Best Earthiness Poems
Fingers Feeling Freedom
David J Walker
No
thank you
no gloves for me
I want my fingers
to feel the free
the earthiness of
the dirt
the soil of
my blood and birth
the waters of
my mothers womb
the warmth of
my fathers sun
the morning
measure of my worth
the mixture of the
mulchiness
the frostline of
the centuries
seven cemeteries
deep
where grieving mourners
claim to weep
where sleeping foreigners
feign to sleep
my fingers
feeling
freedom
come . . . take my hand and we will walk
deep into a Canadian autumn woodland
where it is crisp and cool- vast and full
the woodland is quiet in the veil of morning fog
and we are wrapped in
infinite shades and hues of changing brushstrokes
of gold, red, orange and green_
but soon, we are lost in an ocean of different trees
and the drum of time has ceased for us - as
we are witnesses to nature's decay
in autumnal equinox . . . .
and stained- glass leaves fall around us
crackling, and crunching under our feet
for the forest floor is carpeted with the fallen
October orange and red turned rust colored
can you feel it_
can you hear the rustling squirrels and small creatures ?
oh, the wildflowers have wilted!
(but still birds sing)
all around is a wondrous earthiness
full of a cornucopia of scents . . . . just inhale the air
the stream still flows with a loud fierceness
but we know winter will . . . still her screams
shall we gather some finger-painted leaves?
so we can press them into our books _
______________________________
October 21, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/an autumn walk
Copyright Protected, ID 10-1296-822-21
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the contest, Still Life Autumn
sponsor, Eve Roper
First Place
Beneath boulders and slab, weathered and worn,
consciousness is a whisper, a clarity undistracted.
A refraction of light and sound, repeated and reborn.
Conscious yet unaware, the timeless undertow subtracted.
For this is the Ground of Being.
All conscious particulate above and below are invisible,
we are seafaring sailors of soul and free choice.
Our various solutions and resolutions are indivisible.
In Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, we rejoice.
For this is the Ground of Being.
All living and dying offer myriad paths of travail.
Beyond time and space, there is a fundamental permanence.
As creatures of longing, we hold each other in the gale.
Our love, our deepest well, illuminates our transcendence.
We are subatomic dust entangling faster than light.
Our collective dreams and memories sparkle and dazzle.
Bodhisattvas like Jesus Christ lift sufferers into sight.
But our nonlocal transpersonal synchronicity still baffles.
Episodic and spontaneous, our passions and thoughts,
this is our realm of flash and fury, our daily wakefulness.
Forces of energy and matter, the mystery hidden in quartz,
this is our realm of sand, soil, and sea, our lifelong earthiness.
Wavelength collapse turns possibility into actuality.
Deep consciousness transforms our physical world.
Spirituality grants us creative engagement with reality.
Our inner light reaches the same limits as the fabled.
For this is the God of Being.
Worship dance blared fulfilled the stroke of sunset
The beauty of heavenly panoramic captivate the admiration in depth
Gratify the devotees whose hunger for the sublimity of art
Even breezes kindly offered its cradle as a humbled guests from afar
The faint strains of *gamelans seems like combing the roar of waves
When the eyes of Gods, exotically closed the day
But this heaven never sleep
The euphoria of dazzling night replace the fetish as a dreams in reality
Diverse nations united in this ocean of excitement
Earthiness as the existence of unified
Pours relief beyond their deadly deadline
This celestial sanctuary was too good to be ruined
In the eyes of Gods, again splendors emitted through its beauty
Touched the heart of universe gently
And be part of the heartbeat in this country
Thou, the seekers, you are welcomed within these prosperities
Author note:
Welcome to Bali
*Gamelan = Balinese Gamelan is a traditional musical instrument originally from
Bali-Indonesia which is usually used for the traditional ceremonies or
events.
*Image of Popular DJ Avicii (cutting himself & bled out)
AUDIO: from the film Gladiator, "Now We Are Free"
"Sometimes in life, we're just not cut out for it, hoping people see the point," by Poet
Soma Sonnet: Posthumous Soliloquy
As the blade search for the life of me,
The pain glides the blade with certainty,
Deeper the journey as my body writhe,
The agony lingers as I am denied relief,
~~now, let me be free
Thoughts mingle with the blood juice,
The wealth of data drowns and mutes,
Deliverer plunge to my conviction,
Released of a wretched disposition,
~~now, let me be free
Partakes in the realm of the soulless,
Contorted body claim to Earthiness,
Life teems, trilled sound, grassy green, central,
city's heart beats onward, minus a soul.
