Best Well Nourished Poems
Nature changes her gown
to gossamer chiffon
pastels to welcome spring.
Daisy wreath in her hair
when finch and robins sing.
Nature changes her gown.
A bright yellow sundress.
Fabric print with flowers,
blooming when well nourished
by afternoon showers.
Nature changes her gown
to dark shades of mourning
for all the falling leaves,
windswept from bare limbed trees.
For their loss, Nature grieves.
Nature changes her gown
as she dances o'er earth
in frock of winter white.
Snowflake crystal bodice
sparkling jewels each night.
The Carrion Crow
Crows abound in the
neighborhood and around the
yard. Often in early morning a
great, noisy caw-fest occurs.
A carrion crow
sat on an oak, fol de rid-
dle, lol de riddle…
Only tiny oaks sprout here and
there, as planted by industrious
blue jays. Crows sit in the
neighbors' incense cedar,
redwoods and other
miscellaneous, unlooked-after
bushes.
Watching a taylor
Shape his cloak; Sing heigh-ho
the
carrion crow, fol…
Crows are very smart, it's
known. They can pick latches,
love to collect small shiny
objects and are good thieves.
Wife bring me my old,
bent bow, fol de riddle, lol
De riddle, hi ding…
Crows in this neighborhood are
urban crows. It may be this
makes them smarter than their
country cousins. Nevertheless
they are well nourished and
sleek for living on the city
streets.
That I may shoot
Yon carrion crow; sing heigh-
Ho, the carrion…
Crows often crack a walnut by
dropping it repeatedly from a
street light standard. There's
an instance in town where a
house down-spout was clogged
with too many shells. A crow or
crows opened nuts while on the
roof.
The Taylor he shot
And missed his mark, fol de
rid-
dle, lol de riddle…
A crow across town enjoyed a
left-over, smashed-flat-in-a-
parking lot, bag of French-fry
and hamburger leavings; held
the paper down with a foot and
picked it clean.
And shot his old sow
Quite through the heart; sing
heigh-ho
The carrion crow,
Fol-de-riddle, lol de riddle, hi
ding do.
Wife bring brandy—in
A spoon for our old sow is
In a swoon! Heigh-ho…
The garden of love flourishes
with tender care
Kisses planted as seeds well nourished
By warmth of heart and quenching rain
Proliferate in colourful splendour everywhere
A secret garden where two become one
Under the most glorious summer sun
When blooms unfurl their petals and unfold
To bare their hearts and bare their souls.
The gentle caressing breeze wafts a heady sweet fragrance
So pure so unblemished so rare
A natural opiate that sends lovers to a far off special place
Only they can dwell and together share
A dream
Where mottled colourful butterflies
Dance a delicate ballet
And the birds sing with joy in jubilation
All day.
As the summer sun gently strokes and caresses naked skin
Waves of the warmest cosiest emotions are evoked within
Flowing forever growing from one heart to another
Perpetually feeding the greedy soul with euphoric joy and ecstasy.
From two such hearts seeds are sown
And nourished by love and care they are grown
To bloom in the summer sun
As the cycle of life goes on.
Peter Dome.Copyright.2015.June.
No. I’m not a rock; and I’m not an island.
I am about 8 feet wide and 20 feet long.
I get plenty of sun light, and I drain well, when it rains.
I have been lying dormant since last summer’s harvest of tomatoes.
That was the first year that my owners grew nothing but tomatoes.
Yes. I am dirt and soil; I am a natural food machine; I am a garden.
My soil has been enriched with all kinds of good nutritious compose.
Over the years my owners have planted many different vegetables;
but due to water shortages over the last four years, they have curtailed
their crops. For example, I have produced corn, white potatoes, squash, mustard greens, and tomatoes. However, this year, they decided to raise tomatoes, onions, and peas.
I tend to always do well with tomatoes, and this year I should
produce a bumper crop of tomatoes because of the winter rain
in Northern California. I will try my best with the peas, but I
make no promises.
