I loved you …
like water -
dove, swam, immersed
drowned
like breath
out, in, saturated
gasping
unseen
but essential
impalpable, yet vital
my sea -
deep, boundless, capricious
blue … terrifying
my sky -
vast, moody, dazzling
blue … and dark
you … were my
element - oxygen for my fire
breeze to kiss my cheek
a stream to
cool … and christen
the expanse to cast my sails upon
you …
were my aliment -
manna from the heavens
my sustenance
and I …
devoured you
for ‘til that moment
I’d never known
the meaning …
hunger.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, October 27, 2022
the aliment love
it's nourishment of the soul
: sweet but sans gluten
three flowers ...
of extraordinary bloom
seeds and earth, spun together in chaos
soil of arable value, some more or less ... firm,
but challenge not the care of the tenders - their loving ambitions
they gardened and provided with nurturing hands
far-from-perfect, the aliment entrusted ...
not always in accord, but consistently full hearts for the task
oh, those blossoms were, as any, pressed by the elements
for life is as much the storms, as it is the fair and fine
but the roots were strong and reaching
what they sprung, hearty and bright and graceful -
as imperfectly perfect as childhood dreams
now, I stand back and watch them gather light and wings
drink rain, bend in the wind, fold their petals in twilight ...
seeding new buds and blooms of their own
for that is the way of flowers ...
their beauty, blessing.
Submitted on June 3, 2020
To the "Brian's Select 3, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Sponsor.
When heart does imagination
And make a shape of divine art
And with the touch of natural aliment
You go to meet with the creation of god
Like the fall of first rain
Someone make place in eyes
And the view of rising beauty
Inspire me to shape her in heart
Every dream wanted to make gain
And wanted to make great hike
Where she live I am searching
Like the dream of paradise
She makes a knock at the door of heart
And gave me a peak to dream her in life
And a holy bath in her sunshine
thus is born, a vestal week
heaven's weep on windows, streak
holds for most, a Monday, dreary
yet, those oyster clouds, so teary
drench my essence with elation
aliment for Earth's hydration
carried in these serous beads
all that sates creation's needs
rills feed rivers - rivers, oceans
how can there be sad emotions
amidst these miracles, so plain
wondrous drops of summer rain?
no ...
such days for me are harbingers
of all the bounty that occurs
when we find within the storms
that sunshine comes ... in many forms.
Many kind of thinker
Many kind of thought
Many kind of aliment
Many kind of view
But my work of art
Work on beauty
My imagination say beauty
Is the art of god?
And sent on earth
By the god of heaven
God is the biggest thinker
Why god did so
It is only known by god
Is that god step was right
No argument and no dispute
Beauties grow happiness while they viewed
And inspire to go ahead with your dream
Poet- anurag sharma
DG-1 flat no 27 B first floor
Vikas puri new delhi-110018
Email- [email protected]
Mobile no-8743082486
Something’s are work as decisive factor
Work as vital aliment of life
Love, hate, anger, and calm
Nature of each thing alive
Who is with me on the way?
Who give me guidance to do work right?
I know a divine natural glory
Fallow my each step
According to her direction
I am making my way
With the dream of her appear
I am sleeping in each night
And with every growing rise
I view her image on the sky
Poet- anurag sharma
DG-1 flat no 27 B first floor
Vikas puri new delhi-110018
Email- [email protected]
Mobile no-8743082486
Under the shadow of darkness
Fire of my burning heart
My question is remain same
By every upcoming rise
Mo one can delete your memory
By the vital place of my heart
You are wonder of this world
Your beauty is your holy sole
No one can erase no one can kill
You are immortal this is truth of god
You give rise to sunshine
Your each breathe is the sole
You are wonder of this world
Ancient time or in modern time
You give light to sunshine
Beginning to the end
Earth, sun, moon, star
Want to make only your search
You are alive aliment
You are immortal and divine
You inspire you design
You give breathe to every living thing
You are inspiration of every living thought
If cloth was a fitting and a rope was meant to be warn I have to,
Say I be the teller because I get to dress you head to toe,
See the sophistication of the clothes is not the prices tag,
But thoroughly in intermediate of changing not clothes but tone,
And if I am to loud from the shoulder down to the hip what place,
Is a little more thick,
Women are told that can read a man in ten second but what behind,
This eyes is a sense of morality even the dead could not wake such a soul,
The dress that the teller appeal is sense of more then morality,
Such symbolic color and shape meaning and culture are coded down,
To the heme of the shoes that could mean grace be to the god never going cheat,
Or in next year divorce and aliment is on the way,
Why rush in love because lost love is the most dangerous,
Why not be friends to start,
Because you are truly appreciation,
That is the word for today,
Appreciation.
