"nuturing" poems
Night comes
r
o l l i
n g
down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
to me,
letting them
rock the soul
of my soul
the heart
of the seed
of my heart
and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
up unto
the winds
that ride,
ever-tenderly,
the surface
of
the
dawn
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
planting a seed
and watching it blossom
into a beautiful rose-
takes time, nuturing,
and patience...
so does friendship
and possible love.
i can wait~
2007
COPYRIGHT; Sabrina Denise Healey,
~Angelmom~
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
The Anti-Monk
Resurrect a tribal passion, when the needle threads the skin after each wince the pain screams that this canvas is art happening. An art so ancient, an art so ancient; nuturing itself like a child alongside ourselves developing traditions that encompass every mountain on ourselves to only just a small patch of grassland on ourselves. The true tattooist's masochism has no bounds, well except maybe brands, a decision about your portrait of self only your choice will imagine. Paint my self reflection upon myself, the aethetics will please me.
Suppress a primal ugre, where the mind threads between the skin after calm the tranquility whispers that this temple is peaceful, still. A practice so ancient, a practice so ancient, festering itself like a ***** alongside ourselves deccelerating rituals that encompass every valley on ourselves to only just a summit of our plateau on ourselves. The true monk's bounds has no art, well except maybe botany, a decision about your portrait of self only your choice will imagine. Meditate my self reflection upon myself, the anaesthetic will soothe me.
An Anthesis and a Monk
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC
Swaddled babies never felt such care as this, being wrapped in the blanket of your love. Nuturing kindness, whisper soft kisses on angel soft skin. Dancing souls, matching steps and even breaths in this moment they share. Anticipating needs with a watchful eye and a caring heart. One made of something more precious than gold. More beautiful than the rarest of stones. Yet forged in a similar manner. Wrapped in the pressure and heat of our mutual adoration. An ever growing presence in itself. Transforming all that we know and understand about ourselves and each other. Sharing thoughts like a glass of fine wine...leaving floral tones on the tips of our tongues. Curious as to how each others individual tastes might influence that tone, we share a kiss and find ourselves amongst the stars.
Mar 19, 2013
Mar 19, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
Morning....
Word that i always wait to hears
Just like sunrise shows in years
Never too late never to slow
Hope of fate that me to know
These are what i knows and what i vows
Those are what i seeks and what i meeks
Are these what i hears and what i fears?
Are those what i says and what i pays?
Last night....
Bed wasn't that warmed anymore
Blanket wasn't nice as ever before
Stories of us making those taugh floors
Stumbling paths matching the true chores
Us right now...
Passing many years gone by with scars
Maturing our seeds to grow like thee stars
Here we are curing with quarrels
Nuturing the love in wine barrels
Let's see....
No body can see the journey up ahead of us
No one can expect the comfy bed for us
What you grove is what you'll grown
For us there's no groove for a clown
Years of love
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 7:48 AM UTC
Today
The tears have managed to slip out
Bringing about the red eyes,
choked out cries
of what life is really like
Inside these four walls
At every corner
i cave
Knowing if i stand up
i will get slammed down
down to where i curl up
dead, still wishing for a better life
inside these four walls
I live in fear for tomorrow
Afraid i might finally have the courage
to press down deep enough
to expose the anger that runs through my veins
everyday
inside these four walls
Mother and father is what they call themselves
nuturing us with love and care
protecting us from the evil that is out there
but is there a difference from the evil out there
and the evil that is stained
on these four walls
Forced to play by their rules
We follow them blindly
even with the ocassional abuse
"you're not white" excuse
marks of bruises
that show our traditional ways of life
inside these four walls.
Crying is not allowed
no sugarcoating when we're down
we live only for your purpose
of control and possession
choices made under your disgretion
indide these four walls
it's all i've ever known
there's no place like home.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 6:02 AM UTC
The verdency has long been bleached from the grass.
It is now hollow straw and chaff.
It soughs and rattles it's
sorrow in whispering distress.
The livestock, ***** smudges
of skin and bone.
Stand listless, under the stick
bare branches, of the ghost gum .
Waiting for the rumble
of the feed truck to come.
The dust swirls, red fine
and irritating to skin and eyes.
The only creature to thrive
are the buzzing horde of
flies.
The bore pump clanks to life
and the water allotment
flows.
The sheep arise and drink
the trough, bone dry.
Before resettling into hungry
repose,
under the white ghost gum west of Gundagia.
This is drought, this is the
wait for rain, this is the daily
struggle, the farmers lonesome refrain.
