She's a girl in a pretty veil.
She dresses herself in blossoms,
treasures those little daisies.
But I see her, soiled,
in a resplendent turmoil.
She's exultant
in a catastrophe.
I would clasp her hand
and run past this dismal truth.
But she has long kept me
her prisoner—
A deity,
one she'd never offer glory to.
She's a winner,
the vanquisher.
And yet all she ever flaunted
were her ruptures before me.
She lives her days in summer,
yet yearns for a long-lost winter.
She cherished daisies,
now she has only ever liked orchids,
the ones that bloom in blue.
She dons her pearl cloak,
yet ruins slip past her pearls.
She's vigorous
within a melancholy,
terrified it might perish.
The harp of the ocean ruptures the skin,
blood mingling but sharks do not attack.
Letting sea salt heal all that is within,
finally you are clean feeling blue-black.
Bioluminescence hits with a smack,
dabs of glitter sparkle coating your hair.
With an image harnessing debonair,
a rhythm dances with the rising tide.
Unable to turn from it’s feisty flare,
wild desire to submerge will not subside.
548.
Let's Learn Economics!
Let's learn a Social Science subject called Economics
It will lead us to the business matrix
Where we can meet the Economic Systems & Market Structures
There are ups & downs, formations, ruptures
Like the Business Cycle, Demand & Supply
Sometimes it is low, sometimes it is high
As there is Cost in every Consumption
There is also Profit in every Production!
-04/24/2017
(Dumarao)
*SSN Poems
#Mme
Wells of my heart are ever flooding, ignite in me never cease to lit, greatness and gratitudes forever apprehend my reactions, to cloud 9, expressions in me, trigger rockets in my heart, feel ruptures in me, cracking and leaking self control, running loose, uncontrollable.
I am talking about a WOMAN, Statue of my soul, this hope in my breath, reason I live. Please don't cut my wings nor control my adrenalin, here I'm absorbed, by gratitude and overwhelm. I'm drowning in tender, motherley abstract sooth
I'm talking about a MOTHER, my MOTHER, blade holder, asegai of my amour, my survival, piercing through my thick and thin, casting stones of my better livelihood, like creation, remaining absolute to my being. PLEASE! GOD, keep her for us, we, her son's and daughter's, flesh of her flesh and bones of her bones, the pulse in her heart, that echoes in our strength, humans we are, reflections we are, her body that nurished us, forever in us, she lives, in dreams we share, common bond of our birth, we are commended, by God and heaven. OUR MOTHER! Mme.
#Poetic_Ink
Fluent in passions tongue
suckles like loved lost found
six drips hit tongue fast
heart races eyes look past
She's here again bare torn and happy
She smiles when my lips past gently
Warming hearts beats of joy
feeling impulse turn slowly toy
slide into my mind
pull back slow
find out why
You let me
own
Your heart
flutters
home alone
Tears no longer fall from my eyes—
they surge like monsoon from the heart,
flood arteries, sting veins,
a wound no balm can heal
but your touch.
You may not know:
your love cradles my hope,
then ruptures it with silence.
One absent word and I tear open—
a storm-ripped sail on a hidden reef.
My thoughts drown in trapped feeling,
yet spill one daily plea:
look past my ribs—unmask the shy pulse.
Lift this flood before it drags me under.
These tears run inward,
blind to the desert of my eyes.
Each ache begs your mouth for mercy.
One glance could split my guarded stare—
I cannot watch your love
cuddled in a stranger’s arms.
Unique undercurrents oust urban youth;
undulating surge unease surfing group,
accentuates; surroundings' virtue mute;
luck runs out, understanding, wouldn't recoup;
Cut up undisturbed, unlikely hurtful,
because: numerous arguments, pursued,
genuine ulterior grounds, doubtful;
thus, thoughts ultimately tuned attitude;
Quietude ruptures universal truce,
thus, unloosened corrupt accusation,
sought purely understandable sourced ruse,
though unfounded, but: subject's foundation,
Vague; uncertain prejudice, departure,
adequately neutralizes culture.
I keep coming back
as if, one day, I'll find
the illusive angle,
that moment of perfect alignment
when the river, the clouds,
the trees and all
that is manifested
will break open and reveal
what is really there,
when what holds everything
together ruptures
and spills forth the sublime.
I get a sense of it sometimes
at dawn when the sun
breaks through the clouds
in a blinding burst of light
and in the quiet of evenings
when a birdsong pierces
the forest with sound so pure
it seems to open a gash
in time before closing
over in a sad covering
of silence. I am granted
only glimpses as if more
would be too much
for me, composed as I am
of stuff made of this world,
its blunt chemistry.
he liked it black and white with no greys in between
even when cracks appeared so strikingly evident
strictly speaking he preferred pink purple and orange
yet when life gave him lemons the brush would not work
the more he stroked and tarred over ruptures and fractures
uncertainty became elusive and poignantly concise
quite the opposite of what he had bargained for with all
the power delusion distraction insecure fear and despair
he knew that the writing was on the wall and yet
the language was foreign complex and would not reveal
meaning message beauty connotation and guidance
as he was blocked into silence depression resentments
all this had been the relentless story of his life and he
could not bear it any longer seemed to have lost all control
a rational mind portrayed it as the gift of desperation
a way forward towards healing perspective and peace
it was difficult to will positive emotions into effect
matters did not fall into balance but skewed misperceptions
what remained was hope rather than mere expectations
and he carried his burdens into an unpredictable but promising future
To live bound by “integrity”, where rectitude derides you? It’s starkly accustomed. I enrooted, enclosed by academics--the desolate nature of my sentience consuming my interior. Nether perfection defenestrates my subsequent--and I’m so damn tired. Extort my studies till blood seeps via my retinas, weave my pencil till the anathematic led ruptures; a mere standard in our education. Sacrifice my youth as to my future, conglomerate extracurriculars till my collapse, lay none betwixt within life and school; label it as a system. Shut up, shut up all of you! My exertion incapable of being compensated for—silence, silence, all of you! Toil seldom for me, subsequently bequeathing my labor… Discard my passion, coerce me to fill the perforated gaps in tuition—quiet, quiet, all of you! Refrain from protesting till your own encounter, and perpetually weep!
Shut up, all of you
My future prioritized
Discard my own youth
mid darkness blackest
view embossed in brilliant depth
hued covenant light
~
caged environment
ruptures midnights fall surreal
dark bright light conceals
3/28/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©
The Qin Shi Huang Empire built the marvelous China Wall.
The Flavian kings built the elegant Colosseum.
Just as the earth, an edifice needs to be safe for all.
Anyone who enters therein should feel inner freedom.
Though not thick, shouldn't the walls, like one's willpower, be strong?
Like virtues and values, shouldn't pillars and beams withstand?
Like healthy flesh and blood, shouldn't matters in it last long?
As a creation of art, shouldn't a house be well-planned?
This is a thrilling tale that Jesus, the tale-teller, tells.
Two builders, as though Apollodorus, constructed structures
One built on firm bedrock. It withstood all the weather's spells.
Another built it on sand. Soon, the storms led to ruptures.
Hear my words. Jesus says, my words should make their home in you.
Each house builder, with virtues, should build your inner shrines too
Emissions from a troubled heart,
Expulsions from a disturbed mind,
Despair projects out like a dart,
Saddling gloom ruptures from the rind.
There is a tranquil flow of glee,
Resonance of harmony strings,
Happiness displaces melee,
The forlorn self stands up and sings.
The soul opens wide its door to light,
Renaissance walks into its room,
Freed from the tendrils of the night,
Its delicate boughs sprout and bloom.
Though dawn chariots the untold,
The mind is steel-towered and bold.
June 12, 2023.
Clouds with bellies full of rain
sag their dark weight over the bay
almost touching the water.
Flickers of lightning illuminate
their core. The noise of thunder
draws nearer, falling out of ruptures
torn in the lining of a late afternoon.
Seabirds hang almost motionless
above me before riding off
on a roller-coaster of air. I ride
with them, not on air but on a longing
not to be here, earthbound
in my own dark. I feel the lift,
the strain within as if part of me
is pulling away. Yet something
always pulls me back
forcing me to stay.
I’m too angry to write clearly
yet it’s impossible to stop;
How many times must we do this,
ride this absurd merry go round?
We speak with such sincerity,
flimsy words they just go pop;
Left with such an empty abyss
community falls to the ground;
Giggle factor ruptures and splits;
Phony calling ourselves profound.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.