There is a young and thriving peach tree whose roots have been growing deep into my soil for the past four years. The first year of production yielded nice peaches of average size. The second year brought my owner peaches about the size of golf balls. Please, do not blame me, because the soil in me was well nourished, except for water. From the garden, eat fresh my friend.
04302016 PS Contest, Poetry
“Election Day”
by: Eric L. Boddie
By plane, train, bus, car or boat
I’ll travel the Earth to win your vote
I can’t say when I’ll finish, but I know when I’ll start
From this day forward, I’ll be campaigning for your heart
If elected, I’ll serve you well to the best of my ability
I’ll deliver your heart to a state of tranquility
There will be no new taxes on your emotions and things there of
I’ll do everything within my power to erase your deficit of love
I don’t have a foreign policy, you are my only concern
Home always comes first, that’s what the other candidates must learn
And in the event of war, you are mine to defend
For your honor I will fight until the very end
Healthcare will be provided, and your economy is sure to flourish
I’ll work my fingers to the bone to ensure that you are well nourished
Your soul will be educated through love, respect and dedication
I’ll declare everyday a holiday for you to show my appreciation
So when Election Day comes, just who will you choose
I’m the best man for your heart, with me, you can’t lose
Believe
Often in life a person does strife
And unknown to others you really can do
In some cases a man needs a wife
Who can work as hard as him to.
The hills straight ahead
May not be ruggedly dead
For often in life, life’s purpose
Can be steadfastly strenuous.
If you have the courage
Do not falter, for in life
You can be well nourished
Hold fast to your dreams.
Your dreams may come true
Your strength will lead
To greater accomplishments
Just learn to believe
And great things will come to you.
Written: Oct. 11, 2012
Theresa
Days of glory
These days when women get tortured, torched and raped
In democracies deemed the most enlightened
Remember glorious days women once shaped,
Being empowered and liberated no end
In my matrilineal* clan; where they flourished
In joint homes, respected, loved and well nourished
Didn’t need to leave home , owned family estates
Kicked and took husbands to suit their tastes and states.
9th Jan 13.
Form : Rispetto: Rhy Sch:a-b-a-b-c-c-d-d/ 11 sylls per line
PS:* We not long ago had a matrilineal line of inheritance where women played key, powerful familial roles in large joint families headed by a maternal uncle-like figure where men were supposed to work and provide for them, protect and respect them. Women never left homes after marriage, and were free to reject and receive their husbands as they pleased.
By: S.Jagathsimhan Nair
For Debbie's " 8 lines any kind" contest
Love is what it is
Like a baby, well nourished it grows
The eye is the sole instigator
Falling for something the heart beholds
Space and time find no compromise
That gradually feed the ego
With the green eye monster at controls
For heaven sake, aren't we humans?
Jealousy is an unmasked hit man
Flaring in all directions of life
A man in the park, playing ball with his son
Unaware that he's being watched, they go on and on
In his sons' eyes there is just the two of them
In his own eyes, there is only love for him
The sun is setting now and neither wants to stop
There is only yawning now and the laughter has ceased
He holds his son close as he quietly sleeps
This is sexy to me as his love has flourished
It is evident the child is well nourished
Adrienne L. Gresham
What is sexy to me?
Faith is a spiritual force
It is God's gift to us
It grows and develops in the heart of believers
Just like a well nourished plant,it never withers.
Faith helps us live above the senses
It empowers us amidst prolonged and uncomfortable situations that life presents
The saying'see then believe'does not apply to faith,rather'believe then see'.
Faith trusts in God's authority
And not man's majority
It perseveres for the best
Even during times of test
Faith can move mountains if spoken from the heart
But it does not act alone
Just like ants work together through a process to achieve success
So also Faith acts in coalesce,in conjuction with other spiritual forces.
Faith is a heavenly currency we use to purchase heavenly blessing
It positions us for God's attention
And removes any doubt or tension
Certainly,Faith is a channel through which we acquire what we desire.
Contest-WORDS OF WISDOM
The stick-like drying bones of my little children
Haunt the tom-tom pulse of my heart.
