Bora born
Birthed _
He was conceived in a shared Christmas present
near cooktown's base hospital on windy hill.
Dad's forty-one matched mum's twenty-three when the
miracle of a new life began it's conscious
journey in a birthing process nine months long.
In a womb of content those early months blend
love, nourished in a rose pink world swimming free.
Here he lives in her only body organ
his mother doesn't need to survive, expressed
through both parents dna; he is unique.
Around seven months a quickening chimes in
when miscarriage fears swirl with blood red panic.
Matron's non play on words sells a mother's need
to slow down, three in a row means no reason
for short cuts when rest in bed is the real cure.
The hospital is built over a murri
bora ground men's business still there to be done.
Spirit moves with a fond farewell to his nine
months old home with hormones released to help his
mother transition his need for that first breath.
Upside down he waits, he knows the way out from
that warm embrace all babies need to follow.
Mum's water breaks in the day's first hour with
matron down the far end of the verandah
mum's cries for help go unanswered, she must choose.
His head has crowned as she makes her way along
timber boards, the help needed behind closed doors.
Last calls go out, women attend, the rush is
on, those genes for short labour he will pass on
to his eldest daughter's five new borns in life.
Thempla old murries watch in silent witness
the sun in leo jupiter ascending.
Through the left eye on the first breath his spirit
slips in a silent entry, an old soul this
one in search of those whom he still remembers.
Over a bora ground he was delivered
under stars inside a frangipani breeze.
Conscious memories of birth through those nine months, some
story born, have defined his life as mothers
now murder babies in wretched self interest
such evil signed with hell's demonic hello.
- O -
© 29th nov 2022 _ Ioan James Daniel
Author's notes and media are here.
near cooktown's base hospital on windy hill.
Dad's forty-one matched mum's twenty-three when the
miracle of a new life began it's conscious
journey in a birthing process nine months long.
In a womb of content those early months blend
love, nourished in a rose pink world swimming free.
Here he lives in her only body organ
his mother doesn't need to survive, expressed
through both parents dna; he is unique.
Around seven months a quickening chimes in
when miscarriage fears swirl with blood red panic.
Matron's non play on words sells a mother's need
to slow down, three in a row means no reason
for short cuts when rest in bed is the real cure.
The hospital is built over a murri
bora ground men's business still there to be done.
Spirit moves with a fond farewell to his nine
months old home with hormones released to help his
mother transition his need for that first breath.
Upside down he waits, he knows the way out from
that warm embrace all babies need to follow.
Mum's water breaks in the day's first hour with
matron down the far end of the verandah
mum's cries for help go unanswered, she must choose.
His head has crowned as she makes her way along
timber boards, the help needed behind closed doors.
Last calls go out, women attend, the rush is
on, those genes for short labour he will pass on
to his eldest daughter's five new borns in life.
Thempla old murries watch in silent witness
the sun in leo jupiter ascending.
Through the left eye on the first breath his spirit
slips in a silent entry, an old soul this
one in search of those whom he still remembers.
Over a bora ground he was delivered
under stars inside a frangipani breeze.
Conscious memories of birth through those nine months, some
story born, have defined his life as mothers
now murder babies in wretched self interest
such evil signed with hell's demonic hello.
- O -
© 29th nov 2022 _ Ioan James Daniel
Author's notes and media are here.
Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Birthed _
Birthed _
