"curative" poems
I want to write about what hurts because I think it will
Stop me from hurting. If I put these words on
A page then they will be easier to digest.
Poetry isn't curative by creation, it is
Just confession. Still, these remedial
Lines are what I turn to when I am holding
Too much in my hands. Right now, I feel
Like I am overflowing onto the ground below me.
For the first time,
I don't want to write about what hurts. I want
To keep it inside of me and let it burn me. I want
To carry it in my palms for as long as I can.
I should write
About how we've said goodbye so
Many times that it turned into a threat, a weapon
We made with our tongues.
I should write
About how I lied and got away with it,
How you got caught with
Your hands tied and no one to blame.
I should write
About how it was over before we waved the white
Flag, and I know what it means now
To hold onto a sinking ship.
I've never had anything to die for.
I should write about how I've never wanted
Something so much that I devastated it completely.
We loved in harsh conditions, under sun and darkness and
I don't know how to write about how
The love didn't save us.
I don't write about letting go as much as I write about
Holding on, and I want
That to change.
I don't want to write hurt just to feel it.
The next poem I write about you will be
About me. About how I held on and how I let go.
It won't be about your love, it will be about
Mine. It won't stop me from hurting, but
It is how I make it out
Of my love alive.
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 4:01 PM UTC
Hands are for healing,
Alleviating, soothing,
Balms for calming,
Gently restoring,
Curative hands,
From many lands,
To salve and ease,
Free remedies,
Hands for comforting,
Hands are for healing.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 5:55 PM UTC
Swooping through the city streets,
the alleys, the corners, every crevice and crack.
Education and language never to be seen, dissipating with the past.
Ingrained in the brain, the common normality, placed on the famous track.
Morality has diminished, human beings are finished.
No curative for this disease,
a disgusting devious deceit
Two dozen selfies left behind,
just you, old and decrepit
all your doing,
your design,
a silly lie.
A ***** disguise.
Alone with a wasted life.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Hey Danny, I droped it twice but this one is just as nice
On the fly a small hummingbird on flittering wings just dusting the room
With dann dust and goodwill.
A quiver filled with curative pin point healing
She is wheeling and dealing
Danielle I presume is the full story.
Acufeel good. Feelgood ancient curative
Sent from the far east.
Miniature
Magic whipping about in sea blue scrubs
All good news .
Never gave me the bluesy tude.
Cool runnings miss danny.
Nuff respect.
A short poem for a big spirit. In. Small spirit
Country.
Seek and ye shall find I am inclined to believe
She has a good vibe.
Cool runnings hummingbird.
See you at the water cooler
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 5:56 PM UTC
red blue
reptiles reptiles
white russian ****** mary
puritan pride puritan pride
freemason freemason
where the good, old days at? where the odd. good days at?
conspiracy conspiracy
deep fake deep fake
trump has a wooden leg biden has a wooden leg
aliens aliens
wars wars
china china
abortion abortion
manifest destiny manifest destiny
lobbyists lobbyists
fox nbc
sovereign citizen version
hey!
get the hell out of america!
your title makes no sense
if you're a citizen of the world, then move to that world
who do you think you are? God or something?
(as it appears on https://www.merriam-webster(no lie)
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sov·er·eign | \ ˈsä-v(ə-)rən
, -vərn also ˈsə- \
variants: or less commonly sovran
Definition of sovereign
(Entry 1 of 2)
1a : one possessing or held to possess supreme political power or sovereignty
b : one that exercises supreme authority within a limited sphere
c : an acknowledged leader : arbiter
2 : any of various gold coins of the United Kingdom
sovereign adjective
sov·er·eign | \ ˈsä-v(ə-)rən
, -vərn also ˈsə- \
variants: or less commonly sovran
Definition of sovereign (Entry 2 of 2)
1a : superlative in quality
b : of the most exalted kind : supreme sovereign virtue
c : having generalized curative powers a sovereign remedy
d : of an unqualified nature : unmitigated sovereign contempt
e : having undisputed ascendancy : paramount
2a : possessed of supreme power a sovereign ruler
b : unlimited in extent : absolute
c : enjoying autonomy : independent sovereign states
3 : relating to, characteristic of, or befitting a supreme ruler : royal a sovereign right
Nov 2, 2021
Nov 2, 2021 at 12:08 AM UTC
you have the formula
A Love Poem Recipe:
Fij = G(Mi x Mj)/Dij.
This formula, simplified, means that trade between two markets will equal the size of the two markets multiplied together and then divided by their distance.
(The model gets its name from its mathematical similarity to the equation in physics that describes gravitational pull.)
