Best Cultivates Poems
~Do Not Trust a Word, He Says~
He speaks of sunken treasures the way no other man
The map of his essence is drawn in the stars
His smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon is pulled by the prestige of his masculine art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
His love lavishes making every moment memorable
This gentleman cultivates you from every direction
Your blood rises to his flirtatious ego
His eyes, manipulate you, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost in his touch
He endures, he breathes in ways you can't resist
Uttered words easily wrap around your heart
In a game of trust, his lips persuade another kiss
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ---- stepping all over yourself
You are naught more than a fool in love,
Trusting and believing every golden word spoken from his lip
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
Do Not Trust a Word, she says
She speaks of sunken treasures the way no one else does
The map to her heart is drawn by the sun
Her smile of gold ride out the waves
The moon attracted by the prestige of her glowing art
With great pleasure, your heart now sits in a glass case
Her love lavishes making every moment memorable.
This lovely lady cultivates you in every way
Your blood rises to her flirtatious demand,
Her eyes, hypnotize, invade every dream,
Endless lust, pulled by the enigma of dragon dust wind
Falling flowers of forgetfulness, when lost to her spell
She lives, she breathes your ribs in
Words were spoken, now wrapped around your heart
In a game of trust, her kiss hushes your lips
Like a syndrome, you babble and drool ----stepping all over yourself
You are nothing more than a fool in love,
Trusting and turning every word she says into gold
~I LOVE YOU~
( A Poet Destroyer Collection)
H o n e s t y,
because without it,
a child turns a blind eye to the truth.
H o n o r,
because without it,
a child compromises his principles.
F a i r n e s s,
because without it,
a child has no concept of justice.
T o l e r a n c e,
because without it,
a child grows narrow of mind.
P a t i e n c e,
because without it,
a child loses grip on self-control.
R e s p e c t,
because without it,
a child rebels against authority.
D i s c i p l i n e,
because without it,
a child struggles to persevere.
S e l f - r e l i a n c e,
because without it,
a child becomes slave to dependency.
H u m i l i t y,
because without it,
a child cultivates arrogance.
C h a r i t y
because without it,
a child falls prey to selfishness.
C o n f i d e n c e,
because without it,
a child turns inward.
L o v e,
because without it,
a child cannot practice acceptance.
When winter’s end is imminent and springtime soon becoming
blackbird and thrush in noble song bumble bee busily humming.
Scent of air fondles the hazy morning scattered seed cultivates
memoirs of time, to ramble throughout lob wood and hear sweet
bluebells across the valley chime.
sweet song of nature
the sound of the butterfly
harmony at dawn
Hosts of yellow heads briskly swaying hillside meadows in unison
bloom, fussy rodents in jubilant paradise; Street House Farm in
nature’s plume. Pussy willow caresses the embankment; Ridding's
Farm basks in the heat of June, inspired scythe displays ancient skill
fragrant hedgerow sings dawn’s vibrant tune.
tears of dew sparkle
grassy stems in sunlight sway
a whisper of wind
Ocean of radical heather signify welcome waves of moorland mist, deluge of dewy tears fall on this place heavenly kissed. Wooden bench outside the old hay barn, where the sultry breeze in sugar hill dances, orchestrates the old folk with war-torn minds reminisce those given a life of second chances.
for to those this day
a touch upon rustic face
nature’s sweetest voice.
© Harry J Horsman 2019
Regardless of our faith, in Love we can believe,
For Love's within us all, if we choose to retrieve.
Should we choose to leave Love in a dormant state,
Then we invite into our heart the bitterness of hate.
Those who believe in the power of Love,
Radiate and spread around all the beauty of.
Those who deny Love to flourish within their heart,
Spread misery around, since it's all they can impart.
We have all been blessed with the greatest Gift,
Though some choose to away from Love, drift.
The presence of Love or not is always crystal clear
In how we treat others; how others we revere.
Love is not selfish, cruel, apathetic, unforgiving;
Does not embrace greed or a miserable way of living.
Instead, Love is selfless, compassionate, and kind,
With consideration for others a natural state of mind.
Love is not ego serving, boastful and bragging;
Doesn't tune out a guilty conscience nagging.
Instead, Love is humble, modest, and reserved;
Accountable and accepting of what's deserved.
Love is not jealous, envious, resentful, or bitter;
Nor shallow, spineless, a flip-flopping fence sitter.
Instead, Love cultivates virtue, values, and integrity,
Making real in oneself a comfortable place to be.
When, our Gift Of Love, we cultivate with care,
We then reap to scatter Love seeds everywhere,
Always hoping they'll take root in another's garden bed,
Where there's being tilled the opposite of Love, instead.
When in our hearts we grow Love, we never have to feel
Afraid that another will come along and from us, steal
What we are growing and therefore, in possession of,
Because all they can take from us is some of our Love.
Once in the thief's possession, Love can only grow,
Infiltrate and change the current seeds they sow.
So, when we give the Gift Of Love and without request,
We can know in our heart we have given the very best.
In this day and age of money taking precedence,
Love is still free to receive and to dispense.