Their electric bulb-like eyes drawn out by starvation's brethren
Mock our nation badly torn apart
By hunger endorsed by pitiless drought
As hope melts in lightning speed, death record boards increase.
Why are we let to perish in this hell sprout
As rain's fury accelerates in degrees?
These silently emitting screams of my dying kids
Slowly kill me before my awaiting death.
Can I hold on with these lashes of starvation’s sticks
As prostration gently lures me to earth?
These well nourished vultures above my thatch,
Posing with pride like kings in regalia
Hopefully await my remains as they perch.
I am a dying man in Somalia.
25/07/2011
Lies, entangled in a web of deceit:
culminate in anger and self-defeat.
For walls erected to shield you from pain;
unintentionally blocked love's refrain.
Love demands patience; there is no shortcut:
even if it leaves a knot in your gut.
And doubt keeps anxieties well-nourished;
devastating dreams where hope once flourished.
When egos insist on what cannot be,
emotions are imprisoned with no key.
For as fears increase, nerves get tightly wound,
and though you search for love, it can't be found.
Betrayal means cutting the bonds of trust
labeling love, an extension of lust.
And overwhelmed by tears, dreams fall apart,
as a barrage of feelings breaks your heart.
III
Who is this wanderer come out of the desert
well nourished and with muddied feet?
Who is this angel come down from heaven
to walk this earth for you to meet?
Who knows this stranger come from the past
to test your courage and love, so blind?
Don’t send her off alone, waterless,
give her your bed and homemade wine.
Let her rest gentle in your comforts
for the true pilgrim has many homes.
If she offers to pay you with love,
Bok Hane, keep the treasures in your poems.
* This is part three of an 18-part series called The White Feather Series. All the poems on this site with a Roman numeral designation fall into this group.
Stress, worry and concern keep me awake.
They nudge my shoulder if I should sleep.
We smoke cigarettes at my kitchen table,
blowing smoke-rings until late morning hours.
They sit in the ashtray giving nasty predictions
of things to come, that might or might not be.
They paint remorse in the wrinkles of my forehead
and draw anxiety rings under my eyes,
with the ashes.
They drape over my review mirror,
on the drive to work, obscuring my view
of suicide drivers trying to crash into my car-
they laugh at near misses
misdirecting my thoughts.
They scamper around my desk
hiding in the paper-clip tray and pencil holder,
sneering, throwing economic facts at me--
the high price of life; the rising cost of funerals,
the fine print in insurance contracts,
telling me how poor the company is doing
while tossing little sprinkles of feat on my keyboard.
“Downsizing –you are next!”
They pronounce.
Even at Sunday mass, I see them peaking-out
from under the little white envelopes
in the collection plate, screaming at me --
“You can’t buy your soul back;
never will you buy it back!
Never; never!"
I confess my fears to my priest;
advice from the Bible is given,
“Birds neither sow nor reap nor gather
yet, your heavenly father feeds them.
Are you not of more value than they?”
I close my eyes to sleep and find an image
of a well nourished Falcon, splitting, striking -through air
with a lifeless, broken, bleeding Dove
in his talons.
The taxi speeds down the highway
zig zagging to miss the potholes.
It slows as a horse and cart crosses,
followed by the owner's dog.
On the other carriageway people wait
hoping someone will give them a lift.
An old Cadillac smokes its way down the road.
In the town, buildings are like well-worn pairs of shoes –
they fit, still function but have seen better days.
But the people are well nourished, clothed and clean.
Smiles of genuine happiness are all around.
This is a country which lives to a different pulse -
Ché its heartbeat,
Fidel its lifeblood.
People are living the revolution where others have failed –
common wellbeing before personal gain,
society’s hallmark is equality and colour-blindness.
Educated and cultured, enjoyment is beyond the material.
Musical rhythms set the daily pace.
There is a determination to live and succeed despite hardship.
But is it only hardship when seen through Western eyes?
The freedom of spirit is to be admired.
But what does the future hold?
The greatest challenge is yet to come –
influx of other peoples from not so far away.
¡Cubana!