Best Loftier Poems
I took a walk with God today,
His pace far more casual than
mine. His voice a bit softer,
calmer. His visions, far more
loftier, but not views to impress
me...more like, to bless me. Not
stepping to me out-stride – more like,
to lovingly guide. His tone to instill in me
self confidence, and not His awesome
dominance. I took a walk with
God today...met Christ along
the way – and together we made a turn
toward Home....
I rise from deep within the earth
out of pressured lavas
I rise above the level into
breathable realms
I rise following the risen
He who set my path and
monitors my lift lovingly
tenderly, yet such pinions
given of steeliness unpluckable
I rise for the grace of the Father,
for the loving sacrifice of the Son,
for the Spirit, all Powerful, Ever-present,
All Knowing – I rise from man's mental
coma...from delirium of his lesser ego,
from estrangement of his physical-obstinance;
climbing higher, into loftier, far brighter reality
of being...
cleanly exalted, my consciousness purified –
I rise on frequencies of heavenly choirs...
throngs of worshiping angels welcoming, wings
fanning my once fuming soul – all the while
singing Praise to Christ, man's Conqueror Lord:
The slayer of Death; the Subduer of devils
and their throngs of whispering, shouting,
deafening demons;
I rise from out under the Master Liar...jealous possessor,
once Arc of God's Most beloved till Fallen...
I rise on a divine swell of compassion and forgiveness –
carried yet higher, on upward, surging tide of greater purification,
resurrected with Divine momentum...a soaring sea of expanding
spiritual freedom...
It is Easter,
as The Risen One anointed, so shall we follow
and rise!
“Glory to God
in His Highest!”
Wont you find me here?
Drifting in an expanse of swirling storm
Outstreched fingers graze debris...
recklessly circling reminders.
Stand in the eye with me
Hold
This
Ground.
Lick our wounds rebounding
Warriors victoriously smiting circumstance
leaving wolves discouraged
disparaging darkness with insane glee
Walk here and find me
Reach out think here
You create me and I construct you
Piece me in missing places
Mending voids delicate and knowing
I slay inherited growths of insecurity
Stating truths untold to your beautiful ears
Combine
Know this warmth....
Let these branches sprawl
grow in all directions to withstand walls closing in
A grand old tree would remain...generations of our eyes
taking glance from limbs strong and true
You crush my cycle--end it's existence
I'll destroy your boundary...kill it's constriction
Our tower stronger and rooted
Yet with loftier cloud grazing height
lets disorient ourselves in this foreign altitude
Touch this sky with me
An appeal of poetry
is its lack of rules...
though not to be loose
as a plucked goose –
without bare essentials
for flight
struts of logic,
living words
that excite with lift
long after the reading
and initial gliding
a pleasant aftertaste
not necessarily sweet
often profound such seasoning
(therefore, freedom unbound
can be a self-inflicted
noose – God yet dealing
with His man, on the intellectual
physical loose
Poetry~ a harbinger of potential wings
Poetry~ the elastic of sling-shot words
woven hemp of curiosity and
senseful affixation, tautening the
the literary-bow
for enabled focused release
Poetry, the loftier dialogue of both
war and peace
can be a voice of cold desertion
while also the arms of love's entreating
embrace...
with pestilence of hell
while equally possessing
the charm of saintly chants~
Poetry, the voice of victory
and defeat, co-joining of
calm with fear, for their
similarity of awe
Poetry, a writer's quest to make
sense of both soothing nature
and seasonal temperament
of our creator
His sunny risings then quakes
and deluges confounded–
poetry, somewhere within
our fanciful journeys
imagines a deeper truth
that witty penetration
will hopefully incant off the page
rising up and out into blissful new
unbound, forever enlightening living
reality
Poetry, a soaring liberty
and grounding addiction....
three incisor teeth burst through fresh flesh...
opaque as pearls, strong as love, precious
beautiful baby babbles assertively
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
prose poetry in its practice
as canines erupt, she moans from the ache
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
speedily advancing in substantial strength
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
a significant stepping stone approaches
as a capable kindergarten adult
she wiggles loose her first baby tooth
receives a rich reward from a fantasy fairy
more teeth disappear like pressed piano keys
then return acutely out of tune
braces displace awkward half grins
an investment of finances and adolescence
unstoppable with seducing sweets
she sneaks cuddly candy under covers
falling asleep with sugar plum dreams
not counting a few costly cavities
free-spirited, experimental teen
meets Christina on the street
samples compelling quartz crystal
returns for seconds, as someone else disguised
mesmerized by mishmash sounds
that her astounding mouth can make
speedily advancing in substantial strength
she lucently levitates to a loftier place
a magnificent mind babbles assertively
sweeping the streets of pixie dust
no need to eat or sleep
like a firefly in heat, she dances frantically
teeter-tottering restless to repress pain
distracted by oblivious destructiveness
she visualizes voices that vivify the way
to the day's salacious survival guide
prismic vision's shimmers no longer satisfy
cotton candy granules' sweetness subsides
coming down from kaleidoscopic clouds
half-awake, she moans from the ache
shrill shrieks portray poetry's unspoken pain
death's drab projection is her heartless reflection
hocking heirlooms to trade for a transient thrill
a despondent inhabitant of tragedy
creepy crawlers invade every inch of skin
her thin figure balances a skull's shadow
irretrievable, ill-treated teeth crumble
like the city's plundered storefront windows
filthy, for granted, forlorn, fast-fading
...three feeble canine teeth remain
10-8-2023
The day’s wearing labors reluctantly close
And the stars of the night slowly emerge,
It’s my plan to dine and then anon recline
But then starts this unending mental scourge.
