Best Wabi Sabi Poems
Cars are the wind on the streets
semi-truck wheels shriek thunder,
rain shatters against stone and brick walls
on dusty roads, oak trees fence with twigs—
wushu wooden clatters.
Dreadful arrays of dryads
azure and amethyst gossamer haze,
sleek, silken strikes gist an opera of wisteria,
as they sway to silver breeze's sibilant rustles.
They chant lullabies in lyrical lilts of hued iridescence,
of hearth and opals back to my scarlet nest.
Angelus silver trills, the sylphic sways of pure rays,
Coral rosary—incense strands of aurulent rimes
hum, endless hymns echo as choral evensong
alleluias softly peal out—doves with wet eyes
that drift upward on whispery—ethereal wings.
Ocean's plea emerges from apothic abyss,
a voice conveys the core of faxed shores and stars,
with earth and wind in a solemn tone.
A cosmic biography—in loud squeals and sighs
sea vernacular hinges on nature's lasting awe.
Breath goes to fog—snow melts into puddles—rain returns,
a china-white grave—encases the deceased deer,
before thawing in the morning—icy skin lies frozen.
An eerie distance holds my hand in a purifying blizzard.
- poem taken for other purpose-
youth, where imperfections trip upon each other
and opportunistic peers joyfully celebrate the folly
- glass tree houses be damned...
and - a spun bottle breaks blood brotherhoods
where fragile crevices expose truths and
welcome untested kinships to fill the void.
the leftover baggage - will it be burden or buoyant?
like Scrooge's chains, worked upon - idyllic dreams
dragged into reality.
we're told to pull ourselves together -
while drowning in emotional incontinence
like this stumbling poem, trying to balance
reason ... and sanity
then - tossed to time's tumult,
life's bitter tempering, yet -
gold in our veins
a vessel that can hold
all that is ladled in...
"Dead leaves lay still, even the last flower is withered: yet there is a beauty in decayed imperfection." Taken from a quote by _Constance La France
On an orbital rotation around our planet every day, nothing stays the same. We change our surroundings change, our thoughts change, constantly evolving into what we are and what we will be tomorrow.
Everything changes. Some things grow bigger or older, some are renewed, restored or replaced, some break or decay. Nothing stays exactly the same. Therefore we are never finished changing. As it was intended, or broken, still nothing is perfect forever. Regrettably Rolls Royce rust.
Aren’t you ashamed of me?”, said the pot with the crack.
“Every day you carry me, yet I only bring half the water back.”
The old woman replied. ”Didn’t you notice I carry you on the same side?
You do a great job and I always carry you with much pride.
You see every day, as I walk back you water each flower.
All these beautiful flowers are because of you."
Knowing a fault and making use of it, not alienating the item because of its fault but accentuating it, creates joy.
"When you were perfect, I loved you when you were not, I loved you more.”
The old woman kept the withered pressed bouquet, it’s in a box displayed on the shelf. From their wedding day, glorious red roses, now in decay. She smiles as she remembers its beauty and that of herself.
The flowers she kept, emphasizing their imperfections caused by age, give her joy.
She loved them when they were perfect, their beauty actually means more to her now that they are not perfect, as their remnants have lasted all these years.
All things must be looked upon as spiritually one and of use either aesthetically or practically, (or able to be recycled).
We wander through so many gardens,
doting robins, ignoring the crows.
Our personal oasis is an unfinished poem.
Plastic flowers may last longer, but their dead scent,
cannot compare to freesia and frangipani.
In fading grey sunset,
I crumble, crouching in musk air.
An arch frame with withered wood skin
and paint peeling in need of black dye,
but still Shalimar honeysuckle wraps like a quilt,
weaving around amber roses and velvet clematis.
Battle scarred thorns may stick and prick
these gangly timber legs, but each blemish
is soothed from butterflies floating from petal to petal.
In speeding winds I rock like an armchair,
helpless to save cherry blossoms falling,
creating a carpet of pink upon flakes of green.
Knotweeds sneak through a resurfaced pebble path,
but my dandelion heart seems fond of its purple tint.
Midnight raindrops sting like sake,
but I know dawn will bring bright blue skies.
