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Narrative Imagination Poems | Narrative Poems About Imagination

These Narrative Imagination poems are examples of Narrative poems about Imagination. These are the best examples of Narrative Imagination poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative | |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee


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A Dream In The Mist

The mountain peaks in colored sugar coat
Of pinks and blues and lilac violet hues
The sky, just before sunrise, all windless and clear
The day is misty, bitter cold, and crystal sheen
But I am warmed by one small ray of golden morning light

From high upon a perch of snow top crest
A lone stag with graceful legs that fly
Carving out a quiet trail, like fleeting wind
The sound so soft, the hush of whispered steps

He halts, and looks at me with logic's eyes
And seems to smile in recognition, 
His golden crown of antlers, gleam in morning sun
Just when I thought my crystal world would splinter
He tilts his head, and bids me to come
And like an eagle's wing, remote and sure
He darts away, just like a bird
Without a sound

Beauty of the wind....beauty of pure grace
I run after him, panting and breathless,
Through the glimmering, in search of answers
But, I cannot keep up, as he disappears without a trace
And still not wringing the answers from the slightest sound
Yet, I am left alone, and feel at peace


For Constance's Contest:  The Nature Dream/Spirtual Dream
Carrie Richards


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Leaving the Station

The smoke is a question mark...
My view of you is covered in gray
You pause, look back, then walk away
You’ve neglected to open your umbrella…

Tomorrow, under a different sky
I will listen to the songs of yesterday
The world leaves behind a sign language for broken hearts
It is cloudy, it is beginning to rain…
Goodbyes are bitter ales we drank today
I look again, through the smudges of the day
We are going to leave behind a trail of smoke
A sound like a tired mother calling in her child
The train whistle rings in the dusk

I take a last look through the window
I have said my goodbyes
The train begins to move
We are leaving the station platform
Tears weep down the window
Spilling over the imprints of my hand
I found myself dry eyed and my throat too tight to speak
Finding a place to put the carry-ons
People are chatting, settling in 
Happy, excited, anxious to be departing

A thin straight lift and a gray, silvery curve
Like a sickle for harvesting the first star…
The smoke is a question mark


___________________________________________
 "Write A Backwards Poem"


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When I Cry

Majestic illusions, dwell in my mind,
my special place that is only mine.

Filled with miracles, given through love,
my little heaven , when life gets tough.

A voyage I take, no one else is here,
I feel no sadness, I feel no fear.

The quietness, and serenity of an ocean voice,
waves coming softly, the air so moist.

Peace all around, no hassle of life,
my safe Haven of refugee, whenever I cry.


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Silver Strands

Slate gray streets made even darker by cutting raindrops
Umbrellas popping up everywhere, people seeking shelter

But I stayed put, wanting to get drained with the rain,
then I hear this tinkling voice that says, “Don’t you just love it when it rains?!”

I look at her wearily and her eyes actually gleam with laughter
Oh geez, this lady was my total opposite.  I was brooding, she was brimming.
I power-up my go away vibes, but she was like a darned magnet…
Was I the ferromagnetic one, or was she?

She gushed on the metaphor of rain in her life, and I didn’t feel like drowning.
Listening to her amidst the onslaught was so refreshing, making me thirstier…


There we were, two drenched souls, sitting on the pavement, chatting up a storm.
Of all her descriptions of rain, one in particular stood out for me…

Pearl drops strung on silver strands …

She said, “Rain for me would be silver strands streaking an otherwise somber sky…
pearl drops strung on silver strands, broken by the heavens to share with us.
See how precious it is?” Then she continued on with the metaphor for pearls…

Her words felt like windshield wipers to me, and I could see clearly now
By then, the rains had softened, and a lone pearl drop landed on her eyelashes
-that made me look closer at her eyes… her beautiful, wise, yet cloudy eyes…


I have never looked at rain the same way since then.






For Andrea's and Susan's Silver Strands contest



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Raven's Plight

Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn 
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A 
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw 
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice 
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.

Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know 
of the curses of man.  But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She, 
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.

Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition 
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here. 
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the 
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…” 
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”  

*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed

***A NIGHTMARE


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Four Hours of Eternity - 3

I woke to the sound of sizzling bacon, the aroma of fresh baked Muffins and my Beautiful Lenore in her bright green Teddy. "Nubbies", I said, "what time is it." Lenore said" for You it is 3:30P.M., June 27th, 2013. You are in the O.R. at Dartmouth Hospital. For me it is time to bring YOU to Eternity for a short time."What are You talking about; Baby." I died last night before we had time to go to the Bridal Suite. I do not want You to go through that pain again. Please come with me to the railing on the starboard side of the ship."Below the shuffle board deck?""Nubbies, just
trust me." As we walked outside, I noticed there was no air,no breeze, no sea lapping against the side of the boat, the sun seemed pasted in the sky. Where is Mom and Dad;where's my Ma, Where is everybody? Harry we are frozen in time, for last night and today; never happened for you. I asked the Lord to give us this time together. I was 3 months pregnant when I said "I DO" I want you to see JoAnne Naomi Grow up. Now
 Full Moonlight Stand on the railing with me and when I say 3; Jump. 1, 2, 3. You would think we would plummet into the Caribbean Sea, but we splashed into the Full Moon. The sun was warm,the birds sat on my shoulders, singing a song of Life Forever. The Peace, Serenity and Tranquility was unearthly. I then saw GOD and the Son of Salvation hugged me and in a Mezmerizing Voice said Welcome Home.
                                   To be Continued 
I want to apologize to those of YOU who are punctuationally  bound to Poetry I do not know how to punctuate people talking. I know I'm suppose  to use "" marks Sorry I LOVE YOU ALWAYS and FOREVER YOUR Liege...Harry


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The Mermaid and the Moon

She climbed the liquid staircase
Just to gaze at gleaming stars;
All she wanted was a wee one
To light up her fair boudoir.

A thousand times she spied them
Flash across the midnight sky;
She strained so high to catch one,
But the mermaid could not fly.

Exhausted with hard striving,
She lay back against the sea,
Rocking on the waves, gently, 
As she rested peacefully.

The moon, climbing his set arc,
Saw her glist'ning on the foam;
At first sight so madly loved 
Her, longing to take her home.

To lightly comb her flowing
Hair, he sent a small moonbeam,
Who tangled in her tresses
And woke her from her dream.

With a flash, her glitt'ring tail
Slapped the water and she fled,
Sliding down in the ocean,
Hiding in her pearl lined bed.

The moon, absent one moonbeam,
Wanders heaven, round and round,
Surveying seas and oceans,
Praying his mermaid is found.

Sometimes in the deep, dark pool
He sees a shining light start
Beneath the frothing billows,
And he clutches for his heart.

Forever in his orbit...
She, forever in the waves,
Her hair with his beam glowing,
All of love he ever gave.

May 31, 2014


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Chinese Scrolls

Poems from old and yellowed
Chinese scrolls make me sad,
make me sad: stored in shiny,
lacquered boxes of perfumed teak,
they crumble when unrolled.
And the hands that must have written
Chinese thoughts upon the rolls:
little, leathern, patient hands,
painting poems -- stroke and stroke
and careful, delicate stroke --
stopping, meanwhile, to twirl
a waxed mustache --
for someone else, a foreigner,
who cannot understand, to read,
mull over, and be sad.
And this when Chinese thoughts
are gone, and tiny, trembling
Chinese hands are dust.


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I drift into the night

I dream about a day that may never come,
I watch my life unravel, simply come undone.
My feet begin to drag as I walk across the floor,
Still I cannot wait for what the future has in store.

I go out for a walk as the sun is getting low,
The sky explodes in colors as I watch it go.
It kisses the horizon and then it goes away,
It seems to mark the end of just another day.

I stand upon a hill as the light begins to fade,
I think about the day, decisions that I made.
Light begins to falter as it all goes dark,
I feel this spark growing inside my heart.

I look into the valley as the darkness grows,
I see the sparks of fireflies they seem to glow.
I hear the birds sing they soon will retire,
I look up at the moon it appears to be on fire.

The stars up above look like diamonds in the sky,
I watch the lights on planes as they streak by.
I think of the darkness filled with all these lights,
They seem to be like beacons to guide me through the night.

I lay upon the grass and gaze upon the stars,
They sparkle so bright in a sky dark as tar.
I close my eyes and imagine I can fly,
Travel to the moon as it rises high.

The day has give way to the wonders of the night,
Everywhere I look, I catch another sight.
As time flies by, I wonder where it went,
A breeze blows, carrying a floral scent.

I climb from the hill it’s time to go to bed,
Visions of the night still dancing in my head.
Soon tomorrow shall become today.
The sun will rise and the stars will go away.


