Best Evanesce Poems
Some parts of life are permanent,
alas, some aspects not:
The morning temperature feels chill;
by midday it grows hot.
The money spent on cell phones'
long-term value which I sought,
Too soon is gone, as more is spent
on upgrades I've since bought.
The sun in its celestial course
yields light, black night, or shade.
Old years tossed out with calendars
as fire's embers fade.
Some friendships evanesce,
forgetting promises we'd made
Our children grow and move away,
as hair grows thinned and greyed.
Staunch boughs of trees are shaken by
harsh winds, enduring long.
'That time of year thou mayest in me
behold'; thy love's more strong.
You've been my life's sweet constant
as we harmonize our song -
One truth is undeniable:
in your arms I belong.
// Dedicated to Janet, my loving bride of 35 years //
My feline bittersweet awakening
came decked with golden trim of flawless days.
A time it was to frolic and to fling
ourselves in grass, all afternoon to laze.
Together we were fearless, wild and free,
a noble lion and his lioness.
And sadly, neither one of us could see
that passion such as ours would evanesce.
Our error was believing that each kiss
could carry us. . . that love could multiply
or even match July’s exceeding bliss.
By summer’s end, our ardor had run dry.
A lion’s appetite can satiate,
and love - less noble then - will soon abate.
Posted 6/11/11/ Now used for the In the Name of Love Contest of Shadow Hamilton
(not to take too seriously; I think I am immune
to my "enemies" by now!)
How near to us are foes we can’t resist
when cells, like terrorists that we can’t see
accumulate! What parasites exist
within our very homes! We can’t be free
of them, and even the perfectionist
can’t rid his castle of the enemy.
They have no need of camouflage. They breed,
for on those cells sloughed off our skin they feed!
Though microscopic, they are numberless.
For those with allergies, the “mighty” mite
can wreak some damage. Nasty, they possess
the air we breathe, the beds we use at night!
And they will never simply evanesce. . .
To kill them off requires a constant fight,
but no one, sadly, perfectly defeats
them, even vacuuming and changing sheets!
Inside the fridge, on counters, in the sink
lurk others. Do not be too much at ease.
The very sponge you’re using, which you think
is helping, could be spreading a disease!
Who knows what swarms in water that we drink,
on spinach leaves or just a piece of cheese?
How fleet is time; how bleak to have to spend
it on a war we know will never end!
The New Year (Cornish Sonnet)
The clock struck midnight; she came in
attired in silky flowing dress
that matched her youthful glowing skin.
She clutched an hourglass in her hand
that showed the seconds evanesce
with every grain of trickling sand.
I put my bow to violin
and played for her a melody;
I hoped her tender heart to win.
Champagne was popped and glasses raised
but she cared not for revelry...
into my eyes she deeply gazed.
The clock struck midnight; she came in.
I put my bow to violin.
----------------------------------
4th January, 2015
Contest: Cornish Sonnet
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Placed 4th
Into the blue
dark clouds evanesce
as eyes stare into the blue
ecstasy shimmers ....
serene ocean depths
awaiting reconnaissance
undulate their throbs ....
Written Jan 13th, 2016
For contest by Anthony Slausen
The stars above like dust arrayed,
their glow resplendent in the theme of night—
as remote to me the heavens, the drone now of my
footstep’s cadence compels me onward.
I urge my stream of thought again to reconsider bygone years—
and review in sorrow moments of regret I wish could simply evanesce.
A passing graveyard's dated markers make the past more vivid, and
as always there appears my own among them, adorned with gilt and guilt.
This sector of the cemetery seems untouched,
and painful stillness reigns until preoccupying words
if only somehow vanish from my mind, and absent these,
I leap joyfully to take my place at last unburdened midst the stars.
Dedicated to my dear and treasured poet friend Connie Marcum Wong, not so much due to content, as to its measured flow, which comes and goes in my work and over which I seem to have no control. Bless your days and nights, Connie.
