Best Grandiosity Poems
Be thou kindness, ruler in my heart!
Shake any evil from my quill.
No harsh words to depart,
To soil another poets will.
Let rays of sunshine beam from every line,
To brighten another poets heart.
My humble heart with theirs entwined,
In a gardenia scented poetic cart.
Oh, let me be humble at my best.
And see their talent in all its fine glory.
Put me to the Muses hardest test!
That I pen a poem, never to be sorry.
Above all, save me from my own pomposity.
For 'tis too easy, with pride to be bent.
Save me from thoughts of my own grandiosity.
Sitting alone in pride's lonesome tent.
February 24, 2020
11 am PST
Just the thought of you
inspires me to heights
of grandiosity and elegance
You coerce me to create
writings, poems of distinction
indubitably perchance
How does this entrancing
energy transpose into art,
permutations of heights
drifting through ions
of transposition, toughness
circumcises deliverance
It's a mystical phenomenon
that's existed for ages,
from the inception
of humanity's ineptness
through the age of technology
bolstered by craters
of existential drifting
through generations
parallel to the Muse.
Kaleidoscope of a rainbow's hope,
realizations of grandiosity from a splendorous mount-
A looking glass for a peace, alas,
crystallization of beauty from an azure fount.
Sunset hues of yellow and white,
with a splash of Prussian in rain's delight-
Contrasts of the day and night
with a flash of a lover's fantasy sight.
Spectrum dreams, not as it seems,
continuous light shines with fervor's gleam-
A rift of a cliff of a twilit stream,
clashes with reverie’s majestic supreme.
I've seen the beauty held in
a rainbow's desire, as the rain ends with sangria fire-
Releasing all the glow acquired with the flow,
glistened tints of pink sapphire.
Palatial sprays in canary ways are believed to
shower life with nectar,
my medallion stays on my porch
these days, and receive nourishment from a
butterfly collector.
Chartreuse and cobalt
with a splash of honeyed hazel shimmer,
brings abstruse beauty with a flash
of lovely palatial glimmer.
Date Written: February 13, 2017
Overcome by a wave of curiosity
I decided to try out seriosity
For which I'd no particular precocity
'Twas an ill-fated breeze of impetuosity
With visions absurd of grandiosity
I'd portray Julius Caesar with proper pomposity
Though, to be sure, my toga's fit was an atrocity
Not to mention my Latin dialogue's tortuosity
Yet utterly convinced of my latent geniosity
I spoke my lines with preternatural verbosity
Hark! Were those boos of unaccustomed ferocity?
~ To the nearest Exit, tomato-smeared, at hypervelocity...
~~~~~ ^-^ *-* ~~~~~
Manoeuvring through purplish cerulean azure
'Til she touched the empyrean Zion
Perching above the whinstone during cockcrow
Possessing allured ala lined with grandiosity
Dressed like a virgin woman from heaven
Divine messenger? A cherub?
" NO! " - An Orphic pixie
Cradling the scintillation with her left mitt
Intent - coveting for self-innovation
Reflection seems so distant from bliss and poise
Apathy, twinges of regrets and pieces of sorrow- ECHOED
Yeah! Mystic frolicsome otherworldly wight
Wishing to be a HUMAN
Human - not a perfect being but ready to CHANGE!
Fairy be a woman...
~~~~~ ^-^ *-* ~~~~~
The hailings in the coridor of corruption
to the echoes of silence in the streets
Sirens whispering tales of wars
marines marching on looted lots
Justice is strangled by corrupt claws
Listen to the thunderstorm of civil lies
Masses keep mute in the well of woes
dreaming of dead democratic dividends
Ghosts pay the piper in Abuja malls
Poor traders dance naked in Alaba markets
The mother hen crows in the mourning
Our golden eggs are in one battered basket...
Strangers preen in the pomp of power
Danger sleeps on the lawn of loyal lies
Listen to the tales of ego from the west
He beats his chest with his tied claws
Echoes of error ran the errand quickly
gushing out of the gutter of grandiosity...
He belongs to nobody and picks nobody
Somebody actually belongs to somebody
I do not know the poultry she belongs
His living room and kitchen are his choice
She is confined to care, clean and cook...
Why bury the glow of the golden egg
washing down the wealth in her womb?
Why rock heaven's roof with tantrums?
She is not just the bed sinner of your world
but the queen of all golden layers
and players
even if she belongs to the other room.
