Made to Feel Welcome

I'm sure Sandra M. Gilbert
The author of her collection
Of poems titled
'ghost volcano'

Had no idea what her poem
'Kissing the Bread'
Would remind me of
When she wrote about

Her mother's habit of
Kissing old bread
Before she threw it away
Sandra found out

'Her mother the Sicilian midwife
taught her, taught all nine, '...

'Non so. You kiss it like
crossing yourself before a crisis, before

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poem by Tom J. Mariani
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A Pumpkin grows in Midwife's yard

Her mother is a midwife
and she is a nanny to her far relative.
He collects pumpkins hastily for the sunday fair.
Do you think a street vendor sees pleasant dreams?
Anyhow please do not get surprised
if a street vendor marries a nanny
and she delivers precious children safely
as her mother knows the job perfectly.
Still the pumpkins grow in the yard
and the vendor collects them without any bargaining.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Always Wanted To Wear Your Shoes

o sister o sister

my beautiful and powerful big sister;

i wish i knew you like i once did

o sister o sister

my wise and worldly big sister;

i wish i knew the remedy for what has rent itself between us

a thousand hateful things i've said to you;

wish i knew how to soften those words

I don't know what you mean by formal, not sure how to be formal

I miss you

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poem by Pilar Mogollon
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Amen

They raised the oak

Then let it gently sink into the soft dark earth

Soon your roots would be rekindled

Some brought candles

Some burnt fires

But no one could interpret the silence

For a sign

Poets sat in bars

At the same chair

Where they were always seated

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poem by Yvette Smith
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For All Those Who Died

For all those who died-
stripped naked, shaved, shorn.

For all those who screamed
in vain to the Great Goddess
only to have their tongues
ripped out at the root.

For all those who were pricked, racked, broken on the wheel
for the sins of their Inquisitors.

For all those whose beauty
stirred their torturers to fury;
& for all those whose ugliness did the same.

For all those who were neither ugly nor beautiful,
but only women who would not submit.

For all those quick fingers
broken in the vise.

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poem by Erica Jong
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A[s]ail - Prose Poem

A sail –
brave paling, ailing -
on the dead sea mirror
of man’s anonymity, -
not a pretty picture!
The world is midwife
to its own rebirth
and sexton to its
own interment. A lost
generation spreadeagled
across the pillow of life,
asea, dissarray on the billows
while the bellows roar
and the smoke stacks pour
before that final belch
relieves them of motion.
With a new world still in flux
beneath the mental horizon of the workless masses,
Carpe Diem’s drum attracts
when all else lacks -

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Cinderella

Descend from the foothill and don't you feel the humidity?
Dew drops scattered all over the meadow as pearls.
Give me your hand; hand-in-hand we can pick them before the sun rise.
The flowers forget-me-knots & chrysanthemums were in bloom next to Midwife's yard.
Do not forget to bring your cane basket.
Hand-in-hand; we can collect them before the sunrise.
Please bring your home work book too,
On the way we can do some corrections & fill in the blanks
In the moonlight before the teacher comes.
Cinderella, please give my lost childhood.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Elegy XIX: To His Mistress Going to Bed

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe oft-times, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though they never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glistering
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear
That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopped there:
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now 'tis your bed time.
Off with that happy busk, whom I envy
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown's going off such beauteous state reveals
As when from flowery meads th'hills shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow.
Off with those shoes: and then safely tread
In this love's hallowed temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Received by men; thou Angel bring'st with thee

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poem by John Donne
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Son Was Born To A Poor Peasant

A son was born to a poor peasant.
A foul old woman stepped inside
The hut, with trembling bony fingers
Clawing her tangled locks aside.

And when the midwife wasn't looking,
Across towards that babe she reached.
And with her gnarled, misshapen fingers
His cheek she very lightly touched.

Mumbling weird words and slowly tapping
Her crooked stick, she went away.
Nobody knew what charm she'd woven,
And so the years went duly by -

The secret spell came to fulfilment:
In life, much sorrow came to him
But happiness, and joy, and true love
Fled the dark sign upon the skin.

poem by Fyodor Sologub
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The teacher

The teacher must know
As Plato once
Well said it
Years ago,

A teacher is but a midwife
But the disciple
The student
Is still the one who
Gets himself
Impregnated with
Ideas

The teacher simply helps
In giving the birth
Of the ideas that
The student must himself
Conceive

When the ideas are born

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Destiny

They deliver the edicts of God

without delay

And are exempt from apprehension

from detention

And with their God-given

Petasus, Caduceus, and Talaria

ferry like bolts of lightning

unhindered between the tribunals

of Space & Time

The Messenger-Spirit

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poem by Gregory Corso
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The link between ideas and action is rarely direct. There is almost always an intermediate step in which the idea is overcome. De Tocqueville points out that it is at times when passions start to govern human affairs that ideas are most obviously translated into political action. The translation of ideas into action is usually in the hands of people least likely to follow rational motives. Hence, it is that action is often the nemesis of ideas, and sometimes of the men who formulate them. One of the marks of the truly vigorous society is the ability to dispense with passion as a midwife of action - the ability to pass directly from thought to action.

