Short Vestigial Poems

erect climbing n trailing
serrated edges of budding
love /deciduous wind
pollinates /epidermal out growths
sickle shaped hooks of torture
vestigial flicker of delight
browsing at the end of a meadow...

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The tail of a beaver, bill of a duck
yet they pull it off with honor and pluck
made with spare parts
they capture our hearts
with DNA tests that read WTF


©8/31/2018


for Any Animal Or Creature Limerick Poetry Contest...

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The efflorescent dream to imbue
my opulent languor,whose ripples
vestigial,untoward,hissing,waving
the dalliance quite sneaky peaky.
Is it the murmur of a mellifluous song
yet to be sung by the divine entity!
Is it the penumbra of an ethereal beauty
soothing my bosom with its eternal charm !...

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The youths of our nation
Is like a "Fossil" floating on the sea of humanity
Nothing more than "a Vestigial Remnant"
A generation destined to disappear
So let us reclaim our disconnected youths
They are the future and they're our fruits

©Copyright December 27, 2009 by Brian Pierre-Alexander 
© All Rights Reserved...

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your heart becomes
a vestigial organ
providing only a weak,
faltering beat
for you to march your mind to
your head emits
a strange thick mist
your eyes can barely
make their way through
and you stumble along
not knowing where or why
on this sick thick overgrown path
you’re hoping takes you somewhere high...

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juke baby,? ?juke?!

head thrown back
sway mama,? ?sway
eyes closed
parted lips
shuffle and slide
shake yo hips
in gyrations rhythmic
vestigial remnants
of another dance
another land
lush? ?and green
and fertile and wild
where women did
shimmy and shake
about the fire
in rhythmic gyration
to welcome 
the hunting men
home once more

Juke baby,? ?juke?!...

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Mango was sweet and sour,
The juice was plenty,
And began to pour,
Flesh was fleshy,
And also very meshy,
Consumed nothing remained,
Hard seed was forlorn with juice drained,
Skin was vestigial,
Thrown in a waste fall,
Life is like that sweet and sour,
With lot of juice,
Soon it is consumed,
Hard seed is called the dead,
deeply interred,
and it lived was presumed....

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When I close my eyes you come crawling 
stirring up my soul 
diving in my dreams 
delving thru my seams 

Flutter my butterfly with vestigial wings 
let me chase after you 
where the catail do sing 

Fly over hilltops seduced by the sea 
slip off to the sunshine 
and visions of me 

Enter my pasture where waters run deep 
place your wings upon my shoulders 
and let yesterday's sleep...

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I took my grandson to the barbershop today . Tonight is prom night so very special i must say.
As I sat and looked around expressionless faces was all that could be found. All about gazing into their iPhones and androids it was engough to pop a hemorrhoid.
O tempora o mores as Cicero would say is this what our world has become today.
The ability to converse has become almost remedial. One day i fear our tongues will become vestigial....

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Not what you’re used to, am I
A far cry from the wild and wooly gals
a horrified vestigial virgin ravaged by time am I.
Not what you’re used to.
Am I?
Not what you’d ever thought could exist
 in a package so mixed
of pink metal nails and kittens tails.
Not what you’re used to, am I.
A cosmic leap into the proximity of dichotomy
The Yin hole in the Yang’s sperm like shape.
Am I the beginning to your end?
Not what you’re used to 
I am....

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