"refreshment" poems
My Little Black Bear
Down by the singing river
Dancing with fate
Little ducks take to the rapids
Away from your dinner table
Off to the banks
You stand your grounds
Tall as you are wide
Your initials in the terrain
Cursive is the eye tooth that reigns
I see you
Posing with the lilies,
Elves and dwarfs
As the western sky looks down
Casting whispers
Is your closet filled
With both helping
The meek and sustenance
Under the skirts of nature
You're having an ****
Robbing all the salmon
And berries
Then slumbering under a tree
Tummy full
Those big black eyes of yours
Catching shut-eye,
a couch potato, a game of the week
Your wide open mouth
Catching a bee,
A refreshment
That long smile on your face
Backpacking a dream
Mama and her cubs having your back
In some ways
My little black bear ...
hear, here
I see you, in me
Logan Robertson
8/08/2018
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
Evening light is gentle, slow
Caressing leaves, metal roofs, soil
Plants, flowers, pavements and gates
Clouds are the mothers - they shield us
Lest the sun shines too much.
Take a breath and look around;
The sweet and tranquil garden will take it away.
All colour blend in synchronised harmony;
Blues and browns, pinks and whites
Crossing into and over each other like
oil paints,
Warm, welcoming, beautiful.
It is soothing - the sound of nothing
That disrupts; razes; hates
Disturbs; curbs quiet insight;
One's imagination is the lone
source of maximum sound
That vibrates through the garden.
My grandfather, my grandmother's brother,
Smiles as though the sun shines through his teeth
Dresses in a pale blue shirt
Black shorts
Both well-worn
Ready to play
some basketball.
Oh, the joy, the fun
The refreshment arising from this game in a courtyard
In grandfather's garden
Among young trees, leaves and other green growth.
There stands a home by hand made
Basketball stand,
A concrete base with metal support hands
Floppy strings of hoop
To shoot the ball into.
The garden has been bathed, it is fresh
It is refreshed.
Grandfather demonstrates, I listen and follow,
To throw the ball into the hoop
With precision and care; throw some force
Into the air.
The ball dances around the circle
then drops to the concrete floor.
We take turns
As I throw and grandfather returns
9/10 of the time my aim's bad
but the ball grandfather throws, I actually catch!
(Or it will tumble on wet soil)
Exciting, the thumping
of rubber ball against ground;
Keen eyes and agile hands and feet
To catch the stray ball;
With swift movements the ball flies!
From sideways, afar and near,
Into the hoop successfully, finally.
Back into the house we go,
As the sun leaves for home.
The garden prepares for night;
So do grandfather and I;
Grandfather washes up; I talk to
Grandmother in the garden;
waiting for night, to
fall
fall
fall,
into infinite darkness -
poignant memories
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Packed like sardines
inside a jeepney—
Too full,
with a jeepney strike going on.
Rushing,
mother and child ride along.
Greasy, ***** malnourished…
The woman holds a can—
a makeshift drum.
Little boy hands out envelopes,
he looks like he's 3 years old,
he's most likely 6.
Woman beats her drum,
nobody listens
chatter drowning out the rhythm…
Invisible ears to go with
invisible envelopes
His head touches my legs,
dissipating heat—
an indicator of how long
he's been under the sun and smog
The thought chills me…
He stares at my sister's shopping bags
with searing eyes…
Windows that I can’t bear to look into,
afraid to see my reflection of clouded guilt and frustration
I shake my head, no food to share
but my hands reach out to his,
to give him some money.
My sister remembers a bottle of iced tea,
and hands it to him.
He has a hard time opening it,
and asks for help from the school girls…
Invisible again.
I reach out and get the bottle from him
Temporary refreshment
for a body that is parched,
for a soul who is thirsty for so much more.
I cannot help but gulp in guilty air.
He sits on the aisle,
savoring the tea
as his mother thumps on the can.
The little boy retrieves envelopes, all empty—
as hollow as the sound of the beating drum.
What do you do,
what can you do?
The jeepney stops.
They alight from it...
The mother looks back
and says, "Salamat."
It goes straight to my heart.
Her eyes move me most—
one eye is cloudy, grayed out,
perhaps a manifestation
of the storms in her life?
That single word seared through me,
and I felt how much she meant it…
Her thank you
made me want to give so much more,
to call out to her and give whatever I had at the moment
but they are gone...
Lost in a crowd of faceless people,
and I myself want to get lost,
hide my face in shame…
What can you do?
Jan 25, 2012
Jan 25, 2012 at 1:06 AM UTC
Wake up with the sun.
