Grant Laurence: his vision about blindness: Blind Progress

Sometimes the child is hidden by titanium: sometimes the camouflage is flesh contaminated by the gravity of aging

Literati! Once again Grant Laurence has entered a contest with a thoughtful and thought provoking poem. My apologies to all who submit poems: a poem is generally symmetrical, centered on a page as if a bird in flight, wings to the left and right in balance. Our formatting allows only that the work is justifed left on the page. Never-the-less, Grant’s words take wings.

Blind Progress

by Grant Laurence


Beneath the surface

Where cracks run free

Not bound by unconscious thought

To split the Spirit’s rich tapestry


The rippled blue blanket

Coats its hidden splendor

As tides nudge the sibling rival

Reminding it of its suffocating candor


But what lies beneath

From an inverted view

Is our progressive show

Our human stew


As truth lies sleeping

Death waits in the wings

Until the Door is kicked open

And the Raven sings


And what lies beneath

This crusted lined face

Is a machine with no heart

Of a child now replaced


From the Mother’s womb

To a heart so still

From the fallen fruit

To the cross on the hill


As for all we hate

We know the most

Within the web that we’ve spun

To the trumpet’s last post!

Soldiers the Kansas Army National Guard's Honor Guard team perform military funeral honors during the 2009 Army National Guard Honor Guard Competition at Fort Myer, Va., Monday, Sept.14, 2009. The competition, which included eight finalists, tested the skills of the team members on their drill and ceremony knowledge, performance of military funeral honors, and attention to detail in wearing the Army uniform. (U.S. Army photo by Sgt. 1st Class Jon Soucy)(Released)
Sometimes, Death pounds on the door.  Sometimes…it’s just taps.














  1. Parisianne Modert says:

    Eloquently masculine, blowing taps with snapping notes from both sides of the surface view, “Blind Progress” exposes and plays reverie to the expanse of childhood beyond death. Wonderful without any left justification lessening its insights and stark beauty.

  2. Michael Stang says:

    I confess to all poetry can leave me on a dime. If I practice real hard and get back into the swing of it, I am still a toddler at the game. It took a bit for me to connect the dots but then realized what a complete work in the genre I was reading. (For god’s sake who takes the time to rhyme anymore.) So I thank you for being good at your craft and giving us creative insight.

  3. I adore rhyming poetry which seems to have gone out of vogue within the poetry class, but I will forever adore it. The greats believed in it and so do I. Rhyming is much more difficult to capture the feeling and purpose and you have done so masterfully.
    Poetry is my first love and your piece is one reason I feel this way.
    So sad and forlorn yet how many feel this way as they age? If only the could capture the child within and enjoy. Ah, loved this.

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