Short Artesian Poems

an artesian altar stocks
moist manna seized in vast rounds
twice arrested sights cascade
moment instills
reawakening
a sheltered reckoning breathes
no regrets prepped ascensions
~a ponder...

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Piet Hein poetic artesian                                                           			  
cue censorship Nazi flip       				                                
Grook’s humble kumbel swordsman  				                     
Games toys superegg quip...

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Wash away corruption, precipitation cleanses our deeds,
Artesian aquifers washing, and nurturing planted seeds,
Torrential downfalls, baptize impermeable desert sands,
Eternal crystallization, fractals break the father’s lands,
Requisite of life, hydration for the soul, we sup on heaven’s bounty,
Sands and sins abated, lie awash profoundly, we drink of them no more....

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Listen to poem:

Autumn Falling
David J Walker

It was the Chambermaid
	Who smoothed the sheets
And swept the floors
	Of the summerhouse 

And checked the windows and
Locked the doors 

	For another season
A warmer blouse 

As Autumn entered  
With purpose and reason 

Colors morphing 
The artesian song 

Singing of 
The freezing 
Rains to come

As light gives way
To the longer
	        Colder day
Falling into the Night...

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It was the dresser few could have visualized
I spotted it in the flea market as fantasized
Patterns most would have been able to think up or paint
Created by an artesian whose designs are never faint

This dresser had a signature, not any kind of surprise
So marvelously orchestrated it nearly hurt my eyes
It was a gorgeous dresser, which would look great by my bed.
I only paint one of a kind things, the artist apologetically said....

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artesian well
gush and flow of thirsty love
his Banyan soul rejoiced
new trunks from his psyche
sprouting
arching,bridging the gaps
between synapses
chemical bees abuzz
with words of love
he ,a forest of one
she,his indigo lagoon
mystifying
answering
deep 
she hidden in his roots
he,reaching for the sun
for all to see
roosting the colored birds
of poems ripen in his leaves
indigo blue as their source
picked and shared by all...

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On and on we meander 
             in might-have-beens:
                       the black spray-painted bed
in two-room efficiency apartment:
your roan lion mane of hair spread out
on white sheets like a lace of sea
                       we swim upon, 
soft stones lapping one another 
as the gurgling, artesian gush
from a brief sheath of time 
drips from you, primal amoebas
rising and falling 
from a froth of flaxen sea, 
a yeast of life
                        in the unlit oven....

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