"salubrious" poems
I am a cereal killer
Devouring Life is a thriller
Snap, crackle, and pop
I make the flakes drop
Stalking salubrious crunch
Murdered for breakfast and lunch
My appetite for Trix is voracious
For my Lucky Charms, I am gracious
Mud & Bugs haunt my soul
Desecrating Grape-Nuts whole
Yea, I'm Nut n' Honey and Cocoa Hoots
Krispy Kritter Krave Fruit Loops
I'm a cereal killer
Yet a community pillar
Can't comprehend why it's a crime
Unrepentant, I'll massacre cereal every time
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 10:01 PM UTC
The soul finds solace
In the soliloquy
As sense prevails
Sonorous voice
Touches the self
Making complete sense
Simple moments
Salubrious to the soul
Mind and heart in sync
Simple seeking
Worth the search
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:25 PM UTC
The American said: let's drink the words.
She was so right.
A loquacious gin & tonic
An acerbic Darwinian daiquiri on ice
A French martini disrupted not stirred
A mojito muddled in abstinence
A Belfast bomber & brimstone
Love on the Rocks with perpetual dissent
*** on the Beach with a dash of chilli & lime
***** scorpion splashed in ironic ascension
Dark *** stifled by the sting of a disturbance
Love scented petals infused with tequila worms
Salubrious shots of Sambuca
Absinthe toasted in lunacy flakes
This is my bar.
Choose your poison wisely
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:34 PM UTC
"CHOSEN AND HEAVENLY ELECTED"
Colorful balloons, chilly sunny sphere. Princess lady Temi Otedola rebirth, ➕ 1⃣ today. She made it through the womb to a billionaire life. Chosen and heavenly elected. Happy Birthday Teddy mama, here are mine wishes to you. A salubrious happy filled life of peace. Happy Birthday mama Teddies.
#c9_fm
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 6:31 PM UTC
1064
To help our Bleaker Parts
Salubrious Hours are given
Which if they do not fir for Earth
Drill silently for Heaven—
2.5k
Vanilla vowels
and creamy colored consonants
Naughty or nutty nouns
of almonds, apples, apricots
Aphrodisiac adjectives
and very berry adverbs
Passion fruit phrases
pirouette like peaches in thought
A pomegranate patter
that pronounces a pronoun
Or perhaps in veiled vines
velvet verbs purr
Wondrously whipped
words of love
Salacious sentences
with strawberry stirred
A mellowed musk melon
of a metaphor
A salubrious simile
sits like a sapote crown
Amorous alliterative adventures
with romance and raisins
An ooh la la of orange oomph
onomatopoeic sounds
An orchard of the alphabets
in a fruity potpourri of speech
A bearish pearish play and
plum pun on words
The language of love
written with love
In this hash mash
bonhomie
Valentine verse
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC
There's a way in which I break for beauties like you. It's a performance piece, not of the egoistic sort, but rather a birthed love-child of servility and altruism. Here's my recipe, if you ever wanted to scrutinise my path to death.
First, i stare. And marvel in awe at the carved beauty of you and wonder how many cities you've inspired.
Second is initiation. A delicate dance to either be executed from a carnal desire or a romantic want. I choose one or another, seldom do I pick both; tho they end the same way.
Third is the burning period. I will saturate myself with unwarranted loyalty at this point. I morph to their warmth and this is where it gets sick.
Fourth: obsession. If you look into my eyes you will see a longing to drown and to go back to the ocean that is you. It's potent enough to drive me insane. Consuming.
Fifth, i surrender. I'd ask you to take off that fire. I want you to still exist but to go burn somewhere else. To be a forest-fire that inspires rather than to maim me insolently.
Sixth is penance dressed masochistically. I torture myself for reasons he wouldn't understand or is justified, but I somehow think it's salubrious.
Seventh concerns with the cycle of death. I die for you, over and over again. I choose to do this.
Eighth is where my pain becomes stagnant and transition into ghosts with names.
Ninth better itself to be the point of moving on and building graves on reverence for even having a taste of perfection.
Tenth, I repeat this whole process.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 6:40 AM UTC
Flower beds in every nook
was Bangalore's delight
for long long years,
even before the time
Winston Churchill lived there
as a young British soldier.
Salubrious climate turned it then
in to a pensioner's paradise,
full of quiet tree lined streets.
