"A man's pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the humble in spirit." Proverbs 29:23 of the King James Bible
Aspiring for achievement glow
That vanquishes painful defeat’s shadow
Arrogance stands at loftiness gate for a show
While selfishness glitters midst jewel of hypocrite’s woe…
Oh, proud human nature, needs heaven blow
To mutter need for divine blessing flow
And be triumphant, staying low.
March 21, 2025
2nd place, "Write Seven Beautiful Lines With A Twist" Poetry Writing Contest Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 3/23/2025
June 4 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Job 16-18
Key Verse – Job 16:20 My friends scorn me: but mine eye poureth out tears unto God.
PRAISE BE TO GOD TO WHOM WE POUR OUT
OUR TEARS UNTO
Praise be to God to Whom we pour out our tears unto for:
Joy of no joke
Justice midst jesting
Joviality against jitters
Jubilation beyond jackpot
Job that jolts us to jolly journey
Job 17:15 Praise be to the Lord for assuring us hope in His:
Kingdom along His gracious kinship
Kindness with His granted knowledge
Kingship, governing us along our kneeling
Keenness, guarding us from being knocked-out
Keeping with His gloriousness beyond kindling kaleidoscope
Job 18:18 Praise be to the Saviour for His light:
Leading us to His love
Livening us by His lawful lessons
Liberating us against lamentations
Lengthening our lives for lovely legacy
Letting us listen to and laud His loftiness for our learning. Amen!
June 4, 2024
April 25 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on 2Kings 15-17
Key Verse – 2Kings 15:3 And he did that which was right in the sight of the LORD, according to all that his father Amaziah had done.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO HELPS US DO
WHAT IS RIGHT IN HIS SIGHT
Praise be to God for helping us do what is right in His sight with:
Humility by His love
Honour through His leadership
Honesty along His liberating lessons
Heartiness upon His life-leading light
Hoisted hope toward His lifting-up loftiness
2Kings 16:3 Praise be to the Lord Who
invites us to His house to learn about:
Worship with all our best
Workmanship by His blessings
Word’s bracing-up against boastfulness
Willingness to walk along ways of Biblical-building
Worthy winning wealth through His benefits and bonuses
2Kings 17:39 Praise be to the Saviour for
His deliverance that warns us against:
Disaster of sinfulness
Despair due to selfishness
Dismay caused by stubbornness
Discouragement bringing us shamefulness
Destruction to our spirituality along slothfulness. Amen!
April 25, 2024
TRANSIT GLORIA
turning surreal
blooming
imaginative
yet vintage
& compelling in loftiness
an influx
of euphoria
triumphal
yet unbowed
such contemporary
polemics
in
joyful shrieks
an embellishment
to reward & reinvigorates
yet
a contentious dream
obscure & curious
in an
endless
procession
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Up in the loftiness
owl dreams and mice dreams
waiting for a sign.
There it is - owl flight in a mouse dream,
Open the hinge-less door,
they come
riding their All-Terrain Vehicles,
not this terrain, not brain terrain,
not any piggy-back thought
catching a ride - no,
their bodies of light are shining bright.
Mice flying in owl dreams
and hurrying on to who knows.
The loftiness has nothing to say,
yet a new world arrives
pre-ordered from the dreams
of yesterday.
When breaks this siege so fierce and strong
that knows not length of day, now long;
a constant press this tyrant be,
when comes the blessed new?
An endless bearing on and on—
no hiding place, no hopeful song
or rest, it seems but then instead:
the storm, unceasing, roars again.
The moments drag as fury blooms—
each one a vast and troubled room,
that wears away the me I was
before this nightmare come.
But minutes...more, are lost and then
an hour gone (though time's no friend,
as hellish fight still steady be,
yet still, I hold my ground).
Then 'midst the grey the faintest glow,
as dawn begins her splendor'd show
and swelling heart where fear had been
doth fill my chest with hope again.
Shaped now by strife, and sweat, and tide—
the thieves of loftiness and pride
have done their duty (sore it be)
that I might better, stronger, be.
So blow ye winds, come storm of storms
and wrest the weakness from this form
that from it rise a creature hewn
to ever face life’s frightful blooms.
'Till final call, a melody—
above the storm is heard, so sweet:
'tis time to rest now, finally.
Then come, the blessed new.
Ahead there looms a mountain
We see it in the sun
A symbol of hope and beauty
A laurel proudly won,
A tall and stately statue
To lift the soul's despair
Clothed in strength and valor
Bathed in crispy air.
A monument to loftiness
From Nature's gifted hands
The length of darkened valley
Majestic mountain spans.
We choose the path we follow
Our soul will stand the test
Did we walk the valley
Or the mountain crest?
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Poetry Contest
May 23, 2021
"All Yours" Poetry Contest
sponsored by Brian Strand
Il doce far niente - - -
the sweetness of doing nothing
That's my conviction
as I'm living
life as a Poet.
