Long Aliment Poems
Long Aliment Poems. Below are the most popular long Aliment by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Aliment poems by poem length and keyword.
You are a Goddess, held upright
With hands that warm the soul and a voice that soothes.
Like water you take any form. Spreading in a dream that falls like drops of reign.
You are a Goddess, in the form of milk and honey.
Is it any wonder why bees love you as much as they do.
Something so rare, so precious.
Almost extinct.
Spreading in a dream that falls like drops of reign.
Brown sugar, a hint of spice.
A natural remedy that heals the ache of those in need.
Goddess do you truly know how precious, how rare you truly are.
Goddess I look to the moon every night.
Hoping to catch a glimpse of your eyes.
The tranquil gift that looms its gift of comfort.
Your voice
soothing, soft.
The wind that caresses the rounds of my face.
With natural curls of your wavy hair
The stars couldn't compare
Nor the current of the strongest ocean.
Try as they might, they could never compare.
How they must envy the depth of your crown.
Goddess do you truly know how precious you are,
The cure to every aliment, every ache.
Every pain
Do not ever let anyone tell you otherwise.
Do not ever let anyone steal your joy.
For you are a Goddess held upright in the light of the Sun
MASTER DOCTOR
I got a cure for your aliment
His name…
JESUS
I got a cure for your pains
JESUS, JESUS
He got a plan, works better if your obedient;
He’s got a cure and remedy;
He’s my redeemer, my doctor of all you see
He’s my
Master
Master planner
Healer
Provider, doctor
He’s my Master Doctor
He’s my healer
Provider
Revealer
Subsider
He’s my lily of the Valley
He’s my all N all
Open up your hearts and let the healing waters flow;
Open up your minds let Him heal your souls
Open up your time and worship, worship
Open up your mind and let Him flourish, flourish
Let the healing waters flow
Let the healing waters go
Open up and let the healer man do His spill
Allow Him to free your ills
My heart fixer, my Lilly of the valley, my soul regulator, in the garden of Eden
On the Mount of Olives
Let Him cure what wrong with you;
Allow Him to cure you….
Let the healing waters flow
Let the healing waters go
Open up and let the healer man do His spill
Allow Him to free your ills
He’s my
Master
Master planner
Healer
Provider, doctor
He’s my Master Doctor
He’s my healer
Provider
Revealer
Subsider
He’s my lily of the Valley
He’s my all N all
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
He’s my, my, my, my…
Master Doctor
04/09/10
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. ©2010, 2018
Arranged music by Innocent Nikiema
Belittled and abandoned, the little boy grew up with a desolated soul and spirit hearing voices and seeing visions about unexistent things that only existed in his mind. Raised in an orphanage, years passed by and the boy became a man, that did not recognize the differences between sanity and unsanity. Nobody could bring him to receive the necessary treatment.
Schizophrenia was the mental aliment that impaired the reality of the poor man rejected since his childhood. One day walking near a bridge, trying to alleviate his anguish, he climbed to the top of the bridge, jumping to cold water and drowning without remedy, terminating his earthly existence and beginning a new one in a place where suicidals do not find the peace longer.
Ursus Maritimus ...
I entered your world in quietude, slipping through the granular, soft.