The one time cool "Garden city"
one finds now with a new itch,
in its mad rush to get hitched
with the so called" flat world"
every which way possible,
it kills the symphony of colors,
both willingly and otherwise;
trees fall, monstrous flyovers rise,
technological behemoths,
which fast become dinosaurs
as economic down turn hits hard,
stand daunting us, adding green house gases
now, its all kitsch and concrete **** everywhere.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 8:41 AM UTC
Stung by an angling fad
He took a fishing rod
And sallied onto the nearby stream
That leaped down a rocky shelf
Forming small cascades
But running down into plain ground
With a placid demure face
Uttering soft murmurs sweet
Aiming at the darting Trout
That made the still waters into spiraling whirls
He swished the rod in the air
With the alacrity of a practiced bowler
Looking at the line sinking low
He waited for the fish to nibble at the bait
Meanwhile, inhaling the salubrious air
And watching the limpid movement of the stream
As the hook line went taut in his grip
Hopefully he pulled it up
But alas! With no ***** to boast!
Patiently sat he there for hours
Like a sculptured God upon a rock
Oh! It requires immense patience
With adroitness to boot
To be an angler, no doubt
That sure is a sedate man’s pursuit!
Angling rarely fetches any major luck
Except now and then a fresh fish upon one’s plate
Yet following one’s heart’s pursuit
Is worth more than all tangible reward it brings!
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 12:14 PM UTC
The breeze in the air is redolent
And the heart gambols with glee
To the tintinnabulation of wind chimes
Ah, what sweet felicity.
The whispering of trees is mellifluous
As is the susurrous of floral woods
How salubrious is the efflorescence
Beside the ebullient babbling brook.
Old man winter is but fugacious
For I've stumbled upon my inglenook
I wake to the breath of spring
Oh, it's summer eternal in my book.
My cup now holds ethereal elixir
It's manna from the heavens above
I found you - ah, serendipity
If this isn't, then what is love?
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 10:29 AM UTC
Today is the beautiful New Year day
Lo! The snow white clouds in the blue sky above
A gentle breeze, playing on every leaf
And every heart throbbing with love
There is so much beauty couched in this day
The valleys echo the feathered minstrels’ lay
The tall trees spread their mighty arms
And children, in their shade, joyously play
There is no vexation in the air
The pain of yesterday cast to the bin
The anxiety of tomorrow held at bay
The prospects of today overpowering the din
When I walk through the grassy meads
Wild blossoms kiss my feet
As I inhale the salubrious air
I feel the glee with which Nature, so richly replete
Every heart overflows with cheer
On every face, smile shuttles from lips to eyes
Before me is the promise of a new dawn
Fresh resolve rekindles every face
Sprawling before me is a magic realm
To its secret doorway, I hold the keys
Everything around has a shimmering glow
In the bounty of blessings, my heart rejoices
I tell my spirits to seek no rest
But walk fearless to dizzy heights
Holding the reins and quickening my pace
For I know I am heading towards the lights
There are great glories for the eyes to see
There is so much for the senses to perceive
From little cares, when the mind, set free
Sure, there’s reason to rejoice than grieve!
……………………………………………
I can always say my glass is only half full
But let me perceive things in the positive way
The day, I know, sure has also a grimy side
But let us not spoil this lovely New Year day
I wish all my friends on Hello poetry, a great New Year with bright sunshine, a clear sky above, a lot of beauty around and many, many happy occasions to enjoy and cherish!
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 11:09 PM UTC
Lost in trials and tribulations; testing one’s patience as malignant lesions formulate morphological alterations ceaselessly swarming throughout this mortal embodiment
Erratic mitotic divisions serving as propositions carrying calamitous conditions - prescriptions from physicians functioning as baleful contradictions augmenting one’s overall condition
Salubrious air would substantially repair in lieu of a multimillion-dollar pharmaceutical snare chemically altering the brain chemistry unsympathetically.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Querida,
I'd wished I could hold you here
amidst the splendid songs of the twilight
and the humorous singing of the sky-larks
under the harmonious untouchable blue skies.
This afternoon I beheld thy sheepish movements
pure as the rainbows, and those sparks of levity
of thy salubrious, noble soul.
Querida,
I long to have you here in my bare arms
Thinking of you is marvellous;
your soul is of nothing but the beauteous.
Querida,
I did not seem agile today
I tired my senses
I lost my airs
My breaths in wreaths
of sour demons, their petulance none but
unbecoming, hostile, and drowsy,
but thou! Thou, Querida,
thou breathed again life in steady beats
just like the swords of the lingering sun
until my heart warmed, and bloomed as the plump spring cherries
rosy and windblown in a genial way:
thou art my soul, my hopes,
thou art the knight to my battle lights;
thou art the king to my dry sights;
thou art the owner of my dreams
thou art the loveliest love of my every day.
