Best Nursed Poems
Far away in a
land torn with war,
she looked for a home.
She was not as pretty as
doves adorning lush gardens,
as exuberant as ducks to play
with,neither as useful as pigeons
in war. The lonely little cuckoo
flew from burnt trees to desolate
orchards. A black bird with yellow
spots on her feathers that other birds
found ugly. She looked for a home where
she'd be accepted for who she was. The
world hurled poisonous arrows at her.
Wounded, she fell in a garden waiting
to die until two little human hands
cocooned her. A girl nursed her agony
and made her feel loved. All her sorrow
began to melt and pour as rain on the fiery
land. She cried with her heart, her honeyed
voice, never heard before. The little girl danced
in joy and kissed her wings to let her fly but
little cuckoo sang to a world lost in pain, her
music blooming pink buds, rushing through
blue rivulets, swaying branches with
soothing wind, caressing parched souls,
raising spirits of warriors with hope.
She stayed for love, ecstatic
at her newfound lilac tune.
She'd found home
in a land
torn with
w ar to dr en ch
it wi th h e r
di vi ne s o ng.
July 11, 2020
Bird Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
~Winner: 1st Place
~Poem of the Day: July 13, 2020
~Ranked #3 in Best New Poems for July 2020
Categories:
nursed, bird, hope, love,
Form:
Shape
I tracked along a silver trail
carved out from Earthly dust
by rays persistent in the dark
and midnight wanderlust.
It led me to a bubbling fount
of sulfurous mud and tar;
whereupon I chanced a glimpse
and found a fallen star.
An ancient from celestial realms
ensnared terrestrially
dimly glowing in the murk
I heard it sing to me:
Sojourner of the moonlit way
I sense thy beating heart
I’ve travelled from infinity
now hearken ere you part.
You roam upon this infant orb,
you draw from it thy life,
but I sense greed and evil scorn
and no land void of strife.
I beg you tell me how it came
that creatures such as thee
have found such hatred in thy souls
to punish endlessly.
It’s not so bad, I said out loud
we know of love as well…
as to the fate of mother Earth
I simply can’t foretell.
The ground beneath my weary feet
gave way to empty space
then all around me in the void
I saw the human race.
Starving children, ill and gaunt
were kicked by wing-tipped shoes.
Females ranging every clime
in silence nursed abuse.
In darkness men were plotting war
in light their banners raised
it mattered not which way I looked
some evil met my gaze.
Make it stop, I beg you please!
Why poison thou my mind?
What can I do to stop all this,
is no good left to find?
Sojourner of the moonlit way
I sense thy beating heart
I’ve travelled from infinity
now hearken ere you part.
You roam upon this infant orb,
you draw from it thy life,
and though you’re one of many men
love in thy chest is rife.
You must return to whence you came
you must confer abroad
the goodness that within thee burns
seek first to serve the flawed.
Think on the vast expanse of space
so empty, dark and cold…
and how despite the hopeless cause
star-light you still behold.
So too might thou, if you’ll but try
endure this awful plight
for in the vast expanse of hate
love is thy shining light.
07/16/15
Categories:
nursed, earth, hate, heaven, life,
Form:
Quatrain
Damned by the devil's curse upon my heart
I pace the lonely bridge twixt love and hate
Stalked by death's shadow from the very start
Forsaken by the guiding hand of fate
My restless soul sleeps in the tangled thorns
Nursed by the acrid milk of bitter weed
Tormented nightly by old lovers scorned
And haunted by a score of sinful deeds
Pray, take me now to storm the gates of hell
Confront the wicked one and question why
Twas reason for my birth under his spell
To live a loveless life until I die
I curse this lonely life given to me
The fire of hell is all t'will set me free
an original poem by Daniel Turner
Categories:
nursed, angst, loneliness,
Form:
Sonnet
nascent
dawn appears
kaleidoscope
of
color
midnight
sighs
leftovers
of
last night
plateful of
unsaid
words,
a
tablecloth
of rapier-sharp
folds
&
fireplace
dying
to be
kept
alive
sensitive
hearts
feel
powerful
in
mundane
rain
pelting
petals
think
of
others
when eating
remember
pigeon
food
when fighting
remember
seeking
peace
paying water-bill
remember
cloud-nursed
when homecoming
remember
homeless
campers
when sleeping
counting stars
remember
sleepless,
roofless
foodless
healthless
hopeless
be a candle
in
dark
snow
mixed
drizzle ...
dust-covered
man
holds
hand
of daughter
dying
slowly
under
slabs
of
concrete
life
illusion
dream
swoon
ecstasy
oblivion
1st Place Contest Winner
Written: February 14, 2023
YOUR SELECTION AGAIN Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
NOTE::THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Categories:
nursed, allegory, bereavement, emotions,
Form:
Other
My springtime blood did flow a river’s rush
in stream bed’s cradle anchored to the land
as dreams rode jet streams to the cirrus strand.
I grew beneath the nimbus, thunder-lush
but autumn’s dry-leaf-drought did bring a hush…
though soul, a snowy owl, not stuck in sand,
as slowly stilled my river came to stand —
my thirst now nursed by rapture of the thrush.
I muse about this skin and skins worn past,
rebirth perhaps… a dolphin of the seas.
This river turned a ripple wanes tonight
surrender of what’s mortal… not the last.
My sigh the sylph that finds the Pleiades —
this breath I shed, a winter’s wisp of white.
Categories:
nursed, birth, imagery, life, metaphor,
Form:
Italian Sonnet
What are you thinking of
germinal seed of dynamic animation,
do you still understand all without explanation..?
the colors you dream in are the nuances of Infinite Love
for the nonce, living soul,
you will breathe in new lessons
through this tender tethering
as your seeking thirst
is slaked through your skin;
for life's osmosis seeps mortal knowledge
not implanted at conception
with each culmination of every era
the Enlightenment is cumulative.
Craving to quench a craving quest
to reach and taste
faultless fruits of the Crown of Divinity—
paths' toward perfection perfectly entwined;
the womb but a nutshell
a mortal plan in place
flesh and blood and free will intact—
your immortal blueprint will always be here
trust
when and while
you remember to forget to remember
recollections will renew
when your mundane drum ceases to thrum
and you flash across skies once more in meteoric rise
donning your glorifying shine from stars-of-giving-light.
In this human lifetime
imperfect being
you will be nursed;
orphan tears scarring dirty cheeks
will not overflow your tin cup
with naught else to nourish you...
those suffering stepping stones
led to the sanctity
of the last earthly lessons learned.
Categories:
nursed, journey, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
One day I delivered a poem
one that seemed to be premature
so I swaddled her up
and set her aside
to grow 'til I felt reassured
How she yowled and howled for attention...
how she cried so piteously!
How she coughed and she sneezed
whimpered and wheezed
then threw up all over me!
Still I tenderly tended her bedside
and lovingly nursed her along
determined to sacrifice everything
to raise her up healthy and strong
As she grew and recovered, she wandered
and crawled over everything
and I found I had trouble containing
my rambling, unruly offspring
She became an inexcusable bounder
a wayward and bratty ingrate
who despite all my love and affection
refused to make sense or read straight
She dallied in questionable places
she idled and shiftlessly shirked
lazily lagging, ignoring my nagging
while I selflessly, endlessly worked
Firmly applied discipline to her
and structure, and meter, and rhyme
but she bucked, and rebelled, and bit me
and stayed up beyond her bedtime
We wrestled, and wrangled, and brawled,
bickered in bitter altercation
if I didn't do something quite soon
she would ruin my good reputation
At length, I decided I'd had it
we had reached the end of the road
and although she clung like a wet paper towel-
I flung her and flushed the commode!
Categories:
nursed, humor, humorous, silly, word
Form:
Rhyme
( The poem is based on the biographical details with quotes of Lord Byron the renaissance poet. The poem is Stand By Me appeal to the criticism of Byron being an outspoken, atheist and passionate poet)
By accident his left leg was twisted
Mary nursed it though he resisted.
A day came when Mary died and
Her dying words about him were at the end
“All for the love of the child, she nursed in lieu”
He said then, “I can put on a simple shoe”
He asked himself, “Why should I weep?
Her matchless spirit sweeps
In the shade of her bower
I remember the hours
We shall meet
In this rural retreat
Now we will see each other no more
One last look what we were before”
Pleasure became a pain to him
At the sight of people’s screams.
+++
January 21, 2015
Form: Rhyme
Fifth Place win
Contest: Stand By Me
Categories:
nursed, grief, tribute, , atheist,
Form:
Rhyme
Whilst walking down the street one day,
I saw upon the drain,
A little green dill pickle,
That was beaten by the rain.
I picked it up and took it,
To my house upon the hill.
I placed it in a tiny bed.
I named it, Baby Dill.
I nursed it back to bright green health.
Its flesh was plump and firm.
Whenever I would touch it,
I'm sure I saw it squirm.
One day when I noticed,
My babies wrinkly skin.
I grabbed a jar of pickle juice,
And I promptly threw it in.
Within a couple of hours,
I thought I'd better check.
My baby dill was missing.
I was just a wreck.
That's when I saw my brother,
He was sitting in his chair.
Eating my dill pickle.
As if he didn't care.
This was the hardest lesson,
I've ever had to learn.
Now I can't eat pickles.
They make my stomach turn.
Categories:
nursed, funnybaby, baby, green,
Form:
Rhyme
River flowing down round rocks,
boulders and fallen trees.
Born at the mountain top,
after the winter freeze
Snow and ice melting feeding,
the little river’s thirst.
Clear pure crystal waters flowing
downward after being nursed.
Many obstacles in its path as if
attempting to slow its progress.
But the little river now is stronger,
and full of hope and faithfulness.
Downward, downward
its mother waiting patiently.
Struggling and fighting to be
free, as the water rises sagaciously.
Overcoming obstacles the
little river grows in size.
As long as there is hope, there’s
no need to compromise.
Breaking down the barriers
for it will not surrender.
Downward, downward flowing for
it is now a fierce contender.
