"infusions" poems
*in the midst of an emerald slumbering forest
laced with pungent scents of jaded wood
a burgundy blushed tail
of a chestnut hued fox
scurries as copper sunbeams part the day
a hospital lumes starkly nearby
its aura exudes hints of melancholy
commingled with faint impressions
of halcyon futures
not yet lived
at neighboring dartmouth
a student sprinting to class
drops his crimson colored backpack
the prospect of cancer
far from his budding consciousness
my beloved sits patiently
pondering pensively
his last chemo treatment
elusion of death
not far from his mind
i feign to fend off future catastrophes
watching letters scramble across my screen
earnestly writing
in a desperate attempt
to be with him forevermore
an aquamarine hummingbird drenched in tranquility
senses the inverse
its amber tipped wings stand seemingly stationary
while it steals a quick glance through the window
curious at chemical infusions meant to heal
my beloved walks out
of the austere building
with rose colored glasses i feel
that we’ll whirl on the tips of gilded stardust
dancing with another chance to fly
©2016janetaylor
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 1:19 AM UTC
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**”To dream by the oak and awake by the sea
when August has ripened and turned Jubilee
you must enter dominion of summer's delight
and live in the rapture of candescent light
Oh to live and to love one must first learn to kiss,
the kinetics of summer, with eternal bliss.”**
~from vienna bombardieri’s poem, “Kinetics Of Summer~
(with her kind permission)
<>
First verse pinpoints accurate, this,
my spot!
by oak and sea,
my precise longitude and latitude, where my summertime
eyes open to receive the gift of morning’s light, observing
the conjunction of land, hard by the sea, the land-ed avian gentry
and sea~sailor birds interacting, sharing the uprising currents,
for sport and observation, travel and pleasured sailing,
these “Masters of the Sky can fly for hours (or days), while barely flapping,” and this verse stuns, and
my shock,
at these, her words
my breathing is gasped and grasped
by oak and sea, for so it be,
this is where
my morning’s operatic scrum, ballet and dance hall hullabaloo,
my diurnal natural choreography is performed,
while slow sipping my very heated first coffee
it was here
that I learned to love more easily,
for the kinetics of summers trio of sun, sky, and moderate breezes,
lulled the turbulence of my disheartened lives into an easier
order, the world~surround, a living, breathing exercise that
warmed the spirit, cooled the soul, and spoke without uttering
a single word,
here dear person, is the where and the when,
the comfort of the natural-blanket
that enwraps, covers, cherishes the atmosphere entire,
containing the healing elixirs and protective ointments,
that remove the
plaque of life’s accumulated injuries, slights and scar tissue
simply put,
here I breath freely,
here I see with clarity
here the infusions of
living in nature, prolongs,
restore, remind, enliven
and enhances,
the intermixture of
body and soul
here in actual deed,
the kiss of summer bliss
upon
my tiring cell’s walls,
are resurrected even unto the nuclei,
by the warm breath of sun life and sun light,
and the breezes of salty sweet caramel air
and under their loving, combined-dominion
am I
resurrected and will yet sense,
one more Jubilee again
as I lay dreaming
by the oak and the sea…
Aug 2, 2023
Aug 2, 2023 at 4:05 AM UTC
The question has to be asked, “How hard can it be,
for a man to get a decent cup of tea”?
How can people get something so simple so wrong?
A question that has vexed me for ever so long.
Let me be clear, lest there be any confusion
I’m not into tea leaves or these fancy new infusions
Nor herbal or green, earl grey or the rest
A good plain cup of tea is simply the best!
I wonder why it is that people bother to ask
When they will not put any real effort into the task
Yes they are careful to ask how you take your tea
But what you get is something different, entirely
If there is one thing that really gets to me
It is being made a half cup of tea
I always opt for a mug because there’s never enough in a cup
But for some reason they seem incapable of filling it up!
After just two mouthfuls, Surprise! It is all gone!
I hate always having to ask for another one
All the effort they made has gone to waste
The whole experience leaving a very bad taste.
Making tea is a formula, very hard to get wrong
why so often served weak when I always ask for strong?
A small drop of milk please, how hard can it be?
But I often get tea in my milk, not milk in my tea
I do like my sugar and to tell the truth
I do possess an awfully sweet tooth
“three and a bit” I say when they ask
But is stirring it such an impossible task?
How easy can it be? Just move the ****** spoon
You were just standing there, what else were you doing?
And to see all that sugar sitting there at the end
Would drive the most sane person round the bend
Another thing I get really mad about
Is when people do not take the teabag out
And though the cup appears to be full to the top
You take the bag out and watch the level drop
You might think it’s funny but it’s certainly not
What to do with a teabag that is dripping hot?
