MELANCHOLY GRANDEUR
insight
in
a
surreal
memory
enigmatic
sensations
venerate
in
repetitions
of
juxtaposed
sombre
scenes
loneliness
evoke
an
atmosphere
transformed
ambiance
evolves
unpretentious
nascent
elegance
understated
restrained
celebrated
elevated
in
pictorial
sophisticated
minimalism
You want to be successful ?
Here's my bit of advice for you ~
Simply go with the flow
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
We've woven Samson's hair, into Emperor's clothes
From the tangled web, that enough of us chose
We try to find our way back, while the drawbridge is closed
As the portcullis crashes on the cry in our throat
If we could but match it, with sincerity's tear
We might fashion a shield, and a mantle to wear
But if we cling to the cloak of the silk that's been woven
By the dance of the golden hooves of the cloven
We'll be trampled under, that stampede of lies
In the gathering storm, as it darkens the skies
It won't echo and thunder, as our epitaph
But a death knell our legend, as history laughs
At the folly of thinking, "We're better than that."
Swept into the dustpan, or under the mat
Placed at the bottom, of a yellowing page
In some forgotten tome... of enlightenment's age
The marshy lands,the meadows green,
The miraculous creations are yet to be seen.
The nature's beauty spread around,
The swaying flowers,the chirpy sound.
The mountain peaks ,reaching the sky,
The wonderful creatures, fly free so high.
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
An open heart, unguarded and true,
spills light like dawn across the dew.
Its glow, a quiet, golden flame,
draws souls who never knew its name.
It listens more than it speaks aloud,
a gentle force beneath the crowd.
Moments bloom where it has been.
Soft echoes of what might have been.
No need for grandeur, pride, or show,
Its essence whispers, calm and slow.
And those who cross its humble path.
Feel peace that lingers long after its glow.
In this charming retreat,
the silence of nature and hills talk to me,
whispers of forgotten tales in the breeze,
of hidden secrets of times bygone,
an era of luxury and grandeur,
where every stone holds a story untold.
In the marble statues and king-size portraits,
etched in elegance, they gaze through time,
their faces frozen in an eternal grace,
gripping the pulse of a golden age.
Laid in every nook and corner of the mansion,
they speak of grandeur
of feasts and whispers in the halls,
of laughter echoing beneath crystal chandeliers.
The velvet curtains, the blinds drawn in quiet reverence,
softly filter the light, casting shadows of tranquility and peace,
the swimming pool in the front yard
girdled by palm trees standing tall and erect like silent sentry
the mango tree laden with fruits drooping over the pool
a visual treat for hungry eyes sore with city life.
and outside, the hills stand,
ancient and proud, keeping their vigil.
on the idyllic retreat
where wealth and wisdom reign in peace.
and time slows, and memories breathe.
I coulda written that song, “Purple Rain.”
It didn’t take that big of a brain.
And I coulda written that song “Hotel California.”
But girl - I do wanna warn ya!
I’ve always been considered at least halfway insane.
they rose majestic and magnificent
and swirled before my eyes
they stole my breath my heart
transported floated in the skies
and to the count of seven
I stood suspended in the vault of heaven
AP: 1st place 2025
Nectarous taste would not surcease
in torture now that’s my showpiece;
I sit in a hard chair pallid,
there’s solace in something solid;
Give fine obeisance to the madness,
decayed memories savor sadness;
Such enmity in your answer,
the pinnacle of gross grandeur;
Your lotion now my nepenthe,
letting me drown so easily;
Rocking on this rickety porch,
that scent hits me like a blowtorch;
Alone, I want to be swaddled
in each moment that we bottled;
I’m locked in a living tomb
rusted with such a stale gloom;
Filthy stench, can you smell it?
Perfume for some to covet;
In a cataleptic state
circumvention seen too late;
Doppelgänger could not withdraw,
prose signed ‘Edgar Ravenclaw’.
Why does the mouse disguise itself as a rat?
Because it has delusions of grandeur.
The mouse thinks it must win in life,
And to win in life is to be intimidating;
To make a name for yourself.
Rats are feared, but who would fear a mouse?
A mouse, with its big ears and adorable whiskers—
A mouse is but a small creature,
Whereas the rat is haggard and diseased.
So why does the mouse disguise itself as a rat?
To be anything it is not.
Because it is better to be feared than undermined.
Robert Burns knew schemes.
Like all of us,
His vanity
Lent him an illusion
Of control.
How did his wisdom come?
Did his head fall beneath the trap?
The cat is away, time to play.
What's dearest to your heart?
A night in paradise?
A glass full of lies?
Maybe a vision of ladders
Climbing closer to your treasures.
Come now, come now,
Free will, will reveal the maze.
Starving for peace,
Our plans
Unfold like walls and cul de sacs
Before us.
Hunger for control,
Needs too deep to fathom:
I am the master of my destiny.
And of course, we're right,
Right as rain.
Our destiny, our plans "gang aft agley."
Red, orange and yellow fill the valley
Like a bucket of paint, spilled on the trees
Water reflects autumn's grand finale
With colorful leaves, waving in the breeze
The humming birds have left on their long trip
With clear memories, of where to return
The cherry tree is now pruned, snip by snip
Breaking branches, with new lessons to learn
Acorns tumble across the colder ground
On lawn where the sparkling frost will arrive
Summer flowers passed, where they were once found
Death and re-birth of seasons to survive
The grandeur of fall, sparks new enlightment
Opening doors, to winter's excitement
Heidi Sands
12/13/23
POTD 12/15/23
We have said bye to summer's horrid heat.
The dim sunrays that fall are no more wild.
Bodies will not be drenched in pouring sweat.
The soft zephyr blowing is cool and mild.
Autumn is the season we all adore.
It comes in deep auburn and golden glow.
Our earth looks gorgeous in colors galore.
Like a regal queen, she puts up a show.
Early mornings are of lavender grey.
Sprawling wheat fields are full of ripened corn.
Each one of us feels so joyous and gay.
This pleasantly cool season, none can scorn.
As autumn like a peacock struts its hues
Poets waltz in company of their muse
Fall leaves tumble to their slipshod decay,
oozing from the crowns of tedious trees.
A mephitic scrunch with their latter sway,
as they are raked into wide whisking seas.
Coral-hued yew berries grace the yard's path,
late hollyhocks, and sunflowers shine bright.
Marigolds adorn door homes with gold lath,
thorn twigs in crimson holes dapple faxed sight.
As the bounty of nature sparks strange start,
saffron periwinkle countless bright shades.
Giving a boost to the Fall grandeur art;
the hues of oak trees fluctuate by glades.
Topaz leaves stuck in a sapphire whisk breeze;
fall reveals deep facts, a sprint ember squeeze.
Poet's ink portrays wonders so profound,
as the last crimson rose of summer fades,
verdant leaves gently float to soggy ground,
weaving a pattern of saffron, beige shades.
Autumn's theatre parades vibrant hues,
as misty fog covers frozen meadows.
Haunting pastels animate artist's muse.
as poetic palettes splash glowing prose.
Lampposts ignite with cold midnight moonlight,
as snow flakes embrace trees in a white fleece.
Astral blooms inspire the soul to recite
in a rhythmic aesthetic masterpiece.
Lost in the elegance of nature's call,
art is adored in the grandeur of fall.
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