Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership



Best Image Poems

Below are the all-time best Image poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of image poems written by PoetrySoup members

View ALL Image Poems

Search for Image poems, articles about Image poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Image poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

Definition & Discussion of Image Poems
Read Image Poems

See also: Best Famous Poems

Details | Image Poem | |

Artillery Rain

~Perfect Rain~

Me! 
I can see!
All the tribulations around
A rage against the burning wind
Nobody hears the crackling sounds in my voice
Everybody avoids to feel the smoke hidden within
A rain so deep it burns all the enamel off my skin
A rain that cut my soul in half
Two piece that will never entwine or merge down my dragon path
I feel this eternity has no ending blaze
Trigger happy rain, extinguishing a bonfire around my rose.

I will sleep under the artillery stars tonight
With the perfection of my fiery crystal lava teardrops
Washing the ashes of my face,
Suppressing the overwhelming fear
Knowing no one will ever, "BLAME IT ON THE RAIN!" 
As long as the torch keeps loading another artillery round.

pd

Details | Image Poem | |

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday

I saw you yesterday, your features grinned,
some silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind;
our images, that in the fields imbue.

I saw tempestuous, around me shades,
the rain's persistence had engraved your name
upon the slate, around she formed cascades,
inviting flash amid the drops, and flame.

I saw flash yesterday, inside the rain,
how beautiful it was, her kiss of dew
your words became my sails on trip arcane 
the clouds, your messengers, 'mid skies to strew.

I sensed the crooked line reticulate,
the sulfur acrid smell and pale flame's hue,
transmuting to abderian road skate,
zigzagging on a water copper tube.

The flame transformed to runnel flowing laughs;
the rustling of droplets on the leaves,
combined the bright and shapely drawing graphs
with clouds to form above, celestial eaves.

I saw flash yesterday, my features grinned,
like silken scarf was waving in the blue,
I thought of what the rains could not rescind:
two images, amidst the fields imbue.

© G. V., 10-21-2013, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)


Details | Image Poem | |

Money-God

Trust not in the words: "In God We Trust", printed on currency,
for God and Money should be kept separate,
unless one desires to tempt fate with the Money-God,
tempt fate by not over-turning the money-lenders' tables,
although many might argue how this isn't good for business.

Why not know the value of life,
instead of focusing too hard on the prices of Idols.

People are bleating at the prospect of "God" being removed
from money, arguing that if God is removed from money,
the grazing grounds will become Godless.

Godless? 
With or without the words, 
a Money-God is a God nonetheless.
There is at least one true God, 
whether man-made or not;
an authority of control,
a God of profit margins.
Violence is a profit margin.
Hatred is a profit margin.
Bullets, Amendments, and Death, are all profit margins.

The war being waged upon children, is a profit margin.

If I had been given the chance, 
I would have tried my best to take him out,
morphed the vapours of my remaining hatred into bullets,
or torn him apart with my hands.
To stop innocents from losing their innocence.
There are lines drawn in minds,
that if crossed over, stretch beyond the bristle-board of rehabilitation.
Even Clockwork Orange bleeds into crimson spatters.

When a child survives a massacre,
runs across his school field to find safety from a stranger,
proclaiming to the stranger, "I can't go back to my school, it isn't safe there.
My teacher was killed, I don't have a teacher anymore.
All of my friends are dead."....

....then innocence has been lost, and the Money-God is empowered even more.
Lost innocence spreads like a disease through the minds of global villagers.
Fear breeds fear, breeds control and disintegration of the Stream-Mind.

If I had been given the chance,
I would have fought fire with fire,
fed the beast within, 
taken him apart with a breath of hatred.
Breathed it out, pushed it out, purged it out.

Satan is a scapegoat used by people who are unwilling 
to take accountability for their actions and sacred responsibilities.
The Beast is humanity -
not marked by a fairy-tale Devil,
but instead marked by the Money-God created in the image of man;
recreating the image of man through fear.

Some people might be intrigued by how many definitions of God there are.
Even if money is a necessity,
within our core there should reside a different Kingdom -
without and within, within and without.