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 8:24 AM UTC
How can I love thee,
if thou art my enemy?
How can I love thee,
if thou art my agony?
I fancy my love is futile
I's lost in thee in one blink of the eye
'Twas a dull day with a tempest worried and grey
No charm as splendid as the salubrious May
Vanished worlds are real to me today
How can I love thee,
whilst I shine but wither in despair?
How can I love thee,
when the mist replaces the air?
O, I can't see thy face, o no!
I'm trapped in this ghastly limbo
I look askance at the angered sky
My voice is coarse my heart's empty
My songs are shy my chest is dry
How can I love thee,
with this guileless but wondrous intimation!
Heavens are our first but final destination
where love is a gift and a token of affection
How ill I am!
Wronged by my own love and longing
Whilst the grass is green and
the stars are twinkling
This bitter cold is my weeping
O promises! Why did thou fail my soul?
Thy tongue does but smell of foul
Kneel by me, I entreat!
You little lie that could only cheat!
O resentment! How sleepy is thy mind!
Now I the master demand, awake!
Yet show thy patience, relieve me from behind
Forget me not, for the world's sake!
O laughter! In thy severe idiocy
Rise from thy unsmart repose!
Retrace thy steps, enslave thy feet!
Bid yourself go; and find but a better, brighter rose!
Slaughter yourself, o infatuation,
I thy master insist, decay!
Set my grim heart in awesome daylight
Send my frosted feet onto liberation!
Flowers of the devil, flowers of laudation.
I believe in praise and its own strange admiration.
Yet my roams are no longer of importance;
but heave my senses from assault,
kiss, kiss myself away!
Still, my heart tastes like ******
in its misery and pangs of silenced desperation.
O words, hinder me from the joy of anger,
defeat my thirst for blinded and serene assassination!
The gentle cry, the loss of hope
rings all over but shields us in vain:
As pale as the yellow falling rain to
heal my wounds, cure my lonely pain
This mounds of hate should remain;
Until my stern heart melts to love again.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
In a kingdom full of inclemencies my hubris does not fail me
Profuse and Fierce, Some may call me arrogant
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It's a recording of my failings.
'It's that amorality,' I muttered.
My hubris is my substratum towards my nescience.
It is that aspect that will lean me towards drowning in the sea of my own incoherent imbecility.
It's a deep program in my faulty code, a nightmare towards monks.
It's the ink on my arms, tattooed to my soul.
'Hubris!' chuckled I, 'Yes Hubris!'
It does not fail to show in my wording.
It's the ferry to sea, the net in the ocean.
It is limber as it is inventive, with every exception.
It has no ingenuousness, it is unlike modesty and threatens to surmount me.
It's a sandwich in which has caught every hitch of breath, it leaves me bewitched, no certain pitch that I can tell afore it chokes me.
It leaves no correspondence with those around me, too caught up in my own fantasies that I can no longer celebrate or verbalize felicitously.
Many times I wished that I preserved my receipt so that I could trade in my Hubris for something a little less mucusless for it is something akin to Judas, and I cannot utilize it for anything utilizable.
If I could somehow find a way that would lead me to a resilient recuperation. I would judge that to be more utilizable then this Hubris that encumbers me. No matter how many times I beat it down, it war's like a lion and a bunch of tourists on a safari.
If only this grotesque lion-like hubris was shot by the doter of a hubris poacher. Every generation would be gratified and they would find that it is much more facile to coerce without that unpleasant Hubris.
Of course, I suppose in a way hubris could be utilizable in some situations that required it. If I somehow found a way to trade my hubris for something like modestly and found that I missed my hubris quite dearly. I would laugh at my incoherent imbecility and perceive myself to be remotely mad!
These ravings of my hubris I'm quite sure because I found it so consequential to indite a poem of stark preposterousness. In a contingency like this, I suppose my hubris is getting quite polished, so sharply able to strike down any sense of modesty.
I conjecture this is the terminus of this arrangement, please omit my hubris for a moment. I suppose I should give you some tea afore I dose myself in a salubrious dose of radiation.
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 11:01 PM UTC
I'm a peripatetic napper aka a somnambulant philosopher... who is prone to salubrious somniloquy aka hammock rapping, on a variety of savory subjects such as which parts, leaves, petals, stems, peels or fruit of the lilikoi and guava families make the sweetest and most healing teas... for example, I sense that you can swallow this soporific soliloquy straight or with some surf, salt, sea and sunshine and skip the sleeping pills indefinitely..
