Best Tracery Poems
POWERFUL CONCEPTS
daring
to return
in
enthralling
&
radiant
grandeur
bright emblems
in freefall
of
nostalgiaa
resembling
a
galaxy of
frozen
spectacular
fragments
forever passing
as
drifting shadows
in an
astral accidentn
explosions
of all kinds
painstakingly
&
marvellously
spread
out greeting
the arrival
of the deeply
ambiguous
perhaps
an allusion
of transformation
something from
nothing
melted down
&
refined
evocative of
minimalist
tracery
in the
abstract
of
tangles
of
vibrating
clouds
through
the
lens
of
beautiful
innocent
ignorance
potent
with
significance
trying to speak
through
a heap of
discarded matter
subtle
& capacious
&
drifting
a sense of a mind
unfolding
stretching
adding
words
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
Categories:
tracery, poetry,
Form:
Other
the gate to the old cemetery is rusty and old
though once upon a time is was elegant and gilded
ornate with filigree tracery ornamentation
now, it is d e c a y i n g fragile, beautiful
I push to open and the gate sighs creaks, groans, moans
s
t
e
p
p
i
n
g
into the cemetery
the green wraps around me like a warm cloak
Categories:
tracery, nature,
Form:
Verse
Look for me where stars collide,
somewhere in the great divide
betwixt and between the here and now
and the wild blue yonder of what and how.
In the tracery of the orb web spider
or the bubbles in a pint of cider,
for in life I took pleasure in all these things,
a dragonflies flight on gossamer wings.
The softness of a blossoms fall,
this and more would hold me in thrall.
The tender crunch of fresh fallen snow,
a morning walk to the call of the crow.
Hoar frost fringed on a holly leaf,
the happiness felt when you've known only grief.
Look for me in all these things,
when the lark ascends or church bell rings.
For there I'll be in each simple pleasure,
the wonders that abound are life's own treasure.
And, in that still, small moment, when you close your eyes,
think only of this, true love never dies.
Categories:
tracery, allegory,
Form:
Rhyme
in soft outline
strokes
whorls&
stains
cropping close
piercing black
upright
&
informal
imaginary &surprising
ambiguous
perhaps
an allusion
something from
nothing
refined
evocations
of
minimalist
tracery
Categories:
tracery, art,
Form:
Imagism
Wintereinbruch / Onset of Winter / Inicio del invierno
Tage verschwimmen im Nebel.
Eisblumen malen Gesichter
an die Fenster
und die Zeit steht still
wie eingefroren.
Lange schon verstummte
der sommerliche Vogelgesang.
Der kurze Herbst
hält noch die bunten Blätter
an den Bäumen,
doch jetzt sind sie
versunken schon
im frühen Frost
wie ausgefallene Kristalle.
Plötzlich dann
nach nächtlichem Schneefall
fällt die Natur
in allzu frühen Winterschlaf
Days become blurred in the fog.
Tracery of faces on a frosted window
and time stands still,
as being frozen too.
The summer birds' songs
fell silent long ago.
A brief autumn still holds
colorful leaves on trees,
but now they bogged
in early frost like fancy crystals.
Then suddenly
after an overnight snowfall
nature fell into a far
too early hibernation
Días se confunden en la niebla.
Tracería de las caras en una ventana escarchada
y el tiempo se detiene,
como también congelado.
Veraniegas canciones de pájaros
quedaron en silencio hace tiempo.
Un otoño breve aún mantiene
hojas de colores en los árboles,
pero ahora estancado
en temprana helada
como cristales especiales
De prontodespués de una nevada de noche
la naturaleza cayó en tan temprano
hibernación
Categories:
tracery, seasonsautumn,
Form:
Free verse
^b^
Lux Nova
(after Notre Dame)
The light at Suger's
St. Denis
precursor for mighty Notre Dame
Paints both floors in color.
Transliterated from the glass of guilds
Tracery and mullions
Adumbrate
A story in late winter's light
Perhaps enough, barely enough
Enough of an outline...
Still, colors bleed
Onto freshly scrubbed floors and
Sing in their own tongue.
A washbucket stands idle
Utensils erect and attentive
Listening for
A song sung to eyes, not ears
And that is what some call magic
For others
Inspiration...
To all
The lux nova.
I too have heard whispered prayers
Hushed reverence, suspirations of hope...
Nascent long ago
Even in the empty house
So still, so full of light.
Stone and the Areopagite
Make the stuff of building ---
But neo-Platonic rhythm on strings
Sound the noumenal
now real and
Find the unwinding of the literal
Amid limpid traces
Of flesh, reaching spirit
Like incensed smoke-trails
Seeking height.
Censers disgorge aspirations
History disgorges bodies and
fire destroys beauty.
Climbing inchoate dactyls
Finger the new braille
Of the new light...