If I had been given the chance -- past tense....

....if I am given the chance,
I will try my best to take him out,
smudge him out
with the remaining hatred in my heart.
Breathe it out, push it out, purge it out,

until all that's left is to love,
until all that's left is to love.







December 14th, 2012 - S.H.E.S:  28 - 2 = 26




January 7th, 2013




.

Details | Image Poem | |

To Bloom in Red Flame

Underneath all the layers
Of tradition
Of religion 
Of philosophy
Of reason and understanding
I smolder
In passion's pleasure bed of red
Paroxysms of pleasure
Emanate from my core
Searing the shroud
Flames of fantasy's feast burn
Yearning I yearn and lie in wait
In my ambuscade 
with the relish to ravish ravaging 
every fiber 

Conceived in the throes of passion
My conception is my perception of life
Woven into my being
I’m prisoner to pleasure monomania
Obsession of desire hysteria
My cacoethes:  gratification gratified
Thus, I scintillate sparks
Riding on my satin flares
They captivate your stare

You see me
Feeling the heat of sultry flame
You want to play scorch torch game
So your reach out to touch
Mere kindling in my blazing wake
You quake as I slake your florid fantasy awake
Convulsing in temptation’s torment
You combust to lust
Consummating till consumed
Eliciting my passion flower bloom
In opulent oriental room
You swoon
Exertion exhausted
Gratification’s glory gained
Having tasted my reign
Revived your leave
Yet…
My image I’ve seared
On your flesh and mind
Branded, you’ll find
Your way back to me
Slave to my passion's decree
You’ll come to me

And I retreat
Enshrouded once more
In virgin layers
Of tradition
Of religion
Of philosophy
of reason and understanding
Biding my time
when sensuality sublime
calls me
to bloom in her red flame

Eileen

Details | Image Poem | |

Upon Longfellow bridge

Upon Longfellow bridge
(Street lights)

The Autumn leaves shift colors in the breeze
and some, above the land, will travel far
as whisperings inside the woods appease
through nature's flawlessness transmit, and mar.

Abundantly the light diffuses fore
the sun deluges neath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October was, upon Longfellow bridge.

The twilights of the Autumn so expand
to hail the stars on Massachusetts towns;
my freshman attitude enfold, unplanned,
while lithe the night the street lights casts and crowns.

In darkness, still, the street lights blink before
the night retreats beneath the distant ridge
and offers the impression we lived yore,
October is, upon Longfellow bridge.

© 10-01-2014, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

Sponsor: nette onclaud
Contest Name: FIND THE PUZZLE! 
T A R N D A I


Details | Image Poem | |

FLAVORS OF HER ESSENCE


A woman's soul, is it as porous as the air that breaks the water and earth apart from each other? In the slither of liquid contours, this maiden's essence blows into tiny glints of filling days’ silent pages without having to fill in the blanks. But such fire on her navel; swelling, leaping forth unto a black dahlia of night dripping with all the kerosene stars like a tigress on a hidden, sensuous prowl... This is her shape. Then coming from metal gut, she fumes of musky-flavored energy, steaming the brain for a war of poker in a den filled with invincible men as she raises the bets for a royal flush of aces... This is her bullish time. Yet, curling into late evening she enters into the pillows of her soul rinsed from the bouquet and incense of a dulcet day, her bosom of long breaths warming the lamp gentle, temperate, and mild in peace, coasting along the ledge of her swan sleep... This is her soul's time, shape and peace. Anthony Slausen's Scent Of Your Soul 10/14/2014

Details | Image Poem | |

NOVEMBER DREAMS




A marquee of stars dims, to beckon early winter’s stage;
Reflecting crunched flowers in ghastly hues, detached from their limp boughs.
The nightfall drapes hush of serenity , as flakes soothe trees’ nest.