~~now, let me be free
Had all of it, all I forfeit, help me,
Your will is thy will now, let me be free
2022 August 17
Soma Sonnet: Posthumous Soliloquy
*1st Place*
Inner conflict
~~Unseeking Seeker: Judged 2022 August 20
Colors vividly exhibit God’s creativity, perfectly wondrous
enriched with diversified meaningful hues and tints
jubilantly beautifying our blessed existence.
Obvious in the color wheel’s primary status is red
majestically signifying divine love verily fervent
forgiving sins of scarlet and crimson*.
There’s blue linked to redemption peace, subduing angst
azure asserts tranquility of sanctification-contentment
while cerulean and cyan showcase heavenly quietude.
Never to miss is violet along purple with godly royalty symbol
vis-à-vis indigo promoting focused wise introspection
as yellow proclaims joyous gratitude-radiance.
Green champions bountiful life, rejuvenated by the Creator
orange beams with gladness and creativity-dazzles
along gold that reveals elegance and wealth.
With pink reflecting understanding, compassion and care
upon brown suggesting abundant natural earthiness
we praise and thank* God Who colors our lives.
*Isaiah 1:18 Come now, and let us reason together, saith the LORD: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.
July 13, 2019
Edited on July 13, 2021
1st place, "A Brian Strand July 14" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand; judged on 7/15/2021.
The world rotates and life moves forward,
I see a straight path but im spinning!
The confusion between me and them:
How we separated- the split and turns
The additions and multiplications;
Divisions equal to unknown formulas,
Those numbers ranging
from millions to trillions;
Zeros so many it seems like an army,
The Great Rebellions
fighting for answers
The whole irony behind counting
No strange devices; no calculators!
Just the human mind battling physics,
The complexity of symbols.
Alchemy and deep in the mysteries
Understudy of nature,
Initiated by the laws of cosmology;
Scientology and deep meditation,
A seer like a scientist slash mystic
Mixing Potions: a magician at night
Doing tricks, its voodoo to the people
who don't understand what we do!
No warlocks and sorcerous
This is no fairytale:
just you understanding your will,
That fire; the motive behind your actions
Resulting in reactions,
Conducting formulas and work throughs
To comprehend the vast change of this reality,
My mind and my ideas!
Studying quantum physics:
Manipulating light to dark matter
Building and subtracting atoms,
Ranging from gas; liquid and solids
Earthiness, so im searching for metals
Conducting formulas and changing elements:
from melting to molding;
All for finding the philosophers stone,
The red rock: your heart
Allowing it to bloom like a rose,
Standing still so the energy
passes through the body!
Feeling harmony and perceiving peace
We beings of light crucified in matter,
Gravity as a hammer: Newton the lifter
Einstein as Jesus performing miracles,
Writing prophecies and conducting new formulas.
There is no word for the barn-burning
Dream I didn't have in my mouth,
Tasting like blade, running like blood,
Through the inlaid veins of the kite.
There is no dictionary writing at the tip
Of the inky quill of time suspended,
Time adorned, time wombed and born.
The rose swallowed the bee ant the sting
Burned a whole, the size of a day apart
Into the heart of the vowels running amok
The seesaw earthiness of the ethereal self.
There is something strangely satisfying
About sweeping leaves in the wind.
A pure and pristine panacea for the soul.
As the impish zephyrs play
With a rustle of laughter
Tumbling through;
Sometimes for,
Some against, the action of my toil.
With the rhythmic swish of my broom
The breeze blows and the branches bow,
Scattering Nature's confetti.
A tree lives a lifetime every year.
From the youth of Spring through Summer's prime,
To the regal twilight of Autumn,
Reminding us that there is such beauty in old age.
As a child I saw
In my mind's eye,
The word AUTUMN written
in the russets and ochres of the falling leaves.
Colours so bright, but with an earthiness that grounded,
Enveloping in the warmth of Nature.
Akin to wood smoke and open hearths,
Unlike the flashy pomp of Summer's gaudiness.
Autumn awakens sleeping memories,
Turning my thoughts to the magic of childhood
And how I used to play at being grown up
As, in youthful innocence,
I attempted the futile task
Of sweeping leaves in the wind.
Come here,baby!
Join me on this dance floor
I know you want me, just too
afraid to show it.
Come here, baby!
Let's sway, oooh..I know how
you want to play.
In the most sensuous of ways.
Get real, close, I am not afraid
To play in your wild, jungle
ways.
Sinner man, you, it shines from
those glaring, deep eyes.
It's overtime night, you, me
And whatever honey comes
our way.
Just gotta be real, so, baby.
What do you say?
July 8, 2019
11am PST
This poem mimics the great
Blues music of the USA.