Lux Nova
Noli me tangere...
And so it is ---
Light remains ineffable in its
Own incarnation...
One can re-build stone and timber
the rest
Resides inside...
^b^
Categories:
tracery, beautiful, humanity,
Form:
Blank verse
Ages ago bygone childhood delighted
especially Florida (sunkist) grandpa
Harris (Aaron) indulged jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,
rendering slender tanned
under venerated wristwatch (analog),
x2c yielded zealousness.
thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm) wildlife crowed
within the plush wooded tract (slated, parceled,
and mapped) to explode
with cookie cutter lookalike slap dashed,
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber virgin woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable (once abandoned)
nature relished reversed grape seeded tracery igloed
yet 'pon reflection, I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(wealthy owners of The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously crafted mode
das operandi to build stately sturdily summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which residence whittled down to 324 Level Road -
demesne comprising about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 - mort aged toad
a near singlehanded undertaking to create thee abode
whence majority of thine lviii years spent,
now crafted in poetic code
Categories:
tracery, fun, grandson, introspection, nostalgia,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
The grand, half-ruined Parthenon,
once a sublime, Doric grace,
Even now, in broken, stone blocks,
always takes my breath away.
The rich, classical detail,
fluted columns without plinths,
to imagine what it once was,
the mind can’t even begin…
That towering Coliseum,
the great masterpiece of Rome,
even half gone it’s staggering,
to be so tall, but made in stone.
Go down to the domed Pantheon,
still so perfect to this day,
these are not just random buildings,
they stand with something to say.
And those long, Gothic cathedrals,
so ornate and yet so light,
stained glass alone is enough
to make these churches a sight!
But all of that fine tracery,
those magnificent cravings,
the rows of flying buttresses,
inspire the soul to sing.
The Byzantines and their tiles,
Tudor masonry and wood,
Romanesque with its arches,
Art Decco looks oh-so-good,
Baroque with all its fussiness,
Victorians with their quirks,
Renaissance sports Italian flare,
Palladian’s subtle pleasures…
And yet in Albany, New York,
there stands the featureless ‘egg,’
That’s its name and its resemblance,
I am not pulling your leg.
No decoration, no windows,
as it stands there in the sun,
people call it ‘modernist,’
I call it ‘concrete abortion.’
Worse is the post-modern trash,
theaters shaped like hunks of cheese,
painted pink, spattered with portholes,
a mad-man’s monstrosity.
That is the product of our skills?
That is how we would inspire?
By building things that look like they
have been melted in a fire?!
They bulldoze down our heritage
to throw up more of these things?
And the big-wigs who approved this,
what the hell are you thinking?!
If these buildings of the future
are to have no beauty or class,
then you can keep ‘modernity,’
I’ll gladly live in the past.
Categories:
tracery, appreciation, art, city, creation,
Form:
Rhyme
Fingertip tracery on black lace.
The exploration of excitation.
Upon an all too…open face.
Fingertip tracery on black lace
Swollen, pulsing, damp, full;
The exploration of sensation.
Upturned hips, caste and pull…
Fingertip tracery on black lace
Curls moist with passion escape.
Thrust, grasp, reach, sigh…
The exploration of penetration.
The downward plunge, thigh to thigh.
Fingertip tracery ‘pon silken space
Parted pout, pristine place.
Pelvic motion, passion, embraced.
Throb, strum, pinch, and tap…
Exploration of exaltation.
In a lovers lap.
Categories:
tracery, love, mystery, nostalgia
Form:
Rhyme
Ah you and I; such an unfathomable affair,
So contradictory to logic and reason and safety –
In being together we have thrown all caution to the fickle winds,
We have bound ourselves together in a marriage of dysfunction
And yet at the heart of it is the sweetest love,
Preserved like a mosquito in amber, pressed between our palms…
In every move we make, every breath we take, the love is there
It is in the reassuring metronome of your heart beneath my ear
As I rest my head in sleepy submission upon your chest
It is in the butterfly kiss you plant amongst the strands of my hair,
A small but tender deposit of love,
Glistening like fairy-dust on the crown of my skull
And it is in the tender tracery of your fingers on my skin,
As you sketch whorls and whirligigs along my arm,
Mirroring the tangle of blue veins just beneath the surface…
It is this love, intangible and insecure as it is, that keeps us strong –
That keeps the breath sighing through our saddened lungs
And though we may face the darkest times two people may suffer;
And though the specter of death hovers between us,
An avenging angel with a silver sickle shining in his hands –
Still, the love holds its ground; a slender bond of steel,
Hanging between our hearts…
Keeping us together -
Keeping us alive…
Categories:
tracery, angst, loveheart, heart, love,
Form:
Free verse
Snow greets my eyes, all is quilted in white;
some red berries for colour, a pink rose,
delicate tracery of trees impose
silhouettes, for me delivering delight.
