Best Grandness Poems
Lost in a vast forest of old paths, winding
A damp cold place of gnarled trees, twisting
Whispers of solemn grandness
And hues of greenness
This writer's
Bliss
This dreamer's
Forlorn deep darkness
Where drooping branches caress
And dark poetic thoughts are rambling
Lost in a vast forest of old paths, winding
__________________________
February 12, 2015
Poetry/Rhyme/Poetic Bliss
Copyright Protected, ID 02-640-399-12
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
My invented form is called Poetic Ramblings
For the Standard contest An Invented Form,
sponsor Andrea Dietrich, Judged 03/2015
Fourth place
Lilac lavender leaves fluttered ethereally
over the smooth sea of the placid lake.
A shimmer of light shone over the calm waves,
as they rolled silently and collectively
towards the sandy shore now lit
by the rising of the amber full moon.
Wave after wave composed
a lyrical enchanting melody
played by the rising orb.
The leaves formed fragrant shapes
emulating the grandness of the scene.
In the gathering darkness two lovers
heard the alluring symphony
and felt each other entwined
in a dance of love as the moon
in a dreamy crescendo shone
brightly evermore.
Until the eclipse took place.
Then it hummed no more that night.
Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it
be salted? It is henceforth cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men. Matthew
5:13 KJV
In ancient history, salt was sought and bartered. In some places it was carried by
camels across scorching deserts such as in West Africa where eager merchants
traded it to waiting customers. Salt was used for money in some places, thus giving
us the word salary.
Today salt is used for many purposes, stocked in grocery stores, and is available on
virtually every table.
We use it medicinally, and blocks of salt satisfy cattle’s craving. Salt in water raises
the boiling point, yet salt melts ice. Put salt on meat and it preserves it. Leave salt
off the table and your appetite leaves with it. But too much salt is harmful. It makes
your feet and legs swell and too much is hard on the heart.
Examine one grain of salt under a microscope and note its cube shape. Its sides
are made of two elements, sodium and chlorine. These combine to form sodium
chloride – salt.
Imagine soldiers in a tug of war. An ion of chlorine glares from one corner at a
sodium ion guarding the opposite side. As crystallization occurs the chlorine wins in
the stare-down. Sodium surrenders its single valence electron to chlorine and
together they become sodium chloride. Consider it in verse:
Salty Sentinels
Sodium ions stable,
assembled on the table,
salivating palates crave.
Chlorine ions tiny,
mustering soldiers briny,
guarding corners brave.
Sodium chlorine making,
crystal shakers shaking
cubes so salty white.
Ever fighting blandness;
vectors adding grandness,
enhance the appetite!
There is no wonder Jesus used salt as an example to the disciples in his Sermon on
the Mount. He exhorts Christians to have salt in themselves and have peace with
one another. See Mark 9:50
Oh, splendorous tree, limbs reaching high
with grandness framed by endless sky-
your epic branches sway in rhythmic dance
while rustling leaves whir with breeze-
concerting their own song.
Of nature's boundless beauties, you, grand tree,
display epitome of form and grace-
from mighty trunk that twists and bends, carefree,
to mingled branches, intertwined like lace.
splendid is the tree
standing tall neath boundless sky-
signing God's glory
September 5, 2020
~1st Place~
Contest: Writing Challenge - Nature, Four in One
Sponsor: Constance La France
Judged: 09/20/2020
Rules- Former Contest: Four in One
1. A single Crystalline - 2 lines, 8/9 or 9/8 syllables
2. A single Kimo- 3 lines, 10/7/6/ syllables
3. Your Choice Form: (chosen- Iambic Pentameter
4 lines, abab, 10 Syllables, 5 feet per line)
4. A single haiku- nature, 3 lines, 5/7/5 syllables
Nature Theme Chosen: Tree
I just read the most beautifully written,
articulate poem today and envied
Why cant I write a poem like that!
As I travel through mind sheds
Blown out by too much drink.