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 1:31 PM UTC
Did you never know -- how much you loved me,
that night, with those prone rolling hazes
around us -- the ones entrapped in such dim,
salubrious air? Your charms, your smiles, and your
reddening cheeks -- all are the ones that flocked into
my mind. I was enthralled, I was flattered!
But you were too pure and fresh-hearted, I admit,
untouched like the faint showering rain; and its gay entourage
as though in a singular dream in the moonlight
-- but frowning again, again, and all over its wings
at the alarming torch of the morning sun.
Full of hesitation was your soul, and affirmative instinct --
but unsullied as my own unripe grace, and eloquent
seriousness -- you were but too pure, too pure to know.
Fate is a wind, and when the snow did fall again
I could not help but smiling at that memory --
with just a shaded tint of plain curiosity!
Memory of you -- so precious; and duly monstrous
amidst those roaring vapours, and gales -- of the sky.
It’s our secret, you know; but as I gazed into you again
in this serene morning walk --
I suddenly knew what it means -- my dear, my dear.
Jan 15, 2013
Jan 15, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
another nihilistic overture,
for the impending hedonism
a callous cacophony
looks to be rather innocuous,
a brazen haze
of a lifestyle,
every night
a bohemian escapade,
thought we came far away
past life abandoned
that felt austere
yet salubrious,
this air reeks of dystopia
such a rootless feeling
keeps me riding
the nomadic hound,
a desolate heart
in a victorian home,
all around I see
empty eyes
and wretched souls,
need a shining light
for the start of something beautiful,
before the world crumbles down
fueled by fattening greed,
trees fall to the hatchet
realizing a dismal trepidation,
the fear of a blank planet.
Dec 23, 2020
Dec 23, 2020 at 5:39 AM UTC
The universe
Plays a sick game with
Its occupants.
Dumping salubrious suffering
In droves
And igniting climactic pleasures
In the same breath.
Through death we are
Reborn
In life how we
Decay.
The interweaved oblivion
Of our united souls
dwells fierce.
with a touch we are destroyed.
In losing friends one makes
Them too.
Even if its just yourself.
your horrible worthless
Digested detestable selves
Always there for me.
Livid diatribes.
Loveins and loveless.
That sinking feeling
when you're born.
What a life its been.
there are those in your
World
That would do great things for you.
People are the blood in
the universe
It doesn't torture us
It bleeds its crazed idiot blood
When we bleed.
it merely takes solace in the fact that
Fear and courage are not so different.
It relies on the fact that
You
Exist.
Peace, my brothers,
I live a life of losing friends
I do this with tenacity.
Whats my score?
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:35 PM UTC
What is this diminutive?
This quiddity of how we live,
This good and bad,
And right from wrong,
This insane concinnity,
We’ve followed for so pitifully long.
We need learn and ruse our minds,
To understand all types of kinds,
For man is not salubrious,
And all we seek is dubious,
We need to come to understand,
We all are good but all still bad,
We all are docile but maleficent,
Average and Magnificent,
We choose to be one or the other,
One or another,
Some skilled to beguile,
Others only know how to be difficile,
We all are weakened by indigence,
And we all are to this world exiguous,
So what is this surquedry of whose good and bad,
just because some may be of duende,
And others temerity mad,
No matter what you may do or say,
Your actions my apodictic opinion will not sway,
We will always be of human nature,
What is this good and bad nomenclature?
We are human and not irrefragable,
And the definition of unstable,
So be thee good or bad,
Be thee happy,
Be thee sad,
Be thee sane and be the mad,
We all can be good but we still stay with some bad.
Dec 3, 2012
Dec 3, 2012 at 1:08 PM UTC
there is light
and the angels beckon you
to watch them dance underneath it,
with it,
between the rays,
in it,
with a wish that after a glimpse
of salubrious sunlight and soulful sways
to the subtle beat of the Earth’s vibrations
and the wholehearted laughter of the Buddhas bellies
you will breathe in
and out,
the millisecond of a pause between
the in
and
the out,
you will stop
you will surrender
you will die for bliss
you will leave your body and fly to the
castle in the sky
toward the light
to dance with them underneath it,
with it,
between the rays
in it
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
they eat their own inconsequential and comatose integrity.