It is not meant to be read
as autobiographical.
Earthiness,as in the Blues,
frightens some people.
Panagiota
come . . . take my hand and we will walk
deep into a Canadian autumn woodland
where it is crisp and cool- vast and full
the woodland is quiet in the veil of morning fog
and we are wrapped in
infinite shades and hues of changing brushstrokes
of gold, red, orange and green_
but soon, we are lost in an ocean of different trees
and the drum of time has ceased for us - as
we are witnesses to nature's decay
in autumnal equinox . . . .
and stained- glass leaves fall around us
crackling, and crunching under our feet
for the forest floor is carpeted with the fallen
October orange and red turned rust colored
can you feel it_
can you hear the rustling squirrels and small creatures ?
oh, the wildflowers have wilted!
(but still birds sing)
all around is a wondrous earthiness
full of a cornucopia of scents . . . . just inhale the air
the stream still flows with a loud fierceness
but we know winter will . . . still her screams
shall we gather some finger-painted leaves?
so we can press them into our books _
______________________________
October 21, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/'an autumn walk'
Copyright Protected, ID 10- 1318-672-21
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Submitted into the Standard contest, Your Best Free Verse 2020
sponsor, John Hamilton, Judged 01/05/21
Fourth Place
We begin at the beginning: a clove of garlic, too hard-headed
for its own good, combined with two large onions, their first denuding
revealing fallow gold: the second layer, a pale green puberty,
then, the heartless blade of the knife slices into the virginal white
purity of a cumulus cloud, which the shape-shifter processor
reduces to odiferous pearly drifts, destined tor the fry pan's
oil of olive from sunny Southern hillsides. This bounty blends
with the underpraised, but indispensable tomato, staple
in the kitchens of Italy and Spain, then Crimini mushrooms,
sliced within an inch of their lives and browned in a skillet to bring
odor of earthiness to this angelic mix. Six buttery ovals
afloat in their embryonic bath offer elixir of egg to the whir
of the beaters. With infusion of feta, and one of mozzarella, it
marries with the mushrooms, and in lieu of vestal virgins, lies down
with the pasta. We go now to oven. Heat does its homage, then
with souls of the missing, we come to table, a chair placed
for Neil: napkin, plate, and fork, until he welcomes us
Home. Hosts us once more.
for Neil Irvin Gray, 1918-2014
Once had a boyfriend handsome,
he had a black motorcycle that roared;
oh, how we soared down the highway wild and carefree,
he loved black powder cigars and whiskey;
I admit the smell was divine.
Oh yeah, he was dark and tattered,
wrapped in a cloak of smoke earthiness;
his gunslinger cigar was a mix of peppers and chocolate,
deep and rich with a delicious sweetness;
not to forget, he looked sexy.
The years passed and we lost track,
but I never forgot this handsome guy;
I heard that he had died of throat cancer from smoking,
his black powder delicious cigar- sad;
that something sexy will kill.
_________________________
November 7, 2018
Poetry/Free Verse/His Black Powder Cigar
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1083-425-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Black Powder
sponsor, Anthony Slausen
Fifth Place
Falling leaves dance their last waltz
Ravishing hues of reds oranges and golds
Indulge with me in this wonderland
Sacrificing reminiscences of summer fun
Kingdom to those who relish in the moment
Yearning to be one with life in all its glory
Absolute bliss as we walk hand in hand
Utterly at peace with the brisk autumn air
Tantalizing scents of crisp earthiness
Ushering in a foretaste of wintry delights
Magical brittle notes beneath our feet
Nocturnal luminescence flickering
Dropping behind not keeping the pace
Apology for sudden awkward clumsiness
Zealously choreographing maneuvers
Engagement ring in hand down on one knee
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 27, 2020 for contest STRAND CHOICE S sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 3RD
You often pondered,
behind your plastic door
and pretentious smile,
could I be her friend? The pressure
of being needed could hijack
your life, your perfection,
your impassive popularity.
Then you saw her
close her eyes tight
as if she were playing dead,
and noticed the tiny trenches
of all her tears.
Her weak smile scared you into feeling
something far away and true,
and when she laughed, you knew
it was genuine.
Her humanity left you
bleeding, and you could taste
the earthiness of the elements
at your core.
So you forgot her, but in your dreams
she is more alive. She is freed
by her imperfection and
becomes the world
you straddle.
Maybe you weren’t the only one.
Maybe she was lonely.
If only you had more time
to understand her permeable existence,
she could have uncaged you,
and you could have been
her touchstone.
If only...
Contest: Pick-a-Title, Vol. 30
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
Date: 5/10/22