Best Grass Poems
You think I have a pretty face
My dresses weaved from frills and lace
You think that I'm a spoilt brat
with diamonds around my neck
and roses in my bed
You think I own the pot of gold
A blissful future to behold
You think I live on a greener grass
but you know nothing
No ,you know nothing about my past
There are chapters still on hold
A thousand words untold
There's emotion still enclosed in a lacrimal drop
There is a tasteless tale,a colourless spume
and large waves that fall on the shore
There's a silent cry which keeps yelling why
which keeps loving and hating,mending and breaking
Pushing ,embracing our God
My unfaithful devotion keeps begging in motion
Asking what,where,when,and how long
For how long should I wait for
to feel the affection, love and protection
to listen to daddy singing for me
just one birthday song
For how long should I pray for,to listen to daddy
just calling out my name on the phone
You think I have a pretty face
My dresses weaved from frills and lace
You think that I'm a spoilt brat
with diamonds around my neck
and roses in my bed
You think I own the pot of gold
A blissful future to behold
You think I live on a greener grass
but you know nothing
No, you know nothing about my past
You know nothing about the way I feel
About deep scars that would never heal
You just keep thinking that I live
I live on a greener grass.
Between the rows and rows of tombs of your beloved gone
I cover all the bones that lay beneath me-
I am the grass that grows.
Soft and green in sun and rain and when ice falls down, down
I rest peaceful under the pristine winter snow
for no footsteps break my smoothness
when fierce wild winds blow.
I am the grass that grows.
Come sad mourners in spring to weep and bring roses red
rest on my velvety smoothness and pray
do you hear the quiet whispers of the beloved bones beneath.
I am the grass that grows.
_______________________
April 2, 2018
Poetry/Personification/I am the Grass That Grows
Copyright Protected, ID 18-1009728-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, It's A Shorty
sponsor, Deborah Guenther Beachboard
First Place
_____________________________________
Poem of the Day - April 4, 2018
I’ve read a lot about the stars—
sought precious knowledge of deep space.
Wondered when we’ll go to Mars—
pondered if we’ll leave this place.
Some problems here on earth, it seems;
though much here that I treasure.
But is it still a field of dreams,
or merely life in search of pleasure?
Nothing here we really own.
In error the thought we can possess.
We’ve mastered the installment loan;
now we are addicts of excess.
Has it always been this way?
Searching daily for advantage?
Hunting for the easy prey?
Putting them at disadvantage?
Consider then the nascent earth,
rolling forth in its perfection.
Safe for us from date of birth;
lives within our world’s protection.
Shouldn’t we give something back;
become ardent stewards of all life?
Summon strength that others lack;
depart from paths that beckon strife?
In doubt that you might shepherd change
and render chaos into sanity?
Offer truth in fair exchange
as worthy bargain for humanity?
This would be a daunting task—
challenge to the noblest mind—
yet some are unafraid to ask
what they might do for humankind.
Let thus emerge a sacred mien,
that one with purpose can surpass.
For lawns could never be so green
without each single blade of grass.
Often wondering is it a steak upon Our Plates that is important...
Perhaps a Hot-dog instead and more Money for a healing deportment.
To feed a Child that is suffering or very ill and extremely sick.
We ask often comfortably what often makes the wealthy tick?
As We read on The Internet that there are Children out there just wanting Bread.
The Children eating grass is in an Article that was just as this is read...
My Heart torn open,wrenched,concerned and burning with anguish inside.
My Own Home stemless, poor, and uncomfortably We reside...
Wishing We could just reach threw a T.V. Set to give a helping hand...
Just to pass Our Dinner to a child in a taunted hemmed Land.
My passion so large, words so strong, and My Pocket very small.
Never standing in the right position in Life to answer as Children call.
There are Children in Our World that are just eating grass.
Under seemly so by My feelings of disrepair as I pass My Own grasp...
This stench of Many Self willed that preform as Our stanza has not surpassed.
To reach for You now is more then an unbearable weep to comprehend.
A World filling up with Starvation and Our Children in it left to descend.
To reach for You now is an unbearable decision not yet made.
The Children Eating Grass just wore Me thin and They paid.
Sometime wishing I could just rob and empty an entire vault.
That Decision would cost Me greatly so I resort to prayer that will never fault.
To Be trusted with just This Message where I sit and grieve.
When Encounters of Love yet to occur and never to beckon Evil that is deceived.
By Charlene L.Wilcox 09-29-2014
Along a fence and out into a field I amble;
seduced by a tree surrounded by flowers, I stroll toward a small hill.
Gentle is this grassy slope
redolent of sweet birch and the wildflowers birthed from fertile
earth. I’m at ease as my eyes embrace a valley
extending endlessly with emerald enchantment.
Nature’s nakedness is lush!
Auspicious day! All around me is the ambiance of
spring and scent of grass where sheep now graze.
Gathering sun’s rays, Nature glistens, for she’s become
radiant from her recent rendezvous with Rain!
As Sun in azure sky arrives with all his ardor,
sparrows sing in my shady tree, soothing me.
Sanguine is my soul
as I lie down in the grass
amidst green splendor.
Written March 1, 2016
for Anthony Biaanco's "In the Grass" Contest
As I lie here, eyes half closed, I wonder
Why does the grass wave to me?