Dust settles
Vibrations loosen
the dust on my piano,
releasing tiny particles
into a rectangle sunbeam
dancing about the glass,
as I play compositions
on freeform keys,
fingered imagination
frantically moving
levers in never before
heard melodies
with a locked
sustain pedal
holding each note
to gradually evanesce
into the silence
awaiting your return
as the dust
once again
settles
3/22/17
For the "Dust" poetry contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
Deceit of sun when rays are still but porous;
unwelcome thief, afford my dream more seconds.
Some dappled shadows flit through mystic keyhole;
alight upon pellucid remnant image.
I stifle yawn as thoughts embrace the vision.
My ever-restless spirit merits story
which doesn’t evanesce at first obstacle
encountered when issues foisted upon me.
Embarked on travels, trinkets of high finesse
that crossed the boundaries of reality.
The past firmly imbedded in the future,
illuminating a path predictable and
imbued with fantasy and peccant grandeur.
Adroitly I manoeuvred through initial
self-doubt that plagued a multitude of people.
Circumlocutory whim of eidolon
expertly gathered evidence to support
demand that’s straddling realms, but I will resist.
I read the missive through and then carefully
enfold my dreams in cocoon, preserving them.
Unpleasant facts I spat out like an obol
that’s placed under tongue of recently deceased.
The critics can wait with Charon for day of
reckoning – future set aside for visions.
My dreams swim at the edge of river’s conscience.
Expectations made dreams luminesce brightly,
but withered in morning sun’s naïve splendour.
Like sands in the hourglass, the grains of wisdom
filtered through consciousness and needled thinking.
I set aside the search for epiphany.
Chit chattering so happily, in babyish first conversations,
Like treetop little birdies, sharing emerald observations,
Burbling giddily and gaily, as golden moments evanesce,
Tattling like garden beauty secrets, in the feverish press!
Jabbering enthusiastic jollity, in the success of noon sun,
Rumors of glad gibberish, as droning bees in gilt sudden,
Joyful, twittering chit-chat, at back fence of my gladness,
Gossiping with fascinated grandma, on a summer canvas.
Written: May 2nd, 2026, for a contest sponsored by Seth Pina
Based on the Poem: The Artist
5th place contest winner
******************
It begins as a breath, barely born—
a lucent little longing that should have stayed liminal,
Yet it irrupts, unabated,
threading itself through the chiaroscuro of my thoughts.
I tell myself it is otiose,
a passing flicker, a quixotic quirk of the mind—
but it grows tensile, treacle-thick,
a rumbustious rhapsody refusing to evanesce.
Your name—your very sobriquet—
becomes a mellifluous mantra,
an epizeuxis echoing in the marrow,
a chant I never meant to memorize.
I wander through hours like a wayward opsimath,
learning too late how fixation forms its own theology—
how a single presence can become
a sacrosanct symbiosis of ache and awe.
Every thought is festooned with your outline,
every silence redolent with your imagined breath;
even the air feels janiform,
half mine, half yours,
as if the world itself has chosen sides.
I try to exculpate myself
from this inchoate imbroglio,
but obsession is a sagacious sherpa—
It knows the steepest path
and drags me up it anyway.
And still—
beneath the nadir of night,
in the hush where hubris dissolves—
I feel the truth unfurl:
That obsession is not hunger,
nor hubris,
nor hecatomb of reason—
but the amaranthine ache
of wanting to witness beauty
so completely
that it finally
witnesses you back.
Written: November 26, 2025
*****************
She cares for the pedigree cattle,
their fleece brushed into luster,
domesticated dogs prowling the yard,
obedient to her behest.
She is a good mother—
her hands sow carrots,
her voice a catchphrase of sanctity,
her smile a tiara of sky foam.
However, while holding a feather…
she teaches me to wring its neck.
While holding a feather...
she shows me how love can writhe.
While holding a feather...
she whispers that mercy is moribund.
The cloudscape of her face shifts,
dusky shadows grate against the light.
Her gregarious laughter,
threadbare and spasmodically sharp,
becomes a panegyric to discipline.