Wabi-Sabi 12-21-23
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Wabi-Sabi
Empty the mirage of perfection
Whose shadow wears scars
Of perpetual broken rainbows –
Cracked rose petals –
Gilded edges joined by hibernation and spring.
A pilgrimage into amnesia
Timeworn victories fade into badges lost to time
Moonlight swallows the waning heart of morning
Sunlight gobbles up unfinished faces of the moon
Storms inhale fragments of sunbows.
Out of exploding ephemeral stardust broken beauty
As galaxies toss and turn creating quasars
Like waves sculpt eroding sands
In the orbit of perpetual opening ceremonies -
A journey into morphing excellence of golden seams.
And love grows to bloom then scatter rosehips
Into time’s silken wrinkles
Star born magma bows with gratitude
For unexplored shapes crafted on new shores
Where only eternity lasts forever.
Things bloom more beautiful when breaking down.
The nave now ploughs through foams of flowering trees,
a frozen caravel. Kissed by the breeze,
the river surface suddenly seems to frown
exquisitely. The apse’s jaunty crown
of weeds above one (sightless) eye would please
romantic poets. What was once a friese
lies strewn about, a shaley shanty-town.
We love whatever withers, atrophies.
To see a calked construction founder, drown
beneath its own detritus, by degrees
slough off its shape and, sinking to its knees,
expire, is satisfying. Velvet gown?
We’d much prefer to see a soiled chemise.
A lake? A cloud? A mountain? Megan Fox?
If we acknowledge Beauty in these things,
what are we saying? As when Smokey sings,
or girls emerge in slinky summer frocks,
something’s taking place outside the box
of regularity, and sprouting wings.
How might we classify these happenings?
A rupture in the norm? The whole Baroque’s
built on this very point. If Beauty rocks,
what is the special quality it brings,
and why is it so pleasing? Beauty flings
a spanner in the works of Orthodox,
and laughs at Workaday. It mocks
our essence, lurks in quirks, and smirks at clocks.
“The Wordsworth ouevre is cretinous. Discuss.”
The Long, Laborious Quest, The Sparrow’s Nest,
The Noble Oak of Guernica, Addressed –
We can’t escape the feeling he’s a wuss.
His subjects are unconscionable, plus
the rhymes he uses are a facilefest.
If only he were even half in jest!
His humour’s unintentional, and thus
more entertaining than he could have guessed.
Yet something in his scribblings seems to wrest
significance from dross, analogous
to Newton’s differential calculus,
invented by the by, at whim’s behest.
When Wordsworth falls apart, he’s at his best.
Wabi-Sabi stain
Wabi-Sabi stain, our soul wears
We review in wonder
We are healed when love with love pairs
Birthing soundless thunder
We feel magnetic heat
Benign burn, head to feet
In sync with God’s bliss beat
Heart’s now free from pain
Wabi-Sabi stain
23-July-2022
Quietus
WABI-SABI
The vase lay broken on the floor
Pieces scattered, whole no more
Collected, to try and make again
Yet its beauty may forever wane
Glue and gold wire used to repair
Never to be perfect as I’m aware
Yet still is worthy of my attention
And ongoing healing intervention
Cracks now mended, yet still seen
A sad reflection of what it’s been
No longer stood in pride of place
Almost ashamed to show its face
A hint of the beauty gone before
One missing piece is its tiny flaw
Wabi-Sabi
A stunning beauty seen with moles on the cheek from a distance
If be near, like spaceman, we find dry lowland area of dark rock,
Shadows in holes where meteors hit, left craters, the Sun can’t hit.
She relies on the Sun for light, the borrowed light throws on others
And patronizes God-punished murderer Cain, adorned with horns
Becoming more luring in getting the dark spots of Cain’s horns.
As all of us hold secrets, never telling it to others
She never ever shows her darker side to anyone of us
We the poets, lovers, get enchanted, mad by this lunar beauty
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** God put Carn for murdering his own brother adorning with horns on the Moon
as a punishment. Sometimes the dark spots on the moon looks like horns.
