Best Remedy Poems
I've told you how desperate
I am for sleep,
And I got a suggestion
It made me leap
Simplicity itself ; earslugs!
So I went out on a slug hunt,
Without realizing what a stunt,
It takes to be a successful slug-hunter
I found one at last,
Picked it up and so fast,
It oozed through my yucky fingers
More prepared the next chance,
I scooped it up on paper
And watched it's giggly dance,
Dumped it in a glass jar,
And didn't have to go far.
To find my next ear-slug...
Dumped it in as well,
But now I couldn't tell,
What seperated one from the other...
Oh, darn, who cares,
I'll cut this big mess into pairs,
Of suitably sized ear slugs
Home at last,
Poured them out of the glass,
And promptly cut them in 2,
Inserted one in each ear,
I could no longer hear,
But somehow lost my sense of balance,
Crawled to my bed, oh sure,
But I could not long endure
This swishing sound in my ears,
And jelly-like stinking mess
That oozed onto my chest,
And stained my sheets something fearful...
My ears oozed slime for 6 weeks,
And that forbade sleep one seeks,
And the stench of rotting slugs was horrific,
So next time someone suggests ear slugs,
Tell them no thank you please,
Cause I've heard the story of Tom Terrific.
i life
Reflections in the mirror increase resentment.
Tarnished heart pursues vengeful contentment
Disillusioned, you hide in fictitious make believe,
possessed by demons who purblind and deceive.
In your bogus twisted fabricated state of mind,
answers to your questions you shall never find.
Your fraudulent mask poses, deceptively concocted,
mocking with a grim masquerade you have adopted.
ii death
As your heart blackens with the absence of light,
Lucifer summons you closer, to his sheer delight.
Loved ones cannot save you from hell's burning heat,
there's nothing behind you but shadows of deceit.
Now that your toxic nature has begun to expire,
you can no longer suck energy like a vampire.
Nobody cares to listen to your forged confession.
There is only joy in the absence of your aggression.
iii after life
Pain like hungry howling wolves irritates skin deep.
After all this time, why do you sabotage my sleep?
Am I cursed that I see your silhouette in my dreams,
I'm struggling to ignore your torrid smouldering screams.
Why continue to haunt me like a vicious viper?
Firing shells of cyanide like a silent sniper.
iv remedy for change
I'm fortunate that my quill has become my shield,
for every wound, poetry is my remedy to be healed.
My ink is my saviour, bursting through my vein,
a catharsis for peace, as from hate I abstain.
The Real Reason Why I am a Poet and "Poetry Soup " publishes "Poetry" is "Because",: Our Hearts were "Enlightened"! Our Hearts were "Unlighted " and the "Torch"would not burn"! Love touched our "Hearts as Poets, and now "Our Footsteps have direction,because of "The Flame" that has "Lighted" the "Love" hidden in "Our Hearts"; My Heart as a "Poet" describes who a "Poet" really isin order "To Be" a "Poet"! Love touched "My Heart",and now "Our Footsteps" ,have direction because of "The Flame" that lighted the "Love" hidden in my "Heart". Here is the truth: You will find as you look back upon "Your Whole Life", that "Moments" that stand out above all,and everything else are "The Moments" when you have done things in "A Spirit Of Love"! Love is a "Sentiment: It is "Taught",and Learned"! We must realize that "One never is or will be "The Master of It",at the first step!~ You can now realize a "Poet of Poets"! Poetry Soup in any Court!..........The "poets heart" is an unlightened torch,which gives no help to his footsteps till "Love " has touched it with the "Flame"! That is sane!
The only remedy for wrongdoing
is to begin doing right.
The only lasting redress of grievance
is the continuous act of kindness.
This is our betrothal, our marriage,
our family, children, friends.
Love stands waiting in the marketplace.
Who can afford to approach it?
We live in its ambience and breathe its expectation.
The giver of flowers brings us hope
and asks nothing in return.
Christopher M. Swan 2009
a wrong thought
to be fought
I gnore the ones who try to get you down
G ive up the need to try to prove your worth
N o one will care if in their hate you drown
O r if they do succeed to steal your mirth
R emember that to Him you are so dear
A doring is your Father up above
N o anger can reside when He is near
C reator God, He'll fill your heart with love
E eternal is the bliss He can provide
I know that man cannot perfection gain
S o be oblivious, in friends confide
B e quick to ask for help to carry pain
L et laughter bloom in spite of jealous wrath
I t can bring healing from the bitter sting
S surrender all to Him, He'll guide your path
S weet ignorance of hate true love will bring
Eileen Manassian
Last night I consumed too much grog
This morning awoke in a fog
and though I'm unsure
of the bartender's cure
I'm shaving the hair off my dog
2.26.11
Poison
wicked, pernicious
intoxicating, impairing, destroying
abuse, death, immunity, life
saving, healing, purifying
redemptive, assuasive
Remedy
I ache from my nose to my knees;
I sniffle and snuffle and wheeze.
