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#grandeur
Ashes from the fire which Cooked our meal the night Before -- the same as Millennia past. Sitting under the sun and Clear blue sky breathing Relatively fresh air -- Though the present Is breathed with risk, Water drank and swam in With similar risk. Mating rituals Political and religious Arguments Creations stemming from Unchanged limitations All still the same Though more succinctly Thought out and articulated In modern "civilized" manners. Base instincts unchanged Just brought up to date. Green grass Tall trees Dense foliage Surrounding our campsite. Seeds floating on the wind Through nature's many Fallopian tubes Landing in its own Fertile eggs. Elusive intermittent flashes Of true natures ways Like millions of spermatozoa At mother's egg Trying to get through to my Modern brain Which is forever trying to Grasp life's purpose. I fervently try to train My thought patterns away From socialized "answers" In this advanced generation Of ancient mortality. MORTALITY YES! MORTALITY!!! Limited Earthbound Trying to find purpose Above and beyond the Simple Obvious Purpose of work to live -- Live to work. Nature seeks nothing Beyond her simple Purpose of Renewing herself Season after season Year after year Century after century Millennium after millennium. Nature never changed her Purpose She has always remained Content. But we 21st Century **** Sapiens believe in Our desperate clutching That everything must Change or rise above Established Obvious purposes. Cultures are created in this Cauldron. Religion is the chemical Reaction of this ill-conception Of transcending true pure Nature. In changing ourselves We change nature. In this delusion we think All of creation is subject to Our mastery. The results seen in the Present condition of nature. Not content to accept basic Laws of nature We create these artificial Realities; Pulling down her ancient Strongholds as we claw our Way tooth and nail To the top of our illusions And delusions of grandeur. Basic elements remain Nonetheless. The pursuit of greener Pastures and primal lust Has remained. Seeds float on the wind. Water courses still flow. Seasons revolve as our Globe spins in space. These things remain in Spite of our creations And misapprehensions. All may seem basically The same through the Scope of ancient days. But trying to change These fundamentals in Or outside of ourselves Creates Mutations of the true. Perhaps the true purpose Of human life is nothing More than natures... And nature can be beautiful.
0
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 8:46 AM UTC
An Ancient Scene is Set
Ashes from the fire which Cooked our meal the night Before -- the same as Millennia past. Sitting under the sun and Clear blue sky breathing Relatively fresh air -- Though the present Is breathed with risk, Water drank and swam in With similar risk. Mating rituals Political and religious Arguments Creations stemming from Unchanged limitations All still the same Though more succinctly Thought out and articulated In modern "civilized" manners. Base instincts unchanged Just brought up to date. Green grass Tall trees Dense foliage Surrounding our campsite. Seeds floating on the wind Through nature's many Fallopian tubes Landing in its own Fertile eggs. Elusive intermittent flashes Of true natures ways Like millions of spermatozoa At mother's egg Trying to get through to my Modern brain Which is forever trying to Grasp life's purpose. I fervently try to train My thought patterns away From socialized "answers" In this advanced generation Of ancient mortality. MORTALITY YES! MORTALITY!!! Limited Earthbound Trying to find purpose Above and beyond the Simple Obvious Purpose of work to live -- Live to work. Nature seeks nothing Beyond her simple Purpose of Renewing herself Season after season Year after year Century after century Millennium after millennium. Nature never changed her Purpose She has always remained Content. But we 21st Century **** Sapiens believe in Our desperate clutching That everything must Change or rise above Established Obvious purposes. Cultures are created in this Cauldron. Religion is the chemical Reaction of this ill-conception Of transcending true pure Nature. In changing ourselves We change nature. In this delusion we think All of creation is subject to Our mastery. The results seen in the Present condition of nature. Not content to accept basic Laws of nature We create these artificial Realities; Pulling down her ancient Strongholds as we claw our Way tooth and nail To the top of our illusions And delusions of grandeur. Basic elements remain Nonetheless. The pursuit of greener Pastures and primal lust Has remained. Seeds float on the wind. Water courses still flow. Seasons revolve as our Globe spins in space. These things remain in Spite of our creations And misapprehensions. All may seem basically The same through the Scope of ancient days. But trying to change These fundamentals in Or outside of ourselves Creates Mutations of the true. Perhaps the true purpose Of human life is nothing More than natures... And nature can be beautiful.
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120
I have never seen an ugly flower Flowers are always full of grandeur Flowers are known to be beautiful All the time, that's stupendously wonderful All flowers speak a beautiful language That we all fully comprehend. In this day and age Everybody is yearning to hear the voice of love The voice of a symphony coming from above Yes, everybody loves the language of the flowers It is a language, a sound of joy between lovers And friends. Love is at the center of everything Please keep on dreaming, please keep on speaking The language of the flowers, the language of all colors The dialect of the epicureans, the language of all lovers I only see beautiful flowers in spring, fall, summer and winter One flower has the power to improve the mood of a lover Bring a flower to a lover, I guarantee you that you'll be happy Keep on speaking the language of the flowers to spread unity Love, respect, peace and the incredible fondness that we all need Flowers do not discriminate or use foul words. Lead and feed Inspire and incense the world with the perfume of the flowers With the aroma of a stylish language and exquisite manners. Copyright © August 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
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Jan 20, 2025
Jan 20, 2025 at 10:11 PM UTC
The Language Of Flowers
i hear your waltz, dear bird. the soliloquy, the melodies that pull at the strings holding what’s left of my heart evermore. i listen, to the shuffle of your ruffled feathers, your light feet dance to the creak of hardwood. a sonical prison. as this intrepid cell guard is fueled by my schizophrenia, and van gogh like delusions. none of grandeur. so here are my ears, one sliced from reality, the other searching for its vibrations. each majestic, and just as much consequentially miserable, piano strike marks a new set of steps for you. and although i no longer feel, nor see, i still hear exactly how you carry yourself. and from that i draw insane conclusions. from there, upon just listening, i can imagine what your ****** expressions are like, and from your laugh as you dwindle around this penitentiary like a loose branch amongst gusts of wind i can tell you’re free. free to fly. free to feast. free to find a new mate. free to watch the world burn from a bird's eye view. just as we used to do. free at last, most importantly from us, more specifically from me. and although i no longer feel, nor see. i still hear exactly how happy you are. and that isn’t the most heart shattering aspect of our ordeal, or should i say, my ordeal, to live with, alone. because the part that really allows me to carefully and diligently pluck single strands of hair from my head as if i could somehow string out the memory of you out from my infinite depths, is the fact that i can hear, clear as day, another bird’s chirp, another bird’s laugh, another set of feet, on this waltz you’re on. and when i say heart shattering, i hope you hear it break, as the sounds of it reverbs across this room’s vast loneliness. oh, where are my van gohg like delusions now? i’ll continue my search, since now i fully know that you’re just gone. with the wind. fly, my dear. and leave me, here. to die amongst your waltz. -melancholicreator
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Feb 22, 2024
Feb 22, 2024 at 7:26 PM UTC
a bird's waltz
i hear your waltz, dear bird. the soliloquy, the melodies that pull at the strings holding what’s left of my heart evermore. i listen, to the shuffle of your ruffled feathers, your light feet dance to the creak of hardwood. a sonical prison. as this intrepid cell guard is fueled by my schizophrenia, and van gogh like delusions. none of grandeur. so here are my ears, one sliced from reality, the other searching for its vibrations. each majestic, and just as much consequentially miserable, piano strike marks a new set of steps for you. and although i no longer feel, nor see, i still hear exactly how you carry yourself. and from that i draw insane conclusions. from there, upon just listening, i can imagine what your ****** expressions are like, and from your laugh as you dwindle around this penitentiary like a loose branch amongst gusts of wind i can tell you’re free. free to fly. free to feast. free to find a new mate. free to watch the world burn from a bird's eye view. just as we used to do. free at last, most importantly from us, more specifically from me. and although i no longer feel, nor see. i still hear exactly how happy you are. and that isn’t the most heart shattering aspect of our ordeal, or should i say, my ordeal, to live with, alone. because the part that really allows me to carefully and diligently pluck single strands of hair from my head as if i could somehow string out the memory of you out from my infinite depths, is the fact that i can hear, clear as day, another bird’s chirp, another bird’s laugh, another set of feet, on this waltz you’re on. and when i say heart shattering, i hope you hear it break, as the sounds of it reverbs across this room’s vast loneliness. oh, where are my van gohg like delusions now? i’ll continue my search, since now i fully know that you’re just gone. with the wind. fly, my dear. and leave me, here. to die amongst your waltz. -melancholicreator
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51
"The most exquisite face wrinkles and droops with age Roses too must wither, mocking man's desire for any eternal beauty in materiality Death will destroy the buds of youth, Cataclysms will demolish the grandeurs of this earth But nothing can destroy the splendor of the astral cosmos" Many forms, but crystalline perfection; Mystics pine, on the meaning of raging storms; In lieu of real connection. We can Appreciate the beauty that is laid before. Before our time, and we veer Without axis, & detached from direction.