Long slats to feet parting the frozen. Cold of a previously unknown
Extreme, nipping, sharp, the epidermis with ardor. A Mid-May akin to
February, homeward, first warning of extrinsic ire, ignored. Hours of
Similar (sobering) revelations ensued, supplanted by days, weeks,
Moons ... reality - icebound and born of abiding trial. The basic
Elements staggering, swallowed by the providence around me. A
Vastness beyond vast, afar ... crushing cold of limitless value, each
Sunrise a new contingency for measure of my insignificance. How I
Adored you for your beauty - such reward for the naked eye, there
Amidst a denuded struggle. Shaped by eons of selection into a
Creation of perfect form and ease, as at home with desolation as
I at a warm hearth and aliment. Moving sprite through your environs,
All senses attuned to the mind's axis ... at once knowing and known,
Master of a savage domain. Every dynamism a fluid dance, every
Steamed puff of exhalation a waif of delicacy, bespoken. Do not the
Gods aspire to such? If there were deities afforded such barren and
Bleak scapes, it would be none other than you - as exquisitely
Magnificent and divine as the forbidding but breathtaking element
Around you, my brother. Yet, I fear I have doomed you, for others
Will now follow ... others who find no such elegance in anything
But graft and greed. By the simple act of watching I may have
Sealed your fate, firm and grim. So, I will not turn to admire you
As I leave ... but rather keep you forever as a phantom in my mind
And heart and longings - to let you devour my spirit and join with
You, ever after straining to hear the echo of your lonely, distant
Growl, the one that so often haunts my thoughts and meanderings,
Dark and cold in the arctic night, dark and cold in the willows ...
Deep and frozen and dreaming, of your gleaming and breathless
Beauty. If but mine to touch ... to know. Forgive me and farewell ...
Brother Bear.
Aspect ratio
The logs had jammed the creek
and a snow storm ws
coming through.
When the weather had turned cold a troubled
people look for a remedy to there aliment.
One person said that it seemed the waters had froze
faster then they had ever did before.
They used there recording device to document
the event. The elapse time seemed extra ordinary
: all stood in disbelief and wonder.
Damn-it, seems a man can't do anything right
in the sees of man or God. His wife smiled
and said, like anything else wee'll get through it!
Who's this , noicing a tall guy walking toward him,
"hey mister what's your business we're kinda busy her":
I can see that, you must be Mister Dane Smire, I'm Kent of the daily planet
a colunist. Yeah whata you want? said another guy , we wanna tell your story
"here's the scoop Kent," there 700 logs jamming the
Who-Gamey creek and the big freeze is on"
Yeah it look like the big freeze is on but it's still warm out here> Yeah your right Kent whats going on.
I don't know but I beatcha Superman will know!
The we heard , hah! an evil laugh and then a a strangley dressed villious guy came walking out saying. Tell Superman that there's a specail suprise in the creek
and he wanted him to get it for him. Oh know it's the Big Freeze, the evil villan from a strange worldbeyond our Galaxy!
three flowers ...
of extraordinary bloom
seeds and earth, spun together in chaos
soil of arable value, some more or less ... firm,
but challenge not the care of the tenders - their loving ambitions
they gardened and provided with nurturing hands
far-from-perfect, the aliment entrusted ...
not always in accord, but consistently full hearts for the task
oh, those blossoms were, as any, pressed by the elements
for life is as much the storms, as it is the fair and fine
but the roots were strong and reaching
what they sprung, hearty and bright and graceful -
as imperfectly perfect as childhood dreams
now, I stand back and watch them gather light and wings
drink rain, bend in the wind, fold their petals in twilight ...
seeding new buds and blooms of their own
for that is the way of flowers ...
their beauty, blessing.
Submitted on June 3, 2020
To the "Brian's Select 3, Any Form, Any Theme" Poetry Contest
Brian Strand, Sponsor.
Was it in the fragrance of the grapefruit mint that brushed against my red blush cheeks,
or those lilac petal chains on
moss-strewn pathways,
was it in those rays that dance sequentially across some green flake grecian urn, or the tearful noonday noodle from a seagull’s
stricken cry, or that scarlet robin roosting on a grey grain granite wall?
For whatever reason nature’s vivid ministry appeared in locust swarms,
a tag on aural stimuli to whet one’s dormant vision.
Suddenly the golden brook within my compass bared its fountain,
each moonstone mountain peak its beacon light,
the twig on every tree revealed an olive branch
with verdant august wellspring at its cusp.
Each sprouting plant became this silver chalice rooted
in a centrifugal aliment.
When morning shoots at last boldly ripen ironic winter phase
blackberries loom above mundane detachment
as cold snap iridescence that normally
eludes quotidian tides.