*, wabi-sabi is Japanese word meaning “to find beauty in imperfection
and profundity in nature*”
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Date : 12-5-13
Dr. Ram Mehta
Contest: Seeing Beauty in Imperfection by nette onclaud
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You cry: "Oh No!", as your cherish beloved pot
lies shattered into pieces
at your feet, splattered in tears,
echoing your sobs and muttered moans.
"What to do?" you ask.
You could try to glue it back together,
but it's impossible to hide the cracks
and jagged ends of the mends.
Just before you are about to throw it away
"Ah Ha", a Eureka moment!
I think I will try Kintsugi,
Which exemplifies the beauty
within imperfection,
showcasing the breakage lines with
gold thread and paint along the cracks and repairs.
Then, the pattern made by the golden cracks
creates a beautiful natural scene
like the branches of a tree or
the pattern of a river drawn from nature.
The breakage is celebrated, not hidden away to deceive.
This is the spirit of 'wabi-sabi'
which is the acceptance and exoneration,
of transience and imperfection,
with the added simplicity of
incompleteness and fragility.
Not hiding the faults, failings and flaws within patched repairs,
but accepting their inevitability in time.
So the lesson is that "Broke ain't that bad really!",
"Not such a big, sad deal, after all".
In the real world transience is accepted as the norm.
Perfection is ultimately unattainable and cannot last,
as it quells the joys of simplicity and acceptance.
Perfection is extinct, never existed in nature!
"Things happen", don't they,
anytime, anywhere, randomly, with or without cause.
So don't let what's broken
become a lasting
consequential loss.
Fix it with Kintsugi!
Kato was a mutt-product:- breeding run amok
No purity meant the pound of death-induction
Only his adoption saved him from that inferno
turning life into moments full of simply-perfect:
Each summer, the sun stroke a furry black hue
Elevating it with a sheer of burgundy elegance
Pauses were paws-aplenty with a trot and stop
Leaves all fallen he sniffed, callings of ethereal
Even winter was a nose-frozen-water pleasure
And spring lasted, always in his outdoor mania
So the decade ran prancing into walking years…
Under rains, by the river running, a dog by you
Racing by faster with memories, toward too far
Ending in the hardest letting go - a broken bye.
12/31/23
Every touch and flicker grazes our heart,
evoking response as of consciousness
Mindful eye sees waves approach and depart,
detachedly centred in void of oneness
Play of emotions, marked by divergence,
contoured thus by judgmental perception,
seek to etch their imprint on innocence,
drawn by free will chosen resonation
Nurture oh hermit, wabi-sabi stains,
enriching the very fabric of soul,
distilling loves hues to gently ingrain
divine benedictions, making us whole
Heart the centre, wherein bliss throbs enter
An open heart feels joy currents canter
03-March-2021
For me you’re designed, mesmeric scarred moon,
grace gleams in the convolute cradle of cyan night,
slithers in the silken sky I create for you,
a turquoise trail you trace in my heart incised.
Thunder cloud surges from the edge of stained night,
the debris of the splintered sky swathes me.
You retreat in the glare of anguish lightning,
searing the slivers of my fissured essence.
I travel in the tempest of strife,
serenade the broken notes of an unsung song,
in sync with the symphony of flawed passion,
making untuned melody in the snapped string of memory.
In the blemished visage of the veiled sun,
I paint on the scraped sensual canvas
your frail face with fragmentary fervor,
sedately smiling eyes sparkle my deranged dream.
On the charismatic canvas cracked,
my failing longing lingers in your effervescent eyes.
Etched in the invented lattice of patterned splendor,
your unsplit smile shimmers unspoilt.
wabi-sabi stains, etched upon our soul
characterise struggles, that make us whole
vanishing ink cognised by inner eye
that with feet on ground, we reach for the sky
reuniting with source, our earth life goal
stepping lightly along the pathless path
each moment in time, a holy sabbath
we relinquish control through surrender
embracing life, like a child in wonder
fearing no longer, destiny spawned wrath
wheel of time displays, our footprints on sand
then, as now, we walk with God, hand in hand
30-April-2021
(syllabic rhyme)
"Footprints" Old or New for a Prize Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire