Best Vestige Poems
Racing projectile,
High velocity impact:
Surface impression.
Why is this blank paper staring at me?
It’s getting annoying, so I stare back,
but the winner of this contest is already decided.
Why is it getting under my skin?
Possibly because by the 6th line of this verse
I should be 4 stanzas in with its clean white face
tattooed with erase marks, cross-strikes, carrots,
every corner crammed with hastily scribbled paisleys
While I’m still in the past, let me
brandish my pencil, my sword, my key
to awe-inspiring quatrains that would gallantly sing
over the cacophony of world that ceaselessly screams
While I’m still in the past, let me
dive into my notebook after jumping off reality,
sink to the bottom of the pool residing in my reverie
and exhale bubbles of poems from a long gone memory
While I’m still in the past, let me
pen a letter on how flowers and paisleys and haphazard poetry
can reconstruct the architecture behind crumbling synapses
belonging to the nostalgia-devoted author of this eulogy
whose last farewell to herself is a vestige of her legacy
Solvent light diminishes metaphorical seconds,
wiping them with a blur–a stroke–a motion,
challenging the wings of emotion to pulse and live,
To etch and carve something in a flight of furor,
in a whirlwind haze of hapless thoughts in apropos.
A sound made in arresting touches of flesh on plastic
and in the vestige of fifty-five words per minute
I listen to the swift, cool rush of bodiless thoughts;
formed, reformed; given unto the cerulean glow,
like an offering of the internal to the exponential.
Ripped from juxtaposition and highlighted in blue,
a shadow morphs into absently coruscated fog,
crystalized in the act of inciting jubilant ruminations.
A cackle amidst a gaggle of jabbering voices,
and jovial extractions alight succulent glows of nascence.
He is born.
My twin sired with the conscious decision to smile whilst I type
and in the glow, he is pressed–animated–on the wall,
like a moving hypothesis for the enigmatic muse.
Dancing like figments in the light of imagination,
he sits as I do; enfolded in the cerulean glow that refreshes and renews.
if I could I would take a magic wand
to the moon from far beyond
the wildest of dreams in my mind
a constant reminder of immortal
passion and endearment to cast a magical spell
make it the luminous warden of peace
inscribed with words of surrender
squared to the power of infinite love
versed in breathless intimate surrender
enchanted and transfixed forever
may it remove all suffering
as it condenses the meaning of kindness
Memory houses soul asylum vestige...
where complex edifice once anchoring
venerated Glen Elm demesne once stood,
now nothing except vinyl city!
I recall breathtaking, expansive, incredible
numerous, tremblingly awe inspiring views
billion miles (slight exaggeration) heavenly
sights comfortably ensconced, while perched
high atop sadly long since demolished complex
edifice anchoring Glen Elm demesne – summer
mansion property captain Leiper (circa early
nineteen hundreds) more'n century ago once
encompassing hundred plus acres whittled to
approximately 2.42811 hectares upon purchase
February twenty eighth ninety sixty eight by
papa Boyce Brandon Harris, insync with help
courtesy paternal grandpa Aaron Harris, the
former who invested blood, sweat and tears,
when not yoked, tethered, obligated... to
incumbent duties consonant with assignments
linkedin, when gainfully employed as top notch
mechanical engineer at General Electric, he
slaved away gentrifying neglected fixer upper
(matter of fact single handedly reshingled roof)
that same exterior hideaway offering solace
against imprecation, ostracization, ultimatum...
damnation, humiliation, laceration, (albeit verbal
lashing against yours truly), when exhibiting no
motivation to work (courtesy thank debilitating,
immobilizing, paralyzing anxiety/panic attacks),
now though still plagued with same understood
as congenital (possibly in utero) malady, yes an
abominable, execrable, implacable..., nemesis
which unpleasant memories haunt me even to
this day, whereby nothing but utter failure cast
dark shadows analogous to edge of night oft
times accompanied with suicidal ideations,
whereat damned, continually bereft, abysmal
bereft legacy testimony marginally functioning
as the token "scapegoat" throughout twelve
torturous years yielding absolute zero aptitude
unable to comprehend, (I strongly suspect die
hug noses along high functioning autistic
spectrum - case in point youngest of two sweet
progeny (both daughters) afflicted with yepper
aforementioned cognitive learning disability,
she benefited social services since birth, and
can attest to much more positive academic,
and socialization endeavors well on her way
living clear and free empowered at twenty
orbitz round the earth.
Red lips, curvaceous hips
a sway in her walk tips
the scales and leaves me
wondering how I ended up
here.
A chance meeting, a persuasive
greeting, entices me to
give in, to live in the moment
and enjoy the ride presented
by this illusive female form,
challenging the norm of my everyday
existence.
I wonder about giving into this peculiar
blunder which erodes my being and leaves
me seeing only the desires of my flesh.
Leaving me a mess of what once was,
introducing me to strife I never could fathom,
Turning me into a mere phantom of myself.
I question my decision while she makes an
incision into my soul and gives me the illusion
of ecstasy, while sitting next to me whispering
lies with her beautiful eyes, hypnotizing my loins
and taking me some place I don’t want to go.
Angel of light, using all of my might to release the
grip of this desire, this temptation and regret
Wishing I never met this being, because now I’m
seeing the blood on the floor, the knife in her hand
and the stab in my heart .
My life flashes before me and implores me to stay alive
to grab for the last vestige of existence I so desperately
need, so, anxiously I feed upon the last seconds of life
giving me a hope I see in the distance but never fully recovering
from this instant, in time.
And now, I scratch at this coffin, hoping someone will hear me,
So I can warn them of her charms, and those deceptive arms.
Desires so maliciously tempting and sweet,
Death is now the bedmate I must unfortunately meet!
Vestige of light may you often shine
in passages summoned upon thin lines
granted too fast on honor flights
from notes of praise and gratitude
into long love sonnets lost from sight
Above the alter of solemn hymns
where patience runs in hallowed halls
with secrets dark on leaden souls
forgiveness brought with sacred trust
in stained glass windows visions hold
To grasp the word and follow may
to mold your brethren in certain ways
a hand, a heart, a promise true
of mind, of touch, imparts free will
a humble man, a simple role,
a life He gave, to save your soul
THE LAST VESTIGE
the sky is covered with clothes of
mourning
in sinful array
everything lies contrasting
His
forgiving nature
fortitude remains as
He prepares for His
second coming
knowing without a doubt
that our war
is won
with our personal autonomy
we practise our petitions
awaiting the
restitution of His will
in time for the
last vestige
© Kim van Breda—October 2014
In this winter numbness only the snow
angels of ours remember
to our love-making games.
mr. panetta wants the world to know
that the big bully’s gonna finish his last
doughnut &
parade with baton in hand
to the asia-pacific,
where now, he can stand as intimidating as he can
muster,
overlooking the rise of China’s economy &
military,
amidst his own crumbling interior,
with both a domestic population whose pockets are
empty &
the military stretched all over the world to
account for it,
it’s only a matter of time before the complete
irrelevance of the
big bad boogeyman
comes to a hilt---
when mr. panetta tells us all via numerous screens
that the movement of the majority of US warships to
China’s backyard
is for any reason besides the last attempt to
flex the droopy american muscles,
an american citizen has to wonder just how bad
mr. hope & change wants to leave us
when he exits in 2016---
is he trying to top mr. dubya?
who would have thought that was even possible
when people were crying 4 years ago in the streets
over his win against mccain?
nothing makes enemies quicker than
trying to assert force when there was nothing to
instigate it---
great job leon,
great job mr. hope & change---
from one citizen of the empire, right
backatcha.
Your own concern, my own respect
so voluntary with adept
contingency, some verve its met
does see the evermore's beget!
I see you everywhere, my soul has kept
its vestige in pure grace, without funds left.
As honing nothing as in its own love leapt
has greater vision from bestow, God's deft!
Because my hands are clasped in wit
like magnets to concession's fit
and Holy intercession knits
a prayerful course, progressed acquit!
vestige of summer
suntan lines
fake spaghetti straps
AP: 1st place 2021
THE TIDE CAME IN
SWIFT AND FURIOUS
BESIDE US
THE OCEAN
CARRIED YOU AWAY
A WAVE OF SADNESS
THE MOON
PULLING YOU FURTHER
BLACK AS NIGHT
COVERED IN ASH
YOU LEFT WITH MY HEART
THIS TIME
THERE IS NO TURNING BACK.
Before the light could find my frame,
A breath of blue became the air.
I waited—not for hope or name—
But for a silence I could bear.
The self withdrew, then disappeared,
No shelter left for soul to keep.
All colors fell, as time grew smeared;
Just blue remained—too vast, too deep.
What burned was not a mortal flame,
But thought encased in frost and skin.
The world collapsed without a claim,
And left a hush that rings within.
Ah, poetry
The last vestige
Of its vestige
Fragments
Of a shattered love
Broken
By the demands
Of beauty
Showing its age
Metaphor
Lost in its meaning
Metered fences
Challenging the wanderer
Corralling the herd
Nuances lost
In the unplowed fields
A dandelion shunned
For lack of compliance.
Oh, poets,
Would we be led
To worship
At the slaughterhouse
Of free thought
Reshaped words
Rekindled passion
Or stand as one
Alone
Undaunted
Group
Of forever’s rebels