A small tot of rum
might settle my tum,
but what should I take for a sneeze?
~
After booking for a consul-tation,
The doctor prescribed medi-cation,
But when I stood on a rake,
Then stepped back on a snake;
That’s what cured my consti-pation.
Apathy’s Remedy
by Odin Roark
Some acknowledge it,
Few reject it,
Many succumb to it.
Such is the torpor
Surrounding too much of today’s pressing reality,
That adopted indifference and ennui by the masses,
Making tomorrow uninviting.
Yet…
Even as the sink hole of soul
Quivers and bellows its voracious seduction,
The echoing essence of being human
Seeks to be heard.
And…
Like Beethoven’s Ode To Joy
One’s many tomorrows to come
Can be imagined as layers of unbridled choruses
Merely waiting to be heeded and embraced.
For like the masters of creative imagination,
Eradicating such dulling of the mind
Calls upon tenacity of will,
That exquisite quality of reason
Innately inherent in all,
The quintessential detoxifier,
Whose purging exorcism
Leaves apathy struggling against its demise,
Knowing rational determination
Will make dispassion but a lexiconic reference
In the many conquests of mind.
My husband has always loved
The African bush and the wild,
From the time he was only a child,
So, when he was old enough in his late teens,
Persuaded Andre a school friend,
That the bush was serene,
But hubby did not expect a disaster so unforeseen.
It was Winter, the month of July,
That they left for this trip,
Both excited, Andre apprehensive of
Being in winter’s bitter grip.
Spiders were about galore, they saw baboons
A jackal, and snakes on every path they took,
And one Andre accidentally trod on with his foot.
Well, hell hath no fury as the wrath
Of a hibernating snake,
Which viciously with all its venom
Bit Andre with might,
His scream was one of pain and fright,
Do something quickly he cried.
Neither had anticipated this,
Hubby had to find
Help, he hastened along a beaten track,
Having assured Andre, he would soon be back.
He found kindred souls who loved the wild
As much as he, lo and behold one was a doctor.
Andre related the story to this doctor,
He shocked her,
Immediately she said, go back and suck
Out the poison,
The snake you described that struck
Your friend, is poisonous but not
To any great extent,
You could retrace your steps
Along the same path,
Hubby whispered in the doctor’s ear,
Where the snake with wrath
Had bit Andre, she laughed aloud,
Well, you have to choose what to do,
It must be one of the two.
Hubby slowly returned, giving himself
Time to ponder and review,
Her prognosis, for one of the two options,
He certainly was going to discount,
The one of sucking the poison out,
Without a shadow of doubt,
The snake had bit Andre on his willy!
He returned to his friend who looked pale,
Who or what did you find,
A doctor, who advised something silly,
What did he say,
Well, said hubby, today is not your day,
We must return right away,
Andre only seventeen began to cry,
Hubby declared,
If we don’t, you will surely die!
Banished to the front porch
brother, sister and I lay,
dispirited, on quilt pallets,
with knees drawn up
to meet our chins,
spewing forth to the ground
the meager contents
of our aching stomachs.
Mom called it "Summer Complaint."
She took her third arm,
the garden hoe, into the woods.
The roots, scrubbed and boiled,
imparted a brew so bitter
we choked and sputtered
but drank, at her command,
with faces skewed, lips puckered.
Not the worst of Mother’s
home remedies brewed
in her country kitchen,
but close.
look and listen to the birds
watch the flowers as they grow
enjoy the sun wind and rain
life's medicine chest.
I've glanced at heaven.
I've walked through hell.
I wish on stars and dandelions
I crave for fantasies reality cannot satiate
At night I talk to the moon and sing to the stars
I walk on clouds and speak to whispers
I follow faeries to far off places
Where a bleeding moon hangs from the sky
Where I run along in meadows of black and white roses.
Smiling as the thorns lacerate me.
Dancing with red eyed creatures
Listening to whispers in the wind.
With this feeling of finally belonging.
Being finally at peace...
Safe inside, this world in my mind
Lost between reality and time