As a child takes first steps I tread with thrill;
mine are not the first impression but those
of birds. The neighbours' cat seeing me froze,
then leapt, prevented from making a kill.
There's a weather warning of ice and snow.
I think of workers with journeys to make,
over black ice, delayed transport to take.
Wrapped, I'm relieved I don't have far to go.
I gaze up through falling flakes descending,
diffused. It feels as if I'm ascending.
Categories:
tracery, bird, cat, february, garden,
Form:
Sonnet
The vigilant Knight of Winter stretched out his frost-lined hand
Gauging temperature changes over the desolate land
His trailing snowy mantle skirts the overhanging bower
Welcoming dawn's re-emergence this sun rising hour
Solitary Knight no wish to remain
Sentinel to nature, grave cast in all but name
Then emerging cautiously from a shrub's fern-like spears
The maidenly form of Spring appears
Dew caught sunbeams cascading down
her plait of corn stalked wheat turning brown
In a dress of peat with grass stained folds
And network tracery of germinating moulds
Purple star aubretias crown her hair
She glances to see her Knight's enraptured stare
Lachrymose Spring sinks softly sobbing
Lamenting her Winter Knight so true
Could our separation be forever
Alas, no time left to renew
The eternal link between us both
She sighs, "Maybe when autumn leaves comes forth?"
Winter chides," Don't forget, May the Summer Miss"
Surrendering the embracing Seasons kiss
Responsive blackbird on the branch above
With bobbing head and throat a throbbing
Sings an unbridled song of love
Winter reassures, but no longer calms
Her piteous pleas for continuance
A proposal to his Spring formed wife
"From my demise I give you life
There is work to be done on the earthly plane
Then we shall reunite to begin again"
"Why wait" Spring pleads, trying to turn it around
"No time", he murmurs, "look about you,
it is here on the ground, "your awakening".
Adoringly her encircles her so
Against the raw world of sleet and snow
In dreamlike slumbers they disappear
Only Spring reawakens to her seasonal year.
Categories:
tracery, spring, proposal,
Form:
Free verse
All nature’s linked, the heavens with the earth,
in star formations, gas, galactic dust,
elusively in roles of death and birth
however random seems their wanderlust.
We peer in space with telescopic sight
that oft may miss the tracery that’s there
as when our past assumptions take to flight
in view of being further made aware.
Vast fabrics interwoven in the sky
that starry gazers spy amidst the mists
and what immensities they might imply
may only be a whit of what exists.
…The poets with their phrases hem and haw
…yet fail to other than profess their awe.
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The poem is in the form of a Shakespearean sonnet…
A source of inspiration was the following…
NASA’s Webb Reveals Intricate Networks of Gas, Dust in Nearby Galaxies…
Categories:
tracery, earth, nature, poetry, space,
Form:
Sonnet
We Look Up At The Family Of Tracery Architecture
Tracery architecture began seeing the light
From the Gothic Age on it gained its birthright
Its beauty spread left and right, day and night
In the stoneware dividing the glass with all its might
It took shape in the rising windows to a viewer's delight
The molds and shapes symmetrical and out of sight
Where the decorative patterns do please the eye and incite
With grooves, twirls, and colors holding the window tight
Many a cathedral today share its passage and sprite
Like an acquired custom, blessing, and rite
That duly accentuates the interiors and exteriors flight
Where the parishioners do see more than the rays of daylight
1/28/23
TRACERY Poetry Contest
Sponsor-Julia Ward
Categories:
tracery, beauty, blessing, gothic,
Form:
Rhyme
To gaze into a campfire at night
And see nothing…
For the common man
Is an impossible feat
For one’s primal brain (not unlike a moth)
Is drawn to the flame
And will command no less than
A front row seat
One’s mind can but wonder
When one falls under it’s spell
When one stares into and ponders
It’s magic movements and smell
In the flames can be seen
The genesis of dreams
The maker and creator
Of all things…(so it seems)
A refuge…a respite
A genie’s lamp, an omen maker
For the disparate…the desperate
The giver…and the taker
The sparks become comets
Tracing pathways in the skies
And leave tracery of lace
E’en behind lids of closed eyes
The pops and cracks are the heartbeat
Of this strange carmine creature
That we can only gaze into…
and fashion faces familiar
In the mordant glow
Of flames that but glimmer
Pulling one’s gaze to coals
That grow dimmer
The glaze leaves one’s eyes
As the fire leaves the light
And the spell is broken
with not a word spoken
Dreams and mem’ries
Rise upon ashes so light
And waft away gently
‘Til far out of sight
Ah, The pleasure
Nay!…more like the treasure
Of gazing at leisure
Into a campfire
…at night…
Categories:
tracery, emotions, fire, night,
Form:
Prose Poetry