Belittled and abandoned, the little boy grew up with a desolated soul and spirit hearing voices and seeing visions about unexistent things that only existed in his mind. Raised in an orphanage, years passed by and the boy became a man, that did not recognize the differences between sanity and unsanity. Nobody could bring him to receive the necessary treatment.
Schizophrenia was the mental aliment that impaired the reality of the poor man rejected since his childhood. One day walking near a bridge, trying to alleviate his anguish, he climbed to the top of the bridge, jumping to cold water and drowning without remedy, terminating his earthly existence and beginning a new one in a place where suicidals do not find the peace longer.
Her stillness adapts to the realness.
Humble on top of greatness
Struck by an obsessed illness
Caught in a pain, rendered by weakness
Pleading for forgiveness
Reality was never bought, yet always taking
She had remembered her forsaking
Sick and now steady shaking
The ill-gotten syndrome is now awaking
This was an authentic chiller in the making
Brought down by so much fright
Reckoning exists in this fight
The aliment discontinued overnight
The hero bones have made it alright
A once dwindled destination is now bright
Gathering a plethora,
of abandoned blossoms high and low,
a covered basket and pockets full.
Light footsteps through shady trees
releasing dainty blooms for me,
nature’s soulful aliment like a
rainbow placed strategically
for a little girl's innocent eyes.
Blooms falling into my hands
on a wooded path for one,
then scattering to the wind,
a fanciful dance, free of
pending frailty; prancing
petals take flight
before their glory fades...
How can I preserve
God’s majestic beauty,
petals adorning a late
spring breeze? The newly
green earth and trees -
watch me, watch them.
I am but one girl
gathering blooms
to press between
pages of time or
seep into an intoxicating
potpourri. I could take
a snapshot of these
sacred scatterings but
never could a photo
fill my senses -
the sweet scents,
sounds and touch
of blooms on
a wooded path
and breezes all
around my face,
the sight of God’s
majestic beauty
in a magical place.
If I had one wish it would be, to share
these magical moments with you.
My one and only bright supernova.
You are the aliment that runs through my veins.
Your affinity is like hot lava.
You take away my sadness; the thing that pains.
Something so strong that no one can create.
You are my savior, who came from heaven.
A love so strong that on one will dare take.
Remembering when you came at seven.
Just to think that you are my manuscript.
You who reveal my imagination.
The thing that heal my heart when it was ripped.
In the end of a massive conclusion.
Who opens up my eyes for a new world.
Something so shine that it becomes my pearl.
FRUITY VOICE
Her voice reminds me of laughter barely suppressed
An energetic spirit tugging constantly at the rope
A caterpillar turning to butterfly at any moment
Her voice sounds like lifegiving fruit
Not serious, self-important fruit like geometrically precise pineapples
Or pompous, overfed watermelons
Too heavy to lift
Not business fruit like apples, on duty keeping doctors away
Or bananas waiting to do their slippery work under feet
Or blackberries, whose careers lie in jam
But mischievous fruit like grapes or cherries
Which roll away like playful children when you’re not looking
Or fallen raisins on the carpet pretending to be part of the pattern
Fun-loving fruit like mandarin oranges around the Christmas tree
Basking under the Christmas lights, enjoying the glitter
Of tinsel and the smell of pine needles
Small fruits which enjoy life,
Laughing as they jostle each other in their bag,
And which could easily become bubbly wine if tempted.
Her ripened voice -
The spontaneous fruit of a lifetime
Of growth and maturing, and regeneration :
Aliment for my soul’s ailment.
'Tis a heavenly honeybee
with a honeyed tongue
drippin' dulcet words accompany
by the rhythm of her buzzin' song.
...Sweet appetible verses flavourin' my soul
with the nectar fetch from tasty seasons of Springs;
Mmm! a bunch of saccharine syrup to behold.
Aliment from the supernal honeycomb she ev'r brings.
O' lofty queenbee! a noble subject clings
to your pleasurable condiment,
and to the chorus of your iridescent wings
swarming with merriment.
So, hail to Moonbee
with a vow of Jubilee.
A dedication to MoonBee.
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