Long Grander Poems
Long Grander Poems. Below are the most popular long Grander by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Grander poems by poem length and keyword.
one
morning
I’ll awake from
this surreal nightmare
I hold my breath
I live in
fear
memory’s
flipside is a
hellish curse
I wish I could erase
dismiss the persecutions
cruel injustices
systematic
strikes
most
utterly liberating
it would so be to crush and
disintegrate persistent debilitating
memories in order to lead
a life craving to be
free
bad
things happen
every day
our experiences
shared and yet diverse
sometimes even the most tragic
in the grander scheme of things
we’re the same and
yet unique
we still choose
life
when we stop and think about it
categorically we fall into
an array of statistics
one day I hope to
choose not to
stagnate
there
in
an attic
I wait for life
to pick up where
it suddenly
left off
~
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on July 18, 2020 for contest DELIRIUM sponsored by KAI MICHAEL NEUMANN - RANKED 5TH
For you, who must remain in Asphodel,
We weep for you, who have forever fell.
Yet we, who lost the moment, gained all time.
In falling, do we hope that others climb.
And though we lost our little lot of Earth,
We wish upon it all a grander birth.
Though life is for the living, not the dead,
Your lives our dreams, when we are gone to bed.
For the dreams of fallen fighters
Are the walkways of our world:
Be they heroes, be they blighters,
We’re the fabric they unfurled.
How much to those departed do we owe,
Whose bloods and brains didst build the world we know!
For sunlight rolled from off their learned tongue!
For ancient are the thoughts, forever young.
We paid no slavish homage to the past,
Nor failed to lend our glory to our day.
Take then our best, and nothing more need last,
And let thy beacon cast a brilliant ray.
We live as long as you recall our name.
We held the torch, and now we pass the flame.
the Golden Gate, she sang to me
in a darkened whispered voice
El Niño crying like a spoiled child
of all the sad souls brought to her
with desperation’s choice
that flew like angels
from her transoms, wild
oh dare I hearken to that song
that pressed to tympans, sweet
a secret that commanded I impart
the answer I had sought so long
of darkened dreams, complete
and one last sleep that
plunged the ocean’s heart?
it was a day of days - the sort
that put most days to shame
as Sol daubed on the sea her Sunday best
as though to woo me and to court
my coursings for her flame
with all the sparkling
jewels upon her breast
to put to rest these passioned pains
midst such a gloried breeze
would be to deign those somber voices true
but life and loves and loss had brought
this madman to his knees
my last adventure
meant for bounding blue
so there atop the stanchions stood
one man of heartened breaths
a smile as broad as sun upon the waves
and though the bridge had sung of
sweeter dreams and grander deaths
the raw breath-stealing beauty
of that wondrous glistened sea -
the thoughts of one hereafter
where a soul could wander free
and all the joys that filled me up
like that gold, tender sea
made that the best of
blue Pacific graves …
so off I flew -
the freest of her slaves.
Through this mound of darken earth
I see signs of civilizations birth
A shard of pottery a piece of bone
Once this place was for man a home
Nothing civilized ever last
All that was civilized will pass
You walk the tombs of ancient man
Gradually with each step you understand
The grander the wonder the majesty of it all
Yet where did it go? Why did it fall?
The songs the poets the music the dreams
The riches the science inventions then screams
Calamities, barbarians at the gate
Or simple contempt becomes your fate
Forver your technology ruled your day
Than suddenly it vanishes then you fade
Layers upon layers we unearth our creed
Modern and buoyant we shall forever be
In a blink of an eye within a flash
Our souls are unearth how they marvel at our past.
The quote is from William Shakespeare's play, Hamlet,
spoken by Hamlet in Act 3, Scene 1.
"To be or not to be, that is the question."
But, what's the explanation of- to be?
Hopes for more than only one suggestion;
and so, I offer this which pleases me.
To be is that one choice tween life and death,
not only of the flesh but of the mind.
And choosing life is being with our breath;
and feeding thought creates life well-defined.
Yet, some may say that life's not just to be,
and brush off any joys it holds within;
to shut their minds to blackness others see
no matter in the ground or 'neath the skin.
Some say great life just happens on its own-
those highs and lows exist beyond our will;
that happenstance determines path alone-
in what we'll end up feeling- pang or thrill.
The choice is yours: with hope, it is to be;
the opposite negates life's grander prize.
Must live life to its fullest guarantee;
block not- just be, no need to compromise.
Hot the lost lovers rage
Walk within pantheons of gilded brigades
The passions roar as idolized lost sages
Of some immense meaning
In supernatural things
Without rhythms or reasons
Of a fathomless being
Walking destiny’s configured trails
The streaming of consciousness
The breaking deluse, the midnight furor
Of these dreams that spiral
In the palm of his hand
God conspires grander plans
He is robed in the tempest of storms
At his heels Hellborn legions swarm
Liquid steel towers as it rises
I spoke with the lightning as it strikes
as it burns the night
Lighting the blue living white light
Glittering in chroma
Theory of furies mechanical is the beast
Dark winds come from the lost eons east
Turning across the vacant rooms of vast lands
In something now past the seams
It seaks, pondering rage
A love so strong that carries an age
Its spires the engines of hearts carnage
The foundations are wrought
Feel his furies in the aftermath
Cooling in a man’s Crimson bath
Hot with the lost
Pantheons burn
Gilded in chrome rooms
It demands infinite being
Has divinities seen the walking man
Naked and afraid traveling distant lands
A coil of this labyrinthian, parade
Marches to the metronome
Something promenades
In the shadows of methadone
Monolithic in spires shadows
Cast as the time expires
Expiring in the aftermath of yesterdays
As the pantheons burning bright
So to ends this night
Pedants fume helpless and seethe with rage,
But linguists surrender to the age,
Media always misuse
Commoners to confuse,
But rage not, time has turned a tired page.
______________________________________________________
It is the age of freedom, free for all. Words are used any which way. Grammar ultimately follows usage. Take epicentre. It may sound a bit grander than just centre, but it is used only in context of earth-quakes. But media prefer epicentre in all contexts— political, social, economic, any. Pedants and classicists and linguists may boil with rage. But dictionaries will ultimately capitulate and compromise. So, make no fuss, or you will be called doctrinaire, worse, obscurantist or obfuscator, or in the worst case a nit-picker hair-splitter. Alas, you thought you were a sophist and a scholar!
______________________________________________________
Tongue-in-cheek |05.05.14 |
We have scarce put our lips
to a drink of sparkle,
through years of wishes that
fizzed, only to fizzle.
No cork missile has exclaimed
into our ceiling’s muted white,
trailing bottled-up yearnings
a triumph has given flight.
Rarely has a foam-clad genie
danced high with a splash of hair,
sprung by a sudden silver lining
from her golden-necked lair.
But why should we not toast
so many years of quiet bliss,
anoint so much unsung labor
with the frisky nectar’s kiss?
Why should our small victories
not be awash in shiny amber,
when we’ve held fast to purpose
against darkest days’ temper?
Why, my dear, do we mourn
lost plots of grander scope,
but not raise high the twinkles
to the courage of saner hope?
Before this life we’ve shared
joins yesterday’s relics,
let’s drink till we’re tipsy to
our ordinary heroics.
I walk a solitary path, a reclusive soul/
Lonely whispers echo where shadows console/
Nobody speaks, nobody sees/
I'm lost in their world, like a silent breeze/
In public, I vanish, an invisible man/
An outcast, a shadow in their grander plans/
Yet within me burns a heart so true/
A Romeo's passion, longing for breakthrough/
I may be deaf, but I hear through skies/
Telepathy bridges what hearing denies/
My silent ears, tune to unspoken sound/
A mind reader, a Psychic yet deaf/
I hear you, feel you, though silence surrounds/
Don't hate me, don't judge what you think you know/
Don't let my deafness mark me with woe/
For I am not less, and I am not weak/
A soul in the shadows, yearning to speak/
The journey stretches, endless and long/
Loneliness binds, but I remain strong/
A road of solitude, yet I've always known/
The quiet holds power, it's my own/
LITTLE WINGS
“No,” and they meant it. The dizzy seat
almost threw the 8 year old. He was swiveling
‘round and around and around, starting
to look green, ready to fly, free fall. Slip
of balance to the ground would have stopped
this silliness. So I had to save this big kid
with firmness and kindness. Had him sit
on the prop once more showing him how easy
he could have slipped off his solo merry-go-round.
“No,” one propped at the top with listless feet.
Vigor not wasted on swings, slides, hide n seek.
“Yes,” taking them by the hands, we walk to the bridge,
locate the side path to the sidling creek. Recent rain
filled its body. “Yes,” the oldest balances on a stretch
of log reaching into the water. I must let the future
middle-schooler stretch himself, but only so far,
for if he falls in this grandma with an arthritic leg
might find herself in an uncomfortable situation.
“Yes,” the youngest can cup his hands into the water,
stir it with small sticks…skip stones across its surface.
“No,” to creeping out onto the log with his brother.
Grandma knows there’s more potential for this guy
to fall in, and this grandma has no desire to go fishing.
Fine men in the making, tasting of life. Letting go,
little by little, sloughing away the silliness —
with grander and gratefulness,
as Grandma loves the antics and abandon
of their soaring souls. Love is swinging, sliding,
listening to the beating of heartfelt wings.
6/23/2021