quote by Eric Hoffer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Welcome Sir

Kwaah...Kwaah..., No one to notice me
From inside my mom's belly
Angrily I kicked and kicked and kicked
Aaah! mom got pained and pained

Pushes started to put me out
Preparations were on to pull me out
Enough bored inside the tummy
Waiting to be out to see my mummy

Having dreams about my parents
I started creeping into my transits
Step by step mom pressurized me
Steadily with all her compassion for me

Poor mom! 'ma! I'm there for you'
That's all I could murmur
I was fast reaching the world anew
In thirty minutes' rush I landed. A wonder

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poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Floral Petal Dress

The cold morning wind clinically
Undresses the flower’s petal dress,
Still standing tall the birth of seeds begins
Their random atmospheric journey,
Pollination primed by the winged midwife,
Rising higher o’er hills and vale for a new life
Twisting and waving to friends flying by.
The sun shows his early warm face as
He’s calming the wind to a gentle lull,
A sign for all the seeds to spiral down
To their resting place where nature has sewn,
Some land right onto a sheep’s ear
A quick shake and their off no fear,
Then more fall on a cow’s tail
With a moo and a flick no problems avail,
They all land safely and will sleep until spring,
Then will wake and grow when the birdies do sing.

poem by Ken e Hall
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Anti-Conception

Could I unthink you,
little heart,
what would I do?
throw you out
with last night's garbage,
undo my own decisions,
my own flesh
& commit you to the void
again?

Fortunately,
it is not my problem.
You hold on, beating
like a little clock,
Swiss in your precision,
Japanese in your tenacity,
& already having
your own karma,

while I, with my half-

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poem by Erica Jong
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Mom said

In a deep voice, I heard her speak
son, respect a woman...a woman
young, old, midwife, single or schoolgirls
for life is in their hands.

She ain't a victim of exploitation
neither ATM slot to discard cards
but a gold-mine of treasures
for legends lies in their wombs

Blessings are in their mouths, my son
so do curses
worse are their laments on you
for angels watches their tears day and night.
so son respect a woman.

They have golden hearts, so precious son,
the origin of their love, Oh! Son, true love
and their joy is a robust bolster
the secret of every successful man.

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poem by Fate Mcfate
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Random rhyme (killing time)

showers give birth to rainbows
Ripples radiate from streams
Dells lie down with meadows
And nightfall gives leave to dreams

Frost is water, etched in rime
Oceans are spawners of tides
Crystal is ice, frozen in time
Headstones guardians at gravesides

Clouds are the genesis of showers
Cuffs are the endings of sleeves
Days are collections of hours
Garlands are sisters to sheaves

Mists are liquefied dreams
Willow is nature with head bowed
Dusk is the midwife of moonbeams
Fog is the offspring of cloud

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poem by David Whalen
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A Cautionary Note

there is a way to
reach other minds

teaching can be
a tool
to let them show
how mushrooms
grow
on fields of rotten
hay

there are more than
other ways
to make our coldness
felt

not growing hands
not having to add
more feet
on such a grotesque

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Home

As the dawn sun breaks over sleepy gardens
Ill be here to do all things to comfort you.
And though Ive been away
Left you alone this way
Why dont you come awake
And let your first smile take me home.
The shadows in the park were longer yesterday
And lady luck stood still, waiting for the kill.
And on a jumbo ride
Over seas grey, deep and wide
I flew for heavens sake
And let the angels take me home.
Down steep and narrow lanes I see the chimneys smoking
Above the golden fields ... know what the robin feels
In his summer jamboree.
All elements agree
In sweet and stormy blend ---
Midwife to winds that send me home.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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Moon in the lake dances with ripples?

'May the poor find wealth; those weak with sorrow find joy.May the forlorn find new hope, constant happiness and prosperity.May the frightened cease to be afraid, and those bound be free.May the weak find power, and may their hearts join in friendship.'-The Dalai Llama

Young ferryman's straw-house
by the lake
unbolted bamboo door
rattles to the Eastern wind.
He peeped through the broken window
and saw moon dances with ripples in the lake?
His memories dragged to his sad past.
Poor drunkard Tinsmith's beautiful wife and daughter
drowned in this lake on a full moon.
And if that tear dropp hidden in his eye speaks?
Certainly it's deep the tale
Like the haunted lake?

*The barley field's mealy mouthed midwife rumoured around the villagers the deceased were pregnant?

nimal dunuhinga

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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