She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychic collage of splintered dissonance,
framed in fractured facade of anguish.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict the geometry of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt
the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised diligence
that something within her
opposes the distorted repression.
The facial deformation isn’t a style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
defacing doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of splintered dissonance,
visible in the fractured facade of grief.
The body portioned into pile of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced down,
the limbs contorted into implausible grace.
All depict a geometric frame of emotion,
not a reshuffled shape of reality,
an embodiment of inconsistent identity.
The jade fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial deformation isn’t just style preference,
etched on unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertion of authority.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the distortion doesn’t demolish Dora Maar,
but accentuates her charisma.
Inspired by Dora Maar With Green Fingernails by Pablo Picasso
She sits composed, not as a woman,
but as a lavish landscape of angles and cubes,
a psychological collage of dissonance splinters,
rendered visible in the broken facade of grief.
The body fragmented into piles of unsettling planes,
the face split between the skewed profiles,
the misaligned eyes displaced downward,
and the limbs contorted into implausible grace,
all depict a geometric framework of emotion
rather than a reshuffled shape of reality,
presented as an embodiment of inconsistent identities.
The green fingernails disrupt the flowing fractured form
with their glowing color of concealed liveliness,
or of radiant rebellion, a disguised persistence
that something within her opposes deformed repression.
The facial distortions are not just stylish preference,
offering an unusual emotional visage,
but an artistic assertions of dominance.
Yet, with the display of her amazing vivacity
the fragmentation does not eradicate her,
but accentuates the presence of Dora Maar.
At the dusk of life,
All promises of dawn fade.
The hopes of noon arrive dead—
Petals wilt, beauty flees, and regret dances.
Time feigns vivacity within the day,
Yet grows listless before twilight unveils.
Its carcass leaves behind bitter regrets—
Like emptiness gripped in bare hands.
If you still feel time’s galloping pulse,
Run with blistering speed, lest it leave you behind;
For time deceives, wears down all strength,
And barters vigour for disillusionment.
Build your fort—adorn it with success;
For mockers wait to scorn your fall.
Only steadfast endurance sustains your stride,
And smooths life’s rough gallops on your way.
Springtime facade shines on convivial tapestry,
Monet’s luminous landscape of vibrant vivacity
within sparkling blue lagoon of dreaming eyes.
On luscious lips the petals of blooming lotus lie,
painted on the satin canvas of cute countenance,
designing narcissistic features of innate elegance
with the hues of Dorian Gray syndrome subdued
by pervading pride of indomitable youth imbued.
On the withered canvas the wheels of time creep,
the spider of age weaves the web of wrinkles deep.
Weary eyes look forlornly at weathered wasteland,
wilted lips lose luster of lotus once lovingly grand.
Hedonist psyche refuses to accept the fated loss,
even when time comes for the last mile to cross.
What is a face if not a metaphor for trait panorama,
snapshot in beholder’s eyes of concealed charisma.
Your time on Earth is limited.
Use it wisely; don't be dim-witted.
And as you age, be uninhibited!
Don't try to age with grace
always keeping a straight face.
Age with mischief and audacity,
high spirits and vivacity!
If doubts and inhibitions you dispel,
then you'll always have a story to tell.
The dry stem of a lonesome vine of vivacity,
now painfully curled, rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sways chilled in the winter wind of desolation.
The sleeping passion of exuberance,
painting a picture of comatose entity,
impresses none, finds no frame, droops down uncoiled.
Dormant emotions flicker like candle flame in freezing gale,
the crumpled vine suffers cold distress, pain unexpressed.
The original emerald lattice morphs mystically into
a mirror of veracity with ingrained sheen of actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of silhouetted latent essence,
rinsed with the suppressed hues
of distinctive spectral disposition it embodied once.
Metamorphosis creates the transient design,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm
of the compulsive shape shift,
waiting for the touch of spring.
If there is a need to know what goodness really means,
Then that's when the purity of your heart needs to be seen,
And the reason why greatness has clung unto you since your teens,
So, anyone not giving you credence for your brilliance is committing nothing but a grave sin,
The vivacity in your smiles is enough panacea to wake up dead emotions,
The sparkles of your handsomeness cause affectionate commotions,
You exhibit intelligence as if smartness is on your exclusive promotion,
You effortlessly dish out wisdom as an off the cuff donation.
Success daily flows into your home like an endless river,
The reason why your level of greatness still has no rival,
'Cos your longstanding achievements are what others are just celebrating as their new arrivals,
That's the extent to which your accomplishments are making others to quiver.