It feels as if
I'm doing something constructive
as I work on poems
Time passes so swiftly
It's like I'm
encompassed in a dream
while I go about
my daily ritual.
It's a sensation
of serenity, contentedness
that goes beyond
mere expression with words
It's casual and concrete
all in swift actions
that lift me to a higher loftiness.
Beneath a golden sky sunflowers grow,
in the sunshine they raise their yellow heads;
and I wander a glimmering field slow,
where through their loftiness a long path threads.
And sun worshiping bees buzz and linger,
lost in depths of sun yellow all dreamy;
where a butterfly lands on my finger,
but in the hot sun this bliss is steamy.
Soon, I reach a cool bubbling stream flowing,
and a sweet bird is twittering a song;
sky and sun in the blue water glowing,
in dappled sun I could stay all day long.
In solitude and sun I find my peace,
this place just a speck of God's masterpiece.
______________________
March 5, 2018
Poetry/Sonnet/Sunshine Bliss
Copyright Protected, ID 8-1001-392-01
All Rights Reserved. Written Under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Sunshine Sonnet
sponsor, John Hamilton
Third Place ***
poetically fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped in holy water's resolution,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick psycho, yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
quarter past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans acid's sugar trip,
anointed of rose-reddish
bloody false pretenses
dancing off center phases
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions' cobalt blue hazed execution,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms' jazzily engaged poesy
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated delusional grandeur
Poetically fractured retractions
gnashing night prayers,
scribbling braille,
written sideways
dipped amid holy water retention,
compromising statements
of disbelief's proclamation
spinning music the color
of nakedly sick psycho, yet
burnished souls keep on ticking
half past total trade-offs
in a spoonful of smoky reflections
sans sugar's acid trip,
anointed of rose red
bloody false pretenses
dancing off center
in disillusioned
pirouettes of pseudo redemption,
whirling out of control on
staged tapestry's loftiness
surrendered ballet slippers
in blistered half promises,
as twisted metaphors sprightly
tuned out spun anomalies
below birds on a rusty wire tweeting
admissions of cobalt blue executions,
rendered inky alterations' inquisitions
'pon pedaled pink fluff profundity,
exhaling paroxysms of engaged poetry
in vehemently enraged deliverance,
naught one is ever as they seem
through pigmented film 'neath
figment's imagined looking glass
of ingratiated grand delusions
So once again, as I often do,
I sit and ponder on the loftiness of Man.
Great cities he has built -
Great are the rising condos -
Middle-finger pointing
Structures scraping the serene sky.
Great bridges spanning greater expanses
Deep tunnels through rock
And submarine mass.
Great thundering trains
Or even silently speeding bullet ones.
Great is the power
Of the drills in the earth
Bringing up the essence
To do even greater things!
Lofty, indeed, is Man
Who cares not a whit
For the rape of the land.
So Great is He that
Great plans to relocate ex-Terra are afoot.
But when the golden-egg laying goose
Is raped unto death,
Where lies the Greatness?
How lofty is Man?
Had I the choice to choose the greatest poets, to depict their visages by drawing them at their loftiness,
and volitionally strive to equal or excel, Poe for his lamenting woes or Browning’s dramatic monologues, or Whitman’s
ever refined Leaves of Grass, to wit the best, these and others I’d gladly trade for just the scent of you upon my verse, even for a moment.
I don't hate-I feel heartache.
Maybe I'm no good lover too!!!
The canon raised to the sky and the fire balls thrown into a blue- to create the red - kind of new
A single gulp! How is it enough? To drink humanity along with the pulp.
Maybe that's why I can set no examples since, no damages I can make co-lateral .
No ancient Russia I come from,
to hate him for being a German.
I am no-one so lost nowhere-
may be in the expanse immeasurable
or may be in its loftiness, set parallel.
I have no desire to create slaughter houses
no toast to raise to bite their voices.
Why should I roar and be king of the jungle?
when I can be a flower and kiss every other,
mouth that whispers 'brother! oh brother!"
I watch them on the beach -
shorebirds they are called
running here and there.
Residents of land more than the air,
they'd rather poke their beaks into the sand
probing for morsels of tasty crustaceans.
Pecking, always pecking,
scrambling to and fro,
they're focused, ever focused
on the job at hand.
Not especially strong, graceful, colorful, or pretty,
they are, however, speedy.
They scuttle easily through low tides,
rushing for the shore on skinny legs
when waves come crashing.
These industrious little creatures
seem unconcerned with the loftiness of clouds.
Yet at times, they will gather as one body in the sky,
performing an amazing aerial show.
Run, sandpiper, run. Soon your eggs will hatch.
In your being grounded
you reap rewards.
Written by Andrea Dietrich on 9/17/13
for nette onclaud's BUILD YOUR OWN SAND!Poetry Contest
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