Long Grain Poems
Long Grain Poems. Below are the most popular long Grain by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grain poems by poem length and keyword.
The wisdom of God is his secrets
the glory of men to seek them out
but until he understands his childhood
he will cloud insight with his doubt
With our faith we can move mountains
overcome every obstacle in our road
can leap like the ibex every cliffside
and reach the gold of the motherlode
You have placed within inspiration
and in our minds to reach for stars
the diversity in planes of learning
until we make them completely ours
I bow before your majestic truths
laws of the cosmos contains no lies
the direction of its course is fixed
its movements to create us wise
Every speck we don't understand
we will seek till its truth divine
our only satisfaction its pursuit
until its completed in our mind
Only you can heal a blind man
or repair the lepers skin
transform hearts made of stone
change a man who he is within
Only your spirit can touch his inside
beyond his flesh and bone
only you can reach beyond ones sight
and heal the parts to us unknown
You have given us a need to learn
until we dig into solid rock
we will analyze every grain of sand
until its secrets we unlock
Like the sun our fires are burning
it drives what we weld in its heat
your energy warms our universe
and all its secrets we do seek
You have paved the road to wisdom
showered its path with justice and love
the power of truth and foresight
will produce the life we vision of
Genesis 1
New International Version (NIV)
The Beginning
1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 Now the earth was formlessand empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
3 And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good,and he separated the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light “day,” and the darkness he called “night.” And there was evening, and there was morning —the first day.
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
Via Duboff Law Group LLC
*gold fusion
syllable-based; 5-3-5
Faint, sparkling crystals
Gold rings melt
for the sun to steal
Extolling the merits of specific metals. Yet, many buyers seek advice from a jewelry salesperson during buying decision process and leave with little relevant insight.
~~~~~~~~~
**sand grain
word-based; 3-5-3.
Delicious soft sand
Akin to the sugar sweetness
my feet clinging
~~
Verses of great poet William Blake:
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wildflower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
and eternity in an hour.
Written: October 16, 2021
Lune (Mixed Pair) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula
The orange sunset bleeds, and in its wake
Corona of moon flaunts a hue…opaque;
To etch one’s vision until dawn rises
While brushstrokes in oil abandon the day--
With pigment lavender circling away.
And tints slip-slide on radiant flowers
Where a pond’s varnished tones daub evening hours ,
That olive boughs hang on an easel moist
Embellishing garlands utterly white
Along ebullient woodland, red and bright.
How such panorama fires one dappled trance
Allowing colors their primitive vibrance…
As still- life bursts like a god's creation :
Here, an artist traces traces again
In night’s chill … bold paint splashing nature's grain.
Your Personal Perfect Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Gaia’s womb the ocean,
births her children with aqua love.
Mammalian heartbeats intermingle with
The sound of the tides;
harmonic echoes are recorded in
every abandoned shell.
The wisdom of those who traverse
this entire world amid the waterways…
immense and timeless; borne of eternal-mind;
the consciousness of the universe resides in every soul.
A spiritual connection deeper than life
each grain of sand holds the magic
drawn from the cosmos.
I reach to touch a conch, Lifting it my ear;
listening to the wisdom it provides
in the language of surf.
I hear the voice of a dolphin,
“We are one and the same”.
The spirit of the Manatee asks,
“Come swim with me.”
Wading into the surf, I feel the cool
of ocean embrace and dive in;
a rubbery touch of manta says
“Hello, let’s race.”
I find myself among friends.
On a green patch
In a blue corner
At an orange shadow
Soaked with ache and smell of wine
We sat
A slice of time snatched off
From our call centre service
It drizzled a little
Both sought
An umbrella
Palm leaves clasping each other
The wine spread in the branches
Sentences of flowers
Stanzas of scent
So apt
Moments rapt
A grain of truth
Dozens of lies
No permanence
Just a moment
We knew
Still
One insisted
The other agreed
Fragrance
Is so short-lived
Still
We need it
Between the shirt and skin
Let's lay another stanza in
September 11, 2019
Any Poem You Want to Write 180 words or Less Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
This is not poetry
It is the rattle of a copper coin
falling through the ribcage of a cathedral—
a hollow sound that has never learned a hymn.
It is the salt-crust gathering
on the lip of a rain-forgotten glass,
the quiet residue of a thirst
that no longer remembers its own name.
Do not come searching for metaphor.
There is no disguise here.
Only the blunt geometry of a bruised knee,
the exact, indifferent weight of a key
that has outlived every door in this city.
It is the static between stations,
where the ghosts of dead singers
grope for the shape of a vowel
and fail, again and again,
into silence.
This is not wisdom, slow and sweet.
It is the cold engine of morning,
reluctant, unpersuaded,
turning over nothing but itself.
It is the ache sealed in the grain of an old chair
that still carries the memory of wind,
and the long pause that follows
when you understand the mirror
has never been yours—
it looks past you,
through you,
to the blank wall that has always been waiting.
If there is a spark here,
it is only friction wearing down its own bones.
If there is meaning,
it arrives by accident—
a brief alignment of light
on something that was never meant to be seen.
But this is not poetry!
This, perhaps, has been my constant duty all through,
My life has been a perpetual stock-taking;
Within which, I, like sparrows, from out of the blue,
Find possibilities of Nestles get shaping...!
The almighty and my kith and kin have been great,
What a life he has given me, it's wonderful!
Who says there's existential resolve and sad fate?
My response-filled life has been rainbow-colorful...!
How delicately each bird pecks its little grain!
How each loyal soul searches for the final goal!
What's, after all, without reaching that godly reign?
To which each one needs to strive with whole heart and soul...!
I sift each sad shadow like a penny not spent,
Each unspent penny has added to my... lone cent...!!!
In the garden of eternity, where the spirit blooms like a vine of mystery,
We tread, unknowingly, on steps of time hidden beneath olive branches.
As the lifeblood of our finished thoughts dwindles, our lives, clusters of dream,
Shrivel on forgotten soil, with the sun as a wandering monk through the abyss.
The soul, a translucent vine clinging to walls that breathe things immortal,
Which, detached, withers under the weight of an endlessly flickering silence.
This is more than verse, it's the raw bone of our celestial being,
The unraveled vine, the frozen spring, the magical death – a world that flickers and glimpses.
The life sap, precious blend of sky and earth, no longer flows,
We, the ever-joined branches, now lie apart, powerless in supplication.
A stem, a thread of hope, a tragedy weaved into a grain of sand –
In the embrace of fate, we perish together, lost in our own myth.
And thus, the spasms of the heart reflect like ripples on a lake at night,
Eternity – a specter that whispers in summer through the woods left without ward.
But the silence that settles is not the end; it's just the pause before the song,
It's the moment when the root retracts its essence, preparing a new enchantment.
Torn from the primordial vine, I wander in mystery, searching for signs in heaven and on earth,
A thousand visions mingle in the chalice of the night, a thousand desires burning fiercely.
For in the depth of reality, beyond the veil of doubt, there is an unseen magic,
Where we, branches and vine, find ourselves again in dance, in an endlessly silent symphony.
In our odyssey among the stars, in search of the eternal spring of legends,
The vine of the soul – though torn – dares to reconnect the suspended bonds.
And in this transcendental journey, between the ancient and the anticipated,
We breathe the intangible ether in which, mystically, we are eternally enchanted.
Yes, it hurts that your eyes are shining and measuring
to show deep concern,
and fearful.
But I'm glad you said it.
Had you not, the turn
I might've taken could have hurt
us all.
So let me carry my weight away mechanically
by instinct, the loser
this time, and all
the times before that reason has returned
after the first sting of honesty
slid against the grain,
should comfort
you from your other side with the dirt
of your experience. Mine,
is yet too empty.
So I'll swallow my pride, and let it be
filled up at a reasonable pace
with all the knowledge
of the Good,
than I could ever obtain by saving face.
So when this hot-blood subsides,
and small-minded hands that seek
easy glory rest,
and all is back in its place,
then Things will be fine,
and you'll be glad you said it.
I have known many porches throughout the years,
some adorned in laughter and some wrought with tears.
Porches where warm breezes floated o'er the plains,
and the sunlight shimmered ‘cross green waves of grain.
Porches below mountains that stood tall and proud,
their snowcapped peaks towering into the clouds.
Porches where sea mist fell across our faces,
and ships horns faded to faraway places.
Porches lost in the shadows of steel and glass,
the sky had no sunshine and yards had no grass.
Porches that looked out across strange foreign lands,
some with views of forests, some jungles, some sand.
Porches 'neath a sky filled with millions of stars,
miles away from the closest ribbon of cars.
Porches where the song of birds greeted each day,
and summer breezes brought the smell of fresh hay.
Porches from where I've watched the day start anew,
and sunsets that filled the sky with wondrous hue.
No matter the time, the place or the weather,
I've loved all the porches we've shared together.