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The Inspiration Store



I'm looking for some inspiration Can you direct me to the Inspiration Store? Heard they've got some real good bargains Great ideas never used before! I don't often need to avail myself Of this vital and humanitarian service Been quite prolific in the last few years But now I'm feeling a wee bit nervous! It's five minutes before the midnight bell I've come up dry all the day long Utter panic has grabbed hold of my brain Thinking suicide would be wrong! There's other things besides poetry I'm told On this great big happy balloon But none so addictive as rhyming and rhythm It turns people into silly buffoons! The Inspiration Store has saved many people From utter and overwhelming despair So I guess I'll do a search on Google Maps Before I totally lose all my hair! © Jack Ellison 2014


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The sparkling blue gem

Scaling the skies and beauty of her wonder world A fairy saw a sparkling thing down in a valley Intrigued she flew up to it Mesmerized she was, when she saw it A big ,sparkling ,blue gem with lustrous shine Thrilled by its luster ,she touched it And woof!!! Her magic wand disappeared She lost her wings and all her powers In desperation ,she touched it again and again But to no avail Disheartened she walked up to the nearby brook With her head in her lap ,she started crying Suddenly she heard a soothing music The music of rumbling, ruffling brook Freshly scented spring air wiped her tears Dusky splendid skies brought her smile back A new world was unfolding before her Elated she was, when she walked on the dewy grass Her eyes shone, when she saw a small pink flower, growing under a rock Her heart skipped a beat when she touched the bark of the tree Intoxicated by this beauty, she wandered around And unknowingly reached back to the vicinity of the blue gem On seeing it again ,she felt that it’s beauty had increased Again mesmerized by its luster, she touched the gem This time with an enlightened heart and a beautiful mind And woof!!! Her magic wand reappeared Her wings and powers restored Since night was befalling on her She with an elated heart ,flew hastily up to her abode Resting on her couch ,she felt something stuck to her feet It was the fresh dewy grass Holding the grass blade in her hand She smiled ,as she knew She had learned a lesson that day Had seen a new world, a world beyond her magic and had learned to keep her feet grounded….
.


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Figment

Figment:

She walks here often, almost every day
She thinks of him
And each day he will appear
With a different name, a different face, 
But always,…. the story will be the same…..

His skin will be bronzed by the sun
Wet and glistening by the tide 
He will not tell her his name
Instead, he tells her she is beautiful

The sand scalds her shoulders and thighs
She will let him have his way
He will talk with his hands
He tells her she carries passion in the little hallow of her back
 
        ~
        Truth:

        Her walks along the beach
        And into the brambles 
        Are never without purpose
        She thinks of how he may be watching
        She is pleased to hold
        Her head tilted slightly downward
        If, while she continues
        Into the wildflowers and thistles
        With her clothing open
        With her skin borne
        To foxtails and thorns
        Letting them enter her flesh…..
        She will of course admit
        Astonishment, …….but no shame…
        And promises herself not to return again
        For at least a week

________________________________________
For Cyndi's Contest: Sensual


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BROTHER - BILLY

It started growing in a field
Billy Stover watched it grow

Because the corn was tall
Because Billy Stover was small
No one knew
Now one saw

No one saw how the tiny boy watched by the hour    in summer's heat
Even from the top of high elm trees by the road
    who could have detected that small lad    stretched out
    on his stomach    leaning on his elbows    watching

On stormy days    Billy watched from the closest window
    elbows propped up on the sill
He knew it was growing    though he couldn't see it
He'd be down in the field now    in the mud    watching
    but    his mother forbade it
"What do you do out there    Billy    all by yourself?
What is it you do out there instead of playing?"

On certain days    when the wind swayed the green stalks
    and    nipped Billy's cheeks    his eyes would light up
He fought back a burning desire to run into the white kitchen
    to tug at his mother's apron    to bring her out
    and show her his one spot
He jumped up    once    when the flames leaped high
    started running for the house
"Mother!    Mother!"    he silently shouted
Every part of his small body shook with joy    but
The bleak    white walls of the kitchen
    his mother    her hands dipped in bread dough....................................

