Remnants

Remnants

A Poem by Kayla
"

This poem I did in emulation of Weldon Kees, and I quite like how it turned out.

"

Remnants

I need that porch light to come on again,

in this twilight hour of resembled youth.

Back in Pawnee, an utterance; amen,

semblances of names. A cancerous truth.

Remnants of rhyme, in time, with my lament,

Sublime ignorance, I wish to assent.

The lives of neighbors in shadowed places,

fathers yelling; mothers in pretty laces.

They enjoy the failure, or eat on hate,

but in the river I control my fate. 

Laughter withers when memories behold,

as rocks do. Covered, cellular slime mold.

I am your daughter, an inconsistent,

mess, diseased, liable to resistance.

© 2009 Kayla


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Reviews

Such a beautiful poem...I say that, because I got lost into your words...your words were vibrant and alive in such truth that was painted so immaculately.

Posted 12 Years Ago


I've never read Weldon Kees, but you poem makes me want to. I loved what you have done here. Its got a fresh, modern feel to it. The ending was fantastic:

I am your daughter, an inconsistent,
mess, diseased, liable to resistance

Great job with this.

Posted 14 Years Ago


Hm, this leaves me in a thoughtful mood. It was enjoyable and reminds me of something I read in the past few months. Still, well done.

D.

Posted 15 Years Ago



Ya know, I remember just enough of Weldon Kees, from "Kaleidoscope" poetry anthology, I believe. Now I'll be wondering where the book is. Anyway, your verse reads as eloquence from one named Weldon Kees -- even if it was a different Weldon Kees. ;-) Chalk it up to the old-school name.

"I am your daughter, an inconsistent,/mess, diseased, liable to resistance." And what a droll confessional ending!

I've emulated more prose-poets and songwriter-poets than verse poets along the way. Bradbury, Durrell, Nin, Paz, Dylan, L Cohen, D Barthelme. Always intriguing to hear or get inside another artist's voice, or have it be a spontaneous tribute in a more montaged process.

Remnants, indeed, all that remains, and is collage-recycled yet again. . .

Your poem shows a supple sure hand, the way it summons a known poet's voice, yet proceeds on its own idiosyncratic course re remnants to a kind of Dickinson-feeling conclusion.

This poem resounds like a slow-fading memory in the reader's mind's-eye and ear long after reading.

Posted 15 Years Ago



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Added on January 27, 2009

Author

Kayla
Kayla

Colorado Springs, CO



About
I am a freelance writer, social media consultant and SEO expert. I graduated with my BA in Psychology with minors in Philosophy and English. Even though I am a working writer, it has always been my.. more..

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