This anonymous dame overseas has stolen my heart.
How I find myself punching her line after line I wonder,
Could she be merely exciting me for her fun and then claim
That the past joinings of God no man should put asunder?
I ignore the dissolute image of her adorable face
And elevate my sleepy thoughts to loftier ideals:
How I might one day write like Bernard Shaw
Or how being the commander-in-chief exactly feels.
But then I do not go far with my fanciful thoughts
Before my drowsy wandering mind is swept bare,
And the face of that unceasing dame obliterates
All the far-fetched castles I had built in the air.
My attempts to disregard her appearance are all in vain
And the more I dodge that face the more it stirs my pain,
Her eyes lock into mine and our arms involuntarily embrace
As I consider what to do about this ever-appearing face.
Without a word - you speak to me through particles of pigmentation
For centuries held within the grip of linseed oil
Where now I gaze upon the many faces that you wore
And their beauty shakes me to the very core
For in each one I see and feel the life you lived
All the different stages - on which you played
Each faze of life - portrayed in raw emotion
So powerfully and brilliantly displayed:
Surprise, confusion, anger and mockery,
Humbleness, arrogance and gaiety
Contentment, resentment, agitation and condemnation
Impatience, sadness, bitterness, and sorrow
And finally resignation all conveyed -
In vibrant shades of autumn leaves
That without a word, so loudly and profoundly - speak to me.
~~~~
Written: July 8, 2011 - 0:03 a.m.
Inspired By Brian Strand’s contest:
POETA -ANY FORM/ THEME max 15 lines
Awarded: 1st Place
~~~~~~
Note from author as taken from Time Life Library of Art:
No artist has left a loftier of more penetrating persoanal testament
than Rembrant van Rijn. In more than 90 portraits of
himself that date from the outset of his career in the 1620's
to the year of his death in 1669, he created an
autobiography in art that is the equal of the finest ever produced
in literature---even of the intimately analytical Confessions of St. Augustine.
I see in your precious smile
An endless road,
Perhaps infinite,
With a wide eyed innocence
That journey’s beyond
What sight can see.
Contentment fills your face
As vivid as a rainbow’s arc
Through fine mist
Ever hinting of a loftier place--
A sacred place that dwells within.
My gaze falls upon a mature soul
Still nurtured in the bud of youth,
Who retains a wisdom of many lifetimes.
Your gentle guidance inspires your
Parents to reach for the unattainable.
I remain awestruck
By your radiating aura
As it intermingles with mine,
Leaving me exalted in knowing
You are a gift divine.
*Dedicated to my two year old Grandson Brody
The ancestral house seemed smaller, today seen with eye glasses
The pathway seemed shorter, the mangoes grow loftier
It was once open field across the hill
Mushrooming subdivisions had blossomed
The little flower orchard had vanished
But anyhow we felt it would still be remembered
Harrowingly different, but pretty much the same
There was an unfamiliar children’s “bahay-bahayan”
On that path that we arranged
In front of that sagging waiting shed that stands
Beside the curve, where the old Mango tree grew
Surprisingly, forty years folded one summer day
And hurriedly become a springtime of our memory
of many growing trees, of many festivities
a spot where I wept one night after my mother died
and spent longer, in starry-starry nights holding newborn offspring
Yes....it is all there, in that small ancestral home
Facetious, but I'm glad they kept the wooden parrot
It has the same green eyes
That big black statue of St. Roque, along a stony pathway that we laid
still sits behind the curve, where the old mango tree grew
These Four Muses Sing
These four
Muses simply pour
Epic words poets eat
great writes can't be beat
Calliope sent charm and wit
those favored she made it fit
Euterpe gave imagination as a boon
graced with wisdom from brighten moon
Erato sprinkled poet dust on her few
beautiful rhyme is all they now ever do
Polyhymnia awarded shining poetic worded love
made it fit so very well, just like a boxer's glove
Four Muses gracing dear poet's Hearts and Souls
raising man's poetic art by setting ever loftier goals
When poetic words rapidly flow into your sore aching head
think not of yourself but rather of these four great Muses instead
Robert J. Lindley, 07-27-2014
note:
Of the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne who inspired
artists and musicians.
Four of the daughters: Calliope, Euterpe, Erato
and Polyhymnia were specifically responsible for
inspiring poets!!