I see you walking on the beach
with the shyness of a kite,
toes gripping the sand with eyes that float
to the ends of the sea - tell me
(why do you look to the stars, love,
when we are more amazing?)
There are dreams
within dreams
in merely the sheen
of your crystal clear eyes
Yet with each breathless sigh
I can hear you hesitate
(...lunar cycles, she coolly states,
we are but a phase...)
Tell me, dear, where else
do the heavens find themselves trapped
but in your gaze?
Does not the Sun give us light each day?
(the Sea itself takes time to lick our feet,
as vast as she is, despite how we treat
her -- she comes back again,
nevertheless)
Is the Grass, as green as it is,
aware of its sheen?
Do the Miraculous Butterflies
long to metamorphosize yet again
(or are we the only creatures who dream?)
Do the Mountains boast of their grandiosity,
their towering tallness?
(why then, do we meek and mild, feel embarrassed
over our smallness?)
Take me back to the time
when all of these things were gods
and we were merely chattel,
(just the remains of a celestial battle)
the forgotten residue
----is that You?
An afterthought of a careless god
from cradle to grave?
We were unchained long ago,
yet still think we're slaves...
--
sitting on the hoods of our cars,
wishing upon shooting stars,
thinking love is somewhere out there
beyond the clouds or perhaps even the ether
And yet it's neither
It's right HERE
As tangible as the question
lying in our reflection--
(the truth committing suicide
on our tongues)
We'll conquer every mountain, every sea,
travel beyond the farthest galaxy...
...before we ever contemplate
the miracle of You and Me
7,100 islands, you are made up..
Pearl of the orient seas, that's how you are..
Cradle of four civilization, historians says..
Only Christian nation, even they speak..
Abounded with vast green forests..
Surrounded by shallow to deep trenches...
Choose wether to white and black sands of beaches..
Each island is an enticement...
Every province has it's own native delicacy...
Each one is known for its festival felicity..
Poor as it may seem yet great in hospitality..
Enabling each tourist to feel welcome in grandiosity...
Look around, you will see a smile..
Scattered genuine friendship in mile..
Wether you are black, white or yellow skin..
They don't care as long as you're clean...
Clever and intelligent...
Creative and truly magnificent..
Small probably by height..
Yet, if known you'll be full in sight..
God fearing - spirited by nature..
Responsible enough for the future..
Families implants love to nurture..
Obviously seen in each Filipino creature...
By: olive_eloi
26/09/2013
10:29am
Ralph Ellison is my Father,
For I am Invisible,
I am real,
And I tire of people telling me different,
I am very real,
And yet Invisible,
I am the frailty of a man who is not allowed to feel,
For I am an appendage of other people's feelings,
I am a mirror for their beauty and as long as I show them a pretty reflection,
They love me,
But when I open up to show them a tired, pain ridden child,
They see past him, to their own wants and needs and emotional greed,
Even their queries as to my welfare, are self serving litmus tests for their own grandiosity,
Ralph Ellison is my father,
And I am invisible.
Amen.
You lead a luxurious life, superior finance allows you to have a sense of grandiosity, people of a lower stature seem to fit the perfect mold for the term irrelevant,
like appendix,
but soon your wealth leads to vulnerability, standards become everything and the simple things in life no longer trigger your excitement,
so you begin to question your sobriety, maybe that is the answer,
little do you know dependency can be worse than cancer,
so you start off on the bottle, but that only provokes..
you to try something more potent, now your spending habits are more ubiquitous and basically you're poor..
but this all could have been avoided if you kept the attitude of the girl Next Door..
With eloquent verbosity,
and pompous grandiosity,
he'll voice his bellicosity
to show his intellect.
Devoid of any symmetry,
he'll pass it off as poetry,
but may I beg to differ,
though I mean no disrespect.
Blank verse is what he'll call it,
but no matter how you drawl it,
Mister Webster says that verse
means metric writing.
Since blank means lack of color,
I'll bet two cents to a dollar,
it's not poetry at all
that he's reciting.
Way back when I wore knickers,
there were even then traffickers
in this beat-less rhyme-less writing,
goodness knows.
But things were simpler then, you see.
We never called it poetry.
If there's no rhyme or rhythm,
it's just prose.
They say I'm no romanticist,
and surely I'm no fantasist,
but somewhat a semanticist,
who loves to turn a phrase.
