Best Curative Poems
Let me paint you like a summer’s day,
Upon luscious landscapes where lovers play…
With oils of Celestial Blue and Carmine Red,
Cherry Blossom Pink with a Saffron spread.
Brushing spectrums of the radiant rainbows,
With Lava lips against the maternal meadows…
Caressing with colors amidst the curative canvas,
Sculpting your smile from a vestal vastness.
Let me paint you like the magnanimous moon,
Within Twilight realms where lovers cocoon…
Where the heavens display their starry nights,
Amongst lovers dreams with great delights.
Let me paint you under a Spanish Sky Blue,
With a dash of Spring Green in the misty dew…
As the frolicking flowers dance to the sun,
My portrait of love in a floral spiraling spun.
Written & produced by... Winged Warrior
Music by...Bach-'C major prelude'
Voice...Male virtual voice
...please wait 33 seconds before the poem is recited
...the poem will also be repeated in the video production
...thank you for viewing and enjoy the rest of the music
May.13.2019
Winged Warrior...^WW^
Not for any contest
Thank you, everyone, for the lovely comments...and for making this video poem, POTD...'mucho gracias'...^WW^
I am like an avalanche slithering in shivering angst,
free-falling into an abyss of an aching era,
where luminous lakes reflect pixelated regrets,
for time throws my canvas into splitting helplessness,
and mind plays tricks in aimless frequency,
framing toneless tenors within paralyzed psyche,
pushing and pulling ivory strings of my ebony heart.
Now I’m dwelling in the chaotic caves of a calculative carnivore,
unable to grasp the lunar light that envelopes forsaken fields,
while crooning caged memories, like a pensive nightingale,
pondering, would the moon ever untangle these starless thoughts?
Or was it written on the wailing walls of melancholic museums~
that I was meant to drown in dizzying darkness?
I’ll rest my pen in a glass casket of equations~
cloaking this crippled conscience from seeing beyond vague visions,
detached from kohl eyes, eager to steal my voice,
as I keep sinking in black and white polarity,
pausing curative prose in screeching silence.
If sky is a sea of
fallen flowers
and dusty diamonds
glazed in red,
I’ll unfurl the
saffron sun within,
stretching sandalwood
arms of serenity,
upon gardens of
glistening grief,
with healing herbs
and soothing spices,
from greener grass
of life amidst sorrow.
For I can
move mountains
and secure trees,
to a therapeutic realm
where perfumed
petals never wilt.
While kindness I sow
shall sprout in hues
of warm honey and
raspberry dreams.
I am an
unshakable rose,
blooming from
roots of ruins,
facing fiery fangs of
the phasing tulip moon
above wildfires
of whirling woes.
This musky
spirit is timeless,
resembling the
flaming heart of
an untamable phoenix.
My silence soars
beyond mourning wolves;
ice blue eyes
of fleeting seasons.
And you, twin-star~
my sister I cannot
breathe without,
will forever be the reason,
I’ll wear this amethyst
sequined armor,
to sail through
ripples of rage,
like a floating candle
amidst eclipsed tides,
that shifts and sparkles,
while flickering eucalyptus elixir~
upon scentless tea lights.
So if tomorrow, clouds
above your
sleepless sanctuary
swing with poisoned rain,
to drizzle splinters upon
your bed of melancholy,
remember, I’ll find my way
to your unrhymed spheres,
steal perfectly metered
syllables of hope,
from the elysian above,
that sprinkles
champagne lunar-beams,
and I’ll weave
a curative poem
beneath the ink-less
canvas of acrylic dirt,
to calm your
midnight musings with
mellifluous metaphors.
As I sit awhile at my kitchen window
And float weightless in the pond yonder
What if you and I were those geese?
My unmoored thoughts always wander.
Basking in the sprawling lap of nature
Soaking in curative warm sun’s rays
Waiting and looking out for each other
Turning our necks with easy natural grace
Me,following keenly your step and wade
Wanting nothing but your presence
Enamored with the haven of your gaze
Pure love-my life’s sole essence
On water, land or the limitless air
We could float away on our whim
And when furry goslings came along
We could teach them how to swim
Adrift,away in my mystical island
“Beep!” ,beckons broccoli in the oven rack
Naked cold of granite bites me hard
And once again reality snatches me back.
Written 05/19/2016 for Nayda Ivette Negron's contest "Reality"
Medication paused a day
the balm of urge then delayed
with a will to live without
if only for the briefest time
until the need comes again
sight unseen to other folks
yet more present than concerns
voiced for the abstinence
when that fix to ease the pain
sometimes a scratch or bloody gash
demands more than platitudes
even as they fill the void
between damnation and relief
the intermission feeds a hope
somewhere past the curative
is a life of more control.
My first new poem presented on my return, composed 3 am , this morning.
PALLIATIVE
Gasping beauty of Life, Love and Nature's treasures
Dawn and its promise, given in fullest measures
An ancient oak spreading out wide to give cool shade
Wonderment, diversity of the Everglades.