Watch the sky turn a pastel sorbet.
Feel the wet in the still air.
Feel the refreshment of the moving wind.
On the way to school.
Pass neighbors and village folk with alms awaiting
Monks giving morning prayers.
Sun begins to show its orb just over the tree tops.
Clouds are rare and welcome.
Watch the sky turn a pale blue.
Day passes, never asking, always abiding
as we watch the sky turn.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 6:34 AM UTC
*Wrestle me well, my love,
For we were star-crossed enemies,
And I miss you.
My shoulders miss your caring arms,
My lips crave your pale-red tongue,
A slice of refreshment, watermelon,
My chest searches the rise of your chest,
And my torso longs only, and is only,
For your leg locks.
Grapple me and my lightweight heart,
As the backbone of this world breaks,
As the sun sinks into final submission,
But I will never tap on this love out.
Never.*
© 2017 J.S.P.
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 4:41 PM UTC
An empty park picnic table
cooled by the light,
whispering breeze,
spotted by the burning
life-giving sun.
I see us there.
chatting,
laughing,
enjoying each others company
in this never-ending summer.
I see myself
dressing up as the wife,
laying out a picnic basket
and table cloth.
Pouring iced tea
into a chilled glass,
Watching the condensation
slide down your fingertips
as your throat
gulps in the refreshment.
I lay a blanket
on the grass,
inviting you to come sit.
We lay.
And that chuckling breeze
picks up
and lifts the whole of
my 1950s homemaker dress.
You smooth it back down,
lowering your hand on my hip.
The wind has stopped,
but you keep smoothing away…
down my thighs,
across my backside,
up my back,
until my head is
cupped in your hands
nearing closer to your face.
I would not call it a kiss,
because a “kiss” is too
short a word, too precise
and too emotionless
to fit this phenomenon.
You embrace me fully
leaving no passion unaccounted for,
no ounce of me left untouched.
I succumb to your embrace
and we start to make love when…
A car horn beeps.
I blink.
Look around, and remember
that I’m sitting in a
library parking lot
looking at an empty picnic table.
Sep 30, 2010
Sep 30, 2010 at 7:47 AM UTC
Refreshment, in form king size bed
Big fluffy pillows, sink disheveled head
Silken other body touching beside
Night's dreamless comfort, into it did glide
How exist delusion, tranquil pie in sky
Consulting limbs, spooning of thighs
Imprecise discoveries, feeling more at ease
Theories both wound in bed, confidently pleased
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 9:48 AM UTC
needing refreshment in oswestry,
later rather than sooner,
crept up the chalk painted
staircase, seems to work
well, in this case.
i note the dstressed nature
of the furniture.
this place.
having regular coffee,
a fruit scone will
certainly do,
i listen to the server, who
clasping the china teapot,
tells us revelations
of those who live, who divorce
and warm the ***
i have to say that
the scone was lovely.
later i bought a potting bench.
sbm.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 2:30 AM UTC
Once in a dream I saw the flowers
That bud and bloom in Paradise;
More fair they are than waking eyes
Have seen in all this world of ours.
And faint the perfume-bearing rose,
And faint the lily on its stem,
And faint the perfect violet
Compared with them.
I heard the songs of Paradise:
Each bird sat singing in his place;
A tender song so full of grace
It soared like incense to the skies.
Each bird sat singing to his mate
Soft-cooing notes among the trees:
The nightingale herself were cold
To such as these.
I saw the fourfold River flow,
And deep it was, with golden sand;
It flowed between a mossy land
With murmured music grave and low.
It hath refreshment for all thirst,
For fainting spirits strength and rest;
Earth holds not such a draught as this
From east to west.
The Tree of Life stood budding there,
Abundant with its twelvefold fruits;
Eternal sap sustains its roots,
Its shadowing branches fill the air.
Its leaves are healing for the world,
Its fruit the hungry world can feed,
Sweeter than honey to the taste,
And balm indeed.
I saw the gate called Beautiful;
And looked, but scarce could look within;
I saw the golden streets begin,
And outskirts of the glassy pool.
Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars,
O green palm branches many-leaved--
Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor heart conceived!
I hope to see these things again,
But not as once in dreams by night;
To see them with my very sight,
And touch and handle and attain:
To have all Heaven beneath my feet
For narrow way that once they trod;
To have my part with all the saints,
And with my God.
