Best Minutia Poems
Every bend in the winding cliff road
Brings a new vista, a new post card.
Crashing waves that beat on ancient rocks..
Depth of emotion that leaves you breathless.
It brings an appreciation for life,
Begs to find the truth that allows peace.
It carries you to another dimension...
The past, present and future meld as one.
Walk awhile in the demanding surf,
Hear the ocean roar its ancient secrets.
Accept the grains of sand that cling
Like they did a thousand years ago.
For me, no other place can reach out
Allowing the vastness of spirit to soar.
Time and the minutia of life slips away...
Healing wounds, and giving perspective.
Categories:
minutia, inspirational, nature
Form:
Free verse
Whisper Of Your Soul
(Soul Listens On A Whisper)
Murmurs soft are sensed, mimic nature, diaphanous clouds spread wide
Settle softer than a translucent butterfly on spring light snow
It is the moon flirting in ebullience, fog rising on a thin film on winds side
Lifting skirts or is it veils? Unknown in this muted light of whispers glow
Mist rolls across the bog, pulls along reluctant virgin night
By golden glow, that holds the sky in humble hush, abeyance in a trance
Tracking down the birth of morning, bursting full of light
Barely able to mutter the words, “the light of day”, the endless dance
You feel the vibrant tones, fold over meadows as you go
A vestigial tiny vessel of a virgin’s secret opens here
Chasing dark away along the marsh with pounding heart to know
The open glen is near, fills up in brilliant colors clear
Soft luscious sounds fall silent on the morning air and then
Listen, it whispers on the minutia of the moment something true
Holds on to quiet in the silent glen
Waiting on a whisper Imbued with truth, soft thoughts of you
Created on 12/16/14 for “Whisper Of Your Soul” Poetry Contest Sponsored by Gail Angel Doyle
Categories:
minutia, adventure, creation, image, life,
Form:
Quatrain
Our path, sometimes grows arduous with bends and twists.
Trials of life keep tormenting us and others.
It's miserable to watch or endure such suffering.
But despite all heartache, we feel we are not done.
When I see the swamp bird with broken wings
Struggling to rise from the water’s edge.
When I see the deer, running away from its predator,
With all its might, I am filled with a zest to fight all odds.
In my doubt, such scenes fill me with reassurance,
Making me feel the rush of blood in my veins.
Today is the only day, a minutia of life,
To get all wrongs right, to seize all opportunity.
Adversities can hang heavy on us, pulling us down.
But muster courage and catch the bull by its horn.
Winds may blow, tempests may rise,
But don’t relent, persevere, and endure.
Never allow your fears parade victoriously
Through the spectrum of your dreams
When you feel life as bland and monochrome
Think of the colors of the rainbow arching in heaven
To make life sweet, recall all the sweet moments,
Those that you want to re-live again
Sure, there are a million of them, joyous and sweet,
Exciting, and engaging, pouring balm on our scars.
Let us freeze those moments in time!
Too precious to go off our heart.
They make life worth living, worth cherishing,
Giving each fresh morning a kick start.
Have you forgotten to laugh over a prank?
Have you stopped watching a lovely scene?
Have you evaded a gregarious company?
Have you failed to enjoy a savory cuisine?
Break free of all the ropes that bind!
Let loose the spirit within and let it fly high.
Shed out your dry reticence n’ reserve!
Let your geniality, many hearts win!
Categories:
minutia, change, character, cheer up,
Form:
Free verse
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
No we may never have fought in a great war,
or saved a soul from the snapping jaws of death.
People wave to us, but few know who we are
and most on a good days run could care less.
Like the organ grinder's monkey from days of old,
we have been repeatedly trained to do a task.
We do a job few would even consider doing
and most would not even attempt to try.
A job burdened with ever growing responsibility
due to the minutia of a ever expanding bureaucracy.
A grossly undervalued, underappreciated profession
designated part-time by thoughtless administrations
that mouth how important we all are once a year
only to persecute us for every trifling thing later.
If you are lucky enough to survive a number of years
without resigning or becoming a sacrificial lamb
on the altar of a fearful self serving public face,
you will get a tiny pension for your devoted service.
We are the unsung heroes of the predawn light.
The tolerant souls that routinely put up with
a few rude demanding manipulative parents
and their insolent misbehaving little darlings
just to be able to serve the greater majority
of decent well meaning thoughtful parents
and the precious treasures of tomorrow
they have temporarily entrusted to us.
Like a hamster running on a little wheel,
we go around in circles every single day,
but unlike the hamster we must summon
every instinct and learned skill to insure
every turn we make is executed flawlessly.
We are kept aloft on our spinning wheel
by the deliberate hands of a caring heart
and the many small souls seated behind us
that come to trust us not to make a mistake.