~~~
long ago, swore off
the love poem business.
lying that this
the last poem ever published
moan not,
statistically, for sure be
a heart-infected sick teenager
bemoaning/high fiving
their fated status
but I don't need to add to
that smoldering pile
the excellence, the richness,
the virtuosity
of the formula
a metaphor,
for the bounty and the risk,
in any love affair, thus love needy
for a diagrammed explication
two markets, soft upon each other,
multiply their trade in love and kisses
can you kiss her (him) but once?
nonsense!
saying I love you
but once a day,
like it was a vitamin,
preposterous!
no, love expands like a gas
(a distant cousin to our formula),
filling in the empty spaces,
escaping through crevices,
spilling, oft filling up
the nearby bystanders
in love,
there is no thing as
one touch clicking
but one touch
reveals the genetic marker,
the initial intimacy injection
Let the addiction begin!
ten thousand grasps,
some soft, some hard,
upon each other,
till fingers go lifelong contented numb
desire and affection spread like a
positive infection,
the curative powers
elegiac,
but never prosaic and though
formulaic
think more
voltaic and paradisiac
electric heaven
go forth and scribe
you got the secret
recipe
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 9:15 AM UTC
To be privy to the language of
the trees , akin to the honey laced
backcountry , awash in the curative
morning dew
Knowledge of every young drop of rain ,
every newborn seedling ..
Master of the woodland trigonometry ,
songbird musicology
Raptor shadow figures circling 'neath
nimbus billowing blankets , technicolor
grasses , earthen molasses
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
I had a premonition in 1972.
I had this awful feeling
that sometime in the future
there would be only one
national park, instead of the 64
we have now, left in America:
10 square miles in the remote
northwest corner of Montana.
I just finished watching on PBS
a video of John Denver, in 1974,
performing in the Red Rock
Amphitheater located in the
Rocky Mountains. That was 49
years ago, but to me, John Denver
embodied, even if unwittingly, the
emergence of concern of the bur-
geoning existential, catastrophic
threat of climate-change Earth now
faces. Few have taken bold, proactive
measures to save all living creations
on our only home. Al Gore and
Greta Thunberg come to mind readily,
but, in reality, the multinational
corporations that still rule Earth
deem profits over prudence, let alone
curative, worldwide action. John
Denver died in a plane crash in 1997,
49 years ago. Jesus, John! Why did
you have to die so early in your life?
I, and the rest of the world, hope
my premonition is never realized.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
Apr 26, 2023
Apr 26, 2023 at 5:09 AM UTC
Pick up the fragments that belong
in the basket of the self
even while the world suggests
what’s retrieved should be shamed
an assault where none is meant
pharisees err in response
when curative is the intent
for the traveler off the path
beware gatekeepers of all stripes
the outsider or close ally
denying unity sought within
as the holy guards the breach
the victim cast as miscreant
targeted to save the group
on the altar of the right
still the splinters must be amassed
the shards echo rainbow hues
scattered on the floor of life
spectrums hidden are reclaimed
the stacked result fills the sky
stars embodied in the depths
collected with a net of tears
zodiacs reflect the self
shining brighter than distress.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180913.
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
The Walk
I got red clay and grass on my feet today in the land of the Navaho it seemed I channeled one of their
Braves it seemed my eyes grew stronger the buttes and mesas the southwest had on familiar adoring that
flows with a fluidity in the driest land yet still the streaming it breaks free and flows down to the
Valley then it arrests the high distant peaks like your eyes become the bow shooting at the target straight
And true with speed it passes stationary objects it brings them to intensified life they are passed in a whirl
No longer are they so fixed as they were nothing now they enliven my heart it beats faster with the joy they
Possess magic it lies in depths of tree and scrub it appears as a wild and crazed painter of the caliber of
Van Gogh started at a certain point definitely he favored red as his base color then with differing shades
Of green he cloaked this thermal world it would be uniquely different a somber invitation to a feast at first
Glance seemingly a hard pronounced edge but a people with dark red to brown skin walked into this
World they put the finish to perfect with indigo as their primary color of dress what living moods now
Stand out against the red terrain singularly or as a tribe they clashed with this scenic land earth and sky
Had a joining place among a people that were formable there power they were educated not by
Scholarly universities but by rock streams trees and from creatures that learned to survive in a hostile
Environment it’s interesting to note that one of our most robust presidents an easterner when his wife
And mother died within days of one another Teddy Roosevelt chose the west as the place to seek
Healing for his devastated life the rest of his life is a pretty good testament to this place and it’s curative
Powers not bad for a rocky dry land thought by most to be worthless just an observation of one whom
Walked in the paths of a rich diverse and proud people I think my Cherokee grandmother would be
Proud she always talked about where we would go she took a detour and went to heaven instead in the
Meantime I will do the earth side adventures for the both of us
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 7:40 PM UTC
ABBY King& Queen of hearts
Royal eyes of bowed benevolence with passion and love two mortals stood on Scotland’s sovereign soil
And a portion of it they prayed and commanded by their souls would be held in esteem and forever it
Would be sacred and by many stones there arose a holy monolith so dedicated to God from the
Truest and purist heart that Scotland could provide as its Holy Father and mother with ruling powers
That rested in gifts and flowering of royal linage to bestow this towering principle from quarried stone
In all times in sunshine or clouds of pewter gray or the cool airy mist would all proclaim a faith that
Knows no bounds and is always a surety of this peoples love and respect for all that is Holy the inner
Sanctuary always open to rich and poor and it works it curative powers on the blighted soul whatever
Sins might torment but to stand in this great light from stained glass widow’s heights the small would
Feel enlarged the large and great would be made to feel there true size in this gaze of awe none are big
But they are the perfect size that sons and daughters make when they are on their knees in Holy prayer
None are as great as when they humble themselves and give ardent expression to their need of being
Made Holy no greater riches can be found in any country that outweighs a praying people and who
Show they seek guidance and mercy from its never ending source from He who sets upon A Holy throne
That puts all kingdoms in their proper place as they lift holy hands in praise
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
they break down that
hard exterior, steam and rolling,
find the soft and curative properties.
