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Imagination On Writing And Words Poems | On Writing And Words Poems About Imagination

These Imagination On Writing And Words poems are examples of On Writing And Words poems about Imagination. These are the best examples of Imagination On Writing And Words poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

From My Treasure Trove

My life, like everybody else’s, is a treasure trove
with a mine from which one’s treasures are derived.
The familial bonds we form are platinum; our friendships gold.
These are precious ores that most souls are born to find with ease.
But all of us have other precious stones we need to mine. 
They are the fruit of skills and talents put to their best use.

My treasure trove abounds with gems already -
ones that I discovered as a child.
Though rough in their natural form, most of them I opened
as I grew in understanding of God’s gifts for me.
Others not so easy to break open were able to be shaped,
for once I sought them out inside my mine
and cracked them open. . . their radiance was revealed to me.

Our precious gems, God-given, must not be squandered.
Once mined, they need to be shared.
Artists, teachers, scientists, tradesmen, leaders, even dreamers -
we all have different kinds of gemstones hidden in our mines.

Once, later on in my own life, 
I came upon a silver tool used by many different types of artists.
I’d seen it in my youth but hardly used it.
Thousands of words lay embedded in that specific tool God gifted me.
I delved into the depths of my mine and learned
that I could tap and tap the silver worded tool upon each stone,
and finally a gem would then reveal itself to me.
The more I searched for stones to tap,
The more wondrous were the nuggets that appeared -
And there were more of them than I’d believed I could ever find -
buried there so deeply in  my mine!
The art of crafting them and polishing them up
I was able to improve upon in time. . . 
and found that even those less valuable could shine!

A poet’s gems need not be bought or sold.
Displaying them with love and pride alone can be fulfilling.
How I thrill to view a wide variety of gemstones
freely shown from others’ treasure troves.
From the rarest and the clearest multi-faceted 
color-shifting Alexandrite and tanzanite,
and the most remarkable of diamonds, rubies,
sapphires, emeralds, amethyst and jade, 
down to the lowliest of onyx, quartz, garnets, or agates,
each stone has something of the poet’s soul within it,
especially beautiful when polished to a brilliant sheen! 

The more I open gemstones in my mine, the more of them I find,
and my silver-worded tool lies nearby at the ready.


Details | Epigram |

FEELINGS

FEELINGS


Feelings,
Masters of my destiny
Lords of my life
Strength of my dreams
Instigators of my actions

Burning fire you are 
Consuming my whole 
Being:
My heart
My mind 
My soul
My spirit,  
As you relentlessly
Demand: 
To be conceived
To be formulated 
To be understood
To be expressed!

A Herculean task it is,
I swear, 
Such an enterprise,
For how one could ever
Constrain, you, the unconstrained 
And mold you into:
Phonemes
Syllables
Words
Phrases
Sentences 
And still retain 
Your explosive 
Dynamism?
 
No language exists,
So vast
So deep
So accurate
So supple 
As to pay justice,
To your intensity
To your desire
To your beauty
To your love!

Thus, having no
Alternative, 
I turn to the only language
There is,
The one that the 
Cosmos speaks,
And
The universe alone
Comprehends:
The language of 
Harmony,
That we humans 
POETRY name
BUT 
Even then 
To describe you
I AM UNABLE!



©Demetrios Trifiatis
   28 January 2013

 


Details | Rhyme |

Seductive Disarray

I didn't crumble or drift off into a fade...
I shrugged off goodbyes faster then they were made...
Watched as they were dipped and soaked in my poetic rage...
As I threw a fist full of words against a framed blank page...
I sat and watched my emotions scatter artistically...
Like candles on a wall it poured in colors so intensely...
A portrait of a misguided soul that has lost its way...
To a poet who paints with a pen in seductive disarray...


Details | Haiku |

STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN

Now my tendrilled soul,
Has found its pergola-- Christ--
To wind its way up....


Details | I do not know? |

Raindrops

Raindrops
are like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps down
my spine

Their cool aftermath
cleanses me of my thoughts
of fear and uncertainty 
about what tomorrows
pain may bring

They make me feel,
wet with creativity
drenched in my optimistic
illumination. glistening
raindrops, my thoughts
leave paths of pleasurable
distress, and hope of success
which road, less traveled
may be the best

Forget an umbrella
when these raindrops
arrive, I walk outside
arms open wide

Ready to Receive
whatever
the mind storm may bring
because raindrops are
as my thoughts, falling
down into my mind
sending shivers down
my spine

My brain, yearns
for the rain, to wash away
the pain, tomorrows worry
does bring
One special drop
could speed up life's clock
to the time
I can handle my own
and not dwell inside my controllers
home

For raindrops are,
like my thoughts
falling down into my mind
sending goose bumps
down my spine


Details | I do not know? |

Poetic Seduction

.

                Your written  words roll off my tongue, and I savor the taste
                   Captivating my desires, with your nostalgic embrace 

                              Your verses I desire, your poesies I crave
                              Your sensual phrases place me in a daze

                              Rhythmically in sync, steadying the pace 
                               Melodies in motion, no need for  haste

                          Intoxicated by the scent of your lyrical fragrance
                        My imagination climaxes from your melodic persuasion

                         Your hypnotic undertones send chills down my spine
                     It’s like poetic seduction when I read between your lines


Chiquita Chiamaka Baity

^^^cdi^^^

 


Details | Free verse |

Come Back To Me

The Ink Bottle sits, alone,
It’s only Companions,
The Feathered Pen,
The Paper Pad.

The Desk, once alive,
The Words,
No longer,
Written.

Love, abandon,
But wanting not,
The Freedom,
It has.

A Wooden Chair, dusty,
Reclines not,
For the Comfort,
Once given.

Time, a mystery gone,
With passing,
Never to be recovered,
Longing.

Days of gloom, waiting,
Shine not, The Light,
The Heart,
Once brightened.

Come back, to Me,
My words, of Joy,
Of Laughter,
Wisdom, once known.


Details | Free verse |

Grand Canyon

Some people are voices
On the edge of rocks
With steep slopes and cliffs.
Some people are echoes
At the bottom of walls
Carved by rushing waters.


Details | Quatrain |

The Lonely Poet

Paste on your passion smile
Crisp all your words
as you settle yourself 
to be self-consumed, heard
Whisper sweet nothings
which only you know
Don't stop the banter,
the words or the flow
You've reached the summit
of the loneliest point
You're king of the vacancy
best in the joint
Write all your poems
on the back of your hand
and read them at supper
of cream pie and sand
Your siblings will stand up
and whisper applause
You've felt all emotion
and ridden all stars
They bid you good-bye
for you're out of their league
and to think you just wanted
to be heard, succeed...


Details | Free verse |

My Sudoku Life

And I walk
across numerical figments
speaking hyperbole dialect to their imaginations.

Numb, blocky gaps
whisper invitation to secret club.

Enticing my stature
to belong
to become exponent’s side-kick.

So they can welcome me with open arms.

Coating my digits with inoperable tumors
double-knotted in hot pink laced bow
and baby-breath scent.

They even left a Walmart Rollback smiley face sticker
with crack residue on right cheek
and a comic-style bubble caption, “welcome home puppet”.

Yes!

This is exactly how Mother 1 told me it would be.

Kinda like marriage,
but less detail-oriented.

But, I could never fit in.

For I am neither positive
nor negative
about their (cult) ural ways.

Timing would always be off.

An arm from the clock that suffered a stroke at Midnight…

They’d never understand,
how they’d alter this unevenly, odd numerical figment.

For they’ll just calculate,
deduce,
my sum with rusty protractor.

This Zero, into a fraction...

© Drake J. Eszes


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