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:
evocations, art,
Form: Imagism
A flood of unfamiliar faces,
Shoes with Velcro, not with laces,
Missing memories, times and places,
Hosting in the hospital here,
Staring at strangers? someone dear?
Is it not what it may seem?
Is it real, or do I dally with a dream?
Through haze, ghostly evocations glow.
Fair face, fresh flowers, dancing slow -
Just my imagination? I don't know.
I must've fallen in a trance -
Can't be me - I don't dance.
This beauty in my conscious stream,
Is she (was she?) real, or just a dream?
Whispering, walking in the wood,
Wishing, wondering, if she would -
Understanding, Understood.
Did, together, we once stand?
Did I ever hold her hand?
A wonderful wife, a titan team -
Is she real or do I dally with a dream?
Categories:
evocations, age, dance, flower, imagination,
Form: Alliteration
EVOCATIONS a still life ekphrasis
time standing
stlll
arrested
moments
revealed
in
stimulations
of
the mind
revealed
illuminations
of
the
past
yesterdays
becoming
today
tomorrow's
postponed
memory
past pictures
live
again
momento
mori
in hypereality
as
monuments
to past
existence
from
shadows
of
transience
sentient
touchstones
in
memorials
of perception
aesthetic
sublimations
of
immersive
spontaneity
with
fascinating
expectations
a visual
of genesis
in
suspended
animation
still distant
now
living
again
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.
Checkout this unique still life (on a grand scale)by Jorge Diezma 'Bodegon del Limon'
Categories:
evocations, art,
Form: Ekphrasis
gripping the shards of memories
ignoring the bloodied emotions
why do we torture ourselves
with that which we cannot change
these evocations
vivid
disturbing
invisible to others
but our élan spotlit
driven
instituting mostly patronising
eleemosynary projects
perfect recall
subject to
experiences dictated by
accident of birth
the authenticity of memoirs
tenaciously defended
but ravaged by
subliminal influences
a testimony to its perfidy
Categories:
evocations, inspiration, memory,
Form: Free verse
So many new names
appear to grace the poetic soup
the myriad of talent sets my thoughts aflame
as my head spins on the words in flowing loop.
Welcome all ye poets who write
where have you been in these dark days of distancing apart
each line and stanza brings new delights
expose your mind, the subtle gentle evocations of hearts
and happily, I'll read your wonderful expressions
that lift me from sheltering depression.
Welcome all to the poetic soup!
Categories:
evocations, analogy, poetry, poets,
Form: Rhyme
shadowy sparse
brooding anxious restless
introspection
moments simplified
til the gloom breaks
twilit patches
uninflections
melancholia contrived
in abstract
evocations
exemplified
&unbroken
Categories:
evocations, anxiety,
Form: Verse
I
When I breathe my last and my soul finds its path back to whence it came
and my lifeless body is lowered
beneath the earth to my resting place
and a stone is set over me
encrusted with endearing evocations,
I shall not tarry one more Night;
even though the mourners mourn beyond consolation
and in spite of all those forlorn tears,
I shall depart still…
Weep not for me, I go in peace.
II
When you pass by my tomb, do not cast a scornful gaze at me
I was fair to all:
the rich and the poor I served from the same cup
I withheld not a penny of the weak, nor
did I seek to inveigle into my neighbour’s wife
or chattel; nor chased the needy away from my doorstep…
Do not inveigh against me,
the labourer deserves his wages; and so did I…
I await my judgement day.
Categories:
evocations, age,
Form: Free verse
I'm trying to write about something specific for a change.
''I'm bored, and suffocating in a desert
Of dull yearnings that gulp down my stale breath
Full of futile words.''
No. I'm drowning again in absurdity and saying
Nothing. I need something
Specific. Meaningful.
''I'm trying to create meaning on the paper,
Crumpling sheet after sheet, the lost words
Mourning for irretrievable primary
Sensation which once urged me to continue
Writing, rather than crush the pencil that so many times left
No trace at all save for the void forming the words -
Long since gone...''
I start afresh, this time without superfluous evocations.
Nothing. Makes. Sense. It doesn't have to.
The present. Is. Dark. There will be a better tomorrow.
Not sure. If I'll be. You know you will.
I'm alone. With my words. You'll always be.
Words don't make sense when thoughts wait for their permission.
Can I think about something specific for a change?
There are not enough words.
They disappear. When you think. About yourself.
Categories:
evocations, emotions, introspection, words,
Form: Free verse
The afternoon clouds came floating by, rolled over the hills, and fleeting streaks of orange hues flashed the sky. Incense-colored wisps of wind mantled the earth. Like a dream, the flowers withered and faded.
A passing shadow --
It was over after
A breath and a sigh.
She sat at the old Victorian bench, an engraved sight this early evening. There was nothing out there but gloom. The night sky veiled her garden blooms. The light was absent and colors cannot be sensed. Yet, her face was all aglow, enraptured with awe.
Courage --
In the bosom of love
There is no fear.
She sighed to the evening sky, asked it of his thoughts, and to breathe on her flowers. She wanted to feel colorful evocations in her soul. She surveyed the black earth and a garden with a mind of its own sprung up to life. It swarmed with smiling blooms, roses, dahlias, hyacinths, and wild flowers. Explosions of colors with a memorial scent that holds no secret that it loves.
The dead lover's scent --
A tomb of ancient blooms
That never fades.
- maria 3.8.16
Categories:
evocations, courage, love, memory, nature,
Form: Haibun
In every sense I smell his love
When the pure-scented moonlight bathes my window
Reflecting its tresses inside and the night-breeze
Spills a bouquet exploding of wonderful colors
Of evocations to mind which stroke perfumed
Warm touch on my glowing skin courted
By lavender whispers of memory… hmm…there
In every sense I smell his love.
Categories:
evocations, absence, desire, longing, love,
Form: Verse
Winds of variation blow, eyeless in sight, never knowing the tide is ever flowing.
The stars eclipse and matrix shift, cosmic feelings from a heart brings freedoms evocations.
Smudge now and pay later, a prayer for peace written down in a book of lies.
A maiden voyage with every turn of the page, invocations abound changes are profound.
Musing as it happens a muted sole, but demented laughter where no one could capture.
Unfolding the envelope finding what’s unfair, new thing a sound heart beating something new
to be found.
Still to be told from a luminous heart of gold, a story that everyone knows, but truth has
never been told.
Trapped in a mind from light to light having no strength or temerity to break external.
In A Trapped Mind.
James C Bryant Jr.
December 21, 2002
Categories:
evocations, depression, health, introspection, life,
Form: Light Verse