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[ART CONTEST] Poetry: Wabi Sabi, Spring, and Death [APRIL 7th 2024 DEADLINE]
- Thread starter ErikFinster
- Start date
I received it.
Thank you for submitting your poem. Wonderful!
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Thank you for your Poem Submission! It is very much appreciated!
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NOTES:
- The Poem will be in the spoiler.
- IGN: Z3LPMIS (SIMPL3Z, main.)
- RPNAME: [Grade-12] Felix Takahisa
- I'd say I cooked.
Beginnings are such delicate times. - Simplez.
- The Poem will be in the spoiler.
- IGN: Z3LPMIS (SIMPL3Z, main.)
- RPNAME: [Grade-12] Felix Takahisa
- I'd say I cooked.
Beginnings are such delicate times. - Simplez.
Everyone’s beginning is vulnerable.
Carefully constructed,
Neatly put together,
easy to break,
Everything is born,
purposeless, unadored,
Destined to flourish,
Made to acknowledge.
The wood from your table,
an old tree that met its fate.
The flowers you adore?
They’ll flourish themselves to their expiration date.
We are not forever,
life comes to an end.
So why must you complain?
And won’t you be like a friend?
Must you be so stubborn?
And neglect the knowledge you can learn
that in everything that goes is beauty,
beauty, of it, never being able to return.
A harsh reality comes to mind,
but a beautiful philosophy to understand,
Appreciate the light you see,
for you can shine bright yourself again.
Won’t you bear with me,
to watch me collect my dimes?
Perceive these memories,
That are locked in time.
Because I know,
And I truly accept,
That one day,
My fate will be met,
But until that day I’ll live with struggles,
pain, anxiety, worries, and troubles.
However that won’t stop me though,
I won’t say that this is all for show.
No, where I live now,
might be gone in 5 years,
What I see now,
will never reappear.
Unique,
just for me,
Only I can see,
and Only I shall be
The one who hears
The one who sees
the one who feels
and the one who breathes
Little tasks with almost no remembrance
Stuff we don’t share,
It’s so normal
Nothing tender.
‘I walked up the stairs’
‘I laid in bed’
‘I felt the breeze’
Do you sense the trend?
Little things.
The ones we start with.
Easy to forget.
But what we should appreciate nonetheless.
Carefully constructed,
Neatly put together,
easy to break,
Everything is born,
purposeless, unadored,
Destined to flourish,
Made to acknowledge.
The wood from your table,
an old tree that met its fate.
The flowers you adore?
They’ll flourish themselves to their expiration date.
We are not forever,
life comes to an end.
So why must you complain?
And won’t you be like a friend?
Must you be so stubborn?
And neglect the knowledge you can learn
that in everything that goes is beauty,
beauty, of it, never being able to return.
A harsh reality comes to mind,
but a beautiful philosophy to understand,
Appreciate the light you see,
for you can shine bright yourself again.
Won’t you bear with me,
to watch me collect my dimes?
Perceive these memories,
That are locked in time.
Because I know,
And I truly accept,
That one day,
My fate will be met,
But until that day I’ll live with struggles,
pain, anxiety, worries, and troubles.
However that won’t stop me though,
I won’t say that this is all for show.
No, where I live now,
might be gone in 5 years,
What I see now,
will never reappear.
Unique,
just for me,
Only I can see,
and Only I shall be
The one who hears
The one who sees
the one who feels
and the one who breathes
Little tasks with almost no remembrance
Stuff we don’t share,
It’s so normal
Nothing tender.
‘I walked up the stairs’
‘I laid in bed’
‘I felt the breeze’
Do you sense the trend?
Little things.
The ones we start with.
Easy to forget.
But what we should appreciate nonetheless.
Thank you for your poetry submission!
-kam
Level 71
bro cooked-
Could I contact you over discord regarding one of the poems?
halfabraincell
Level 12
yes
:)
best haiku imo
however, tysm for the comprehensive guide lol ':)
whether or not i actually do this, though, really depends. I might make a submission under my secondary character because my main (Anatoly) cant even spell. And he probably wouldnt write a poem.
But since you said 'no excuses' i now feel personally obligated to submit something, even if its just a crappy haiku. So thanks for that m8. :)
WELL. Though poetry writing isn't really something I do... I'll stick to my motto: let there be an attempt.
IGN: MinisterFudge
Char (attribution): Teresa Keating
IGN: MinisterFudge
Char (attribution): Teresa Keating
No Panacea
He pummeled the petals into the pavement; they had failed him.
Sweet cherry blossoms, they had not given the shogun enough.
My dear husband, what is wrong?
Futile cries for the Arborists’ panacea would come, but to what end?
For now, the trees stood dormant, I never knew it would cause him such torment.
Withered shards of dull pink quickly coat the palace grounds in a tight embrace,
upwards they swiftly swirled, floating with the slightest kiss of the wind.
Sweet songs were softly sung that day, by the children who gathered the petals to make jewelry with little delay.
The brief bloom had given our shogun this handmade heaven, yet the children now cry.
Why was his order that the trees now must die?