A cup of tea is supposed to help you relax
Not be the cause of minor heart attacks
And the biggest evil, by far the worst
Is those who serve tea, knowing the teabag has burst
At the end you get a mouthful of leaves and grit
I do love my tea but wonder if it is worth it.
It got to the stage where I considered drinking coffee
But I was bamboozled by the variety available to me
Mocha or latte, perhaps a frappuccino,
Or maybe an espresso or a cappuccino
No, the idea of drinking coffee just left me cold
all I really wanted was a cup of tea truth be told,
Though I have been accused of taking this issue too seriously
There is nothing in the world quite like…. a decent cup of Tea!
Jun 2, 2015
Jun 2, 2015 at 4:11 AM UTC
when self-inflicted
or as counter,
the adrenaline is missing;
mind you the hara-kiri:
the sudden thrill,
the sudden attack!
it paces the heart differently
from a belief in a self...
the heart paces differently,
it's an entire revisionist sub-plot
of the book of genesis;
it almost makes Dante pigeon-shit.
that's the problem with suicide
it's hardly adrenaline ensured
surprising, the predestination of it
being all top surprising as motivational
to provide us a new Cain of the future...
rightfully i'd rather be stunned
into a shock of adrenaline by a murderer,
than by injection of overpowering myself:
the adrenaline missing in suicide
is the real philosophical issue...
the adrenaline missing due to premonition,
the lack of shock... suicide in philosophical
debate is pure chemistry:
to commit suicide is to devolve chemically
without the required boiling points or infusions
of: suddenly.
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
Happy birthday Yasmin, my precious friend,
My love for you, I wish to extend.
Experiences filled, with joy and laughter,
Special memories, we shall recall after.
From the beginning, you made me smile,
Accepted me, without any trial.
Never judged or jumped to conclusions,
Exciting friendship; random infusions.
I cannot ask, for anything more,
So many things, I simply adore.
Hope this birthday never ends,
In my heart, time transcends.
No more fake I.D, you’re legal to go clubbing at last,
All the worry of getting in, left in the past.
So Happy 18th Birthday, my special friend,
Good times await us, just round the bend.
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
Dazed, infusions of hate,
Swineherd is dirtiest of pigs,
******* Limbaugh rush.
Jan 29, 2013
Jan 29, 2013 at 9:27 PM UTC
A flamingo in a bright back garden is grooming it’s feathers. What it sees from the shade cast by the statues of ancient Gods and facing an incarnation of the Buddha is a mystery. Balanced on one foot in a corner pond covered in dark green pads and innocent opulent white lilies it peers down towards the warm tiled floor. The limestone slabs are etched with chalk hearts like fortune cookies next to hopscotch and drawings of monsters and men. I am a scatter-brain, but I cannot feign an understanding of what this bird is looking at, and so fondly. Parched dead leaves not cleared from autumns past dwell below a dusty circular patio table mixed with used cat litter and fallen grapefruit that have dropped from the tree above. Though most of the colour is muted or bland there are infusions of vibrancy from the vermillion bed sheet to the violet bloom of clusters of flowers that pierce through the vines and corrugated iron. My garden at Giverney without a bridge in the centre of the picture, there are instead are two chairs. Comfortable chairs whose metallic legs and arms glisten in the light and whose black pleather fabric absorbs the heat of another wild day.
The flamingo is a strange visitor to this garden that is mostly derelict and sparse,
It’s gangly frame leaps out of the water ***** it’s wings and departs.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
*Draw hither golden blade , brother to sassafras and veronica
Purveyor of delicate , sanguine architects in pastoral visage
Of ebony cloth cooling evergreen shadows within -
Rosin incense , spearmint infused morning dew seasoning
o'er felled timber escarpments , Summer rain infusions of
petit , lavender violet corsage and August whimsy
Petrichor , Persimmon Clover bouquets , juvenile , song filled
brook-sides , poetic diamond studded sandbars , Chattahoochee
Crayfish , Shellcracker , Blue Heron land of Creek and Cherokee
fathers
Of Towaliga , Bear , Moccasin , Indian streams
Emerald swept low country isles , songbird arbors , peridot waterways
beside whitewashed shoreline* ...
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
Once a month the doctor visits.
She makes her trip inland, driving from
her coastal town to our village
hidden in the hills.
Here, people rarely get sick.
They say whatever's carried in the wind
stops them getting dizzy in the heat.
They believe in the hills,
gifted with sweet smelling herbs
waiting for the miracle of alchemy
to transform them into oils, infusions,
syrups and decoctions-
feverfew for headaches, fennel for digestion,
lavender for dreaming.
The doctor's young,so has an open mind.
Never critical, she's always willing to listen.
Most days, she's woken by the ocean
on its way to demolish the dunes.
Dragged back by an invisible force,
it roars in frustration, straining
like a tethered beast demanding
to do what it pleases.