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Jul 31, 2023
Jul 31, 2023 at 8:28 PM UTC
Whitley
Aren't delusions of grandeur just as good, if not better?
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May 24, 2022
May 24, 2022 at 9:32 AM UTC
Questions for the (old) Ages
My favorite pursuit of happiness is to recite the enchanting verses from the beauteous Quran. To be lost in its splendor. To Mesmerize myself with its grandeur. Breath with pure sublimity. I can wipe out my woes and blues. And rise to the majestic heights of glee, like an uncaged eagle who soared to be free.
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Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
My favorite pursuit of happiness
The love of my life runs through my veins It can't be a lie that makes me feel safe All the jewels of emotions come into the phrase Neutralizing stabilised thoughts for a place Concluding I hope to get my precious gains The Brain and Heart are my soul locators Giving me purpose to live and aware Following into happiness of my favorite sphere Inside the self loving treatment of geared individuals I dig into my thoughts of shallow waters Growling into the fact of curious matter I am no more the master to my beloved grandeur I lost hope into the Truth of love for my serious self desire.
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Jan 27, 2021
Jan 27, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
Cancelled Love
You wonder the meaning in thousands of hieroglyphs the roses you garnered are still holding their stance. The artists in fragments collect their forgotten past to assemble the untold future into some hopeful slivers. Wondering if ever appearing on the white painted wall there is a shadow of a candle or mere illusion of the reality.
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Oct 21, 2020
Oct 21, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
Resplendence Lost
This is not the way how my story ends.
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May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
Remimder for Everyday
My veins like glass shards    itch beneath a memory of aging brackish memories. I couldn't lift my arms for they fell like a breathless moment                                  in a forest of regrets.                             No one heard them descend, they just bled sap slowly, till all was hollow. And all that was left was a time that fell,                                       and the cuts where silent. I was a moment standing in grandeur,         but beneath it didn't really matter                              I                          was a hollow moment, crumbling beneath life's weight.
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Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 6:48 PM UTC
What Cut Beneath My Weight
Fear Is a terrible reason To Or Not To Believe In Something In Someone In a God In Others In Yourself Fear is a grandeur adversary to many But Courage To Go On and Stand In the face of Fear Is the grandest Ally So many fail to choose
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Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 6:42 PM UTC
You Choose, Fear does not
ANu dei dawns..                            .      '      .                   .                           .                 .                               . ---------------------------------------------- His name is Antoine
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Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 11:21 AM UTC
ANudeillusion
For the first time in my life, I now live in a home of my own, Regardless of the financial constraints, Sweet parents built this dwelling, Then I also pumped some capital. Of late, we sold our previous property, Well, I planned & cracked the deal, Now we have this new bigger home. Regards to my parents are never going to be enough, Especially when we went through my accident saga, Salty moist memories do not follow me now, Indian, this Anugraha looks so graceful, Darkness of night fails to take away the sheen, Enjoying my time here in the life, Not forgetting who made this house a home, Call them I do my sweet and kind parents, Even the darkest memories seem to fade away.
