Best Artesian Poems
My love softly walks with my heart in hand
down a path that will lead
to the center of my being.
In the windows that are my loves eyes
I can see the promise of all tomorrows.
With the caress of a hand a declaration
of what is yet to come.
Warm sultry words are gently spoken
yet strong enough to penetrate
all walls of fear or hesitation.
Lips swollen with loves need now dire
burn in me a path of fire.
Heart to heart and flesh to flesh
two souls meet in loves pyre.
The symphony of mind and soul
rise and fall with unquenching amplitude.
Like the cadence beat of a kettle drum
two hearts beat as one.
As emotions soar to the pinnacle of
celestial firmament all time seems suspended.
Then like an artesian well love explodes
consuming the two souls that lay within.
As a chalice passed each luxuriates in the
liquid pearls that lay therein.
The rapture now complete gently settles
to peaceful bliss as the two now bask
in the afterglow side by side
with hearts in hand.
It should be more than a Jeopardy* answer,
that glass-half-full should shimmer
as if joy can be captured in a simple act of water.
She drinks artesian from a crystal carafe,
pours it carefully into the crystal goblet
spilling not a single drop of the life-giver.
Toasting the sun was their morning ritual,
the light casting sparkles and rainbow colors,
You are my rainbow he said that last morning…
His crystal goblet now empty forever.
*Television gameshow, category “Full” House
Alone upon the bench he perched, blue eyes locked in hollow stare,
Like almonds long since plunged to earth, with little flourish or fanfare.
A look of depth—an Artesian well, into which one could fall for days,
Storied eyes of labors, and battles won, and fatherhood to those he’d raised.
Our eyes became fixed across the way, the distance abridged by our pierce,
For a second I saw deep into this man, as he tugged on a smoke something fierce.
Now calm overtook as our eyes parted ways, in a flash the connection was gone,
Yet my interest remained in this man with blue eyes, that told tales to which I was drawn.
Approaching I asked if he’d mind if I snapped, a photo or two in repose,
Smirking, his eyes took a skyward glance, suggesting dismay juxtaposed.
Back in my studio excited I sketched, this face that was grizzled and wise,
Watercolor splashes brought him to life, through the character of his captivating blue eyes.
For Valentina, she was just another person in a nameless town.
In ennui of the busy streets? of the city of San Francisco, in the midst of all the festivities,
She suddenly stopped, forgotten by the world she once knew.
As the rainfalls cascades on her accoutred fur coat, the boudior filled with women was invisible to her.
?Her neck tie is now out of place, no longer in any fashion sense.
As she parades the narrow foggy alley without regard, the wincing of the bystanders behind her seemed unnoticable.
Now standing beside the roadside in reminiscent of what her outcome could've been.
Her disconsolate face says it all, Tapachula, a place she has left her heart.
The euphony of the Fandango, the ineffable jovial laughter of the ancianas, the merengues dance and the stomp beat; all calling her name.
But of all things was the church with bells and the Artesian wells?,
The cozy mountains, the halcyon pathways where she strolls in barefoot. But mostly at the bakery shop, is the shy and handsome Alejandro who, with the warmest smile, never forget to hand her a bag of fresh rolls with a note "te amo".
Wash away corruption, precipitation cleanses our deeds,
Artesian aquifers washing, and nurturing planted seeds,
Torrential downfalls, baptize impermeable desert sands,
Eternal crystallization, fractals break the father’s lands,
Requisite of life, hydration for the soul, we sup on heaven’s bounty,
Sands and sins abated, lie awash profoundly, we drink of them no more.
On and on we meander
in might-have-beens:
the black spray-painted bed
in two-room efficiency apartment:
your roan lion mane of hair spread out
on white sheets like a lace of sea
we swim upon,
soft stones lapping one another
as the gurgling, artesian gush
from a brief sheath of time
drips from you, primal amoebas
rising and falling
from a froth of flaxen sea,
a yeast of life
in the unlit oven.
the empty chambers
of a heart buried deep,
low beneath a vibrant earth,
darkly fed by brackish storms
washed into catchbasins
wetly percolate through broken clay
through caverns delved by mineral roots
building languid waves
silent currents pushed upon
borders of an unseen shore
burbled by eyeless minnows
flushed by distant moons
as the weight of earth above
expands the slurried ache
of a lighter place
of a softer face
a notion gentle bumps along
carried on iron platelets
deep past rasping ventricles
contracted
expanded
contracted
through derelict cataracts
rising above to clean artesian
spent in marble fountains
and walking by in swelted heat
startled by the cool curtain
she smiles.