Love cannot be bought nor can Love be sold,
Making the Gift Of Love untouchable by gold.
We need not save our Love for special times and places,
Just for special occasions and to gladden special faces,
For the magic of Love is released every time we give
And multiplies within us when the Gift Of Love we LIVE!
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2017-12-24 16:52:00 (EST)
All rights reserved.
Her gentleness portrays softness, tenderness and humility.
Her gentleness is the definition of true strength;
a representation of consistency,
of determination.
Her gentleness shows the depth of her soul;
a soul filled with unconditional love,
a soul sensitive to treat others with kindness,
a soul genuine to herself that disseminates tranquility to those around her.
So alluring!
She captivates me from within.
She nourishes beautiful things to grow.
Her sweet benevolence cultivates my inner peace.
Nevertheless, this magnificent creature was persecuted.
There were those who belittled, degraded and disrespected her.
She was hunted down like an animal.
The prey of unruly predators.
Their weapons of hate were loaded with bullets
of hostility: an intentional intense dislike that thrives
on an elevated level of anger.
The barrage of bullets pierced through her heart
and penetrated the depths of her soul.
Her body became cold from the absence of her warmth.
No longer is there a sparkle because of those
who made her gentleness fade.
Now she believes her gentleness is a self-inflicted wound;
a wound shrouded in shame, embarrassment and betrayal.
However, I know it was her choice.
She was an embodiment of true courage.
Her gentleness is framed on the walls
of my heart for eternity.
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heaven's throne.
A FARMER
A farmer is in a village .
24 , years , is his age .
He cultivates under rays .
One day , he meets with a sage .
Then , he says ,
‘ you will be the world famous , in future days ! ‘
Then the farmer becomes surprise !
‘ How is it possible ?
Is it true ? ‘
He thinks too and too……………
Next night , the stars rise .
An old man comes in his farmhouse .
He is too fible !
He gifts to the farmer , a white mouse .
And says , ‘ it is too lucky , really , truely !
Keep it carefully ! ‘
Then he becomes dead .
Then the mouse touches his head .
Why ? the farmer does not know it .
Later , one dawn ,
It is a spring morn ;
The farmer cultivates on his field ……….
He gets from the field ,
A big box , made by gold ;
Too old !
He picks it up , then ;
He breaks it’s lock , then ;
He sees that , in it , here is 3 manuscripts of 3 books ;
The farmer does not know reading ;
So nothing understands ;
Only he looks and looks ………………
Yes , then all are in his hands ;
Later , he reaches in that cortage ,
Where meditates , the old sage ;
Then the farmer shows the papers to the sage ;
And then , the sage is reading and reading…………………
Oh ! the old medical discoveries !
Yes , the medicines of the cancer ;
In 3 manuscripts , here are 3 names of medicines of the cancer .
And also all about , in details……………
He becomes surprise !
Then , he tells ,
To the newspapers ;
All read the all papers……….
Yes , the new stars then arise ;
No death ;
Oh ! then the forcast of the sage , becomes true ;
Oh ! the old faith !
Yes , then the farmer becomes the world famous man !
The whole world , then , becmes his fan ;
All say , ‘ I love you !
Too ……...too ………too ………………………………….’
Then that white lucky mouse says ,
‘ I stay in the cortage of the sage ; ‘
Then the farmer says ,
‘ why ? no ! you stay with me ! dear ! ’
Then the sage says ,
Hey ! from today , we all stay together ; too …… too near ! ‘
From that day , they all stay in a very big , new , palace ;
Yes , yes , yes ,
With bless …………………………………
With success …………………………………………………
the white man's burden
cultivates Afrika’s roots
a caged mind unbarred
Hey!
are
you
a
Zulu?
Am
a
Bushman...no
you
are
a
Bantu,a
Bantu
or
Hottentots?
Maybe
an
Afrikaner.
I
came
from
the
Cape
Colony...not
from
Soweto
where"balck
animals"are
Dwelling,
pathetic
Creatures
formed
by
the
Hands
of
Hades.
Beast
of
burden
for
the
Afrikaner.
Bound
with
fetters
and
Chains,it
ploughs
the
Field,cultivates
and
plants
The
seed
of
sedition..alas!
These
beasts
un-
wind
their
yokes;to
be
human.
Can
a
leopard
change
its
Spots?
Yes
these
animals
Prophesied.
Lo!
what
do
I
now
see?
No
Beast
of
burden
to
till
our
Land
rather
they
dwell
Among
us.
Alas!
their
prophecy
lives!
JAKE CASTLE’S - THE THRILL OF THINGS
Characterized by routine or superficiality, his mouth was full of draught when he spoke unthinkingly.
Awry was his eyes as he told of events that had transpired.
He laughed aloud with his audience.
This was Friday and Jake Castle was the life of the party.
As always, he had a song to share.
His wife Nefreda Maria Castle patiently sit as Jake begin to sing “The Thrill of Things”.
********************************************************************
This is the City that develops the mind.
This is the City that cultivates and design.
A world of culture that has been found.
We are the thrill of things profound.
