Constance La France's The Pensive Poet's Contest
Reminiscences are yet revived by the glory
of Now mirroring slivers of past traces' ~ by poet
This thinning pen lays on a shed
of damp grasses where there are
no flowers to daringly explore---
A gasping star wanes
into the ash of light;
emptiness raking its only shape -
neutral as dunked rays greying the skyline.
Dreary as a poet's last whimper,
unfinished phrases gather
to rest... anticipating
drooped wake of winter petals,
as blots of ink
trace the calligraphy of langour,
the shadow play from past revelries
and adult slow- burn despair : how pensive
sighs offer their chánts
to a rising moon--- and buds of waving lime,
of the sky cascading
all the hums of vintage music evanesce ,
soft sheen of paper crumpling thoughts
so darn mellow , gathering on thé barks
of yesteryears where pages
of innocence and grief múst now
be rendered to memorials' grave...
terrene is vacant as void is vibrant
sensations, perceptions, objects, subjects
evaporate then wander cofibrant
dimensional world ceases all effects
dichotomised self dwells only on Earth
formless expanse evaporates desires
core awakened eclipse memory and mirth
spirit rhapsodic outside every mire
mind free from flesh revels in pristine bliss
earth wind fire water ether appear veils
disappear cyclical clocks no remiss
raptured crystal core perfumes golden grail
complexities cease, thoughtforms evanesce
anaharta achieves nirvana, naked
__________________________________
Placed 7th : Premier Contest
May 26 : Sponsor : Unseeking Seeker
The vestiges of slavery methodically remain.
Blacks are being killed in broad daylight daily.
Blacks are discriminating against systematically.
Systemic racism is a cancer with a behemothic pain.
The symbols of slavery refuse to evanesce like
A shameful cloud lazily hovering over our head.
There is too much hypocrisy around the sad bed,
And too many racist tail-waggers are ready to attack.
Too many unwell uncle toms are not emancipated.
This is still a highly peculiar world. People don't mean
What they mean and many impostors can't be trusted.
The struggle must continue. Fights are never clean.
Backstabbing is prevalent. The injustice is unbearable.
Life is precious and priceless and yet hope is inevitable.
Copyright © June 2020, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Written: November 15, 2025
*******************
I am no feeling thing—
a moribund pastiche
of dulled mornings,
threadbare in soul,
writhed into silence.
No reason.
No why.
Just the torque of transience
grating against my sacred sapidity,
a palimpsest of vanished warmth.
Someone—
pinch me past this paucity.
I need your touch,
your rubicund ripple
to resile my wilted mettle.
Let your finger feel
be my panacea,
a seraphic catharsis
to evanesce this numb imbroglio
where even grief feels distant.
Come—
at your behest,
I will abase my hubris,
prowl through the seraglio
of memory’s panoply,
and rake through the riparian dusk
for one scintilla of you.
Let me feel again—
not the panoply of pain,
but the luster of being,
the emollient ache of presence,
the dulcet burden of love.
Written: November 13, 2025, for contest sponsored by Nette Onclaud
***********
a wrench writhes 'round—
threadbare grace in airscape light,
tiara of twilight,
at hubris' height, a bleak veil
grief petioles
evanesce at fate's command—
burden without ballast,
luster lost in catharsis
Don’t fly away so fast,
Your goodness inscribed deep in my heart.
No cardiograph can peep,
Yet your prints are set in indelible ink.
Good news lifts my stride,
Prayers answered beneath your quiet veil.
Good health cradles my soul,
Bones strong, blood running clear.
Days like this won’t evanesce—
Held close as light in a locket—
Kept with love in my mind,
Where no force on earth can dim its shine.
Tarry, beautiful day,
Curb your full-winged, hasty departure.
Drift not, though you have fins,
And vanish not—if you can’t return.
Repeat this joy, again,
Don’t let your inner gleam ever wane.
Remake the calendar—
Crown your date the only date of my days.
No more though I pine, may I rip from breast and thought
This blind obedience to kind that claims all that is naught
What tranche belies and thus survives divided from the whole
Ere natures heart must thus depart from customary roles
As fleeting breaths do evanesce in splintered harmony
Bids archeus farewell to dwell in brief obscurity
What balm may stem the march of time, what plea redeems the day
Who dares conspire and thus oppose the gyre of Sedens way
Heavy night settles-
ochre sparks evanesce
mute as sinking ash.
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.
The thrill of her hand slipping into yours
or her cheek searching out your neck
That weakness in the back of the knees
the lump in the throat that can't be suppressed
~ How did I let these memories evanesce
snowflakes evanesce
blankets of snow cover limbs...
and warm frigid tree
I am but a twinkling cloud
Into the switching sky;
evanesce in the woods
flee with the cotyledons leaves
Swaddled among the thorny bushes.
Sank with me o dear in the forest deep.
Count the grass if you wish
Let me note it for you
Lead me to the song your memories dwell
lend my voice, and count it your own
For, you're my little heart's joy
I'll lay awake while you kip
until the dawn arrived.
I am but a Traveller
into the wild blue yonder;
I'll fly someday
one day you'll only dream of me
So sing with me the song my childhood lived
Come, dance with me today
For tomorrow is not promised
You, my little hearts joy
forever dear
forever cherished.
exceed eurekas
enrich elegant emo
eccentricities
evanesce empire egos
enlist epic empathies
It Flickers and Jumps..
With all the dreams of Triumphs..
The Electron of Compassion, with all of its serenity..
When the heart discern it's Creator gazing at its masterpiece of rarity..
Through the magic in the sky..
It Flickers..like the northern lights..flaring.. shining.. collapsing.. and Rising high..
Like the intoxicating love..never to Evanesce
This..tiny little electron of compassion..
Substantiating into Aurora..
It Flickers and Jumps..
With all the dreams of Triumphs...
For to blend in its Creator..it limbers
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)
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