2.8k
The Milkman Cometh
It could be Margie or it could be Pearl
bringing us our refreshment we trust
though we are all old dead beat boozers
we still enjoy sweet cookies dunked in lust
we waited for Hickey for as long as we could
to get this party off with a bang
but we've waited long enough I say
time for a grand toast gosh dang
Rocky gave us the okay to get started
but he asked us to leave Cora alone
she was busy baking a surprise cake
for the captain who was finally coming home
Hickey finally shows but wont raise his glass
says he sees better now that he's sober
but he couldn't take the kiss from her lips
and quickly began to disrobe her
got milk they all yelled as the night wore on
the police finally shut it all down
the chocolate had been spilled everywhere
the news was all over the town
Gomer LePoet....
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:56 PM UTC
Adoring you is uncomplicated. The way in which, refreshment comes with your ravishment is treasured spectacle, and though your fans are many, this one broods. Pining for glimpses into your tortured terrine, stories of unplumbed eternity, depths of you, titillate. How more curious you become as onion peels, layers on layers. A sweet onion I might add. Yet still, one that brings tears. Tears, joyous tears, cliche of cliche, reconcile charm with burden of unknowing how an allium could come into a world, stinking, but make gourmet a dish.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 7:14 PM UTC
There are times when words seem to flow effortlessly unto paper.
At other times it seems to be quite a struggle. The ink runs low or is in short supply.
My quill seems ill, or worn and damaged.
The ink on the quill threatens to dry up altogether, then a simple truth occurs to me.
I need to renew and replenish and restore my quill by taking a dip in the ink well.
I need the ink well to fully function. I was running dry trying too hard on my own.
My quill takes a dip in the ink well .May creativity flow from the ink well and fill the quill up to the appropriate capacity.
If an extra drop of ink should occur it should be available to share with another quill in need of refreshment.
If you find a friend who is need of encouragement don’t let their ink dry up.
Instead help them take a dip in the ink well. Where together inspiring words can have an endless supply.
Nov 5, 2017
Nov 5, 2017 at 9:51 PM UTC
Tears of creation
fall from the overcast blanketing
of the billowy, white fields overhead,
blended with a requiem
that only the absence of dawn could manifest,
and kissed upon
by the ever-fluorescent canvases
of smoke, and flame
that carelessly intrude
upon the horizon.
Oh,
how fastidious is the misting
that blesses this premature day,
invoking a spontaneity
within the mundane clockworkings
that symbolically define
the average,
the everyday
and the norm.
Glorious is this sight to behold.
Not only by our soulpanes,
but through the remainder;
our entire spectrum of sensory awareness
that we are so gifted to have received,
yet,
rarely do their values go little more
than depreciated.
The refreshment
that quenches our starving skin,
and slowly enfilms us
with the caressings of unrequited purity.
The dampening of the air
that perpetually enthralls
even the most tolerant
resisters to aroma.
The crispness;
unadulterated,
and without perversions of the modern day;
enrapturous are the resonant entrails of the strata
that ever so gently envelop,
and awaken our slumbering buds.
And finally,
but without conviction,
the resound of symphonic harmony,
abound with the alluring enchantment
that,
in seamless refrain,
could only be achieved
by such a reverent miracle of nature.
These are the moments in which I revel.
And blessed be Her,
who benevolently grants us
with such an immaculance
of cornerless beauty.
Graceful, and sacred is the oasis in the sky.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 6:52 PM UTC
Prompt: Persona describes the place he or she fell out of love with another.
You wouldn’t stop chewing with your mouth open.
All I could focus on were the bits of damp burger and bun,
rolling around in your mouth.
It reminded me of the way meat looked at a butcher’s shop
after it had been run through a grinder, so deformed from
its original shape, you’d never know what it used to be.
You also wouldn’t stop talking with food in your mouth.
Sometimes I was afraid that if you said a ‘p’ word too forcefully,
the soggy remains of your food would find their way to my face.
But perhaps the thing that annoyed me most,
was the way you made a gulping sound with every sip you took,
slurping away at your refreshment like a child.
It was at that very moment, between our meal of Whoppers and fries,
that I couldn’t take it anymore. Disgusted I shot up, announcing we were through.
I walked away so I wouldn’t have to let you have the chance to defend yourself.