We are the one person in their little lives
that are not allowed to ever let them down
for neither of us may be able to live with it.
We are their school bus drivers...
Categories:
minutia, care, children, work, ,
Form:
Free verse
I sit and watch.
Changes come so slowly.
So, vigilance is required,
an attentiveness to minutia.
There are layers of wardings
erected between
the watch and I.
Thoughts, which flit and skitter
fight for outward movement.
Flesh that is too weak to hold attention,
leans toward the walls of cracks;
where even the plaster pulls
from its sheaf
and the dirty
double paned glass
waylays the eye.
Enthralled by the changes:
rain to sleet, to snow, to hail, to rain,
the maple buds leaving
their pointillist, rouge-lacquered shells,
dropping like the wings
of an emergent butterfly; I root.
Nights of storm-slapped branches
unfurl orchestrated by wind –
How the maple now dangles leaves like earrings
from the tips of the smallest twigs.
Tomorrow they will open
to palm the morning breeze
and welcome the spears of Lilly of the Valley,
as they emerge overnight beneath the mother tree.
The deer have eaten the tender,
green, tongue-rolled, delights of Hosta and Day Lily,
but they are stalwart plants and will return.
I’ve watched and watched but not seen the deer
though I have seen their bedding spots
among the mulch beneath the maple
in the winter and their hoof
prints in the snow.
Today, I will watch
temperatures are rising
and soon there will be
lilacs.
First Published in Latchkey Tales 2014
Categories:
minutia, beauty, blessing,
Form:
Free verse
So, I'm told I have 100 billion neurons
(by someone ignorant of youth's indiscretions)
each with about a thousand synapses,
to connect its own specific grandeur or fear
to a grand of other neurons and their neuroses
and all of these cadre's and feeling tentacles
are always moving - reaching - searching,
for input and an interested listener
for minute sparks of insights they may have,
maybe a few a second, and over the course of time
they begin to add up - these datum of days
Significant amounts of minutia and marvels
in my minute-to-day-to-decade-to-lifetime
collection of me, in my own Icloud of inputs
what more could a sentient mind want but
a spoonful of sugar, and some free radicals
to really open up the ol' data pipes
BIG data, is what life's all about
these days, of statistical medians and means,
trying always to crunch our cramponed boots
to the top of the standard deviation curve
and look out at all the rest of
experience below us, our own vista of life
Racks of digitals softly hum to us in our society
and like us, this evolution (perhaps) of life
abhors to throw anything back to the world
without gleaning profit or meaning from it,
no digital potato peels or binary bones tossed
without a specific mission statement satisfied
So, it's not so different today, in "modern" times
as it was back then, when chain-mailed or toga'd
or animal skinned, or just buck-naked, we took
in everything that we could as individuals,
and stored its meaning, its grief, its joy,
part of our memories stock-in-trade for
the core analytical questions of "what?" and "why?"
© Goode Guy 2012-11-16
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Big_data
Categories:
minutia, computer-internet, imagination, introspection, philosophy,
Form:
Narrative
Bury my heart in trivia.
Keep my mind stuck in minutia.
The dam internet's a sham,
designed to drive man,
off the road into distraction.
Keep me from knowing what is right,
directed by detours to spite,
the dam internet's a scam
designed to drive man,
off the road into distraction.
Instant knowledge gains attention,
knowledge without wit or wisdom.
Human touch replaced by a mouse,
human feelings contained, in house.
conversation within glass fibers.
Real replaced by sad virtuals.
We keep the mass hunger sated.
We keep thinking minds muted.
Bread and circus work to perfection,
novelties make roadkill of traditions.
Real streets contain violence, racism, and malice,
while we genocidists, well protected
and free are now off on a spree
down cyber route six sixty-six.
Is this simply a lone luddite's lament,
or someone's conscious coherent comment?
I no longer know, reduced as I am,
to hitchhiking through mist on a mantra.
The dam internet's a sham,
designed to drive man
off the road into distraction.
Categories:
minutia, allusion,
Form:
Rhyme
I have seen,
Time and time again, our rise and fall
But not what passes between.
However, my reflection stays the same.
As I ride through the brush and green mesquite
Late in the evening.
And while the sun goes,
Spilling the sights, and casting shadows far in their elongated flight
Jetting towards the night
High above and below alike,
another day is reclaimed by the west.
And, within that balance struck
from up on a horses back
lies behind the creaking tack
a way, past the minutia.
A place, where nights and days fade
for the fluid movements between them.
And so, begins a subtle breeze
I hadn't noticed it before it had already past me
As if a response to the sun-day's sending
gleaming rings like tangerine
And facing the applause I pause to watch
the wind run fingers through the hairlike grass
A tender act, quite loving in fact
As if this moment they share
along with a deep sadness to part.