I can neither contend nor describe
These descents into darkness.
The waking hours when all else sleeps
Unravel half truthes sea deep.
Do you know how many sheep I have counted
Not to be reminded of these frailties
That walk this nightly beat.
I catch glimpses of grandness
Most fleeting at best.
This need to govern a life less traveled, solitude filled
Quiets the psych of a poet, desperately stilled.
God is Dead?
Hubris, man's nature
A God, self-proclaimed
Nietzsche opined he's dead
Conceit, we laugh and say, no way
Self-professed with special attributes
Sympathy, love, reciprocity; how divine
Exalting our human virtue
So convenient; unfortunately, so blind
We sublimate our consciousness
Valiantly creating a magnificent reality
The audacity
Willfully blind; to only see what we believe
If we were to open up our eyes - our mind
Acquiesce to the grandness, the complexity of it all
Humble
Perhaps we thrive before we fall?
Hubris, mankind's nature
In his image, we reflect piously
Nietzsche opined he's dead - and we have killed him
The narratives not about God - its about you and me
Down a mountain, from the highest point it flows
Cloudy white it comes into view, blocking sight
The fog delights in its grandness, where it shows
Power of the ground cloud, coming during night
The humidity is high bringing moisture
Having droplets of water in the mixture
It flows down the mountain to valley below
Leaving its trail of water on the ground low
Russell Sivey
When lyrics and music are combined they take on a whole new life.
When chlorine and sodium assimilate they make salt.
Separately they are limited, combined they are significant.
Together we can accomplish much, divided we dither.
Salty Sentinels
By James E. Tate
Sodium ions stable, assembled on the table,
Salivating palates crave.
Chlorine ions tiny, mustering soldiers briny,
Guarding corners brave.
Sodium Chloride making, crystal shakers shaking
Cubes of salty white.
Ever fighting blandness, vectors adding grandness,
To enhance the appetite.
You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness,
how can it be made salty again” It is no longer good for anything,
except to be thrown out and trampled by men. Matthew 5:13
The crowd pushes as your soul pulls,
You along your path to obscurity,
Where the light is engulfed,
By the clouds of eternity...
Timidly you lag behind,
Lost in the eddies of time,
And slowly you trudge,
To the same old grind...
But for the one who sees,
Dreams in splendored color,
The seeker holds the keys,
As one searches for the other...
Sparks of desire flood your mind,
While the cold dark streets glow,
From burnt embers lost in time,
And mounds of dashed hopes below...
You thrash and flail in utter desperation,
And you need that which can not be known,
Unless one is seasoned by your imagination,
When the dream is passed and the hope is grown...
Then it comes to you in a flash,
Love must be shared to exist,
So to others your hope is passed,
And your light escapes the mist...
The seeker surveys the vast multitude,
To find the source of the light,
Where the gift of hope was shared and grew,
Piercing the thin veil of night...
And to these dreamers is dared,
A glimpse of wisdom anew,
For you who love and share,
A saga awaits you...
Prepare to finally see,
The source for finding purpose,
In all that you do and can be,
Lies in what you can do for us...
For selfish deeds trap us,
And kindness offers you much more,
Once you apply this to practice,
Blinding light will pour forth...
And as the secret is shared,
Love rekindles the awakenings,
Among all those lost and scared,
Wonder and awe the new day brings...
Remember the grandness of this tale,
The next time you find yourself lost,
For what you offer is the holy grail,
So much hope... for so little cost!
My Gull Wheels On!
The boy I was so many years ago
Loved to visit his grandpa
Who lived in the best of places
This city dweller could imagine so
Those Ozark Mountains were adventure to me
I the boy and trusted BB gun in tow
Did explore the river bottom and climb tall trees
To breath the mountain's cold air made this boy feel free
The explorer I became for rocks snakes and frogs
To romp after a bee just to see where it would go
Or play in grandpa’s barn while watching my step
Go fishing with grubs taken from under dead logs
The swimming hole was by a low water bridge
Just a quarter a mile at the bottom of the hill
The tall weeping willow which offered its branches
Served the hot summer days as the ideal plunging package
As I recall how that red Arkansan chert path flowed
How this boy’s grandest adventures for nature and beauty were made real
For to walk again the paths of ancient Indians
What grandness grandpa gave me when I traveled just down the road
I have half a mind,
To just let go,
Let go of notions,
Which plague me so.
What's it really matter,
If I lose or if I win,
Isn't it that I played,
That matters in the end?
I played from the heart,
And gave it all I got,
With honor and pride,
I've attained this spot.
But like I said before,
You know I have half a mind,
To just let it all go,
No more effort, no more trying...
But the other half sustains,
That which I am thankful For,
Pushing me with great strength,
I can take flight and soar.
And the higher I fly,
From efforts past spent,
The greater I espy,
The grandness of men.
Oh I have half a mind,
To give up, throw the towel in,
But I still have half a mind,
To find a way to soar again!
I'm fading into oblivion;
I am slowly disappearing
under the shadow of who
has no comparison.
I am but a speck
in the grandness
before me.
My love;
you.
There, in the kitchen of this modest dwelling,
A cheerful room, in spite of its lack of grandness
Home to the little family
Who gathered together each evening
For string beans and mashed potatoes,
Eating with relish at the rectangle of oak
They recounted a day filled with stories
Of the playground mishap,
Of the clearance sale at the hardware store,
Significant things or things without matter
The scene reconstructed, each night of the week
With new accounts of a busy day
A ritual never lacking in importance.
This coming together at the end of the day,
While chomping away on an unidentifiable casserole,
Filling the belly, as well as the soul,
Consuming tidbits of noodles, and wisdom and the love of being together.
Until, one day it was time to retire
The humble piece of oak with the four wobbly legs
For something more presentable. Something more impressive,
That would serve the expanse of a family
Which had grown in numbers throughout the years.
How could anyone have known the significance
Of that aging old table with its warp in the middle?
The sag she had tried to hide with a checkered cloth.
Those who sat there day after day, hardly aware of it's meaning.
This old oak piece, having withstood crayon marks, spilled milk,
Even small holes from the time when father, while repairing a picture frame,
Had accidently hammered nails all the way through and into it's top.
Who knew that a weathered old piece of wood would be witness
To such love and importance
And in itself, was more worthy than
Anything this family could have ever imagined?
Aspire to be more than you are today
Strive for betterment in every way
Yearn for grandness in all aspects of life
Rise above apparent obstacles and strife
Seek the truth in all that you do
Commit to resolution and see it through
Breathe inspiration into every endeavor
Succumb no negative forces whatsoever
Inspire ambition at every level
Delight in the merriments of revel
Expect to be great and hold fast the dream
Remember all things are not what they seem
Listen to all that others might say
Prefer not to act in a pretentious way
Don’t undermine all that you know
Take the challenges that help you grow
Choose the good and defy the bad
Enjoy the happy and accept the sad
Love yourself more than that you acquire
Know yourself and what you desire
Blood-stained poppies mark the day that human
sacrifice did harden the skins of the less murderous mass
for such a brutal aghast affair, how the God all mighty
would formidable bear witness to grief beyond repair
Out into the fields, neither would yield-with bullets they
would tear but what would a stealthy, shrewd general care if many
died on duty which left a nation dumbfounded by the levity and
gravity of a war that was deemed
to be of grandness, valiant soldiers of fallacious valour
mercilessly gunned down and with
no gratification, them forsaken, while the gutless
general is less sanctimonious, pious in his approach for the
fighting did persist, until finally that last shot,
at last serenity in the calamitous storm, birdsong instead
of less fanciful peaceful flight, that night the serendipitous surviving
soldier did sleep so tight, a nation did succumb to pitiful sorrow
and pain-so the poppies do denote blood-stain and brutal,
grim, gutless gain