The arborist assured him the bloom, beautiful and brief, would come again.
Such words meant little to my husband and his uppity friends.
The trees joined the children in a grief-stricken shriek
And blow by blow the trunks of these fair blossoms did bend and creak
With no mercy, survivors, or smiles to be seen as the wind settled, night fell
And the withered petals stopped dancing.
Slowly, our sun rose again, smiling indifferently upon the carnage.
Branches, withered petals did lay strewn across the land.
The shogun’s people, most proficient, and indifferent to his commands,
descended to collect entrails, fashioning twigs into staves, each and all smiling, singing, meeting his gaze: hand-in-hand!
He pummeled the petals into the pavement; they had failed him.
Sweet cherry blossoms, they had not given the shogun enough.
My dear husband, what is wrong?
Futile cries for the Arborists’ panacea would come, but to what end?
For now, the trees stood dormant, I never knew it would cause him such torment.
Withered shards of dull pink quickly coat the palace grounds in a tight embrace,
upwards they swiftly swirled, floating with the slightest kiss of the wind.
Sweet songs were softly sung that day, by the children who gathered the petals to make jewelry with little delay.
The brief bloom had given our shogun this handmade heaven, yet the children now cry.
Why was his order that the trees now must die?
The arborist assured him the bloom, beautiful and brief, would come again.
Such words meant little to my husband and his uppity friends.
The trees joined the children in a grief-stricken shriek
And blow by blow the trunks of these fair blossoms did bend and creak
With no mercy, survivors, or smiles to be seen as the wind settled, night fell
And the withered petals stopped dancing.
Slowly, our sun rose again, smiling indifferently upon the carnage.
Branches, withered petals did lay strewn across the land.
The shogun’s people, most proficient, and indifferent to his commands,
descended to collect entrails, fashioning twigs into staves, each and all smiling, singing, meeting his gaze: hand-in-hand!
Thank you for submitting your poem!WELL. Though poetry writing isn't really something I do... I'll stick to my motto: let there be an attempt.
IGN: MinisterFudge
Char (attribution): Teresa Keating
No Panacea
He pummeled the petals into the pavement; they had failed him.
Sweet cherry blossoms, they had not given the shogun enough.
My dear husband, what is wrong?
Futile cries for the Arborists’ panacea would come, but to what end?
For now, the trees stood dormant, I never knew it would cause him such torment.
Withered shards of dull pink quickly coat the palace grounds in a tight embrace,
upwards they swiftly swirled, floating with the slightest kiss of the wind.
Sweet songs were softly sung that day, by the children who gathered the petals to make jewelry with little delay.
The brief bloom had given our shogun this handmade heaven, yet the children now cry.
Why was his order that the trees now must die?
The arborist assured him the bloom, beautiful and brief, would come again.
Such words meant little to my husband and his uppity friends.
The trees joined the children in a grief-stricken shriek
And blow by blow the trunks of these fair blossoms did bend and creak
With no mercy, survivors, or smiles to be seen as the wind settled, night fell
And the withered petals stopped dancing.
Slowly, our sun rose again, smiling indifferently upon the carnage.
Branches, withered petals did lay strewn across the land.
The shogun’s people, most proficient, and indifferent to his commands,
descended to collect entrails, fashioning twigs into staves, each and all smiling, singing, meeting his gaze: hand-in-hand!
HEXATICA'S HAIKU | "ASAGAO"
A tempered soul,
An untainted soul. Together.
We bloom. An Asagao.
(A freshly bloomed new love is on the rise. Between a cold-hearted Jigitarisu and the gentle-hearted Hydrangea, Katsu and Miu-Hua)
HEXATICA'S HAIKU | "SAKURASOU"
The desperate yearn,
Your warm embrace, though so far.
Spring shall come, as will our love.
(Separated by the cold winter of life, Koji Kosei and Han Soo-Yunn love, yet their affections unknown. The spring has arrived, their separation no longer.)
Thank you for your poetry submission! Your participation is appreciated!
Roses of Yore
By Okemia Kuroki
(IGN: Arkkwolf)
Above the corpse of petals passing down the stream, a maiden silently picked "love me, love me nots,” with weary self-esteem. The evanescence of the roses, a carnage in the sea, a bitter reflection of what the woman’s love would be. Fleeting so violently, devotion warring thin, the man she had regarded with fervor despite his many sins. The impermanence of love, a dying spring, of water, of season, of passionate worshiping. Three roses plucked, three times she cried, there would be no forth, she was running out of time.
The statuesque blooms, brought forth to remind, of the fragility of nature torn by mankind. Love diluted by the overbearance of fear, now a sun that would kill the newborn deer. The maiden wept with open tears, drowning in sorrow, as the ardor of spring disappeared. She laid beside the wilted blooms, as the sun became her parched tomb. The vernal equinox passed and gone, the maiden’s love far past its finished dawn. She closed her eyes and wailed her last, vast the aching of her many asks. Too brief the summit before decay, too brief the life of floral displays. Too brief the season’s air, too brief a foal before a mare. Innocence stolen, as a day bloom in the night, forcibly taken before her first flight. The maiden sunk into the floor, breath stolen by the summer spore.