add almond, dark dried fruit, stand tall,
look down like alice.
this is the hard world
of discontent. you
may survive. say nothing.
sbm.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 1:32 AM UTC
These cold months leave me haggard
Breathless, as I struggle to regain my grip
Slipping through plains of uncertainty
Seeking that evasive simplicity
Scoffing at past words of comfort
That so gallantly wrapped the falsehood
Of time and its fabled curative powers
How I have been eagerly deceived
Jaded breath travels forward
Seeking concord in old and battered retentions
To only be limited by brooding reality
Where lays my pool of forgetting?
Utterances wisp past insistently
Avowing it to be just beyond
While others toy and slowly slither
Hissing of its non-existence
By miscalculating step I fumble
Mind drained of all, but shelled rummage
As it seeps into my frame
Ever hunting that eradicating amnesia
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 5:03 PM UTC
I glanced around and watch the faces
Of the tired old souls lining the corridors
from sun up to sundown:
I adhere to the flashing lights,
their abusive behavior: triggered by a crave
a waiting room filled with junkies
Then my thought turned to Salvador Dali
with pondering thoughts
how would he paint such emotions
" Moments of madness"
when my life seem so empty”
and there’s no place to go
I knock on the rooms and curative their pain
Just to hear them say
“Thank you Nurse L.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:30 AM UTC
She was raised Catholic,
Maybe that’s why she hated God.
Because from birth
She was baptized in hypocrisy
Confirmed in condescension.
She began to choke on the bible verses crammed down her throat
The name of God tasted like poison on her tongue
It had been repeated so many times
It had lost its meaning
She just went through the motions
Sit down, stand up, kneel, and repeat
Sit down, stand up, kneel, and repeat
A drone-like disciple
Drowning in the sea
That Jesus was walking on.
She questioned, but
Any question raised had a simple answer:
Our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!
How come love one’s die?
Jesus Christ loved them that much.
Why aren’t I happy?
Have you tried Jesus? They said
Yes, yes she had.
And the curative powers of the Lord
Seemed to be failing her.
Every time she felt the slightest joy
It was a sin.
She was raised Catholic,
Maybe that’s why she hated God
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Get some sleep.
Eat an orange every morning.
Be friendly. It will help make you happy.
Hope for everything. Expect nothing.
Take care of things close to home first. Straighten up your room
before you save the world. Then save the world.
Be nice to people before they have a chance to behave badly.
Don't stay angry about anything for more than a week, but don't
forget what made you angry. Hold your anger out at arm's length
and look at it, as if it were a glass ball. Then add it to your glass
ball collection.
Wear comfortable shoes.
Do not spend too much time with large groups of people.
Plan your day so you never have to rush.
Show your appreciation to people who do things for you, even if
you have paid them, even if they do favors you don't want.
After dinner, wash the dishes.
Calm down.
Don't expect your children to love you, so they can, if they want
to.
Don't be too self-critical or too self-congratulatory.
Don't think that progress exists. It doesn't.
Imagine what you would like to see happen, and then don't do
anything to make it impossible.
Forgive your country every once in a while. If that is not
possible, go to another one.
If you feel tired, rest.
Don't be depressed about growing older. It will make you feel
even older. Which is depressing.
Do one thing at a time.
If you burn your finger, put ice on it immediately. If you bang
your finger with a hammer, hold your hand in the air for 20
minutes. you will be surprised by the curative powers of ice and
gravity.
Do not inhale smoke.
Take a deep breath.
Do not smart off to a policeman.
Be good.
Be honest with yourself, diplomatic with others.
Do not go crazy a lot. It's a waste of time.