Other obstacles up ahead,
tell it to stop and rest.
But the river rushes forward for
no one can impede its quest.
It did not heed the words and
pounding dirt and mud away,
the river fought and wrestle,
with all the filth and decay.
Downward, downward it went,
for now it felt its mother near.
It now sees a glimpse of her,
and knows it had persevere.
At last the river saw its mother’s
face and open smile.
The sea’s arms opened and the waves rejoiced,
to see and feel its juvenile
Categories:
nursed, confidence, endurance, journey, longing,
Form:
Couplet
A funny thing happened on the way to the john,
I rounded a bend and there sat my young son
Who whined and fussed to be picked up and nursed
So I had to oblige though I quietly cursed.
I continued my quest for some bladder relief
Whilst feeding my baby, supreme mother and chief
When I passed the front door, boob out, zipper down
And there stood our pastor, with an uncomfortable frown.
I tucked and I zipped, then red-faced I said, “Hi.”
He said, “I just stopped for your donated pie.”
Baby under one arm, I retrieved the said pie
And proudly returned with baked good held up high.
But the baby was squirmy and sun in my eyes
So I tripped on the dog, who is almost my size
And that’s when I found out that cherry pie flies
Right into the face of the good Reverend Wise.
Which was not a bad thing, and I do not jest
Because my little boy had pulled out my breast!
And my bladder gave up, the poor little fellow,
As I landed and sat in a puddle of yellow!
So I never did make it to the bathroom that trip
And I had to make up to our poor puppy Skip.
My son, just like always, got his milk and his way
And my husband and I became Jewish that day!
Categories:
nursed, funny, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
Looking for my Agnes
Hemingway wrote of his Agnes. A love, who saved him and left him. Hemingway learn. Love in war, just gifts of the survivors. We must go home. Took J. D Salinger a lifetime to find his Agnes. Hemingway's words made him know. Love was rare and needed. Salinger was heavy with terrible memories. A kind woman protected and loved him. She saved him. He found a forever Agnes.
Hemingway never forgot the kind nurse. She nursed his injuries and his heart/mind. He loved her till his last days. I wondered did Hemingway think of the kind married lady before he killed himself?
I wonder, do we accept less? I was saved and I was broken. Love was sweet and love was damned.
Today I know. We are just pieces of a puzzle. Just pieces gathering till we built a final draft, of what we support to be.
Maybe I had my Agnes? I have been saved and I have saved kind ladies. Maybe my Agnes is waiting for me.
I remember a Michigan beauty who caressed my face and she saved me in 1992. Maybe we need many people to save us.
The Hemingway wish, I may still have. Wishing for someone to save me.
Dancing Coyote
Categories:
nursed, longing, love,
Form:
Prose Poetry
She spent
her evening with a
friend named Jack. Jack
stood out like a volunteer, making
no apology for himself (though he forward
marched through her life like a
soldier's foot-stomp parade,
minus pomp minus
circumstance).
Jack always
took his possessions at
first ever impulse, that is
to say he was the type of
man who could "carpe diem" with the
best of them. She agreed. "Play
the horn play the drum", she
thought, while given
to him.
Jack always
left his possessions at
second glance. He was the
nothing-to-show-for-it type of man.
She did not want him to return. She did
want him to return. He did not
want to come home. He
did want to come
home.
She spent
her evening without
a friend named Jack, who
steals the thunder. Jack sat on the
shelf like streamlined vodka. Apologetically,
he backward marched a Saint Louis
funeral-in-reverse. She
then nursed a wound
to remember
him by.
(Author: Chad Wood - This poem was entered in the contest "Create Your Own Form, Maybe
?" sponsored by Constance ~ A Rambling Poet! ~ Form: Call this the "In and Out" form. The
stanzas have ten lines each, which expand and retract, with subject matter about 'something
in life that comes and goes', can be as many or as few stanzas long as wished)
Categories:
nursed, introspectionlife,
Form:
Lyric
(Shakespearean Sonnet)
The blue-grass music blares from speaker's face
as guys and gals entwine moon-round the floor,
she sits alone, ignores the dancers' pace
although her ears record the rhythm score.
He begged her love; he painted instant fame.
She nursed her song in dreams alive to wit,
she trusted him to give the verse her name,
and reasoned out they spun a perfect fit.
With traitor's greed intense, he stepped aside,
and claimed her song as his with no remorse.
He left her raw, his chest out-puffed with pride.
Disgraced, abased, her anger reinforced,
she writes another song, recounts the tale,
assured his star will now commence to pale.
Categories:
nursed, betrayal, love hurts, music,
Form:
Sonnet
From once lush green, vibrantly alive
This dorsiventrally flattened leaf never dies
It's fragility, nursed to allow ~
Such patience from the artist abounds
By blade and pin such creativity thralls
Again, it's decaying membranes reach out and touch
From the tree of life, this leaf lives on
.
Written about the craftsmanship of Omid Asadi
whom creates amazing Art from leaves.
Categories:
nursed, art, beautiful, beauty, green,
Form:
Ekphrasis