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 7:46 PM UTC
It had been 2 weeks
She assumed the kids were asleep
Because he entered
He must of thought seductively
(making sure to shower first)
with an air of cool calmness
a scent of beer with a new thirst
for another type of refreshment
not fulfillment
but refilling
not romance
mere maintenance
she sighed & looked up
through her glasses at his swollen frame
like a balloons tied to a clothes horse,
left there for a day
so they sagged and lost their colour
& the frame had become visible
but only at its peaks
through the sheer power of gravity
his bones became seen
through his collar of his van huesen shirt
he thought so debonair (had a classy air, sleekish air)
she smiled acceptingly
as he pretended to be sincere
when he told her that he loved her
even after all these years
she was still a **** momma
she tried not to laugh
when he kissed her on the neck
& rubbed
her breast like he wanted milk
she spread her legs
when he pushed them
& waited for the steering
of a trailer into a garage
in reverse
at midnight
under influence
with the subtlety of a steer
it reminded her of years ago
when she had laughed at the austere
teachers that had enraged her
with their frigid sneer
& she smiled to herself an thought
of her *** like a rare fruit
only to age and watch it be eaten
by a once charming now savage brute
who turned into a blob of sorts
& she aswell had sagged
at least they sagged happily together
there's some comfort to be had in that
so she waited for the ******
with an image impressed in her
of a smirking withered teacher
arms folded & a smug grin
with a look that proclaims
‘here u are
it seems we’re on a par
an existence so far
from what u saw in dreams u had
of supple limbs & knowing grins
to dry skins and droopy things'
a flower wilted & smelling a bit funny
the faded colour of pale brown
in the end she felt lie a jug of sorts
he rolled over & went to sleep
she eventually did also
thinking about wat to cook next week
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
From the other room
I listen as you explain the many, many, many
reasons, things, times, and appointments
that necessarily mean
the end
of us
The otherness and incidentals
of the often forgotten
details and to-dos
of lives
better
and happier lived
From the other room
I listen as you describe your life in words of
painful regret, missed opportunities and hopeless futures
that don’t exist
so very much
for me
The pain and ingratitude
of a poor life
disrespect and disregard
becoming the
ante
of daily living
From the other room
I listen as you check emails and vmails and texts
of agreement, refreshment, and immediate joy
that shower down
from new confidantes
not me
The pleasure of escaping
from the marital mundane
dancing and drinking
re-becoming
the woman
admired
From the other room
I remember the choices we made
when agreement was agreeable and available
that made lives
worth
living well
The simpleness of a look
the knowing confidence
day in and day out
when someone,
You,
cared.
10.iii.10
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 3:12 PM UTC
The concave curvature
Of her crescent cheeks carried
Me back to the beginning
Of time, to the ground where
Love laid the very first pieces
Of her infinite foundation
To where the rock met the sea
At the distant shorelines of desire
Where the mighty waves of passion
Crash on the bedrock of solidarity
I, the small being, coupled with you,
Tapped into the endless well, throwing
Ourselves into eternity. The sky stretches
And is covered with the burning stars
Whose distant screams are the sonata
Of the oscillating sound waves of
The song we both share. You and I-
I was your ocean and you were my
Moon. Though your brilliant reflection
Undulated on the face of my violent waves
We could not touch, separated by light
Years through which time stretches and
Retracts and ultimately sums to zero
And yet here you are, my gentle breath
Is the soft wind in your valley, gently
Bending the stems of the magnificent flowers
That abound in your lush fields. Your vines
Wrap around my trunk as my heart pants
For you like the fawn after the cool brook
And is filled with the cool refreshment
That fills my veins. Your rivers flow into my
Seas and my seas empty into your streams
And we find ourselves here, in this cycle,
Realizing that the separation would
Be the sudden death of the both of us.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
There's something so
delicious
about getting caught
in a summer storm,
the chilled water droplets
penetrating the outer layers
of clothing,
soaking the overheated body
with unexpected
refreshment.
I heard all the squeals
and screams,
cries toward the sky
to close its open mouth,
to stop spitting down
on them
as they ran,
ducking cars,
looking for a rooftop
makeshift
umbrella.
I chortled
not so discreetly,
extending my arms
side to side
to catch the droplets
on my bare skin.
The rain felt so ****
as it slid down
my forehead,
slipping
slowly
across my lips,
sneaking down below,
into the crew cut
of my shirt.
Two blocks away from home,
most of the runners had run by,
the rest huddling below
the entrance to various shops
and bars,
I walked by, paying the stares no mind,
sporting a purported
half-crazed look,
while I truly exuded
exuberance,
ebullience,
liveliness.
