Best Traces Poems
One evening, much like any other
striated feathers of pinks, and deepest primrose
colored the clouds with facets of light, tapering inward
Traces of gold between each color, as deep and clear as the sages
The red sun overhead, had grown weary with seasons,
and did not seem to notice that we were mother and child
Whispering sounds of emerald breezes
did not label me wise, nor her naive'
We were two who walked equally, side by side
She lifted her voice,
and spoke with an eloquence I had not heard before,
and it was just as the twilight calls to the stars....
so that they will know just what to do
Young spruces stood bolt upright,
every twig stiff with interest,
and with deep respect at her every word
as if they were watching transformation in tandem,
an exchange so delicately detectable
And in one clinging moment to the other,
one of us was letting go of childhood,
and one was letting go of the child
Both of us looking to the sky for recognition
I watched the sycamore shed, beneath its load of yellow, rust and gold
Letting them quietly go, without remorse
while I did the same
_______________________________________
Traces
In the wet sand
Footprints of gulls, and man
Disappear in the tidal dance
Of waves.
Traces
In the red dust
Feet of man, and horses
Up in canyons, leave no trace of
The brave.
Traces
In the garden
Of such delightful scents
In spring and summer by winter
Erased.
Traces
Of human life
Throughout world's history
However, are reported upon its
Pages.
Traces
Of wins and woes
Like hand prints upon walls
Can't be erased, for their foothold
Remains.
Dancing silhouettes,
Shadows frolic on the ground;
Moonbeams through the trees.
In the dead of night, the crickets holding their breath
Our love brooding the full moon's tide on our anniversary
The wind stirs our risen ashes and revived passion
That had remained dormant down eternity's timeline
Tonight, we're reunited once more as we'll be forevermore
Our ghosts dance in the shadows of our old, forgotten steps
Down this moonlit, memory paved path to our short lives
Past the traces of chalk where we laid holding hands side by side
Thabang J. Ngoma
08-30-2015
Nette Oclaud's Sense of touch contest
Soupers often engage in emotional ways.
There can be depth in what two might exchange.
When someone leaves our shared Soup domain,
their diminished light is a missed, valued sight.
Some remarks feel like word-shaped embraces
and time together often leaves valued traces.
Is is not odd, just plain strange, as well as an ache
that Soup relationships are both close and remote?
I have missed your small-boxed faces,
your writes and presence on my pages.
I wonder if other soup pals also ponder
the restrictions our bonds form under.
I recall the joys of our hellos and ‘getting to knows’
But ‘byes and why-gone words’ are silent blows.
It must be a new age emotional feeling
the internet brought into being
so people everywhere could connect.
Dog-gone-it, doesn’t connect
sound inept?
Written: December 02, 2024
____________________________
At dawn cradle,
Dew blankets the earth,
whispered secrets swirl among stately elms,
a chorus of cheerful waxwings
sings beneath the blush of lavender skies.
Willows sway, swirls of grace,
twilight traces with ruby tones.
The iris dances,
emerging from lush shadows,
each petal a whisper of dreams.
Aureolin moments linger,
gold glistening in the mist,
as rustles paint the air,
the viol of night lilts softly,
celestial orbs clad cosmic clashes.
We walk through opal pathways,
where the heart shares its stories,
and neon memories cling,
as lilacs in a gentle breeze—
O, the beauty in being lost.
blinkered by formal training
counting bright abacus beads of syllables
mindful not to step on cracks—
rhythm is everything
the audience c h e e r s !!!
the runner-up jeers—
maybe next time the nexus of …
the bows and brasses displayed
along with my bruises
an abacus of pearls
c.a.s.t
on
w a t e r
that drowns out the h-o-o-f-b-e-a-t-s of
a P O U N D I N G heart
a trace of desire
slated at the font
of knowledge
concurrent with my past
laurels
I bow to your discerning palate—
you clap for
REPETITION
repetition
r e p e t i t i o n
but I do not rest
unlike Keats
my NAME
is not
writ in
w a t e r …
A poet's journey
Is both inward and outward.
The poems he records
Along the way
Are the traces he leaves behind,
The tracks he lays down,
For him to see where he's been
And for others to follow.
Traces of Haile Selassie ‘I’
The Lion still roars
Traces of Martin Luther King
dream lives on
Traces of Bob Marley
In song “get up stand up for your rights”
Traces of Malcolm X
Segregation fight still burns bright
Traces of Mandela's
Fight for justice set free
Traces of Marcus Garvey
Purpose and His-story
My people realign and trace
History of their victories
On the walls of the Pyramids and sand
Inscribe with Sculpt object in hand
It is said “there is no future without history”
Revelation given by our ancestries
Traces from ancient of times
Activating inquiring minds…
©Copyright Brian Pierre-Alexander -Sept. 2011
© All Rights Reserved
Bound by your presence
A torture to erase,
You have taken,
a piece of my existance
That cannot be salvaged.
In this cold winters night
Numbness, crys me to sleep.
Dont wake me from, this slumber
For its my only, peace.
A silent cry, I weep.
A fallen tear, that speaks.
A lonely heart, that mourns
Lingers in my speech.
Im not sober in existence
But transparent, in my flesh.
A abandoned spirit,
Now occupies, my emptiness.
contest. Greatly missed
Posted 6/6/2013
And there it is
somewhere along wreath of winds
I am brought to the lightest of ease
Here, under the pour of waterfall,
II begin to lay on glossy tracks
Tending blooms among pebbles,
I marvel.This landscape of my ancestors,
Where ricefields carry their bloodline
In the old town of Tanauan
A place, however far away
From the glitters of Manila
..
The liquid trail lies clear, unblemished;
A sanctuary of my youth
Stretching the bends on innocence
Until the country scene turned
Into the wired labyrinth of city life.
Contest: Landscapes and Towns Contest
5/2/2017
TRACES...
A faint footstep left behind since my birth
And a thousand years later, I found so clear
A burning vision from the flames of wailing hearts
A drum-beat, a bull-horn sound, a clap
A music of realities dorn, this hour...
... somewhere this day...
I live to see it clear, my footsteps; so clear
From within the mirages I foresee a future
So my hearts' wish now is the sun's dawn
So I sing the lost rythm "Hail Thee Son's Afrikana"
At long last! oh what a day....
For the sun's blesses upon my heard
Times' testimony to my thirsts
For what we lost long ago, wailing as losts......
Traces of our footsteps yonder the dark clouds
Today is a merry day
For traces recoverred
For ideas emancipated
For the shackles clang of freedom
Worthy for none than the stocks* liberated now.
Human conciousness, human liberation
Spiritual Rediscoveries, soul cleansing
Races fostering bonds, lands-boundaries collapses
Hungers eradication, lives elongation
When the accordions laugh, as the twilights blazes.
(c) Lamptey Godson K. 2012
As I try to break through my dark cocoon,
you outline memories I stir within
of salty skin held in the warm breath of June,
glazed gold by a luminous sky and ocean.
You outline memories I stir within
like sunlight tracing a wintry scape.
Glazed gold by a luminous sky and ocean,
I roil on your shore’s ever changing shape.
Like sunlight tracing a wintry scape,
mottled thoughts in sepia begin to clear.
I roil on your shore’s ever changing shape
awakened by feelings of having you near.
Mottled thoughts in sepia begin to clear
when I cling to echoes of your distant voice.
Awakened by feelings of having you near,
the morning fog rises and songbirds rejoice.
When I cling to echoes of your distant voice,
of salty skin held in the warm breath of June,
the morning fog rises and songbirds rejoice
as I try to break through my dark cocoon.
Written for: A Rhyming Pantoum of Five Stanzas Contest
Date: 5/9/22
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
. . . . * * * . . . .
"I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I, a butterfly dreaming . . ."
*another time another place, where even dreams gently intrude,
a place where silence breathes a voice,entrancing the heart of a man
another hope, another choice, another contemplative charm, * *
along a road a tree sways, chanting to each passing ear
the words she touches but cannot see, the words erasing the fear,
and though there’s still a strain, that somehow just won’t go away *
fascinating thoughts affirm that faith grows stronger by the day~ ~
~they sit there talking side by side, so many tunes in their rhyme
no place for anything to hide, transparent is the hood of time,
his voice cuddling traces of before, a sacred place of long ago *
another sanctum, another key, a space that they still have to know,
and as they hum of when and where, a voice calls softly from behind
like delightful music of the breeze, that feels so heavenly designed,
* then suddenly the night drips gold, as the necklace floats into sea
and just before he leaves, he tells that all their dreams would come to be. ~ ~
all rights reserved
©
. . . . . .
For Constance: Daydreams, dreams and dreams Contest
From: nette onclaud
10 Jul 11
betwixt cotton clouds
subtle colors of rainbow
surface beside sun
5-8-2016