics is still far-fetched than real!
Life’s values cannot change in womb/ ex womb!
Abortion on demand can’t give the right
To kill a baby that can thrive on own!
Each baby has the right to live like all.
The days are not far-off when world demands
All invalids and elderly to die!
The theories Eugenics speaks are not true
Or proved beyond a doubt or time-tested!
No doctor can afford to use his ken
To abet crimes of sinful men, women!
Most ‘statistics’ are some-how error-prone;
No man can judge the worthiness of life!
The laws outside the womb can’t stifle life
That grows within the womb, awaiting birth!
Allow the unborn child to be born, man;
No man can add an hour to his life-span!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-26-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sinful identity
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so handsomely procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
infantile cry; overflowed with unfathomable oceans of
glittering gold,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
baselessly rejoiced and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; miserably dithered in my
impoverished life to carve a philanthropically
blissful identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so majestically procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my
first baby cry; had an endless inundation of sparkling
currency coin,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
parasitically feasted and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; pathetically staggered in my
diminutive life to carve a synergistically blazing
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so wonderfully procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incoherent cry; remained perpetually embellished with
resplendently enamoring diamonds,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
derogatorily marauded and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; dismally stuttered in my truncated
life to carve a celestially vibrant identity of my
very own…
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so marvelously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nimble cry; contained every speck of prosperity on
this timeless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
indiscriminately terrorized and took all their
hard-earned wealth for granted; meaninglessly quavered
in my destined life to carve a beautifully magnanimous
identity of my very own…..
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so amazingly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
inaudible cry; had its foundations resting on an
insurmountable mountain of pearls,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
savagely massacred and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; horrendously trembled in my
penurious life to carve an iridescently kingly
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so gorgeously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incongruous cry; solely diffused the fragrance of
everlastingly priceless richness,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
satanically splurged and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; gruesomely faltered in my
pecuniary life to carve a spell bindingly righteous
identity of my very own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so divinely procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
evanescent cry; harbored countless trees from which
gloriously fructified currency coin instead of leaves,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
ruthlessly blew and took all their hard-earned wealth
for granted; disdainfully lost in my flickering life
to carve an enchantingly vivacious identity of my very
own….
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so Omnipotently procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
meek cry; was the hub of all state-of-the art
businesses that unfurled on the trajectory of this
fathomless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
insanely trampled and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; flagrantly wavered in my limited
life to carve an ingratiatingly altruistic identity of
my very own…..
And it wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so blessedly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nervous cry; was the most indefatigably serenaded
castle in the entire world since times immemorial,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
cold-bloodedly spat and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; unscrupulously dithered in my
indigent life to carve a harmoniously distinct
identity of my very own….
(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our managers hadn't had that kind of success - the record company hadn't, we hadn't - and the feeling was that the next record had to be even bigger, and if it wasn't it would be some kind of failure.
quote by Roland Gift
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Second Birth
Through faith, to God we show true worth
His Lamp then leads to second birth
But not a birth as most presume
We need no more a mother’s womb
The Lord Himself will dwell within
His Holy Flame convicts of sin
The eyes of God compute each thought
In all who trust His true report
With peace and joy He comes from high
The answers to what, to where and why
Power; through grace that none should boast
God’s Guiding Lamp His Holy Ghost
This second chance to live, is free
The price was paid on Calvary
In truth; Christ came to die on earth
That man may live through second birth
Upon the tree Christ bore all shame
That man may bear a brand new name
God’s blood seeped neath the cursed ground
So guilt in man may not be found
In Jesus’ death is Heaven’s door
God opened wide when curtains tore
His precious blood cleans spot and stain
So God may hear from man again
When Christ man laid within the tomb
It served God’s purpose as a womb
When Christ arose from neath the earth
He stood as first with second birth
In Jesus Christ, the same we’ll share
When all life’s cares to Him we bear
When humble hearts see Heaven’s Door
We’ll enter through and die no more...
poem by Michael P. Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dear Parents, Don’t Abort…
If you had killed your sweet daughters and sons,
While in your womb, whom God allowed to live,
How could you be happy, just imagine?
–The sin and guilt could unleash hell on earth!
If you had wrought the anger of the Lord,
Through ruthless cold-blooded murders in womb,
And never felt remorse for your misdeeds,
The Maker’s curse shall be upon you soon!
How could you have the heart to take the lives,
Destined by God to see the world, He made?
How could you dare to disallow the birth
Of offspring, ‘Potter-made, out of sheer clay’?
Dear parents, don’t abort anytime please;
You shalt not take away the lives, God gives!
And if you rear them, God surely provides
Your wants, and makes you more blissful on earth!