Drink plenty of water. When asked what you would like to
drink, say, "Water, please."
Take out the trash.
Love life.
Use exact change.
When there's shooting in the street, don't go near the window.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
Curating...
To a Curator who Curates Everything
Today one reads that you curated tea
Before curating a bus into town
To curate your job at the coffee shop
And in the afternoon curating friends
Before curating to the artists’ loft
To continue curating the novel
You’ve been curating on for several months
While curating your classes and career
Your life is not a museum, you know
So DROP the CURATING; just let it GO
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 3:45 PM UTC
It's 4 am, I am devastated. I have made my decision : I am done with everything linked to music.
I feel dead inside it makes me feel sick.
The hype and hypocrisy and even
The fantasy and the good vibe
It's enough for me.
I have met too much energy vampires.
In my life music was part of my healing process and unfortunately it has lost its curative virtues.
Oct 9, 2020
Oct 9, 2020 at 10:18 PM UTC
I am the new story
The story of being and nothingness
A Story where all guards is let loss
Where glory is only of the Most High
The benefits I abound And the crumbs my satisfaction.
Drunkenness when on display not loss of mind
Mockery could be the seeming perception
But true brothliness is key to sharing
And pride of friendship brotherly protection.
Value is layed on appreciations
appreciations of me and you
Our applications of Self in truth.
Truth of you and me to honor
Of being and nothingness,
Of mind to guard
of our dusty flesh to guide.
To guard and guide a duty call.
Stupor and sensibility are tenets
Liquor is good but temporarily.
Sensibility is awesome and sensibility wisdom
A guided Spirit not a dampen soul.
My story is of self truth,
Truth of mind made up
Truthfulness seen not told
A different me A different story
Heard from my preciousness of heart.
Golden and curative are gracious, my friends.
We Hunger and thirst for who we truly are
A never ending self search
As We strive for nakedness.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 9:13 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
From what I’ve been able to glean
It has somehow become routine
That we constantly repeat this scene
Now it’s Oregon close to Eugene
That a gunman let his bullets fly
In a college but we don’t know why
Or what was the deal with this guy
And did those ten have to die
Don’t it seem as if we’re at war
Doesn’t that call for a change in the law
How can we continue to ignore
The voices of those who implore
Us to come to our senses
Because this is becoming expensive
In lives lost which are extensive
So why do we remain so pensive
And if I may be perfectly blunt
Who needs an assault weapon to hunt
Though Conservative will probably bunt
Ain’t it time that we finally confront
This illness that we seem to have
What will be the curative salve
Hasn’t anyone done the math
If it wasn’t so tragic I’d laugh
So tell me what’s it gonna be
Cos I’m sure that we all agree
If we don’t like the carnage we see
Somehow we have to break free
How long will we tolerate
This issue which should dictate
That we can no longer wait
As we watch the death rate inflate
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
I need a double ??
Racing like a Viper
Hes cozy in his
"Cooper"_____
Outraced not safe
Double pair++ life
Single* hair pulling wife
Frank (Sin)atra sin-full life?
Count 1-2-3-4-5-
Rodeo Drive
I don't even know
where I live?
Something gotta___ _________give
Fashion car plate
More vulnerable____________2 survive
TV "Miss Kitty" Cat
from hell cable
Minds likewise soft pillow
therapeutic take the prize
***** double feature
Ms fever so clever
He's in a hurry
The City"Heretics"
Werewolfs Surf me
all over the computer
Vixen's turf
Vixens Presidential Nixons
Hazy hands shady
Mr. Watergate crazy
Mrs. Order-Date
"Poison Ivy"
The hell mating
Madame Butterfly
Double talk befriending
Hallucinating double digit
compromising high fly
Time is flying we will all
be dying
Cannot get an ******
Keep trying
Doubling meeting
Please no weak ones
Only strong ones
Healing poem we have
wounds
Like a prism true heroism
Your hearing your own
sounds moans
Hell of a work out
more moulah money loans
Megababes "Dells"
Scarlet I dont give a ****
Like hell cyber war
Feeling weaker no stars
and goals
Hes eating your Moms
Pasta with capers
Acting like a ******
Feeling more vulnerable
Way too lovable
Things curative
U-R the native
"New Yorker"
He is the spiritual man
Crooked tax man looper
You are the writer
Photogenic going off
the rocker
Woodstock Joe Cocker
What would you say to me
anyway I will try to sing out a
tune dont walk out today
" Double Wedding"
Her name is (June)
he is (Dune)
Double whamo tune
sensuality in July
Symphony to your words
"The Gods"hot rods
Try a little help from
your friends
Those poem comments
the best remedy
He's tasting your words
Double act comedy
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
you were amber
you were ember
you were my preservative
I needed to be stuck in time
I needed to be blown to life
I needed curative
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 1:13 PM UTC