I like to rhyme in meter,
and for me there's nothing neater,
than a rhyming meter-beater,
bringing back those good old days.
Virgin
Chastity
Innocence
Integrity
Virtue
Decency
Dignity
Gift
LIVE
Pure Love
Transparency
Light
Glow
Enthusiasm, Excitement, Zeal
Passion, Love,
Obsession
Fervency
Flame
Fire
Cholera, Anger, Wrath, Fury
Strength
Forgiveness
Tolerance
Patience
Kiss
Sapience
Conduct
Behaviour
Delight
Enchant
Gratify
Joy
Happiness
Rejoicing
Bless
Gift
LIFE
Fortress
Affection
Care
Caress
Peace
Beauty
Sincerity
Honesty
Frankness
Deep dedication
Renounce
Self-abnegation
Tears
Laughter
Prayer
Grandiosity
LIFE
Their is a God.In flesh we will not see his face.However we will see pieces of him in mother natures face. Natures aqua I indulge in, purity of his being and grace .I take a gander at shallow but deep water, and I nearly catch a glimpse of his face. A image we can not trace, looking into water searching for oddities timidly twinkling behind image of self, in mirror of water. Obfuscated by rays of sun complicating images reflected into water and image of water reflected in soul.None can be clearly perceived,that is mystery,that is the hidden God in all, you and me flower and tree, all covered by hazy mist to guard and separate ,what is and what is not to be know.For reasoning beyond comprehensions and perception.The hands of leaves graciously applaud and sings for a kingdom unknown or shown.A land that is inconceivable beyond feeble flesh and bone perhaps a place where every humans faith may or may not be etched in stone,but for certain we don't walk alone. The hands of leaves sings his song with grandiosity. Singing in code alongside hymns of enchanting species on earth. Songs we are told, but never told to be understood for our own good.If other wise we would all be doomed,for instance God blessed us with geniuses and we make weapons of mass destruction. Why should he unveil more mysteries and knowledge? To cause more malice and destruction? Animals and nature, chant songs of spiritual secrets, worldly an beyond secrets.This knowledge the forbidden fruit, only to suit the beings of another realm but still connecting us to it in ways the flesh can bear.If trees,birds and all of nature could talk human languages, mysteries would be no more. What happens when a bright light flashes in front your eyes? Don't you briefly lose sight? what happens when a loud horn blows in your ear doesn't it ring? The same concepts and effects applys with the high volumes and inconceivable power of our God and mysteries that follow. Imagine the the sounds, the sight and the feeling of the life beyond do you think the flesh can bear or withstand such insurmountable grandeur.The wind so much like God its never seen.The wind so much like God its effects are seen, but still remains invisible.The wind carry's breath death things of all volumes and that which feeble flesh cant perceive,I BELIEVE THE WIND IS GOD..... WHAT DO YOU THINK EINSTEIN.....
BY: Elliott Bowe
Mental Illness
We are the last
vestiage of the
ostracized.
We are the lepers
of the moon who
walk among the
unforgiving innocent
with luminous sores.
We are hieratic stones
that mark a trail to divinity,
unaware of mediocrity.
We are the nightmare
and cuirass of your
terminal souls.
We are the delicate,
immortelles flowers
of creation's jewellery
and dwell within
the mouldering caverns
of apocalyptic chaos.
We reject gods because
they reject our sacerdotal
dominion over gods.
We are the magical
diseased who feed upon
the blue-burn fire of stars.
We are the watchers
of the withered minds
who try and quantify
our grandiosity.
We are pre-eminent
progeny of parsimonius
preternatural wombs.
We are magmatic, quantum
lepton neutrinos of sub-atomic
galaxies where altruistic Eros
regenerates the living force of life.
We are the you in us and the us in you.
We are infinite truth.
We are!
Guaranteed Giver of goodness is my God of grace,
Guarding me, guiding me, His gazelle, I gladly graze,
In green grasses, He guides me with gentle governance,
Gaze on Him, I will one day, garbed with glowing garments,
Gleaming with glee, I glean greedily from His golden gems,
Glazed with gratitude, I genuinely gulp gospel truths like golems,
Gaining gaily from Godly gatherings across the glorious globe,
Like a garden growing with geraniums and gentians in good hope,
Gradually glancing towards glorification through heavenly gates,
Glimpses of great grandiosity beyond the golden street awaits.
12.11.2020
For Eve Roper's "Alliteration" contest