Best Vestments Poems
Sometimes you have to let
the morning have its way,
set out its wide sunlit spaces
like a tablecloth upon your silence,
speak to you softly in the sound
of leaves, bright with the flush
of spring. There is much to tell,
the stories of its winter dreaming,
waking to a warming sun,
desires erupting in flower
and fruit.
As a child I listened
to the almond trees clack
their naked limbs all winter long
until late august when the first
blossoms broke into the chilly air
with their white whispers
and perfumed breath hushed out
of pink throats. It was my eucharist,
trees donning their green vestments
plump with promises.
I must make space in myself
to receive the sacraments of creation,
have a reverence for what comes
forth to speak a name
in all that is born, lives and dies
and reflects a beauty
to which I can be blind to
in the bloat of myself.
Written: March 31st, 2025, for contest, Sponsored by: Kai Michael Neumann
************
After basking in yesterday's afterglow,
I divested my vestments
to shift in cognitive mindset.
I stroll toward the horizon.
where the azure sky
embraces the vast sea blue.
Waves dance.
With silvered clouds,
Creating an orchestra
The wind and light are present.
Sallow shadows scintillate.
In Moonlight Melodies...
As dusk settles,
casting a shimmering awe that echoes of
The splendor of the galaxies abounds.
In every breath,
A promise resonates,
to the dawn
that dwells within me.
Gliding on golden wings
a sovereign among the kings
As light swirls beneath the Milky Way,
The cosmos shines brilliantly.
In a pearly gown.
Angels slide,
Unleashing their power
to restore their lost throne.
With flickering wings,
Wield the sword of stone
their footsteps inscribe
a path of golden light,
As they conquer the onyx depths
of an obsidian night.
Loving blasts their souls.
angel wings shake in sadness,
where grief and despair are hefty,
seeking an aerial citrine nirvana
I recall it sharply,
as if it were yesterday,
Tears mar the silky pillows.
as honeysuckle
It oozes from eager lips. —
There is a longing for satisfaction.
Lipstick etches its mark.
He left an imprint on his bare skin.
Even now, those intertwined chains
of Memory ensnares me.,
As well-oiled fingers traverse
the curves of the sensuous body,
ordinary yet glowing in the sunlight,
filled with a relentless passion.
Nervous tension shattered,
striking, akin to a diamond on ebony velvet.
As her body warmed and became silky,
Her lips melted and tasted delicious.
They expressed love ardently.
and hugged fervently.
swept up in passion and longing,
wishing the moment might last forever,
cocooned in each other's arms,
and felt blissfully pleased,
Polishing words into gems,
dusted garnet, with sunset slips
In citrine clouds cast
There was a ray of magenta skies.
I wish for unending delight.
and utter bliss in the afterglow.
A druid climbs the sacred oak, white gowned
to bring the holy mistletoe to ground.
With a golden sickle in his hand,
caught in his vestments, its brought to land.
Then, they feast beneath the sacred tree
gifting two white bulls for God's bounty.
Hark! The mighty sage’s quill,
Leaves remnants of genius, still.
Reminding me of richer days,
Where wines could really come to age;
And gods among the people dwelled,
In works of master poet’s felled.
Where aerie tales and thoughts of fancy,
Awaken something everlasting.
The faded thoughts of vestments tore,
Through mournful tales of days of yore.
I bore inquisitive insight,
To mouth a masterpiece delight;
Reciting thoughts from Edgar Poe,
In poetry and foul-like prose.
And as I muttered, “Nevermore”,
I pondered on his lost Lenore;
A femme who captivated thought,
His inspiration to the plot.
And in his wording wizardry,
So haunted by his imagery,
Moves me to expound wanton lyrics
To every soul who dares to hear it.
And with immense humility --
No pen shall cite as good as he.
Allow me explain
Brethren gathered here for
Custom dictates
Due process prevail
Exaggerated much
Flaws mine-as may seem
Granted the providence of evidence you see
Highly placed the source-allegedly
Inconceivable the idea that falsehoods they be
Jury decide-be it she or be it me
Kissing and telling discretely-of course
Listlessly I will you tell this tale, you see
My wife's mother's brother's valet-who doubles as mine
Noticed a queerness about this chambermaid fine
Opulent her head with silky tresses
Perfect her skin as nothing else is
Quenching a thirst as non I ever knew
Repugnant as I found the idea,true
Sacrifices always must be made for
The greater good of humankind sake
Ungodly as you all will agree this meeting between her and me
Vestments would not keep me away
Witchcraft! That's what we suspected for how else could I a Lord be so blinded
Xylophone music was all that I heard while headily begging for her hasty embrace
Yet how was this Lord ever to know that
Zealotry was for chambermaid's too?
The fable man palms do perspire,
Knees inadequate,
Limbs do joxtapose in overabundance.
Purge grazes over the fable man's vestments.
Mother's Italian vermicelli.
Neither in the cavernous cathedral
nor in the minister’s glittering vestments
But in the anguish of the widow
the outstretched hand of the beggar
The loneliness of the orphan ~ There
you will find it, if that is what you truly seek
A Beautiful Collection
Artistic. Brilliant colours. Dainty embroidery.
Fragile golden hues in jewelled kaftans.
Light multicoloured needlework on patchwork quilts.
Rich silken tapestries
Unusual vestments with xstitching. Yarmulke & Zucchetto.
I spied him by the road at rest,
one scarred and marked by battle's test.
He bore great countenance of life,
this ancient warrior worn from strife.
His vestments lay shed 'neath an oak,
thick muscled frame and tunic's cloak.
From sleep, he woke as I walked by,
and marked me with a dense, dark eye.
"Join me," he spoke, then fully rose.
"Find shade and lie here, in repose.
Let me regale of battles massed,
of valiant men, their lives now passed.
Each scar I bear, each strike of blade
I know the time and place was made."
I sat beside his shining brand,
he spoke of those slain by his hand.
My gaze transfixed he fired my dreams
of battles where blood ran like streams.
His gleaming gladius would strike flesh
the sweat and blood of foes to mesh.
His only hope to strike and live,
no quarter drawn and none to give.
While I sat in a trancelike state
he voiced of brave men meeting fate.
At last, he stood and stretched his frame,
and sighing, softly spoke this claim.
"I've died a hundred times from fear,
escaped each mortal blow when near.
These words I'd pray as battle surged
when my own life was nearly purged.
'Grant courage, valor, honor, death.'
A fearful soldier's last deep breath."
"Young man, we've broken our fast here.
The time to rise and depart, near.
You shared our time and listened well,
to tales this time-worn warrior tells."
"Great soldier, where will your road end,
on far flung field, with loyal friend?
Let battle's call now pass you by.
Live on in peace 'til called to die!"
"I'll trek until I find good end.
Now part and call this soldier, friend.
No far flung marsh or battle drum,
I march and seek Elysium!"
The Road and the Ancient Soldier
11-23-13
Rhymed Couplets
~Song to the Night~
( Triolet )
~My tribute to 'Hymn to the Night' By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~
He heard the sounds of sorrow and delight
Sweep from the marble vestments of her halls
And felt her presence compelled the light
He heard the sounds of sorrow and delight
Spelling at her feet olden rhymes so bright
And layered stars piecing her celestial walls
He heard the sounds of sorrow and delight
Sweep from the marble vestments of her halls.
Dorian Petersen Potter
Aka ladydp2000
copyright@2008
August.17.2017
“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”
- Mark Twain-
~Author's Notes:
The " Triolet " is a French poetry form or style.
Windless, the somber winter shore is welded
imperceptibly to the ashen water, the
horizon hemmed by distant dams of fog.
Advance, advance.
Gloveless, the chalky hands stand out
starkly in the pervasive greyness,
charcoal vestments completing
the monochromatic movement.
Disperse, disperse.
Gritless, the soft sand absorbs all.
The solemn sea tastes of tears,
warmer water, almost amniotic,
the all-mother's hypnotic allure.
Recede, recede.
Relentless, a distant bell dutifully tolls.
The shivering figure rises, reluctantly
trudging to the waiting limousine.
Return, return.
February 5, 2016
I regret the anguish that I suffered from the church
No comfort for the questioner no solace for the lost
With rules and hypocrisy engrained in the folds
Of vestments golden -
I regret the bigotry of those times - no mercy for the sinner
The smell of incense sweat and fear
Garbled mutterings paying dear
Saving souls from extra torture
Hiding secrets from the world
Little infants buried outside little girls incarcerated
In the laundries of the Magdalen – starching sheets of rich mens’ linen
Feeling guilty for existing –
No eyes meet mine
To tell the sorrow of their lives
Oh what have you done to me,
A city built in the name of Christ.
When an earthquake struck,
Destroying all my pretty clothing
And shaking the flesh off all my bones.
Leaving only my skeletal frame ,
Half submerged in sewerage raw
And liquefaction adding to my woes,
Threatening to make me completely disappear.
No one with water to spare as I began to choke
On air now so foul.
When you felt safe to come out and see my plight,
You drew lots for my last vestments of dignity,
Before inviting others in to help you pick over my bones.
You even looked the other way when the Vultures started gathering.
You filled my streets with low life's and vermin knee deep.
And patched my broken bones with cheap plaster.
Watching as those who yet stood by me grew weak,
Bled dry by insurance companies and their red tape, con artists,
And Cowboys posing as builders,
Supplied by rip-off merchants of every description,
All overseen by government official with no idea what to do,
Except find ways to spend their money unwisely.
You raised $50 million dollars to build a playground
For children without proper homes and not enough food to eat.
Another ten or so million was found to build a marble wall
In memory of of those who fell beside me as the earthquake struck.
Do you think that will give them eternal rest.
No future do I see worth having here,
Can you not just let me sleep,
So Christ can rebuild his beloved garden city,
Away from this foul swamp,
Filled with indifference and despair,
That the rest of the country has left to rot.
It is not God's will
When disaster befalls the innocent, it is not God's will
Hope that the evil one will not repent, it is not God's will
When a tornado strikes and destroys everything in it's path
Some believe that the wind was heaven sent, it is not God's will
When the greedy kill and destroy part of God's own handiwork
Blameless hands to God they cannot present, it is not God's will
When self righteous ones point the finger and judge others as bad
How can they explain it at Christ's judgement, it is not God's will
When a drunk driver decides to take the wheel and takes a life
That decision he will surely lament, it is not God's will
When people blame God for all the evil that happens today
Taught by those in glorious white vestments, it is not God's will
15 syllables per line
John Derek Hamilton
April 27,2016
Optical illusions
Seeing is believing at least that's what they say
Sometimes though, what our eyes see leads us astray
World banks and their buildings are so, impressive to the sight
Promising financial freedom, while profits, like birds take flight
Political leaders, world rulers, seem so confident giving their speech
Fulfilling their vainglorious promises however, is often out of reach.
Physical beauty of men and women is often just simply superficial
When cosmetic surgery alters images, they end up looking artificial
Actors and singers, superstars, have their stylists and make up on
All are not as they appear, broken idols ever seeking a glory long gone
Religious leaders with their pomp, showing off illustrious vestments
Optical illusions promising salvation while minding their investments
This world is full of hypocrisy promising things but they are only lies
Optical illusions at their best, but it's time to open our eyes.
John Derek Hamilton
February 12,2016