And he, her forlorn lover, stumbled there to see, a field of roses, the following spring. From despair and expired tremor, the woman was no more, now reborn the very roses, of yore. Of all the regrets that remained to be seen, the most endearing, a recollection of an ending spring. For eternal youth, a well quite dry, alongside fleeting love hereby
By Okemia Kuroki
(IGN: Arkkwolf)
Above the corpse of petals passing down the stream, a maiden silently picked "love me, love me nots,” with weary self-esteem. The evanescence of the roses, a carnage in the sea, a bitter reflection of what the woman’s love would be. Fleeting so violently, devotion warring thin, the man she had regarded with fervor despite his many sins. The impermanence of love, a dying spring, of water, of season, of passionate worshiping. Three roses plucked, three times she cried, there would be no forth, she was running out of time.
The statuesque blooms, brought forth to remind, of the fragility of nature torn by mankind. Love diluted by the overbearance of fear, now a sun that would kill the newborn deer. The maiden wept with open tears, drowning in sorrow, as the ardor of spring disappeared. She laid beside the wilted blooms, as the sun became her parched tomb. The vernal equinox passed and gone, the maiden’s love far past its finished dawn. She closed her eyes and wailed her last, vast the aching of her many asks. Too brief the summit before decay, too brief the life of floral displays. Too brief the season’s air, too brief a foal before a mare. Innocence stolen, as a day bloom in the night, forcibly taken before her first flight. The maiden sunk into the floor, breath stolen by the summer spore.
And he, her forlorn lover, stumbled there to see, a field of roses, the following spring. From despair and expired tremor, the woman was no more, now reborn the very roses, of yore. Of all the regrets that remained to be seen, the most endearing, a recollection of an ending spring. For eternal youth, a well quite dry, alongside fleeting love hereby
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IGN: circusjax
RPNAME: [College][PHD][Journalist] Tsubaki Watanabe
RPNAME: [College][PHD][Journalist] Tsubaki Watanabe
Spring's delicate touch meets death's inaudible embrace. Amidst the fleeing blossom's of life, here stands. Beauty is recognized in the impermanence's grace.
There lies her soul, the garden as echoes linger about. The echoes of Spring and seasons to come of growth and decay. As petals fall, a silent reminder of fragility that's woven in the life's soul.
As cherry blossom's dance through the breeze, Tsubaki embraces it in a gentle sway. As she finds solace in the cycle of renewal. And the hushed life of elegancy decays.
A reminded balance of spring and death, she will find truth both of profound and wise. As beauty resides in the short-term while acceptance of life's goodbyes. So let those cherry blossom's dance and fall. Let Spring's embrace fill it's sweet symphony shower Karakura. As it dance's for wabi-sabi's embrace.
Tsubaki finds the beauty in life's worth.
There lies her soul, the garden as echoes linger about. The echoes of Spring and seasons to come of growth and decay. As petals fall, a silent reminder of fragility that's woven in the life's soul.
As cherry blossom's dance through the breeze, Tsubaki embraces it in a gentle sway. As she finds solace in the cycle of renewal. And the hushed life of elegancy decays.
A reminded balance of spring and death, she will find truth both of profound and wise. As beauty resides in the short-term while acceptance of life's goodbyes. So let those cherry blossom's dance and fall. Let Spring's embrace fill it's sweet symphony shower Karakura. As it dance's for wabi-sabi's embrace.
Tsubaki finds the beauty in life's worth.
It truly is a tough competition! ( ಠ_ಠ ) yessss
IGN: Anecdoche_
Extra:
The storm (Haiku)
Before disaster
Rustling, rattling leaves
And then, silence spoke
Written by V. 'Kaede' Otori
(An Ode to Spring, based on Iceland)
Often misled to be a heavy ice shed
The world misjudged your smile
Through the light of a gentle thread
You are a beautiful isle
Overflowing in hoards of purple
The redwing turns its path
Lúpína's often seem eternal
They turn to take a bath
Breaking out of a frozen pool
Waterfalls of a vast array
Hues of crystal blue, that of a jewel
Never causing fray
Now it seems the spring has changed
Japan starts to show it’s rain
It often leaves me feeling estranged
Oh, why now must I feel the strain
So often I feel dread
I'm so sorry that I fled
Often misled to be a heavy ice shed
The world misjudged your smile
Through the light of a gentle thread
You are a beautiful isle
Overflowing in hoards of purple
The redwing turns its path
Lúpína's often seem eternal
They turn to take a bath
Breaking out of a frozen pool
Waterfalls of a vast array
Hues of crystal blue, that of a jewel
Never causing fray
Now it seems the spring has changed
Japan starts to show it’s rain
It often leaves me feeling estranged
Oh, why now must I feel the strain
So often I feel dread
I'm so sorry that I fled
Extra:
The storm (Haiku)
Before disaster
Rustling, rattling leaves
And then, silence spoke
Written by V. 'Kaede' Otori