PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

1. Where had I been before I was born?

     I had been nowhere
     Before I was born on earth.
     Now God made me 'I'.

2. Where had you been before you were born?

     You had been nowhere
     Before you were born on earth.
     Now God made you 'you'.

3.  Where had he been before he was born?

      He had been nowhere
      Before he was born on earth.
      Now God made him 'he'.

4.   Where had she been before she was born?

      She had been nowhere
      Before she was born on earth.
      Now God made her 'she'.

5. Where had they been before they were born?

They had been nowhere

Before they were born on earth.

Now God made them they’.

Enslaving chains and wilderness pains 

are broken on healing heavenly domain 

plus graceful throne, envisioned. 

Method upholds this marauding madness 

aflicting us on earthly journeys through 

wounded wilderness, deadly disdain 

and frighful famine; distressing 

humankind and nature. 

Twisted minds and wicked souls  

torment humankind on this earthly  

journey through birth, life and death. 

Yet, we came with nothing; and with 

nothing, we depart to earth's dust.  

Hideous hypocrisy darkens love to 

hide this greatest reality from heaven's 

green pastures, meadows and 

river bed, unchained.  

We follow this river path to oceans 

lighted by divine mercy and unending 

salvation; healing broken hearts and 

bleeding, lost souls. 

Unwanted – I am a constant reminder of your pain

She gave birth to a beautiful little boy

No pain, no sadness, all he brought was pure joy

A new life into this world, for her to love and to hold and call your very own

Her biggest wish was to have more children, her little boy’s clone

Pity she didn’t know that it would be her biggest woe

A horror memory engraved in her heart and soul, a memory she will never be able to let go

If she knew, would she have still gone through following her heart’s desires?

I don’t believe so, and those who do, are all liars

Two years later she couldn’t wait for the birth of her second baby

This time around, she expected a little girl, but the wait was driving her crazy

This little baby just didn’t want to let go and come out to bloom

Two weeks late after the due arrival she decided to leave the womb

Excruciating labour pains for hours is all she felt

Tears streaming down her cheeks while screaming in agony for help

Instead of giving her a caesarean, or calling a doctor, she was told to be silent

The little new-born girl was coming out bridge, large, but no giant

The new-born tore her open from side to side

She lost so much blood giving birth, she could have died

Nurses took the baby and called the doctor

Who only arrived a day later and simply gave her pain killers, his carelessness shocked her

She didn’t want to see or hear her new-born for days

This little baby girl left her in a constant daze

The baby was to blame for her pain

The baby was to blame that she may never have babies ever again

The baby was to blame that she was left alone in a pool of blood

To scream and suffer with so much tears, almost causing a flood

With no one there to ease her pain, no doctor, no friend, no husband, left alone in vain

The baby was to blame for her dismal future which will forever remain

Yet, days later she called this child ‘’Desire’’

Funny, that one’s biggest desire could turn out to be your biggest heart’s regret fire

For this poor baby girl was once wanted

But once she greeted this world, she was immediately unwanted

Weeks passed, months passed, she loved and cared for a baby girl

But in her mind, she was always reminded of the hell she caused her, this little pearl

Decades passed, the baby grew older into a young precious lady

But still, she could not forgive and forget, she had to tell this child what she did to her as a baby

When the child reached her mid-twenties she decided to tell her of the birth from hell

And confessed that she didn’t want anything to do with her for days after the painful spell

She decided to tell her because the child suffered from depression

Showed signs of a cold heart and unlovable, unwanted, signs of death obsession

But her confession didn’t change the child’s behaviour

What was done to the new-born decades earlier will leave a lasting scar forever

The feeling of being unwanted, left alone and unloved, no matter how long

That loneliness and empty feeling the child will always carry that burden along

It almost seemed to make her happy, taking revenge on her own child, maybe

To remind her daughter on a regular basis of the pain she had caused her as a baby

The regrets that she carries for giving birth and wanting a second child

The regrets that she has still grows very deeply and wild

This baby is now 40, and it is me

Three weeks until I turn 41 I was reminded yet again of all the pain I caused her, she is still not free

If I am so unwanted, a constant reminder of your pain

Why then, does God not take me away from your again?

Why can’t I just die to ease your horror memories and unforgettable, forgivable pain?

Why does God keep me on this earth in your presence if all you want is revenge over again?

You want to get me back for what I did to you in your womb

You want to hurt my heart and health as much as you can to revenge your pain memories until my doom

Once Wanted

Became Unwanted

I am a constant reminder of your misery and pain

Why must I be alive? Why does God not take me away? What do you have to gain?

by Jeph Johnson

Why do they always think

we want to know

how many pounds and ounces

a newborn baby is, 

yet they never report

the circumference

of the mother's vagina

for reference

so we can compare?

I sat at my desk and rubbed my eyes,

Rocking back and forth in my grey

Office chair. The coffee I drank caused my loins to

Burn so I stood up to take a leak.

Passing my bedroom mirror, I saw

My profile and noticed that

My chest was round and peacockish.

The burning moved from my groin

To my right hand. I grabbed an

Unfinished volume of my thoughts from the

Shelf and peeled back the skin. I found

My place (as I often do) and navigated

My Pilot across the strict ruled page.

Black streams of thought formed like

A fetus in the womb, kicking my insides.

My breathing was fast, then slowed to the

Rhythm of my heartbeat. I pushed.

What was on the inside was coming

out. I looked down at my son. My hand was

Limp and my chest concaved.

I am overcome with sorrow.
I do it again tomorrow.

Greedy, tiny hands covered in fresh flesh

Fingers without wrinkles

Stretched out to the sky

Attached to hungry hands

That grasp potential

Gentle, caring hands of a child, covered in dirt

Fingers that have learned to hold

Wrapped securely around a mother’s

Attached to innocent hands  

That grasp new life

Angry, tentative hands, covered in bruises

Fingers that curl into a fist

Searching for justification

Attached to trembling hands

That grasp reality

Responsible, organized hands, covered in calluses

Fingers that memorize positions on a keyboard

Searching for confirmation

Attached to the hip of authority

That cannot grasp satisfaction

Hands, that are no longer owned, filled with formaldehyde

Fingers tucked neatly together

Hidden from the sky

Attached to empty hands

That grasp death

Silence

Not allowed to speak

From the moment of my birth

They stitched my mouth

So I never could speak.

whether in angst or sorrow or bliss,

our tears are like the ice

that melts off mountains

to form new rivers and streams.

the sound of a symphony,

the wail of a newborn baby,

the anguished weeping heard

in between church prayers

at a funeral service,

the dreamy fixed gaze

in the eyes of a woman,

holding her great grandchild

for the first time.

reading the handwritten

love sonnet from a beloved...

and sometimes,

just the perfection

and sychronicity felt with

the sight of a mere sunrise or sunset

that touches the heart

and reminds us of what beauty is....

or the remnants of a life...

even a death,

after the fury

of mother nature has spoken

truth of powers

that we mere human beings

know nothing of.

It is those things

and those things only

that we continue on this journey for.

the journey we call life,

that is welded and weaved 

with the tears

of all human beings

who ever walked the earth.

all human beings 

who have cried the same tear,

in moments of happiness, sadness....fear,

an inseparable kinship, 

an anchor between,

it's that "something" we reach for,

that's there, but unseen.

the human experience, collectively,

shares many emotions while we're here,

and this fabric called life weaves it's tapestries best,

...with its invisible thread of "the tear".

*****

2015, January