This is the mountain that we have climbed.
Over the top and back down.
We are the suppliers of our way.
We are the thrill of things each day.
Over there is a faraway place.
I discovered just yesterday.
Took my sack of nutriments as well as my confidence.
Unearthed new ideas as well as civilization.
The thrill of things and a great nation stood over seven feet tall.
Giantvillism this place is called.
Now, here in Beantown we explore.
All will meet Giant and Maddy if they visit our world.
Much ado we have done.
Our stories are always forthcoming.
We are the thrill of things and they are also beyond.
This is a wonderful day.
This is a Beantown's escape to our favorite thingamajigs.
Plus, the thrills this gives are magnanimously felt.
All enjoy the revelry.
The thrill of things happens in Beantown accordingly.
____________________________________________|
Written 14 November, 2015!
Roses blooming late in spring ,
Fresh and green reach for the sky
Wanting everything to make them sing
Rains come and go ,leaving the sunshine
along the road to make it grow
Gardeners reap the benefit of beauty and love
Cultivating flowers like doves
beauty lies in the attraction of hope and sky
Making friends with everyone with witty replies
Caressing the earth , embodying the beauty that make them lie
In fertile ground ,my best colors I send
Red ,red lips of colors fly
Reflecting the passion of earth and sky
Desiring to grow roses as reflections, cared with love and affection
The gardener cultivates flowers to perfection
At times weeds creep in ,attracted by foreign things
alongside the road , Leaving you alone to wonder
What they really wanted you to bring
Some roses leave u wanting more
Than bitter leaves and growing pains
Fields of colors, all restored
Fresh from harvest, fresh from the rain
Till all that’s left to you in return
is beauty, gained in full measure, lying in vain
DIAMOND DUST DEVIL
1169 Dominion...
A dark world lives beyond Orion.
This world is within an alien moon.
On its stable ground, stands a murder of mentality and childhood.
As babies are born, the mammoth scions brain from the dead.
The child life has been prepared.
The countryside is where he reclines.
He sits in his study analyzing his crimes.
He states to himself, deep in thought, “I am creating a world of great power.
My ancestors did not do this way. They only developed a twisted mentality.
Today, I cultivate identities.”
He is a tall and handsome man.
He is well spoken.
As a barrister, he is at the top of his game.
He walks with the same
who do not know they are creations of his sentiment.
His name is Emartra Van Doyle.
He is the “descendant of Dubhghall.”
Anglicization of the Irish
His disambiguation was superlative.
He is the origin of the Vikings.
His days in the world are yet to end.
There has been much darkness to manifest from him.
His balls were costume dramatic.
He lived in phantasm.
Hiberno-Normans balled with him.
The dark and epicaricacy history of Ireland is where Emartra Van Doyle thrives.
Well written via the imagination and deep in the mind, is a sphere of influence,
which cultivates perilous times.
A reverie aspirated.
Cross my heart and hope to die, if I am telling a lie.
S[k]at!
______________________________________________|
Sponsor: SKAT A
Contest Name: Diamond Dust Devil
Why am I here on Poetrysoup you ask?
A cousin and wonderful friend introduced me to Poetrysoup , she is now passed and my angel. Her excitement of how gracious everyone was, with a heart of outpouring enthusiasm of the website and her love for writing. She wrote telling me of Vera Dugan the friend she had made, Arthur Vaso and his creativity, and can not forget Demetrios Trifiatis and his love of poetry and photos. I too have become close and admire all of them.
creation of art
not a true Picasso makes
cultivates learning
I found a new medium to work with because of her excitement of the website and her love for writing. She would call and asked for my opinion when she created a new piece or she would ask what I thought. I have a love for creating and respect those that have the talent to do so.
rhymes, free verse, haiku
music sounds with written words
brevity, beauty
12/22/2015
Why Are You here At Poetry Soup - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Jerry T Curtis
Because of the little war that is going on I have lost a few dear friends :"(
Africana, Serengeti kaleidoscopes
I painted with Zebra isotopes
My ethnicity abounds from my
afro follicles.
Black fruit with pink middle
My garden cultivates Nubian yokes
forever bound like
Sampson tied to temple pillars
pulling with all my might
there was a time I discredited my blackness
Curls, waves, relaxer and activator
Wanting my soul to glow
Not knowing the image reflected
back from Eden's pool
was God saying Lou is that you?
Confused, thinking my tar tone
big nose and lips were haunting
but I know now it was only God calling,
Blackness awakening
Fist held high, my race
breathed relief “sigh” long drawn out
like an exhale that comes from that tired place
that place where all you can say is "oh, well"
and the inhale brings peace you don't understand
but you feel God placing your clay in order
We are what we've been denied
We are what we've been holding inside
We are the kinky, curly course shaft
the vein for all that is possible
and grows into a beautiful black afro
that thing hands can't get enough of
beautiful by default
Thoughts of ugliness
take a walk.
Blackness, as round as
Erykah Badu's Afro
The circumference of us is this:
we are colored with spiritual isotopes
and what we need most
is the straightest line to love.
Put a part in it
O' how magnificent!