May each day of your life be filled with overpowering happiness,
May you be blessed with good health in awesome plentifulness,
May God's abundant blessings surround your home in astounding exclusiveness,
May you live long in spectacular richness.
The cold breeze on my face.
Treetops whooping it up.
The wild swoosh of wind.
The first bolt of lightning
and crackle of thunder…
My dad remembers
several feet of snow -
a wall of solid white.
He measures himself
alongside Buffalo.
Mine is the excitement
of a storm, I can feel it,
even as I upswing.
I might fly, like Dorothy,
or on the witch’s stolen broomstick,
or on the wings of the tornadic sky.
Fascination found in the rush,
the power of an unseen force.
The Holy Spirit thrives inside of me.
It’s a firestorm of spiritual vivacity.
The chromatic cords
of splendorous spring
embroider arcane art
on convivial tapestry
embellished elegance
dramatically drapes
the luminous landscape
of vibrant vivacity
as dream-drenched
blue lagoon
gets lashed
by idyllic eyelids
and
the lotus petals
of luscious lips
painted poignant
on silken canvas
of content countenance
the dulcet design
of narcissist facade
of innate pride
swathes furtively
the secret scars
of suppression syndrome
expunged.
The toiling time
revolves relentless
on convoluted canvas
etched with
fading felled leaves
of auburn autumn
in life consumed
while
the winter spider
weaves with strands
of twilight moments
the ordained web
with senile streaks
around hollow eyes
staring forsaken
at forlorn fringe
of weathered wasteland
as the lustrous lips
the fading flowers
lose withered
pristine patina
hedonist psyche
refuses to gauge
the grief of loss
the face morphs
into metaphor
for living panorama
captured by
the sanguine snapshot
of concealed charisma.
our innocence
aspect allowing
animates silence
magnetising space
by pouring in its womb
vivacity of soul presence
magically thus melding
form and emptiness
that consciousness
is held as a throb
in toroidal heart
Through a kaleidoscope
A physical life in crisis
Dying seems imminent
Does your life go pasteurize
Or is it through gossamer organza
A zephyr blowing
With vivacity zip
In springiness with vitality
Straight to the grave
Sometimes the misuse of a word can be funny...
soiled messy heart
One step in a soul's journey through the universe"
Inspiration feelings emotion passion darts
soiled messy heart
Filled up in animation intensity fervor
Ardor mine soul so dirty
soiled messy heart
Enthusiasm eagerness warmth fires energies
My spirit vitality vivacity
soiled messy heart
Spiritedness commitment
Fervency ardency intellectual energy or intensity
The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being
Elohim Father has now cleanse me
I am clean of mine once…
Soiled messy heart
1/19/2024
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2024©
Written: January 16, 2024
___________________________________
Strength of herbs oozes vivacity and harmony
Chamomile elixir elevates mood,
Innermost wassail dreams.
Galled, gurgling water groaned
A shining auric foil, ebullience in water,
Watching koi carp float sends us into zen.
In a bucolic corner, sipping a hot emollient tea
Warming, calming, and flower-scented,
It whistles with the birds.
Ethereal beam of brightness finds its way
Into every steeping cup,
Fetching a warm grin with each sip.
These leaves warm our hearts
Drinking it on a cold night is a thrill,
A nostalgic aroma of pride soothes minds.
Visions of China brimming the psyche,
a lambent tour of exotic, distant lands.
In the realm of dreams and gaiety
A rose blooms in my heart, glamour strikes with vivacity
My stretched hand reaches to fondly pet the palm
But like wind, the goddess ghostly evanesces with a calm
Dotingly I endeavor to serenade the enchantress.
Off the warbling lute the soft ditties sing
From the changing tune, the pitch to the ears sting
Yet with a sparkling giggle your spook infatuate
With fortitude, realms I’ll cross to graduate
The school of endurance you command with shrewdness
With agility I fly, but you’re too fast to reach
Roaring water crushes at the beach
Sand so calm I hanker to hold
The setting shining sun glares, with a frail I behold
Because am in love with the wind
Slacken my love! Off my feet you sweep with desire
My heart you take; sturdily I admire
Like a magnet, your enigma besots with charm
And the goal to get I’ll praise with a psalm
For I loathe to crush on the wind
The world will mock, but the love will shush the chatter
A future so bright they’ll hail the latter
And applaud our allure’s perpetuity
With fantasy our posterity shall sing of a deity
For all is possible, even love with the wind!
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.