Has the summer breeze asked it to greet me
And if so, what does it wish to say
But I think the Chinese whispers of a thousand blades
Might confuse the message beyond recognition
Perhaps I should ask instead, the shaded underbelly of the lonesome oak,
Standing aloof mid-field
For surely he hears the same story from the breeze
And then again perhaps I have it all wrong, it's a message from the grass,
So many strands waving their message make the pleasant breeze
If that is the case then, I think I must lie here a while longer
And listen to the story they wish to tell
skies of rainbow blue as ocean moves
girl’s sassy swirls of soft tangled hair,
where pearls would dare clasp its curls
glow in her eyes special gentle blue
waves flow of tear drops buckets full
beautiful mud stain blush cheeks
Oh, such a handful only three feet high
arms full of endless hugs and pretty please
barefooted, dirty, and grass stain knees
while magpie explores the world never to say good-bye
double bubbles scents of lavender berries
pink and blue little ponies warm and cozy PJs
night promise dreams of fairies,
flowering ponds, bunnies, and butterflies
over and over stories whispers lullabies hums
sleep little angel in clouds full of stars
wishes of rainbow bridges to the moon
fairyland castles held by balloons
where little ponies play musical tunes
yesterday’s gardens today and tomorrow
fairies glimmer flittering amongst its blooms
enchanting flavors of snow cones,
bubblegum and cherry plums
unicorns, maidens, and gnomes chuckles
sleep till morning when you rise
to endless hugs and pretty please
explore the world never to say good-bye
2/2/2016
upon blue grass hills
roan stallion grazed among mares
verdant and serene
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Although not for her contest,
my regards to Tania for her
inspiration. Merci
The sun sinks slow when dreaded dark overflows
giving mere mortals moments to reflect
all that passes in the day these moments take away
and each influence intrinsically inspect
we have known of old the conflict we are told
is the battle between bad and good
what is right, what is wrong, we must make morals strong
gain empathy, love, and brotherhood
if we could just see with our eyes set free,
only hear when wind whispers silent songs
there might be a better you, maybe a kinder me
in the wisdom of these quiet sing-alongs
a mother bird feeds her babies and I hear the words
rhythmic refrains ringing peace into my heart
'His eye is on the sparrows’,and more of you He knows
comfort “every little thing is gonna be all right’ emparts
Turn down the power.. if just for an hour...
sit still and hear nature sing
Like
a small
wild grass
that persists
to grow
devoid
of sunshine
and rain..
so is a poet
who persists to write
sans readers ,sans likers.
There's a city and it's made of grass.
Fragile and Delicate, but strong enough to withstand the forces of nature.
The Chlorophyll-filled buildings swaying from side to side.
The frosty green colors, dripping in morning dew.
The city, so peaceful, yet so active.
The only thing happening, is the swaying...from left...to right.
prairie grass swaying
gently to the wind's music
in step with its beat
I refuse to feel like a turd in the grass
Laying there till I become petrified
No one coming to pick me up
They see me as the low of the low
Laying there till I become petrified
Of no value to anyone else
They see me as the low of the low
I lay here alone in the tall grass
Of no value to anyone else
Is this all there is to my existance
I lay here alone in the tall grass
It is time for me to rise to my feet
Is this all there is to my existence
This is not the life of which I dreamed
It is time for me to rise to my feet
Passion for living energizes my life
This is not the life of which I dreamed
No one coming to pick me up
It's time for me to rise to my feet
I refuse to feel like a turd in the grass
Dedicated to Colleen Bono, she always jokes
that I can write about a Turd in the grass
and make it sound good. This one is for you Kiddo
I blow here in the prairie wind,
A grass that seems to have no end.
A pheasant asked me yesterday,
"How long you been here would you say?"
I scratched my blades and said, "Who knows?
Ten thousand years or more, I s'pose."
An' then the bird said,"If you please-
When were you really most at ease?"
I laughed at that, the way grass does,
That sounds somewhat like bees abuzz.
Then said,"That's easy friend, why shucks,
Between fences and pickup trucks!
The fences stopped the thunderin' herd,
An' no trucks were yet to be heard.
It was so peaceful, full of hope,
I was knee deep to antelope."
All that thinkin' got me upset -
I told that bird the trials we'd met!
"The Humans talk with grief an' scorn
Of long gone Bison and Longhorn -
Listen, pheasant, and I will tell,
The Buffalo can burn in Hell!
An' Longhorn meat will surely make
A big fat piece of butcher's steak!"
Well, I was through and I calmed down -
The Pheasant, nervous, looked around.
Said," I been eatin' a little seed."
I laughed, said,"Friend, take all you need!"
April 29, 2016
Intimations of Immortality (excerpt)
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass, glory of the flower
We will grieve not; rather find
Strength in what remains behind
William Wordsworth
I sat to write a contest poem,
Kept hitting an impasse
When mem'ries of the brother I lost
Came through as clear as glass
As minutes turned to hours,
I relived them one by one
More than once I wiped my tears
At all the things we'd done
The time got by me quickly
Reminiscing for a while
But once my tears had all run dry
I then began to smile
I'm glad he will remain inside
Until the time I pass
And when death comes, we'll both relive
Our "splendor in the grass"
3/26/23
Daniel Turner
Steve Turner 1954-1996