 Andrea Dietrich's  October Bliss or November Dreams
10/09/2014


Details | Image Poem | |

The Simple Pen

            The Simple Pen

I am but a simple man with pen in hand
To cut open a slice of universe with verse
And with the ink
Let it bleed not red
It flows instead with mortal colors
Over a life well spent
What is left over
We drink this in a cup
Pour more to fill it up
But little at a time
Too much reality can cloud your mind
Said the simple man with bleeding pen
 

Details | Image Poem | |

White Crane And Beauty's Flight

White Crane And Beauty's Flight 

White crane flying high overhead
swooping down to its feeding bed
Brilliant flash of gliding white
awesome in high circling flight

Shimmering water receives a guest
one bound with a hungering quest
Majestic beauty stops for a feast
as sun beams down from the east

Grace and calm marks its hot task
seeking prey beneath waters mask
Patience may just bring a reward
yet every hunt is so very hard

This scene, bird awaiting its meal
almost magic as its often surreal
Waters give up that precious dish
As white crane gobbles up its fish

To the blue skies it quickly goes
flashing its gleaming white shows
White wings beating slow and wide
destined to return next low tide

White crane leaving high overhead
quite content as its so well fed
Magnificent sight in the blue sky
fish flopping in the lake nearby

Robert J. Lindley

note :  A dear friend asked me to write a poem about a beautiful bird.
And paint it in Nature as it would be most days.
I've always marvelled at the white cranes and their great white wings as
they fly by , so out came this write. Hope you may enjoy..

Details | Image Poem | |

Spiritual Moment

“My Mystic Moment*with you”

A natural look of who I am on the inside.
A reality check of who you are on the outside.

A mirror facing west makes the difference in you and me.
Open your eyes and see.

The child I was today is the reflection of you tomorrow.
The ideas of different skies, drifted off without sorrow.

I am the good the bad, and the ugly…
A song permitting retrospection to delay the same face with yesterday’s glee.

From moon, to admirable moon;
The dignity of holding the same tune.

I am the swan that swims through your veins.
You are what swim’s through my moods and rain.

The miracle of our heritage, echoed so far away. 
Auspices now imitate metaphors that were under the surface bay.

An unknown look strays outside the window.
Behind the gates, that leads into tomorrow’s limbo.’

A mirage of turning around and seeing nobody but you and me.
Mystic moments that attract other moments of originality.

A dream that speaks about the image of my new beginning.
My courage polishes off the mirror image of a falling stars ending 
You are the beating pulse that resides on the inside and outside of my being. 

“You are the REFLECTION of my spiritual place”





Details | Image Poem | |

Out of the Sun

              Stayed 
             in the sun 
              to long
               today
 The skin became the bark of a tree
 the soul turning to brittle scars
 for uncaring worlds to see.
             my face
            is a pile of 
           old owl bones
sewn into banks of midnight creeks...
even the plump, over ripened ones 
no longer look at me...
but if their car was desert flat,
their oil grim reaper black
they'd paint a wormy, water colored  smile...
slide it through my barbed wired heart
so long as I could spin the jack...
so I spin it until their potholes turn to satin-
               Stayed 
              in the sun
               to long
                today
the mind has smoothed over 
like pebbles in Saturn rings..
a forgotten spice in the conversation of life
an hour later the word snuggles up to me
               laughingly.

Tomorrow or forever( which ever comes first),
I'll stay wrapped inside
till my skin turns back to ivory
to an easter egg yesterday 
to a time of bouncing ball and spinning jack,
when the mind was a great silky nest...
the face a flowered meadow place 
where watercolors swirled all day, 
the heartworms kept at bay.

I'll stay hidden within the briar, 
till the jewels of memories sooth 
every scar - every stripe,
the molten knots of cruelty,
till the sweetened fruit reclaims the tree.
until then only my curtains breathe...
       ...stayed in the sun 
              to long
                today





Details | Image Poem | |

IMAGINATION

IMAGINATION

Closed eyes; under a locked prism of unavailable light 
subjects our third eye to mind's internal creation; 
imagined images viewed by non-existent senses
on an opague three dimensional screen.

In an algorithm of shedded particle waves
Insight quickly fades back into a darkened vision 
of only half a picture without reflection. 

It leaves with us a broken trail of possibilities 
new thoughts, new choices, changes in destiny 
warily made under duress of immediacy 
trying to conceive a canvas framed 
by the hand of God.