All but the sturdiest stock
sold, shot or long gone dust,
to the unforgiving heat. Nuturing the best,
saved from starvations
questing hold.
To rebuild the farm
and complete Job's test.
After the rains have come,
all will be good again.
And if they don't come.
Doesn't matter, soon we'll
all be dead.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 3:52 AM UTC
the rain comes and goes cleaning up so the sun could shine
wake up in the morning saying the day is mine
appreciate the good not soak in the bad
dont be sad the good will over power the bad
ask for forgive one day youll be glad
might not have it all be glad for what you have
you want to create and much as youd like to live
you give and drive to be better each and everyday
regardless of what they say nature in the nuturing heart
you pray nothing goes wrong
mind your mouth they make you seem like you are acting smart
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 1:16 AM UTC
In the quest for the existential
need of nuturing oneself
we dangle in the jungle
by burning candles
it is a super humane thing
drawing ink from another
Secret leaks from
a writer's pen
for we were blind
even keeping
the true devil in mind
sacred to ourselves
as we trip by default
over our own thin lines.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 11:24 AM UTC
Breaking out with nothing more than meager minds & meandering souls
Still not even a glimpse of that elusive blue sky for which other neighbors are willing to die
How bad the history to toss it in the wind & follow the passing wind for a new life taking on unknown roles
Leaving mongrels for fabulous futures overly protective she nurtures ,what will her resolve signify ?
Pressing passions peeking out ,climbing onto a new board will the beauty be worth the unpaid tolls?
Integral,meshed strength from mind,body & soul are the naysayers merely jealous of this because they have a short supply?
How can people have no country when they are standing on firm ground then who becomes the master to confirm or deny
Mass exodus from natures over abundance or her maximum denial ,in the distance are new goals
People proud of their past yet forgetting from where they came who are they to say I am just some guy?
Living with a new label "stranger in a strange land" now with life's biggest gamble
whether coming east,west,north or south all simply seeking new homes.R.C.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 6:59 AM UTC
Somethings of creation just needs a little nuturing.
And when it's good.
It just needs a little worshipping.
To comprehend the many sweet blessings.
With us, it's been layed out.
You're the seed.
I'm the plant.
We have accomplish growth forever more.
We'll be the tree of love.
Now and forever.
You'll be knowledge.
While I try to be wisdom.
But together, we could be both.
We are blessed.
Blessed to be the tree of love.
Without water nothing could grow.
It would be a product called experimental.
We all know God doesn't create falsehood.
It's the people.
You'll be the heart.
I'll be the beating within.
As we create a loveship that will never end.
The same way our friendahip's first beginned.
If anyone should become jealous.
There's really no need.
For, what we share?
They can also share too.
If they work at becoming, the tree of love.
If it's true.
It can only grow.
If it's real.
Nothing can destroy the love they share.
Just like a blossom flower.
It just needs a little caring.
God shine your sun upon us.
And let the growth of inspiration take over.
Mar 12, 2013
Mar 12, 2013 at 7:31 AM UTC
coffeee klonopin bagel ecigarette claming nuturing sunny sunny sunny, more coffee what was it I was thinking? Didn't use the cream cheese no shower hair pomade and bruhsed teeth rolling stones did I miss something? Set yet still yearing, stomach full yet still grumbling...
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
'Depression is like a blanket'
I heard a poor soul say.
At the time,
I could not sympathize.
Not until I felt that blanket...
And it smothered me slowly.
Ever tighter. Ever heavier.
It was painful. It was exhausting.
I did not know what it was.
I did not know for months.
Not until those little white pills,
extended to me by a nuturing hand.
The blanket lifted!
I breathed again.
But the air was like ice,
burning through my dusty lungs.
I could feel again.
But my thoughts became deafening,
echoing in my tidy mind.
For a moment, I yearned to go back.
Depression, is like a blanket.
Can I survive the cold?
Oct 19, 2024
Oct 19, 2024 at 4:10 PM UTC
They told him he couldn't but he's been doing it
She waved and went out of her way to say hi
There was a mutual vibe between the two
He was brown and a hard worker very phyiscal to get the job done
She was blonde with blue eyes, her nuturing behavior because of her job
He no longer wanted the life he lived but wanted to move forward with him
She smiled young and innocent where he was older knew better but chose not to do right
He learned from him mistakes and didn't want to fall back into bad habits
He grew up with tough love and she was loved and had it easier
Most do the opposite of what they say, actions speak louder than words
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 7:28 PM UTC