Tomorrows my birthday and sadly I don’t know yours I often wondered what happened to my little dears Those two who were called, “fetal tissues,” not lives And in ignorance succumbed to the abortionist knife Were you placed in a burial ground or burned? Were you put in the evening trash? Or could you Have gone to a tissue bank, sold for big bucks Without my knowing much. And that was Forty years ago, and the excitement of Women’s rights were celebrated, but you My darlings, how sad I’ve become reflecting Thinking of who you were and where you are And I named you and gave you thoughts and gifts One a poet songwriter coming from my genes The other a pilot like his fathers dreams And at Christmas, I set a place for you In my heart, you’ll always be And one is John and the other David Oh perhaps you were Lillie or Sarah But, I’ll never know you in this life Please forgive my careless insights For I followed the news of freedom for women But regretfully never thought for myself nor Thought of your lives at all, until forty years Past your deaths and my mistake… May God bless you in heaven And please forgive my ignorance
*** My poem was prompted because Bill Maher said callous jokes on TV last night about fetal tissues. I haven’t stopped crying. If I could hate or curse him I would, but instead, will stand up for the unborn. My poem:
Good Morning from CST USA! This morning it is my pleasure to present to my readers another poetess. I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to read her poetry and to write on poetry challenges with her on FB at ‘The Poet’s Haven’ hosted by Alan Boles.
Please meet and read about Brianna Marie Wells who has written a little bio about herself and has included a poem that she wrote called: ‘Was It Worth It?’
Brianna has included her email address should anyone want to contact her about her poetry.
Thank you Brianna for allowing me to present you and your poem today and without any more interruption, ladies and gentlemen here’s Brianna!
I am the youngest child in my small family. I live in Santa Clara, CA, where I have lived for the majority of my life. I studied Culinary Arts and Management in high school and I am now a full-time Kitchen Manager at a bakery in Cupertino, CA. Right now I divide my time between poetry, sleep, and work.
The reasons I started writing poetry, well…. I’ve always felt stifled. That if I didn’t go along and agree with someone, then I was a failure for some reason. I began writing so that I could express myself more freely, where my thoughts didn’t have to be so organized and that was okay. I didn’t have a lot of friends to share my thoughts with, or at least none that i felt confident enough in that I could share with them. I needed a place for some darker thoughts as well, and to work through things on my own. I started writing poetry so that I could hide the real me, but still say what I needed to say. Not a lot of people can handle me. But maybe, just maybe, I did it so I could handle myself, so that I could see what makes up my mind, so I leave some sort of mark. In a world where everything tries to steal who you are and make you downtrodden, I can express myself freely in my poetry. I feel the call to write the most when I feel very strongly about something. Anything. It could be anything from something in the news to something in my more personal life. When i put that pen to paper the words just begin to flow….
Was It Worth It?
Was it worth it, When you dashed my heart bit by bit Was it worth anything, When you played me and stole my dreams Was it worth your time,
To stab me in the back and pretend its fine
Was it worth my pride,
To make me feel unworthy by your side
Was it worth my soul,
As I try to bring back the pieces to a whole
Was it worth the day
When you took advantage of me anyway
Was it worth the fuss,
Of ever managing to earn my trust
Was it worth the score,
Of letting me know that I’ve been burned once more
Was it worth my hate,
To make me suffer and deteriorate.
Today, I want to introduce to you a fellow poetess by the name of Synda Payne Burton. It was on a FB poetry writing group A Poet’s Haven that I became familiar with Synda and her poetry. We kind of played the poetry game of writing off each other a couple of times.
Synda, I must tell you and others this little tidbit, and I didn’t know this until I read your bio, that you are a registered nurse and so am I. Perhaps that is our connection? Synda is a tender, intuitive poetic writer.
So, now I give to all of you, Synda…. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of having you as my guest this morning.
Hi! My name is Synda (pronounced Sin-duh…not a nick name) Payne Burton..
How does one introduce themselves, in a paragraph…I have in the past, as a child writing a letter in a classroom, but that was only to become someone’s pen pal. I have thence become an adult and have written resumes for job opportunities. In short, I am a retired registered nurse/certified nurse midwife. I have been married for 44 years. I have three grown daughters and 8 grandchildren. I have live in Fishers, Indiana for the past 14 years. My husband and I are originally from Kansas, where we worked most of our adult life.
While I was going to school and even into my adult life…poetry or writing it, was never my thing…I loved other forms of creative art. Perhaps it was because I really never understood it. We read poetry in literature class and often I wondered what the poet was saying…I now, believe I know. I started writing poetry or little jingles for my morning posts on Facebook in 2009…it was what I called passing time while I drank my coffee and waited for my granddaughter to arrive. It eventually grew into verses of ABAB poetry. My inspiration at times comes from photos…what I see and feel…or if something strikes a nerve…a word…an incident. Many of my photos come from a dear friend that is a photographer, her name is Ruby Karmann. Poetry, now has become a morning routine…I drink my coffee…listen to the morning news and write at least one…sometimes as many as three poems. Then, there are days, I don’t write anything. And that is how I came to write….
One…picture can paint a thousand words… But words describe… what one cannot see… Which at times are not captured…left unheard……
Untold…to those that are blind or are absentee…
A…photo at times does not captivate…feelings… Those innermost thoughts that are within one’s mind… Nor can a writer describe your physical image, in being… One has to see a person…to be well defined…
A snapshot can only grasp a mere moment…in time… To enamor…or accomplish what was intended to enchant… As a second or two later may be too late in the next frame…to chime, That perfect pitch…tone in color…to clinch the beauty for it to chant…
While a picture can paint a thousand words for a writer to write…one has to be there to get the total picture…to witness the true beauty that is often just visualized only in a painting…