Glory of a red sunset and a cool Spring night,
A gift of newborn kittens in morn's first light.
Hope, sweet summer days -life and so very much more
Those answered prayers that the faithful implore
Watching radiant moon sing on a summer rest
Romance and heart joining passing every test.
Glory of a time when hard day's work is well done.
Watching beloved children having such great fun.
Vacation, old ranch- together those horseback rides
Midnight pier, rolling waves of the Pacific tides
Watching old, yellow orb sink in the great beyond
Gifting morn's first kiss as ones' beloved responds.
Glory of holding so tight in that sweet embrace.
Jewel each new day seeing her sweet smiling face.
Robert J. Lindley, 11-07-2021
Romanticism
(1.) Palliative
pal·li·a·tive
/'pale?adiv,'pale?div/
(of a medicine or medical care) relieving pain without dealing with the cause of the condition.
"orthodox medicines tend to be palliative rather than curative"
Similar:
soothing
alleviating
sedative
calmative
calming
alleviative
alleviatory
lenitive
demulcent
Assuasive
(2.)
Poetry, writing
Setting free -thoughts ideas, deep feelings- giving -helping others, etc…
My first new poem presented on my return, composed 3 am , this morning.
February 12, again
Must you, must you,
hotter than fire,
seek your prey.
Sun do not dare arise
nor collect your praise
for stardom.
You hid you curative warmth,
shrouded her instead
in ironic cimmerian way.
Turned to torrent,
you were but the eye
a momentary flash,
as she limply lay
Please rain today.
Please rain today.
Kathy Collins
February 12, 2014
in memory of my dearest Jeannie who died Feb. 12, 1995
I chose
I could’ve been
A homebound hermit,
Hypnotized by the hum
And hue,
Of a high-tech
HD computer screen.
A slave
To the
Rhythmic rap
Of
Clicking keys;
Depriving me
Of much
Needed rest.
I’d Search
For Love
And friendship
In a network
Of strangers,
Oblivious to
The world
Outside.
I would’ve
Made a great
Defense lawyer.
With my
Appetite to argue.
I’d rescue
Common crooks,
Convicted of crimes;
From the
Confinements
Of a cell.
I’d lobby
For leniency
With lavish
Litigation laws.
Dedicating myself
To Dissembling
The Death penalty
I should’ve
Joined
The army,
A proud patriot,
Surpassing
My peers
Through promotion;
From a potato peeling private,
To a more
Prominent position.
Pushing my
Paratroopers out
Of a plane.
Parading my men
On the field
Of battle.
I’d receive
A war
Winning wound,
Perhaps a
Purple Heart.
I could’ve
Been a detective.
Cleverly cracking
Cold cases-
CSI style,
Coercing confessions
From criminals
And Con-men.
Collecting a
Cheap watch,
As compensation
For my commitment
To the precinct.
I should’ve
Been a doctor.
Devoting my life
To curing
The incurable,
Letting long hours
Deprive me
From family.
Always
At the
Beckon call,
Of work
Provided beeper.
Carrying out
Curative procedures,
On clients
That are
Scarcely clinging
To life.
I would’ve
Made a
Terrific teacher.
Choosing to
Live my life
Through the
Youthfulness of
My students.
Teaching them
To take on
The world
With caution
And Confidence.
Lecturing them
With lessons
Of longevity.
Disguising
My desire-
Jealous of
Their youth.
My choice,
Was not to
Focus on
One aspect
Of life,
But to
Experience
Them all.
With the stroke
Of a pen,
I walk
All paths.
I chose
All destinies.
I could’ve
Been this,
Or been that…
I should’ve
Done this,
Or done that…
I would’ve
Made this
Or made that…
Instead,
I chose to write.
Human Love
Precious memories obscured by time wander in his head
Fragments of a promise vowed to the woman he needed
Thoughts subcutaneously flashed minding crucial matter
Ordained hearts await to inhabit their dreams thereafter
Obstacles stealthily conceal answers from probing minds
While confidence reassures veracity measures their finds
Determined to detangle blind perceptions tenacity reigns
Impending storms can not deter hunger destiny reclaims
Anomaly is a toxic burden to ambiguities obfuscating life
Ruby denotes confusion emerald suggest free from strife
Undying devotion flaming with emotions a curative salve
Hands and fingers gently clasped epitomize human love!
Penned: 04/20/2018
Aboard cruise liner:
Vision of the Seas
No road elects to prune
a wavy path past mindless
parts of this life,
resembling our ghosts,
my love
I need no hearing,
no strings and
no sounds,
I need only hear your voice...