With relish.
they chew their knotty and petty problems endlessly
into bowls full of intellectually based uber slop
seasoned with bitter inchoate knowledge
and then add a dash of verbose celebrity froth.
Stir well.
they grind all their societal and artistic obsequiousness
into salubrious and meaningless observations
and then add the sourest flavour of the month
and stir with inconsequential turmoil.
and oh boy how poets can stir!!.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
The salubrious nature
of the climate,
could'nt Conceal the
Sardonic smile of
the Sun.
Scorching heat withered
the Green carpet on
the Visage of the Earth,
Turgid & Rigid plants
Conceated defeat to
the Harsh enviroment
and became Flaccid.
Both live & dead,
micro & macro couldn't
Elude the Vindictive
& Reprisal power of
the Earth,
Destructive habit of man
was Remunerated with
the Sadism nature of
Eco-system.
If only Replenishing was
a Custom within our
Volition,
Catastrophy befalling us
would be a Past-Tense,
Trees & Animals may
seem lesser
but there Impact on our
eco-system is Vital......!!
@miamizoliver
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 8:59 AM UTC
It was not a salubrious neighborhood
As the townsfolk there would tell,
But you often found a gem of a pearl
In an ugly oyster shell,
And Derek thought that he’d found his pearl
In those mean and dismal streets,
A girl by the name of Jennifer Searle
Who would make his life complete.
He’d met her at a charity ball
On a short term holiday,
From where she sat, at the end of the hall
She’d taken his breath away,
Her eyes were such a delicate blue
And they held him in their stare,
He was like her prize, and hypnotised
As he stumbled to her there.
And she bade him sit beside her then
And she let him hold her hand,
And she hushed him when he tried to say
What he didn’t understand,
Her smile was brittle, her hand was cool
And her skin as white as snow,
Her form was frail, but he felt her nails
Dig in, as he rose to go.
And a woman came to claim her then
Who dismissed him out of hand,
They waited until he’d turned to go
In a way that was pre-planned,
The woman gave him a printed card
With the girl’s address at home,
And scribbled there, ‘you may call on me
Just once, if you come alone.’
So he walked the damp and dismal street
And his heart began to sing,
He knew one call would be enough,
He would give her everything,
He found her door in a portico
With its number shaped in lead,
And rapped the brass of the knocker there
With its atavistic head.
Then the door swung slowly open and
He was standing in the hall,
Following tamely where she led,
The woman he’d met at the ball,
Jennifer sat at a table and
She smiled as he wandered in,
He stood and stared at her wheelchair
And his look was questioning.
‘You get but a single chance with me
That’s all that I ever give,
I’ve seen the lies in a hundred eyes
So rather than lie, just leave.
My legs have been useless now for years
But I’m whole, and full of love,
If you’d like to take a chance with me
Speak now, for I’ve grieved enough.’
‘I fell in love with your eyes,’ he said
‘From the other side of the hall,
I didn’t know that you couldn’t walk
And it doesn’t matter at all.
I wanted to offer you everything
If you’ll have me, well and good…’
Then Jennifer blinked back tears, as she
Reached out for him, and stood.
David Lewis Paget
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 4:53 AM UTC
MUNIYA
One Summer day of May
Gulmohar, bright and gay
Red blossoms hugging her
Embracing the tiny visitor
Feathered, brown coloured
Small sized, sparkling eyed
Gregarious and melodious
Muniya, the bird vivacious.
She merrily flew in and out
With twigs, figs in her snout
Framing her cosy little nest
By putting in the very best
She laid eggs, pearly white
Sentiments intensely bright
Mystic Muniya motivated
Elated, she daily incubated.
That noon, warm oppressively
All birds screamed aggresively
Slender satan climbed devilishly
Muniya fought back vigourously
Birds pecked the foe ferociously
Serpent slithered surreptitiously
Gulping the eggs remorselessly
All unborn perished noiselessly.
Muniya wailed loudly, bitterly
Her world shattered suddenly
Pain, loss penetrating the soul
Depressing, difficult to console
Emotions enveloping the avian
Her unborn drifted into oblivion
Misty eyed, she fled mournfully
Misty eyed, I prayed soulfully.
One fine bright summer day of May
To my surprise on my verandah lay
Muniya, her eggs in salubrious nest
Fervent feelings felt, of fest, of zest
Venturing in and out gregariously
Savouring sprouts, seeds ravenously
Muniya nourishing new beginnings
Making new innings, new winnings.
@ Preeti Pathak
Apr 27, 2023
Apr 27, 2023 at 2:23 AM UTC