It started growing in the field    in the dirt    in the mind of Billy Stover
And    no one could have kept a secret better than Billy


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Sleepless Nights

Insomnia, familiar friend,
crawled into bed this summer night
so once again, inflamed with dread
I wander now in pitch of dark 
and touch the places, now by heart, that sprawl unstirred by weary minds

This lonely place, where I used to come
where armless grief, and headless doubt
and worry filled the rooms
I know you cold, my land of oz
So ruthless do you change your face
into a place I once refrained

But,  don't pretend to make me fear, toxic robber of my sleep
I've known you much too long
You masquerade in shades of gray
And now I know that dark of night, is not the blackest thing
And room by room, I'll play the game
until the light of day

The shadows magnify your art
and though they magnify my loss of sleep
and while I've tossed and turned in vain
I've lost the lonely albatross
that pulled against the grain

From hooded thresholds I embark
to find a language of the dark
A liquid language of a mystic night, 
that switches on the light

I've walked the halls of ghosts I knew, and those I hope to meet
I've felt the stares, and shared myself, no secrets left to keep
But not tonight, familiar friend
you bask in myth I understand
I'll fill the tasks that need my hands, until the light of day...
---------------


For Leonora Galinta's Contest


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Before the Rain Sets In

“You may say that I’m a dreamer”,
With bold presumption in my youth
Beyond school age, but hardly saged
Turned loose, we hoped to use our wits to change the world…
And thought we would…and thought we could…
We declared to fight, what seemed so right
Those days as we leaned so hard against the wind

The plight of man’s predicament on earth, we mused
The breeze just caught our spouted words
And tossed them where it would
We feared our crystal world would splinter
Would shatter without our spin... 
"Never knowing who to cling to, when the rain set in”

But that was then…
So naively in such innocence
Thinking we could see a world at peace
Hoping to make our dreams come alive
From thoughts we shaped on winsome days
Imagining, ….if you please
"It doesn't have to be that way!"

And now with logic’s eyes, I do remember
How changeless is a planet
Glimmering in search of answers
And still not wringing answers from the slightest sound
And words we spoke, with vigorous shape 
Our hopes expressed, still looks for guidance…
Are uttered yet, by other voices…
“My words like silent raindrops fell, 
                    and echoed in the wells of silence”






Lyrics From  John Lennon “Beatles”
                    Elton John
                    Jim Croce’
                    Simon and Garfunkle

For Chris Matt's ---'Contest Favorite Songs and Lyrics'


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Life's Void

On the edge of the void, that's where we must be.
Somewhere between the thrill of taking your life into your own hands and the cold 
realisation that you are finally in control of your own destiny is where you learn to 
really live.
It is not the same for you and I, each of us must find our own void and peer 
carefully over the edge, for we are human and we must look, or wither away, but to 
carelessly leap into the void would surely mean destruction.
So we tread the fine line of life and hope that one day we shall learn to fly and bask 
in the glory of that we can only watch from a distance.


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Beneath A Cold Jeweled Sky

Standing together on the upper deck
she clings to my arm, as if I might hold her up…
I am too young for a woman, too old for a child
But I feel so calm, ….strangely so…, 
And although she’s older than me, by far
The terror I see in my mistress’s face
brings a sense of surreal, that could bring a smile
if not for the horror surrounding us now

 
The news of an iceberg had rapidly reached our ears
It spread like fire, from lip to lip
Those ghostly white faces, wild looks of despair
Desperation unfamiliar, to the privileged faces
My aristocratic companions of this ill-fated ship

All through my tender years, as her handmaid, fulfilling her whims
wiping her tears, mending her hems, fixing her tea
laying her clothes, drawing her bath…wondering,  wondering
did she know who I am?  Did she see beyond, my uniform
The worn out girl,…. the hireling....?

~~
     We are near the small boats, only room for one more
     Her life jacket, seems so out of place in the crowd 
     Over her sparkling jewels, the fur-lined coat

     But suddenly, she looks so oddly serene
     She….removes her fur coat, and wants to exchange
     Her fur for my old tweed….I don’t understand….
     She slips me the life jacket…and squeezes my hand
     Helps me adjust,…..and then quickly pushes….
     And into the small boat….I’m crushed with the masses

     The last time I see her….she smiles and she waves
     For a moment as equals….so boldly brave
     She knows what I’d longed for….what I hoped and I dreamed
     She knows who I am, she knows and she cares
     She is staying aboard, it is too late for her...
     And I scream! Oh my God!.....

               I can’t hold back my tears..….