''T'' Contest, New or Old Poem
Sponsor ; Constance La France
This is an old poem submitted to this contest 8th November 2021.
It was first entered on Poetry Soup in Brian Strand contest judged
March 17th 2020.
Title for that contest ; For Whatever Reason
Most people avoid her because of her heart.
One minute she is caring, the next she is overbearing.
The next she pours her heart the next she takes it all back and remains silent.
Too many mood swings, too many off brand medicines.
This was the reason that most people would avoid her.
Catching an aliment of her own,
The amount of hurt that she keep to herself without knowing how to release.
Finding various labels to print on her forehead.
Printing sticker on-top of sticker.
Marking her down for quick sale.
Some stickers faded. Others stuck from a different sales reel.
Manifests long forgot about.
Pushed back farther and further back on the shelf.
Negligence from those whom always marked that she was there without actually pulling her forward.
To ensure that she was alright, to knock the dust from her bottle.
To encourage her to move her to the front of the shelf.
She preferred to be alone for this same reason.
Most notably hid in the dark far from the edge of the shelf.
Out of sight out of mind, Content in her own little word.
Where no-one could poke or pry, to make her feel uncomfortable about being herself.
Her lid air tight when in reality all she wanted was to give herself.
Finding a fear of searching hands whom picked over and put others before her.
She'd sit at the back of the shelf where she was perfectly content until the day she could give all of herself.
Not realizing that she pushed those away that truly cared about her in the process.
The only prescription that could heal the sick and remove the ache of weary bones.
A weary heart, more than a handful of reckless thoughts.
She was a beautiful soul in a pharmacy full of sick physicians
Who will cry for the little boy,
Whose wails are heard resounding inside the man.
The man whose ever unhealing wounds are clothed in pride,
These mortal scars he wears beneath his flesh
To him are medals of honour
testimonies to his character
Though his visage is a prominent countenance of pride
He is ailed by a phantom of a little whelp
a wailing boy who stands at the threshold of time
ever hurling his lamentations to the man
with accusatory tones in little grievous voices
accursed day the mother's nipple he purged
with tiny bites and little nibbles his mute protests understood
and from his suckling lips his nourishment rid of with haste,
& left after the mother's guttural wails, a glutinous white trail of sweet aliment.
in persuit of new tastes, urged to crawl away from those who knew him
needing to quench his dry life with spirits and to lick his wounds in solitude
the boy's mistake his haste attitude to become a man
Ever and forever more so, suckling from a bottle's tip the said spirits, the malignant acids,
remedies to calm his demons, heart hardened and his will to live humbled, now with each sip he impugns his need to exist, sipping these pernicious aliments to tenderly nourish his grave and coax his days shorter.
bear not amiss the abhorant, dreaded days ere
when harsh lines marked the path he progressed,
in the keeping of a world with vile intentions this lone boy
with no loving hand to stroke a tender flame on his fragile emotions
accursed day when ignorancy ailed one such as he, to hate blindly
pride and arrogance his eventual downfall ever stirring him to ignorancy.
hate he suckled as nourishment from the nipples of a mother whose bosom coursed with old hate.
robbed of her maidenhood, violated absent care, then the spawn to disdain and loathe unfurl out of the desecrated womb, a gift from nemesis
woe ye the day he bid his own counsil unworthy to heed
ignorant of benevolence his creeping demise unfurl
heart unchanging ever frozen in the frame of the babe
thus is born, a vestal week
heaven's weep on windows, streak
holds for most, a Monday, dreary
yet, those oyster clouds, so teary
drench my essence with elation
aliment for Earth's hydration
carried in these serous beads
all that sates creation's needs
rills feed rivers - rivers, oceans
how can there be sad emotions
amidst these miracles, so plain
wondrous drops of summer rain?
no ...
such days for me are harbingers
of all the bounty that occurs
when we find within the storms
that sunshine comes ... in many forms.