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Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Okay honey
Let's spell pollinate
With a bit of math
Anther + stigma = fertilization
Let's pollinate for a spell
Under the quilt
Then over the river
And through the woods
Without any cover we go
Making babies in summertime
May we reap
What we sow
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jan 2020
WE ARE LIKE TREES

We are like trees. When a seed
of an oak tree is placed in earth
and given water, then light, the
life of that oak tree begins. When
a ***** enters an ****, the life
of a human being begins;  all
other arguments are specious.
Both need special care. Given
that care, the oak seed will sprout
from the earth and continue to
grow. The human embryo needs
nine months in the womb before
it will be put into a nursery. The oak
sprout will, most likely, need to
be in a nursery from its conception.
If cared for, both the tiny, tiny tree
and the tiny, tiny human being
will grow bigger. The key is care,
and the caring is love. Over years,
decades, both will grow larger and
stronger. Both will face illnesses,
and in the vast majority of cases,
will survive them. Trees will show
leaves, grow bark, provide shade
and beauty, even as they grow
their own seeds. Human beings
will learn more and more as they
grow older and older. Trees will
let robins and squirrels make
their homes in them. Human
beings will grow compassionate
and wise;  many will shepherd in
new life to care for. Both will grow
old, but before they die, they will
look back on their lives and remem-
ber the love they themselves en-
joyed and shared with each other.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished his first novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
I dreamt it snowed
Nectar and powdered sugar,
Dusting nature's lips.

I recall the kiss from her
Not-so-innocent curiosity,
Come-hither in her arched brow.

How the morning breeze
Grew wanton,
Lifting her nightdress,
Until naked she pirouetted about
The cloister garth.

I dreamt of flowering moonlight
And his potent stem,
Filling her
With stars and shivers,
As she burst, for goodness sake,
From all the little blissful parties
Drumming her garden wall.

I dreamt of fecundity
And funnel cakes,
Soft and sweet and round,
Her milk a spring,
Laden with gift of life.

Intuitive opaque areolae,
The shape of things to come,
The very ones from which
She'll nurse their young.
To the amazing wonder that is a woman's body
George Krokos Dec 2018
Like a reflected shadow appearance and deception
is really this endless universe of God's conception.
______
From "Simple Observations" ongoing writings since the early '90's.
Lying, breathing, soaking in my lover
The afterglow illuminating the night.
Soft skin, smooth to touch, her belly freshly filled
Claimed to be the place where my child shall grow.
Fingers find their way around one another
Clutching to the new future ahead.
ConnectHook Feb 2017
★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪ ★ ✰ ✪

The Baby-Hole, her baby-hole!
Turn back before you lose your soul.
Those walls of pink, those gates of pearl
grant entrance to each boy and girl
who come through this organic portal:
newly-born and merely mortal.

Mystery to be dignified—
explored, adored, objectified:
the baby-hole’s expanding chasm,
promising celestial spasm,
is limned in deliquescent love
and fits the soul as hand in glove.
Beware her tantalizing pull
where poetry turns vaginal.
From depths profound, God can create
(where man would merely *******,
hitting Mother Nature’s high note
as the gamete turns to zygote).
Semi-seconds’ spurting passion
years of living baby fashion.
After pleasure’s jest, gestation
thus augments the population;
teenage dads recalibrate,
unsure just what to celebrate.

Yet, if they knew the daring risk
their ***** endure, they’d slip a disc;
to realize what threatening odds
confront these flagellated gods:
(see Luke in Star Wars, [number IV]
battling fascists in the war
alone in the zone to shoot the shot
that blows the death star up. Let’s not
miss out on noting, in this theme,
life’s true conception. So the team
of X-wing pilots flew the run,
eliminated one by one
save Luke, who penetrated deep
the death-star’s ovulated keep
and overcame the egg’s defense
and hit the mark. It all makes sense.
The spheroid bursting in his sight
depicts Conception's glorious might).

Therefore, show the matrix honor.
Shoot and leave—your star’s a goner:
nurture growth while life allows you,
while your star can still espouse you.

Seek her core of hidden gnosis
don’t just set off cell mitosis…
not, that is, unless you are sure
that the three of you won’t end up poor.
★ ✰ ✪ ✰ ★ ✰ ✪ ✰ ★ ✰ ✪ ✰

Yes - this poem was inspired by the ******
of the first Star Wars movie.

The original version with **** graphics is here:

https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2015/04/23/view-from-the-mortal-portal-gynecological-activism/
Rebecca Rocker Jan 2017
At least you're happily married.
Maybe it's all just a test.
Have you thought about changing your diet?
You'll just have to have lots of ***.
At least you can still go on dates.
Remember you're both very young.
Make the most of it while you still can.
Pregnancy isn't much fun.
Sometimes parenting *****.
You've got enough on your plate.
Weekends are ruined by kids.
Perhaps it's a good thing to wait.
I've heard there are pills that can help.
At least you can sleep through the night.
Perhaps it's not the right time.
It looks like you're coping alright.
It took us a year to conceive.
I can see why you feel so depressed.
I know you've been trying for longer.
The main thing is not to get stressed.
Your condition is really quite common;
I've got it and so does my friend.
God blessed me with two healthy children -
It'll all work out in the end.
Kenshō Nov 2015
Might I fly high
Beyond your envisioned sky?
Beyond conceptual ties
That bind blind guys.
I'll take back what the modern man lacks:
A soul and a heart.
A nice place to start,
For a spirit to depart,
Venture deep into art.
Canvas spills upon your body,
Define your form among'st fog;
A confusion, a situation losin',
This lane, that lane, the lost man's cruisin'.
A vision of division - a tangled mind angle.
You could see what I bring to the table.
A way back to what we lack..
Might you ask what it is when I say that?
How about a dinner and snack
Where you don't want something
And there's no news story to crack..
Just the heart I know, that person I need,
A star, a distant glow.
What we need is a hardy hearth;
Gather round the sound enveloped in the crowd.
Lose your mind and align, dance blissful all night~
To the rhythm of the time.
Or how about abundance
A huge human party, one that-
Every one's invited to, whether your purple, black, or blue.
Battered and bruised by history's screws..
A machine we built and a boat we'll tilt;
A seed that will bloom..
And a flower that will wilt.
-
SøułSurvivør Jul 2015
~~~<«»>~~~

a
spilt
second
where
the
spirit's
spark
meets
conciousnes­s
and
our
pens
scribe

eternity


soulsurvivor
(c) 7/9/2015
time is very relative


~~~<«»>~~~
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