_________________________________________
Inspired By Tracie's Contest: "My Heart Will Go On and On"


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Feels So Good


The little town known as Feels So Good.
    Was a jolly little village hidden deep in the woods.
The people there would never go to sleep.
    Hidden back in the woods so deep.
They never got big they never ever grew.
    They averaged in height about an inch or two.
Mostly all they did was run and play.
    That’s what made Feels So Good, so good they say.
The sun always shines it never gets dark.
    Another reason they’re happy, happy as a lark
Their sky is always blue, and that’s the only blue to be found.
     Happy thoughts and smiles they pass all around.
If you’re ever down their way just do as I say.
     Take a sip of their water and get ready to play.
You feel yourself shrinking but it feels so fine.
     So you can run and play in their warm sunshine.
Well I guess I better go and take me a sip.
     Then I can run and play hop, skippity, skip.
Goodbye for now but you’re welcome to come down.
     And join us in this merry little town.


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BEFORE SPRING CAME

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood


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Infinitely Redundant

Is science fiction an oxymoron?
How can science be fiction
When it is the process by which myth
Is eliminated and all that is tangible
In the world is interpreted? And isn’t fiction
Nothing more than the literary
Manifestation of the dreams
That crash through the barriers
Of reality? How then
Can the two terms coexist
In a single phrase?

But wait.

Is there anything made
By mortal hands
That was not proceeded
By a dream? Is it possible
That the creator of worlds
Dreamed before the first
Flowers bloomed in the garden?

If dreams lead to physical
Things, then they must be
The blueprints of the future
And the catalyst of science;
Conversely, science is proof
Of the dreams of gods and mortals.

Science fiction is not
An oxymoron, but it is
The infinitely redundant
Confirmation of life.


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Tick Tock

Tick tock 
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
Can you imagine
How fast can the time be
today

Tick tock
My head is ringing
And my problems is stopping
But my ending
Is just a beginning
Today

Tick tock
I am waiting for tomorrow
Unsure of awaiting sorrow
This time I had borrow
Will never return to me
Again

Tick tock
The clock is ticking
And the world is moving
My head is spinning
While I am loosing 
My mind

Tick tock, tick tock
You are gone
You are left alone
You won't see me anymore

Tick tock
There is an end of time
There is an end of the day
And that's is the end
Of everything

Tick tock
It's over now..


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Quit That Tapping

like the raven 
who taps taps upon 
your chamber door
do not fret my Virginia
for it's my shadow
moving across the floor
this is what I'm telling you my darlin
and nothing more

beneath lattice
I still call your name
come to me virginia
come hear the tap tap 
upon your chamber door
for only you my love 
I surrender and never more

wind howls in blanket snows
here I stand so all alone
broken hearted and misconstrued
my Virginia who lies under stars and moon
just a tap tap upon your chambers door
tis I and nothing more

tales of hidas truth
blackbird sings harps cords
just like the tap tap upon your chambers door
my sweet Virgina whom I adore
for there'll be love waiting and nothing more

as I lay right next to you in this tomb
I counted only seven who have even knew
the times of this raven who 
tapped tapped upon your chambers door
twas only I and will be never more


Tribute To Edgar Allen Poe
And His Young Bride Virginia
Also To His Poem The Raven


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Indigo Haze

 
Alone on a crisp seashore

Bellowing storm clouds engage 

Rolling above me as I walk the beach

A pleasantry lifting my rage

 

Bending my head back looking up

My arms stretched out to their sides

Cool rain drops lightly kiss me

Sensuous tempestuous skies

 

Taking in a deep breath

I let my repression fade 

Peace penetrates my Heartmind 

Removing the storm's I've made 

 

Slowly with each rhythmic beat

From these tiny three foot waves...

My anger vanished with the storm

Into a gothic indigo haze~

 



Copyright 2008


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MUSIC TO MY EARS

I unbutton your shirt slowly
gently brushing my
hand over your bare chest
your intake of breath
quicken with every touch
finally I remove your shirt,
your pants follow in quick succession
that all too familiar urges is back…

I so much want to forge ahead
do all the things we use to do
but I stop midway
as the picture of
the two of you
in “our” bed
flashes in front of me,
it's been haunting me for days…

"Stick to the plan"
I think to myself
I play with your hands,
rubbing them slowly between mine,
before taking your hands 
and using the handcuffs
to impale them to the bedposts…

From the stunned look 
on your face,
I can see you didn't expect this,
words dried up
as the whip comes out 
from under the bed,

your eyes pleading
without saying a word
as the first lash
connects with your chest
the scream you utter
is like music to my ears...