Let Satan never play upon your mind,
And goad you to abort your unborn child;
Allow its birth and you will always find,
A joy divine, most-satisfying, wild!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-25-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hush Do Not Reveal
That unborn child wrapped up nice and tight
You and your angel are out of sight
Deep inside your mother’s womb
Your birth day will be approaching soon
That little time I spend with you
I will show you love that will be true
All these angelic things I will let you feel
As long as you promise not to reveal
That groove between your nose and lip
Was touched by your angels finger tip
To tell you hush do not say
What you have seen before your birth day
13 09 2010
Alice Springs Hotel
Kos
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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Be Very Patient
Be very patient,
The potter's clay;
Be very wise,
The writer's pen;
Be very useful,
Of the muse of life with a living hope;
Let your yes be yes and your no be no.
Life is like the patience of Iyyob,
So abstain from fleshly lust;
Like the days of our visitations on this earth.
Sarah obeyed Abraham,
Like the sea and the seashore;
So established are the two witnesses.
Oh womb, womb, womb!
Oh bomb, bomb, bpomb! !
Oh tomb, tomb, tomb! ! !
Be very patient in this life.
Womb. bomb, tomb;
The womb is opened.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The earth is defiled.
Womb, bomb, tomb;
The time of trouble on this earth with our muses.
Our bombs will shake the heavens,
And our sins will led us to our tombs;
As it is written in the Book Of Life like,
A child born today from the womb.
We came out of the womb and,
Many of us will be killed by the bombs! !
Which will finally send us into the tombs.
Read about the facts,
Learn about the truth,
Our days of darkness from the womb!
We came out of the womb and,
Are destroying the world with our bombs;
Soon, we will be buried in the tombs!
Womb, bomb, tomb;
Be very patient on this earth without hatred.
Lets be each others keeper,
Lets learn for the truth of all things;
Our days on this earth is still very short.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Child in the Womb…
The child in the womb longs
To leave the darkness ’round,
And see the light of the world,
Created by God.
The child in the womb yearns
To breathe the lovely air
Of independent life,
Made by God.
The child in the womb wants
To move about with ease,
On planet earth’s terrain,
Meant for it.
The child in the womb waits
To show its cry of life,
And feel its mother’s warmth,
And parents’ love.
The child in the womb loves
To show its beauteous form,
That love of God gave it,
Free of cost!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-15-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God, Bless the Womb and Home
Empty not the womb!
Empty not your home;
God fills the womb;
Cradle the unborn too!
A child is love
From God above;
Love all children;
Miss not heaven.
Rock the unborn,
Night and morn;
Say ‘No’ to porn!
Avoid God’s scorn.
Murder in the womb
Empties such a home;
Every child, welcome;
Each Child is love of God
made flesh! .
Let the womb
Remain the home
For humankind,
Not tomb!
God fills your womb;
Joy fills your home!
God, bless each womb;
God bless that home.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 9/11/10
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bible Stories: Job (Chapter III)
And after this, Job cursed his day!
Oh, fie the day I was born live!
I curse the day I turned a boy.
May dark prevail on my birthday!
May never light illumine it!
May gloom afill first day I breathed!
May frightening blackness affright it!
Let obscure be my day of birth;
Let it from year-days be effaced;
Let it from all months disappear;
Let barren be the night I’as born;
Let not a joyful cry greet it!
Let them who curse the sea, curse it
May twilight stars remain all dark!
May daylight never dawn upon,
Because the doors of womb weren’t shut,
To shield my eyes from earth’s troubles!
Why did I not expire in womb?
Why did I not perish at birth?
Why did I ever see the light?
Why was my birth so untimely?
Why was I suckled at the breasts?
Why did my knees help me to stand?
Had I in tranquil state then slept,
I could have rested and not wept,
With mighty beings of the earth,
And ones lucred, right from their birth:
Where weary souls are laid to rest,
And wicked cease to be a pest!
Where all are same- the great and small;
Where freed is servant from master.
Why labored see the endless light?
Why bitter hearts get extra life?
They welcome death but it comes not;
They seek death like hidden treasures,
And exult on finding at last,
And reach the grave, glad in their hearts!
I sigh far easier than my food;
My groans come forth akin water;
What fear I had has come on me;
My troubles seize me so freely;
I have no peace nor ease nor rest.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Why Did You?
Why did you make me do it?
You know you led me on.
If you hadn’t started the way you did
I wouldn’t have that far gone.
Why did you insist?
You know my resistance is low.
If you hadn’t looked at me the way you did
it would’ve been easier to say no.
Why did you take advantage of me?
You knew that I’d give in.
If I hadn’t lost my voice just then
you would’ve heard my shouting.
Do you now regret for leading me on
and doing what we shouldn’t do?
Oh dear, you are giving me that look again,
and my voice is going too.
Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?
Oh dear, I’ve got to go in a minute or two.
Well, if you insist in doing it again
I’ll try my best to resist you.
There you go you’ve done it again,
and I’m going to be late for my tea.
Tell me am I safe to put the kettle on,
or should I wait and see?
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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