balancing the inward and outward
marrying material and spiritual as an artform
showcasing the objective and subjective
conjuring both philosophical construct and aesthetic ideal
the aspiration a way of life
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
“Your daughter stares,”
my mother whispered;
as she lay naked on the bed.
A smile of pleasure crossed her face
while the nurse
gently bathed her frail body
with a soft, warm sponge.
“Don’t you turn away,”
sensing my discomfort.
I look
at the scars
of birth, of falls from trees
of old repairs,
and new.
“She is young,” I say
“Scared”
“Poppycock; see, she’s smiling,”
my mother whispered.
“She looks in a mirror.”
Looking in the mirror,
Looking at yourself, sighing,
Say “she’s more broken
Than the others you see
walking down the street.”
Maybe you won’t say so
When you see their faces
Washed out and pale,
Behind the painted concrete
Cracks do start to break.
So don’t stuff your thin arms,
Flaunt that well in your cheek,
Be proud of the black marks,
By the edge of your lips
Cuz you know that you’re loved.
Just let go and smile more -
Take a step to the front
To the light from the shadow -
Make them redo all the charts,
Make them just see who you are.
In this world,
we are all transients,
traveling to the beat
of a mortal drum,
on a latent path
that only the souls
can see,
waiting for that moment
when we give back
our borrowed light.
Like a star,
we can shed our light
in the night
and lose our radiance
in the day,
to depend on the sun,
because, it is through this
that we realize,
we are not perfect
and we are interdependent.
When we get broken,
we need someone to repair us.
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
Imperfection becomes,
the beautiful face of impermanence.
One dying flower,
enlightens a whole field of blooms.
Change gives meaning,
to all that is born to flow.
The river does not ask which way?
The rocky riverbank crumbles,
because the water declares
the unreality of all resistance.
In an imperfect world,
perfection is a form of death,
while death is beyond form,
and so, a chip or crack
in a clay pot, acknowledges,
that there is no flaw in itself,
but only in the perceiver
who does not naturally flow
with what is.
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
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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.
Nothing can dim the light that shines from within. ~Maya Angelou
You are perfect
in all of your imperfections.
What imperfections?
I ask.
Exactly!
He responds.
it was not true love
the only true love is God
and Christ on the cross
bearing the imperfections
so light can shine out from me
- poem taken for other purpose-
The beauty of the leaves embraced their difference
As they shriveled ‘neath the sap drained Maple
Celebrating their continuum in the soil
A sadness tinged the sun’s smile
The mindless flocks fled, as did my thoughts
In search of kinder climes devoid of tears
Guided through the present by the past
Sifting through the distant clouds of when
Gnarled trees contort ensnared in climbing vines
Age punished by the neediness of youth
Old men enshrined on crumbling park benches
Children chasing wingless butterflies
Soft lines embrace the aura of a face
Alone against the backdrop of its foes
Walking as the rain turns into mud
Its presence now become a distant stream
When he went away, leaving her that day,
She thought her heart would betray…
The way it hurt, the way she wanted him to stay.
When love meant to last all lifelong, like a song,
Joyful and full, then lost in the dark, so wrong,
Leaving her alone and afraid, after he’d strung her along.
When doubts filled her up, after their breakup,
She felt like she’d fallen and would never getup,
Like she’d collapsed and so needed a pick-me-up.
When he ended what they had, it was just so sad,
Like she’d lost the best there was, all the glad,
While life moved on, she was lost, nearly mad.
When time passed, though, her heart would outlast,
All the pain and grief, finding solace at long last,
With the knowledge that her healing would holdfast.
When life beats you down, remember you won’t drown,
In the faded waters of defeat, the darkness all around…
You will find your reprieve after the heart’s meltdown.
When heartbreak has had her say, all you can do is pray,
For the time when love comes back to you, to stay…
Washing away the tears with a light that won’t fadeaway.
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...
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.
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.