*I probably had some twisted thought going on in my head a year ago*


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Searching For Nothing

Searching For Nothing


I like holidays when nothing is celebrated.
The streets are empty and Pigeons burst from cover
as I walk down wide boulevards, eagerly searching solitude.

No buses, no commuters, no human distractions to distort
my personal oblivion. Precisely this moment is what I crave,
free to squander empty thoughts, filled with nothing.

Then it floats into my head… where should I go?
well... anywhere is the answer I’m looking for. Then I’ve arrived
at my special place, where it all makes sense.

If I choose, I can walk across the busiest intersection,
only inspiration, crosses my path. Maybe head back across the 
same street, and still, only possibilities enter my mind.

Solitude is purity… those Pigeons I startled earlier,
landed anywhere they wanted,
and so did I.    



07/07/10


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The Willows

Tomorrow’s times are in these eyes of mine.
Away and far my world shall part.
The Seas shall rise from their depths of deep.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will weep.
The Sun will rise as my days still come,
The glory, the power, it is the rains with Sun.
Tomorrow’s times are in these days of mine.
Far and gone my world shall bond.
The Mountains will fall from their heights they climb.
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will shine.
Tomorrow’s times are in these thoughts of mine.
Gone and here my world shall fear.
The Lands will separate the world by Sea,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows will be.
Tomorrow’s times I know are mine.
Here it is that I fear I’m near.
My Land, my Seas, my Mountains of plain sight,
And in the glow of the shadows the willows shall shed their light.

®Registered: Ann Rich 1998


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The Weapon To End All Weapons

  
 

To the fighting men and women and to all military personnel,
   I only want to wish for you safety and God keep you well.
We are proud of what you do and you are always in our thoughts and mind,
   I am working on a weapon too that when you shoot someone with it they turn 
from mean to kind.
My Mean To Kind (M.T.K.) weapon is nearly done.
   I’m in a hurry so I can produce enough for everyone.
Just point my M.T.K. and zap them once or twice.
    The more the zap the more the nice.
No more blood will either side ever let,
     Maybe just an honest days worth of sweat.
How cool will that be to finally bury the grudge,
    And sit down with your enemy over a hot chocolate sundae with fudge.
Instead of a hateful staring glare,
   Just zap him once and end warfare.
Heck I may just zap myself again,
    I’ll zap you too and you can be my friend.


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LOVE

LOVE being felt caressively,so sexually, 
intimately,intentively makes me feel so 
radical,speaking hypothetical-ly of how it 
makes me feel,

So real,the thrill I always feel,the ideal of me wanting to kiss,

I can't resist what this is, which is you only you.

No one else has made me feel what I felt, 
get me so hot until the point I melt,

I sweat began to pelt upon each other,

There is no other that makes me feel what I 
feel when we together for now until forever.

The LOVE we feel physically, mentally and emotionally.
But just to think I'm only speaking hypthetically.


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The ReUnited States of America

Dark clouds on the horizon the hour is quite late.
    As I ponder my destiny and wonder my fate.
The foundation of my life was set in soft sand.
    With no guidance from above where does one take a stand.
The pressures of life can be so unjust.
    That is why he is called Savior, in our lives He is a must.
The roads that we travel sometime seem to never end.
     Filled with pain and heartache around every bend.
We didn’t come with guarantees or promises of good things.
     We dictate most of what our tomorrows will bring.
God sat down certain rules all men should follow and keep.
     If we choose not to follow then don’t get mad at what you reap.
The baby boomers now we’re starting to learn.
     To pay for the keep we must get out there and earn.
We’ve let to many things get out of control.
     We’re not standing up to the task nor fulfilling our roles.
Where once there were heroes .
     Have they left us forever only God knows?
We’ve gotten our self into an unusual state.
     For what once was a given has been removed as of late.
We idly stand by as our lives they destroy.
      Are we really that blind or are we being just coy?
It’s time we reunite and set our priorities straight.  
     The ReUnited States of America shall be our new fate.
Democracy and freedom they all come with a price.
      When is death pretty, when is it nice?
That is why bravery and courage should be rewarded and shown.
      To all our brave children and the battles they’ve known.
Give them the credit no matter the cost.
     And pray for the families of the fallen and lost.