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May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
First Own Residence
Let us write our stories   Reckon all moments A passage to self-reflection   With a display box of grandeur,   Fingers on a key pressed,   Levitates a search in no time, Way out of the crowd   Quiting a reality to roam and wander   Nothing is outside, all within   A big circle of virtual connections,   Without months of eye contacts   No face to face,   Sending empathy through e-thoughts Having a common ground,   Hope to run faster than Terabyte,   We love seconds more than a minute   WiFi made all worth living   Sending signals to the soul   We will feel it, anyway.
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Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 1:29 PM UTC
WiFi
Bored on the internet, so see what I find. I'm taken back to that moment in the past When I met the droop-eyed star and starlet. Look what Twitter has. Their pale face framed and recreated, pixel perfect, inundated. Talking in circles. Talking highly of Your self -- Like you're above the tower seat of power, In the clouds. You're a mental case. How you gonna love yourself so much?
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Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 7:15 PM UTC
Smoke & Mirror: "Self Love Gone Too Far"
In the bejeweled chronometer dial of the lighted night sky's grandeur, light years unfathomable, embedded vie with one another, every single minute in a scramble to all 360 degrees creating a  perfect hallucination! Time impishly breaks all concepts, of linearity, circularity and the rest, takes to directions, that pleases in the process makes one wonder what the distinctions we make as  past present and future mean! "Let's mix past with future, put past in present and create an ethereal symphony of time,so that nothing gets lost, gained either"
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Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 11:05 PM UTC
In the night sky's chronometer
27 | 31 Poems for August 2017 Her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin; you should see the world through her pupils. Often at times she had no need to say anything because through her eyes you could see a different perspective of the world. Her eyes eloquently spoke a language that was foreign to anyone who hadn’t experienced the vibe of South African townships. But you could always understand her because those eyes were filled with hope, love and happiness. The wisdom she constantly utters every single day may often remain unheard. But the beauty of God’s grandeur will never go unnoticed; you can see it in her hazel-brown eyes. You should see the world through her pupils; her eyes are the same colour as her brown skin. I see the sunflowers in her eyes, the love that radiates from her aura is drawn from within.
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Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 2:07 PM UTC
Exquisite Vision
Soldiers are the real sons of soil Hence they are patriot and loyal They put in the relentless toil Keep discipline is in rank and file Remain awake when other sleep The torch of light high they keep On high mountains or down deep Their destination is on just one leap Sheer sincerity is their hall mark On every danger they embark Pave their way from every dark In their approach they are stark They are but for the motherland All o come up to graciously garland With one frequency and on band They carry grandeur of the grand Col Muhammad Khalid Khan Copyright 2015 Golden Glow
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Jan 28, 2017
Jan 28, 2017 at 4:54 AM UTC
Grandeur of Grand
How sweet the linen that grandeur weaves, unseen by other's untrained eyes, yet seemingly hard to sew into the fabric of our own immediate lives.
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Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
Grandeur
Grandeur's delusion                                                                                        is an allusion                 standing on the precipice of greatness                                                                                                                             it's something intrinsic, ain't it?
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Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 1:47 AM UTC
Grandeur
The greatness of Nature cannot be denied. Her grandeur is plain for all to see. Such sheer determination can only be admired. See that tiny ***** on yonder rock face: Some miniature plant has taken hold Where nothing else could live. We know that Mother Nature rules the Earth. But what about the stars? Billions of exoplanets wave at me In my mind’s eye. For life right here can thrive in boiling acid And solid sheets of ice. What scope for life is there out there, Amongst the swirling galaxies And gassy nebulae? I tell you now: There’s almost ENDLESS Opportunity For life to evolve Around this Universe Alone. Yes, she’s much, much more than “Mother Earth”: More “Mother Multiverse”. Mother Nature multiplied a million, million times. Imagine That. Paul Butters
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Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
Mother Multiverse
**Poets were created        to emulate grandeur,             whilst suffering the blues**
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Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
Poet (10W)