But Earth won't allow it just yet
and the ocean knows who's in charge,
the rules will change only when She decides.
The doctor's irritated.
She can't see the ocean any more,
her view's obscured by unfinished business-
silent carcasses of half-built villas.
She can taste the salt.
Feeling trapped, she would like to find shelter
in another skin.
But today, her cure is in the hills.
At her door, she waits for the mist to lift.
It whispers there are other choices.
To unlock another door while she still has time.
***
In each on of us there survives an intuitive preference
for all things natural. The great continuum of life that
contains and sustains us.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2014
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
How kind the early day came
smiling through our window
soft as yellow, pale blue shone through
lavender infusions of deep indigo
a scented morning tea, this herbal garden
awake from dreaming, night is weaving
it's final star into the dawn
we are sleepy as flowered penstemon
waiting for the gold of sun
our hearts open
lotus flowers floating
ever peaceful
this tranquil
pond
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
As the night creeps
Your essence have overpowered me
Time and time, the canal overflows
I'll hold your chimes and claim your trophies
As I doze you infuse my mind
I promise that if you are a drum
From the empty crevices of my soul
I would beat and amplify our tunes and times
As the days strokes and fly away
I feel my eyes shut and your shadow slithers
I visualise the sweetness of your flavoured love
A horizon of endlessness from my head to toe
As you draw 6 I trace the 5
I find myself in a cage without boundaries
Drifting on the honeyed stew of our fullness
I'll always love you in a way I will never understand
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 5:58 PM UTC
*Stormy day , rising , pollen laced puddles
Obsidian , squally countryside backdrops -
with aromatic Wisteria infusions , humid , sunbeam fueled -
certain windstorm conclusions
Citywide , asphalt stained vehicles , rain engulfed curbside -
rivers at full pool , diesel fumes swallowing available air
at four-way intersections
Discarded paper , eastbound swayed hardwoods
Snapping flags cry out in brief , turbulent episodes
Evergreen needles at hours disposal
The mechanized voices of late afternoon
travel and corruption*
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Within the swirl of a dry white
Its reflection of tear drop etchings
The crack of an ice cube against warm gin
Inside the heat of *** spice
I am reminded of you
Between the sleeves of pressed vinyl
Inside its gatefolded impressionism
The hushed thoughts hidden against the words between the words
Within the gravel of a voice in blue
I am reminded of you
Lost in the folds of dog-eared literature
A finger under a delicate dust-cover
The first reading of Graham Greene, circled quotations of love
Formed body of text read in your voice
I am reminded of you
Awakening aroma of peppermint
Livening lift of lemon and ginger
Streaming in the spice of Thai latte infusions
The sweet taste of apple crunch
I am reminded of you
In everything, I see you.
It is the reason I look
Sep 10, 2016
Sep 10, 2016 at 10:12 AM UTC
Again,
And again.
A mind empty ,
Now full of dread.
Thoughts of confusion,
Moments in illusion.
Following an order
From strange intrusions.
My mind is chaotic
With harsh infusions.
Feelings they urge me,
With wrong solutions.
Apr 26, 2024
Apr 26, 2024 at 3:31 AM UTC
Within the swirl of a dry white
Its reflection of tear drop etchings
The crack of an ice cube against warm gin
Inside the heat of *** spice
I am reminded of you
Between the sleeves of pressed vinyl
Inside its gatefolded impressionism
The hushed thoughts hidden against the words between the words
Within the gravel of a voice in blue
I am reminded of you
Lost in the folds of dog-eared literature
A finger under a delicate dust-cover
The first reading of Graham Greene, circled quotations of love
Formed body of text read in your voice
I am reminded of you
Awakening aroma of peppermint
Livening lift of lemon and ginger
Streaming in the spice of Thai latte infusions
The sweet taste of apple crunch
I am reminded of you
In everything, I see you.
It is the reason I look
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
So many thoughts flashing before my eyes,
So many ideas hovering inside my head,
Neurons and synapses reacting with lightning speed-
Fleeting moments of euphoric and neutral moments,
The subconscious is not subjugated anymore,
Taken over by the series of parallel journey of thoughts;
Never wanting to meet, but not willing to end either,
The powerful laboratory where ideas are experimented with,
Thoughts seem to travel faster than lightning speed,
Not able to grasp the roller coaster ride with upheavals;
Holding onto the norms and the usual dogmas for semblance,
But time has come for the cataclysmic events to occur,
As if to break the shackles of the mundane and the regular;
Unadulterated by the infusions from the external ideas,
The experimented thoughts have matured to a new level;
The time has come to dislodge the ages of darkness,
Where the mind thinks without the fear of being reprimanded…
© Amitav (Radiance)
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 4:06 AM UTC