She is a good mother—
who rakes the soil with staunchness,
who rescues the stray,
who feeds the wilted wisteria?
Yet she is also the provost of violence,
who teaches catharsis through hecatomb,
who makes me smear myself to hubris,
who shows me that sanctity can evanesce.
Her lessons are sacrosanct,
her love ubiquitous,
her burden ossified in my bones.
And still, she is a good mother—
with a bird in my hand,
with a bird in my hand,
with a bird in my hand…
On asphalt, wet with blood and sweat (down streets with no address),
there lay a man, snuffed by the Man and left to evanesce.
The Man then strode along the road and smiled at his success
and, cavalier, he bought a beer, sat down to decompress.
A life was gone, but day wore on, the sun awash in heat –
the riddled head no longer bled, concealed beneath a sheet,
and passers-by began to cry, were sobbing indiscreet’,
while holy bells in distant hells began to moan and bleat.
In heaven's eyes (no one denies) due process is decreed,
but down below, where burdens flow, it rarely can succeed
and certainly not for those distraught, benighted in their need,
so Men in blue (you know the crew) thought nothing of the deed.
Though just eighteen, a little green (was still his mama's son!),
adored by all, but left to sprawl in webs of hate, undone,
the youth was shot and left to rot, but never held a gun,
so people cried and wondered why'd the evil deed been done.
The sheriff said "forget the dead, his crime was black as slate"
and in the rush to hush and shush, he hissed "I'll tell you straight,
that boy, today, was on his way to rendezvous with fate,
so now you know – I gotta go, it's gettin' kinda late".
Not satisfied with those who'd lied, some took to fill the streets
with peaceful cries neath blackened skies, were paid with clubbed retreats,
cruel gas cascades and stun grenades, then days in jailhouse suites –
though curfew's on from dusk till dawn, each night this scene repeats.
With exits barred, in came the Guard to rumble and repress,
for people stray both night and day in search of some redress.
The city's scarred, the houses charred, the locals in distress –
with cut or bruise, they still refuse to kneel or acquiesce.
So choppers fly above the sky with whirling, twirling blades
and drones in flight within the night erase the renegades.
The tarot cards and crystal shards reveal the masquerades –
the beating parts of diamonds’ hearts forever club the spades.
Now puppet Pols are making calls and acting out charades
(like shouting loud within the crowd, and marching in parades),
while underneath, where lies a wreath, the hope for justice fades.
Yet, freedom waits behind the gates, beyond the barricades.
25 Aug 2014
If I could gather every moment
missing you
into the sum of my tears
I’d cry you a river
I’d cry the compassion of the Sun as he lets the clouds roll in,
if it would give us more years
I’d cry you a river
I’d cry the rain into the clouds so that the river brought you near
My tears would flood The Sands of Time giving back your youthful years
I’d cry my prayers into the Heavens so all the Heavens hear
I’d cry you a river,
praying THE MOST HIGH would deliver
me this prayer
But most of all, when all summed up,
I cry rivers reminiscent of times shared,
rivers of loneliness, of happiness, of sorrow
from the warmth of your presence no longer here
These rivers I cry
are an expression of my love for you,
Love that will never fade, never evanesce or disappear
rivers that aggregate into the depths of the oceans
of memories, that will never dry,
though my rain clouds may seem to have cleared
When added all up
I miss you,
Is the sum of my tears
Keeling
epode masts
tilt horizon’s sun
collecting crimson
Her sails ablaze
make mauve
evanesce
(9/22/2020: '97 Sea Ray 550 Sedan Bridge; Septolet contest)
The Lighthouse
Splash amidst plethora hullabaloo,
Dark skies reflecting illuminate,
Act beacons, vigilant navigators,
Mask lighthouse's glistening magnificence,
Guides marines, bewildered mystifying,
Roars rise , evanesce scintillation,
Deep ocean heritage disparages,
Waves erode abyssal operations !
Written September 24th, 2014
By Dr. Upma A. Sharma
For nette's contest 'The Lighthouse'