{For Nelson and Winnie Mandela}
You, me said I to my honey bitter
When like the windy aether,
Blows us hither and thither
Bursting bubbles on elevating air,
I shall sleep dreaming with one eye open
Set you and I free on a chilly rest,
Virtually recalling the immure moments
I shall tell you of inborn pain.
Hence, that in these moments, hours
Days running in weeks, months into years
And coming to these moments,
It's love I suppose so
That I should be waiting, waiting and waiting
For you on this thing that like the windy aether,
Has blown away, blown away till this moments.
I shall sleep through to another day
Because of you, I and the offspring
And watch you through, though my heart is spilling
Could it be my strength has withered?
Or my agility has disappeared?
So when the night comes to eyes
And the silence deafened ears
In those moments, hours, days, weeks and months
And the years, O the years!
Which I have slept through just remembering you.
I have looked your face through,
When you are slumbering, thinking silently
Of your vanity, tells of enchantment saliently.
Let us lay on the lawn
And make sweater nothing of love,
Let us float upwelling in delight for the ocean,
And make sea-wine sip among arteries rejecting behoove.
It is love I suppose so
That I should be waiting,waiting and waiting,
For you on this thing that like the windy aether
Has blown away, blown away till these moments,
And you insinuate without times, whether
That ours prophesy shakable love lust,
It has not gone through the last
Of consent; well, it's all sentimental
Even though, I have gone and mount the pedestal
Like the Baboon drumming
Out his chest so loud;
My head had gone white shouting so loud
And the children care clamoured for
My greater loftier ladder,
Aged head has gone white like cloud.
You would say then, I have waited for ages,
I have trimmed the lamp for ages
I have fumbled with the candle for long;
But then flop;
Fell out of one uniting rope
I went so far flung,
Even though thinking of you then
As I now thinking of you so,
And you have on, on and on thinking then
I would wait for you so.
That Salad Went Right Through Me
I've always wanted to write a poem called
“That Salad Went Right Through Me”.
And I would wager upon its best destiny:
To begin with, there is the Universal Theme--
For who has not gurgled around a conference table
at half past the last radish scrap?
Who, once stalled, has not
persistently punched the flusher
to muffle the borborygmus din?
But on a loftier note, I prefer
to think of my paean emblazoned
in the annals of first line indexes,
where, as one wanders lonely as a cloud
over dactyls and tropes,
“That salad went right through me”
trots right off the page
demanding a fervid flip to its leaf.
And future discourse plied at workshops,
and other such rarefied privies of poesy
might thusly include:
"Did you write a poem for the class today?"
Yes...“That Salad Went Right Through Me”
"Well then, you should consider the cheesecake."
The wind beneath my wings was a fart
And excuse me is all I could say;
Flying here where worlds apart
As the good folk looked on in dismay.
For they had expected much more,
Loftier goals had been set for me;
But in the end where meant to soar,
I'm about as high as I can be.
And for those who looked at the updraft,
Thinking more height I could attain;
You know I look abeam and abaft
And am content in these clouds to remain.
For here with the wind beneath my wings,
In amongst these clouds to dart;
I know there are much higher things
But still amused I am by a fart.
May your days be merry bright
And full of blessings. May all...
Your wishes come true this...
Yuletide season. May your cup of life
Overflow with optimism. May all your
Unfulfilled dreams come to fruition.
Reach for even loftier dreams as...
Days dwindle down to a brand new
Auspicious year. I hope all...
Your tomorrows continue to...
Shine brighter than your yesterdays
Be grateful for all you have
Enjoy all that life has to offer
May God bless you, always
Entertain high hopes, and may they...
Rise exponentially high and...
Reach the height of heaven. God willing...
You continue to prosper. I pray that the...
Bud of goodwill opens up fully for you
Reach out to God through prayer; walk
In his shadow, rain or shine. Continue to...
Glorify his name and seek refuge in him
Honor him this holiday season, and do...
Take care of yourselves. Amen.
Date written: 12/23/2019
I Am as I Am complete
Though ego opines otherwise
Invoking grace, we feel God’s heartbeat
What else does there remain for us to realize
—Unseeking Seeker
As shackles give way releasing unrest of odious impressions
trade winds blow and billow white sails to a loftier altitude
Spiral shells ohm on a day reborn, under marmalade horizons
As darkness dissipates, tenderness repairs a truculent attitude
I Am absorbed in an epiphany of unfathomable transparency
As a single pulsation, a strong current, a vital force reminding
of both exotic and familiar surroundings shivering in vivid vibrancy
As sorrows depart alas! unfurling the fabric once shrouded and binding
Images speak softly in purple pearl and fuchsias of every shade
An austere moon dwells o’er lonely stagnant seas, leaving ego to wither
Shadows of the past grasping tightly ‘neath a veil cease and fade
With unmerited mercy, I Am forgiven, and I too am a forgiver
Words unspoken freeing ever so chaste and elusively unspoilt,
from within the womb, there’s mother’s voice in silent lucidity
I Am the universe that surrounds me, avant an azure sky unfoilt,
an arrantly expansive spirit, body and soul, an ocean of great fluidity