The pouring
turned to
pittering, pattering,
gentle kisses from the
beads,
letting up just as I
approached my door,
like the universe knew,
and it let me
dance home
in the rain
before the sky shut its
wide-toothed grin,
and the storm was gone.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:50 AM UTC
down on her knees
beseeching
pleading for it to arrive
days without
a meager amount
she was dying
as time did pass
to be endowed
in it's refreshment
towards the heavens
her hands
were stretched
asking so earnestly
for the opening of clouds
to replenish
her core so dry
ecstasy
had abandoned
her terrain
gone was it's life giving
dampness
which would allay
her anguish and pain
arid she'd been all summer long
twas too long a period
being bereft
of those quenching drops
her ground so dusty
and so lifeless
she pined
for the sweet moistening
to fill her with enlivening streams
a band of richly laden clouds
came as she pleaded
to the sky once again
she implored in desperation
to be saturated
monster spots of rain
poured down
which so soothed her landscape's crust
enthralled
was she to be in receipt
of it's wetting balm
long she'd made supplications
to the sky
for her ground
had been excessively dry
on her knees
and with her hands stretched
to the heavens
on high
the sky bequeathed
her it's deliverance
as her death
was drawing ever nigh
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I stand upon my native hills again,
Broad, round, and green, that in the summer sky
With garniture of waving grass and grain,
Orchards, and beechen forests, basking lie,
While deep the sunless glens are scooped between,
Where brawl o'er shallow beds the streams unseen.
A lisping voice and glancing eyes are near,
And ever restless feet of one, who, now,
Gathers the blossoms of her fourth bright year;
There plays a gladness o'er her fair young brow,
As breaks the varied scene upon her sight,
Upheaved and spread in verdure and in light.
For I have taught her, with delighted eye,
To gaze upon the mountains,--to behold,
With deep affection, the pure ample sky,
And clouds along its blue abysses rolled,--
To love the song of waters, and to hear
The melody of winds with charmed ear.
Here, I have 'scaped the city's stifling heat,
Its horrid sounds, and its polluted air;
And, where the season's milder fervours beat,
And gales, that sweep the forest borders, bear
The song of bird, and sound of running stream,
Am come awhile to wander and to dream.
Ay, flame thy fiercest, sun! thou canst not wake,
In this pure air, the plague that walks unseen.
The maize leaf and the maple bough but take,
From thy strong heats, a deeper, glossier green.
The mountain wind, that faints not in thy ray,
Sweeps the blue steams of pestilence away.
The mountain wind! most spiritual thing of all
The wide earth knows; when, in the sultry time,
He stoops him from his vast cerulean hall,
He seems the breath of a celestial clime!
As if from heaven's wide-open gates did flow
Health and refreshment on the world below.
1.4k
Lo and behold!
The clergyman knocked
At the door of the ship
To explain to the captain
The hazard of having
A broken engine
The ship was elegant outside
But most people say (people who know this ship)
What's within - a jungle
Snakes, tigers, hyenas
Scorpions, tarantulas, and the likes
Plagued the place
But the clergyman believes
Even jungles have some
Lovely animals too
And he was right
A seem white dove entertain him
Giving him some food and refreshment
Telling him that the engine of the ship
Is the best engine that the clergyman could see
Carrying passenger safety to their destination
Sealed with love and dedication
After the visit of the clergyman to the ship
He asked himself why most people
Condemned this ship
When he himself
Saw no dissatisfaction
And then the clergyman decided
To visit some neighboring ships
And asked them
How would they describe
The ship that he just visited
All of them answered
Almost exactly the same line
"Oh my dear brother,
You cannot salvage anything
On that vessel
Because the captain
Was already swimming at the lake of hell"
12/03/2016
SHIP represent the BODY
ENGINE represent the HEART
CAPTAIN represent the SOUL
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Moonlit late night
clear mind and insights,
realizations had.
As I ponder on my love for her
lost in the wonder of being her lover
I understand what she means to me
I realize what I want to be
Not an "object" of her affection
No, not an uncontrollable obsession
but a nice cool refreshment
for her being.
Ideally she'll come, dip into me
I'll engage and wash away
all her misfortunes and worries.
Not being stagnant like a pond,
but more like a river that continues to flow on
washing over her
with new experiences.
A catalyst for her greatest
keeping her vibration high
and her spirit weightless.
Evolving and growing,
not controlling,
but easygoing.
Ultimately I want to be
myself and uphold honesty.
Continue to adore her geometry,
and impress her with my poetry.
Sep 13, 2015
Sep 13, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
I am in a land rich with growth
orchids and flowers beyond imagining
blue waters beckon
me to float upon them
and gulp refreshment and life.
I am planted in this land
humbly gathering in light
and smiling
with a peace
flowing in a mighty sparkling river
flooding my soul.
Jul 8, 2022
Jul 8, 2022 at 2:04 PM UTC
Take a dip in the peaceful waters found in another's poems
find refreshment for the soul
Avoid the tempest troubled waters contained in the jealous sea
instead choose peace and tranquility
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC