Written: July 24, 2026 for a contest sponsored by Brian Strand
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Note: This is the Open (organic) VERSE created by Brian Strand and using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols; the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' (intuitive cadence)& so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond, thus making this enigmatic form a two-way interplay & interpretation unique to the moment
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wordless
sanctum
portals
cleaving
anchored
in
invocations
shroud-bound
effulgence—
vellum
&alabaster
fluttering
guising flesh
in
a clean slate
fettered
by
silence
ghost-scripted
expunged
orisons
canvas
bloom
weathered sheen
of
tether-tint
a
nailing soul
interlaced
exhumed
unbegotten
ebbing voice
forgotten
in a
breach
of
canonical hours
as
seeds
sprouting—
sky etched
wave-washed
sentence
retribution
under
a dust-turn
of
ink
& oblivion
You buckle from the hate of sin and its din and its kin
You buckle from the weight of sin’s gait as an ait
Walking with a palimpsest heart within
But I [God] will write with a pen of might, nor error or blind
I will perform a mighty feat, put a new heartbeat
Within every people that will seek Me in soul and heart and mind
Resolution:
"Poiema" a word for which we get our "poetry"
(And there is no dilemma, we are God's poiema)
We are poetry in motion, God's notion of you and me
An electronic trance of light and sound
tempering the charged air between us,
all at once my heart starts to pound.
Distracted briefly by the background
that is more of a target than a fuss,
an electric trance of light and sound.
Apprehension in an instant drowned,
there is something we must discuss.
All at once my heart starts to pound.
To be your queen I must be crowned,
addicted to the friction I’m delirious.
An electric trance of light and sound.
Debris is wiped with a shot downed,
instant palimpsest is so mysterious.
All at once my heart starts to pound.
With the knowledge I’m forever bound,
I drift closer so breathtakingly curious.
An electric trance of light and sound,
all at once my heart starts to pound.
The lanes of Yew trees
in the Garden of Remembrance
cast long shadows
over the wilting wreaths of regret.
The miasma
of the colophons
inscribed
superseded by
the suppressed vignettes
at each service held.
A Palimpsest
I'm slowly becoming a ghost
Speaking softly and never getting to finish a thought
Fading into shadows and doubt
And memories recalled as non stories
It wasnt always like this
I was the one with the most
Time, Circumstance, loss and defeat have taken toll and the bell rings for the end of another round
A Palimpsest. Written on parchment thin as the skin around an old man's eyes
That's my corrupted compendium, the tragic game show I host
I'm slowly becoming a ghost
Beneath the graffiti littered by the years
and the fatigue signed by a thousand cares
Through the scratchings of so many tears
that were summoned or caught you unawares
Under the mottles by done days quarried
and the shadows writ by a jealous sun
where disappointments linger unburied
and age is making its relentless run
My tired eyes can still trace your first face
by the thievery of time irreducible
I made a painting of a happy little house
On a happy little hill
Under a clear azure sky
And the sun was cheerful and bright
Then I covered it with black
Then I splashed it with gray
Then I let crimson drip onto it
Then I took a knife and stabbed it over and over
Then I tore it apart
Then I burned it
Then I spat on the ashes
Then I howled in rage
Then I curled up into a ball and cried
Writing upon the scroll,
year after year
day after day
the monk lives for the painted work
He prays and draws
He prays and writes
Eloquent brushstrokes
fall like soldiers into place.
Who can say that
not an inch beneath them
lies an army of letters
too vulgar for the eye to see
too forbidden for the soul to taste.
Lost in his set serenity, the monk
takes no heed of the bewailing clamour
the ships, the heathen helmets and the crowd.
Lost in his world he covers
the threatening set of words,
ignoring that in seconds
he'll be a hidden palimpsest
a human palimpsest
beneath
a crust of curdled blood.
As you fade into the distance of my memory
I can't help but feel desire that this be so lovely a thought
That even in despair is love
If only thought could be enough
But tragedy cannot suffice
Desire that I realize
In actuality I see before me all the thoughts I thought so tragic
That I meant them utmost, fully but to be the memory of love only imagine
Can you feel the phantoms
Flying through the starlit skies
Cleaving images in twain
Can you feel all these
Dichotomies again
Rain, wash down around me
All the emptiness I see surrounding
Fill the wishing well of sorrow
Wash away
Wash away
Drown desire
Fulfill the sameness of these empty days
I can't help but feel
I can't help but see
I just want to wash away
To crucify the dream that lies in starlit skies, in empty eyes
In all that I can't realize
Is my demise to be a false dichotomy
Oh see me here deny the tears and fears of empty years of sorrow
Bent upon hopes of tomorrow
Here I kneel now
Washed away into the sea
Of all that I can never be
Words undone
Scribe me
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