No love selects a raindrop's
teary glide,
that leaves a broken heart
unheeded,
my love
Those wails we use to un-robe
a sheath of repeated loss,
Demand we know...
and say no,
the second before we deplete
the trust
My love,
I know no worth
beyond the faith you bestow on me
No right to think
aside from that storied
black man steel
My world elects to choose
your captive smile,
kept in tow for him...
to signify
my love denied
My love,
That welts and strain
wrap our shared images with a glare
is an un-repeated refrain,
of the sunlight at dawn
That strands of desolation
retain misguided parity
with our measured truth,
is dusk's residual question
When rivers line up neglected masses
of sand
and our curative rain ceases,
in the resulting twilight...
We can only call belief, endurance,
and call sanity...brave
We invoke a fictive trust
replete with faith
For our elusive love to live
endessly
With you, my love,
We ask questions of fate,
that dies under rocks
unturned...
unheard...
Until the fate itself
loses its life
in a lost dream's unneeded
disguises
Our triumphs
call our dark moments reprieve
when all else fails
We lose our loves
in reprieves and dreams,
for our daring sanity
to stay brave
We call for each other's loves
to return like haunted dreams
To say for you my love. Unsaid.
And for me your love...
to never know
for sure...
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
It only leaves the bad and bitter behind;
And focuses on fate and the future to find
That it was not a mistake you made up your mind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
A coat with curative colors… not in cash but kind;
Wielding wonderful words where woes wind,
So big, bold, bright and beautiful… beatitudes bind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind
Gathering goodies, galls and gross to grind;
Round and round with red roses… a romantic rind;
Under an unbiased umbrella, unshaken umpires unwind.
Love is neither blurred nor blind,
It only leaves the bad and bitter behind;
Wielding wonderful words where woes wind,
Under an unbiased umbrella, unshaken umpires unwind.
Under divinities shadow,
Rests the tree of life.
With aromatic branches,
Dissected by a pocket knife.
Medicinal veins lushly flow,
Carrying remedial cures.
A verdant daze ensues,
As romantic buds allure.
Poetic smoke…recites,
The stanzas of cannabis trees.
As healthy lungs exclaim,
The power of curative leaves.
_______________________
Inspired by a Lucky Lopez!!!
Aha! Where is Kwame Nkrumah?
Black-unity champion with cocoa-filled head whose
Calabash never misses palm wine for elders;
Departure to bliss not a reality, tell us why?
Everything must be done to wake up Patrice Lumumba
Freedom fighter for Zaire- the lion of the exploited
Gave your blood to water the tree of liberty,
Is truly the Martin Luther King of Africa,
Join us again, animate our spirit of struggle for liberty
Kambarage Nyerere, are you still praying for brotherhood?
Mouth dripping honey, soul pulsating love for all
New, healthy tomato in stained basket of governance
Open the door of freedom; Jump into the ring. No delay
People-powered Nelson Mandela, are you coming back?
Quartet member of the moving train of liberation
Recall that you’re the curative Aspirin of power-ache
Stronger than the cruel stones of Ruben Island
Time for Africa to fly away from Ruben Island
Unfortunately Ruben Island guards still arrest
Very many and paint them “Old boys of Mandela”!
She sees the world in images of grace,
reminding us that life's not what it seems,
to see the beauty in another's face,
and hope that she finds comfort in her dreams.
that everything be curative and calm,
devoid of sham contentedness and pain,
that if the need arises take an arm
and offer solace for another's gain.
Her poetry shines brightly as a star
and reaches far beyond the rough and mean,
it touches those both nearby and afar
with truth and fidelity rarely seen.
I am proud to consider her a friend,
a kindliness to treasure and to tend.
quaffing caustic acidic ale, a prankster did stage
analogous to raging figurative fire of rage
within my belly – riven asper spinal binding
ripped from every book marked page
caw zing quite an ache – fiercely teas sing
curative panaceas sans
almond sunset, chamomile, osage
tea, yukon try grabbing with all your might,
even enlisting Strain gauge
in tandem
with a bunch of bootlegged banshees
freed from their cage
as last resort drafting electric eels,
shocking quite astute
accompanied by
jack and the Giant beanstalk golems to boot
or tiger (perhaps named Tony,
mean to the bone, but...oh so cute
who dwells in a tony neighborhood),
swishing tail (Nike like),
and held up ala playing the flute
an unseen hellacious, ferocious, or egregious beast,
who expells offal asphyixiating
from a moon unit sized Glute
yea, I could also allude to some flying dragon,
who gives nada ha hoot,
somehow remotely controlling to ram into ewe,
these high speed U-Haul trucks
combine all the above scenario,
aye know really sucks
which gagging induces
the worst instance of reflux
the sum total would,
only feebly meet Karma credit rating as de luxe
approximate the onset
of red hot enflamed ducks
(my apologies to PETA, Paul, Luke...),
they madly flap wings, yawping beaks,
vis a vis on par withque clucks
clan – Whew...only then
(after paying yee a million bucks
please keep on the que tee i.e. hush)
regarding this soupy poetic fabrication
bravely bursting buttucks amucks.