With you my sweetest darling, I reflect on our journey renderings
You held me close while we waltzed on the forgotten moon
Knowing I have held you in my arms kissed you ,hold rainbows wishes my clues
Lover, best friend, notes in kindred souls each day, remind me of rainbows hues
With you , in my presence you hold the candle my love
The essence in sweet roses bloom
I love thee my angel, my beautiful man
Sheltered , cuddling in your arms of ecstasy , my prince
Silhouetted in webs of love, duets hummingbirds sing
Artesian you hold the vapors wing
My darling our loving vows to hold
Beautiful halos note even as we will glow in earths robe
Cellos play as I bathe in your arms at night
Twilight brings magical mystical rains to mine
Feathered eyes I see yours , angels bless my love
As we will float in opaque's destiny
An artesian spring
of sorrow,
gushes forth with tears.
Sands of time,
sears my hope.
The sun
falls heavy upon me,
as my parched lips
kisses love goodbye.
How can life be so cruel,
as to tease
with delicious smiles,
and twinkling blues,
then place a distance
between us-
A desert,
that kills our love
before it has a chance
to bloom?
Metaphor
Well, I would have entered this in Deborah's contest,
but I missed it by a fraction of a second! lol...
As to being a poem written in 'proper' free verse style,
I'd appreciate your thoughts. Thank you.
Contest; Free Verse Jewels of the Crown
Sponsored by: Deborah Guzzi
Desert drought left this sinner dry.
The cloudless sky would not say why.
Frugal cactus shared water free.
God has been merciful to me.
I will not mourn the lack of rain
Joy in God’s sky is my refrain.
By me a sleeping snake I see,
God has been merciful to me.
Fear is gone as I gaze above
Knowing in drought my Father’s love.
Shade clouds offer hope instantly.
God has been merciful to me.
Stumbling along, my ears do ring,
Yet flowing words my mouth does sing.
When an artesian spring I see:
God has been merciful to me.
Look up in green eyed jealousy
as they sneer at the sniveling masses,
who occupies moral high ground
in the war of unequal classes?
When the Rothchilds become day laborers
and Rockefellers beggars and tramps,
may they learn the sting of humility
when shuffling into our camps.
But no, who then would produce the finest
or the best that could be made,
what artesian would do his utmost
if there were no riches to trade?
The wealthy need poor to support them
and the poor need the rich to pay,
it has to be both or nothing
it seems there is no other way.
What chef would take pains o’re the savory
who proudly wax the Rolls Royce,
what good to sculpt and weave royally
if poverty was the only choice?
Aspiring to the ultimate heights
keeps people at doing their best,
prospering by being rewarded
sets us apart from the rest.
The stifling of human ambition
cannot and has never succeeded,
diligence seeks the redemption
of glory to be acceded.
It was the dresser few could have visualized
I spotted it in the flea market as fantasized
Patterns most would have been able to think up or paint
Created by an artesian whose designs are never faint
This dresser had a signature, not any kind of surprise
So marvelously orchestrated it nearly hurt my eyes
It was a gorgeous dresser, which would look great by my bed.
I only paint one of a kind things, the artist apologetically said.
Bore drain tucker (stock water channel, cross country from an Artesian bore)
Waiting for a feed on the old bore drain,
Maybe, might not ever rain?
Have me 4 gallon tin full of holes,
To let ole shrimp in,
Or crayfish sweet n old.
Bit of old meat, tied in the tin,
Come on lobby, just jump in,
Reef her out, quickly now,
Shrinps n lobbys tucker, chow.
Put another can on the fire,
Boil em up now, Jeeves esquire,
Sitting on a termite mound,
Sucking scoffing shrimpy down, (like prawns)
Aussie boil here on the ground:
Don Johnson 15-july-11
Piet Hein poetic artesian
cue censorship Nazi flip
Grook’s humble kumbel swordsman
Games toys superegg quip
This is not a tale, my friends, this is as true as the truths,
Could I say, it's the pathos of, a pair of insane youths?
Aftab Poonewala, the boy; Shraddha Walkar, the girl,
Both 'lived-in' long relationships and pleasures seemed to curl.
Did neighbors know the couple's inside world? God alone knows,
Everything seemed like cream on Christmas cakes, the story goes.
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Quarrels erupted betwixt them like sudden volcanoes,
These are, often, extinguished, yet, as sounds of pianos.
Marriage used to be the talk sometimes; or fidelity;
Fighting tooth and nail, they slept as though in enmity.
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As the days went by, Shraddha Walkar was not seen around,
Aftab Poonewala was, often, with other girls, found.
When genuine doubts mounted like the highest of mountains,
Aftab found the truths splashing out like Artesian fountains.
Having been cornered, his crime of murder Aftab confessed,
Revealed, truth after truth, having, by authorities, pressed.
Sliced her into thirty-five pieces; kept them in the fridge.
Threw one piece per night, into a ridge past the jungle bridge.
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New truths are unfolded each day like petals of new blooms,
As and when the law, on its vivacious spheres, justly zooms...!!!
(This report is filed by ANI news service. India. The legal suit is on)
15 February 2023
Acquaintance and Neighborhood Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sotto Poet