However, they must know that the spring cannot begin
without either of them both
and so the grass and wind promise to unite again
when the time is right.
No fear of the night
and heedless of their most distant dreams
Deepest sleeps
or even faced with the stark differences their lives have seen
To find each-other, no matter the cold
and never let go
of knowing high hopes can lead
to things far larger than them both.
-And perhaps someday
So will I.
Categories:
minutia, break up, grief, lonely,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
invisible to all, she sits and she talks to
no one in particular, only the
voices in her head respond to her chatter
is she really invisible?
she has so much to say but no one hears her
is she really invisible? no one
bothers with her, they just walk on by
lost in their own languishing thoughts
everyone ignores her as they go about their day
long ago she was like them, not
aware of anyone, mired in the minutia of
day to day life, but now she lives as the invisible lady
yearning for a life now gone, lucid only in her mind
Categories:
minutia, loneliness, people,
Form:
Acrostic
**** retentive is so inventive
it thinks up things it hadn't oughter
equating intrusion with goaled incentive
requiring minutia without giving quarter
so processes demand greater complexity
measuring quantitative numbers and sets
procedures create a mess in front of me
with analysis it's as good as it gets
graphs and charts of diagonal lines
measuring downs and ups of productivity
recombinant combines increasing declines
we can nearly measure neural negativity
government or business it's bureaucracy
just follow the line, to end of the day
a modality that surely is the best for me
the point is, don't question, just obey
theories show people aren't automatons
with modifying to change this hypothesis
and understand the ass-umption we live upon
we'll just tweak the sphincter processes
© Goode Guy 2014-01-31
Categories:
minutia, imagery, introspection, society,
Form:
Quatrain
MINUTIA OF THE MOMENT
Material things seem to be there
Seconds away
By the way
They become solid rocks
As time performs
Smaller functions
Around the obvious
Clocks move by
In trivial circles
And unsavory company
Go unnoticed
Focused on the notion of swallowed nothing
Always there
If only in memory
Vastness fashions a concept of tangibility
And takes us under…..advisement…..under consideration
The observable existence calms
With so few spaces to fill in
The minutia of the moment
Categories:
minutia, science, time,
Form:
Free verse
The philosopher written by Daniel Corcoran The artist by Deborah Guzzi
The philosopher muses.
The artist creates.
With the keen intellect.
With paint on a page.
Of the vital subject.
Of minutia unformed.
As the learned expect.
As the Creation is born
And the masses accept.
Categories:
minutia, allegory, art, introspection, life
Form:
Free verse
a large unidentifiable creature
was washed up bloody on the beach
and a four km long circular structure was spotted
slowly crawling across the ocean floor
elliptical bases held up by pillars
are resting underwater outside the coasts
and there are pyramids lurking
beneath the Bermuda triangle
there's something that has to know
her deep secret will eat us up,
play with our minds, and teach us to find
the paraphernalia and minutia of our own bodies--
of our own world--
before we cross the water
and see ourselves as powerful giants
who can conquer the elements.
and the men with their helmets
are in awe of their own actions
as they set up the trussing
like she never created it first
her deep secret will eat them up
and leave them bloody on the beach
her deep secret will eat us up
Categories:
minutia, creation, destiny, humanity, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
Have we rebuilt the tower of Babel
With weary words of wireless babble?
Do somnolent thoughts surf synapses
On tidal waves of vacuous verbs?
So tasteless, as baseless, and faceless
Secret voices clamor, “I am here”
In clusters of blabbing barnacles
Encrusted, agape, to the Internet.
Watchers, spectators doing little,
Chasing minutia ever fresh.
Turned into products; privacy shed
In a passive world of dungeon dead.
Endlessly griping over offense!
A cacophony of words intense.
If brevity is the soul of wit
How many tweets will create a twit?
Categories:
minutia, addiction, devotion, feelings, life,
Form:
Free verse
Ever refreshing to my being
As the dew that fell on Hermon
Bringing new life to the seared psyche
of this particular earthly vermin
Designed to be made in your image
I regularly miss the mark
Treating this momentous opportunity
as little more than a lark
What is your favorite color? It seems it might be green.
All encompassing springing to life
In scene after scene after scene
I have wasted what you graciously offered
I see this clearly now with aged eyes
To know you and to love you an unfolding
Eternal surprise
Caught up in the minutia of being
I allowed myself to lose sight
With the time that remains me take these scales
From my eyes relieve me please of this plight
Evergreen life giving you have always
been and always you will be
Bring life anew to these dried bones
to rejoice for all seeing to see
Thank you for allowing this audience with you
YOU who made all things
Strike each day my hearts chord
undampered by me fully ring
Categories:
minutia, first love,
Form:
Rhyme