It is in response to these panchromatic memories
held back by the sun's blackened light, 
that we clearly notice how the prism 
reflects an undercurrent. of shadeless secrets 
different than the realm of visionary colors.

Sensory detections relinquish an uncompleted picture. 
The image within, at times, may reveal an idea.
the transmission of which however placed
when received should strive to become an emotional 
mover of otherwise placid thinking where wizened leaders 
can in causes wept in sorrow from yesterday's sadness 
proclaim a hope for a brighter tomorrow.

INTERPRETATION:

When our eyes are shut tight, there is no light or vision.
We are limited to what we see with our inner mind. 
Nevertheless there is an internal sense,
a feeling of a creative process going on. 
It occurs as insight and often fades into a clouded vision 
of a thought picture barely perceived within.

When we leave the path of contemplative thinking,
we lose the benefit of what could have been. 
The choices we make are usually expedient 
and we struggle to determine 
what it is that we really want. 
Often we are faced and challenged by outside forces 
many of which we deflect as we espouse our point of view
without exploring all the possibilities. 

We see what could be and would like to be 
hoping that it will make a difference.
and help humanity move forward 
to a brighter tomorrow.

CAK  5-23-2103

Details | Image Poem | |

WORDS--THE HEART OF IMAGINATION



Before twilight’s panels close the day,
I sneak into this sacramental hallway
fueling my pagan howls where I can be
the raw-weed of a bush: a time when
vignettes drain the floor--- spilling bones
of my own fonts, scratched and bent.  Here,
the vein bleeds of how i watched the pellet sun
grate dusky leaves among stones, or why
old man Charlie picked his a regular bench
in the park, talking to himself motionless
as if a 40s band were playing through his head.

More images stampede as the gas light
blinks with the harlequin moon, touching
my lower spine, my zodiac beginnings: still,
the morphine hours wear off from a trance…
I walk in limbo upon wings 
of parchment flooded with drunken ABCs ,
outpouring secrecy of thoughts. My mind 
outlines a visual  language : the drama 
and comedy of one day  make me a student
aging reveries: my bile hurts no more, as

my fingers grasp new stars on fire.



Brian Johnston's Contest
Words---The Heart Of Imagination
by nette onclaud





Details | Image Poem | |

YESTERDAY'S JOYS


Barefoot, I romp on flush of evening’s bliss
when moonlight acts as ally to rare trance,
my hair ruffling with the sashay of leaves
as if trees golden waft tunes to enhance
sweetened chorus of birdsong’s melody--
among cobblestones from old hometown's alley.

And there I find my spirit’s total release
this body darting in malleable form;
while woodland becomes a new universe
bathed  in luscious dew of flowers adorned--
pulse rising to catch a trade-wind recede
while a giggle bounces like a soft reed.

The child within me saunters without tamed care
not knowing I stumble on the blue of rocks,
where lit plumes reel and spiral from nowhere--
lo! my feet tap a magic that unlocks
a host of fairies slip-sliding away
to breathe pure enchantment, " be young...good day!"



Isaiah Zerbst 's Pick A Title
11/5/2014

Details | Image Poem | |

DOLL WITH WINGS


Porcelain doll hangs on shadows and wings Of twilight’s frame. Guarding an autumn child The toy lightens ink of stenciled dusk As her enamel fingers gleam like candles Yellow the stars where she comes from robed in fine lace . Through heaven’s print An angel in disguise bestows love, as Porcelain doll hangs on shadows and wings Rick Parise's 8 Lines 7 Words Enjambment Contest by nette onclaud

Details | Image Poem | |

In The Desert

In The Desert


In the desert walks a man with no name
within its barren sands he seeks no fame
Survival is his only wish and only game
all burns, sticks or crawls nothing is tame

The rattlesnakes strike with poison gifts
nothing soothes, quenches or uplifts
A heat that singes as it burns on down
Rarely, if ever relief from a cloudy gown

Yes, O' yes, beauty does still hide here
found only if he can conquer his great fear!

note:  Fear of the danger a desert presents often clouds
 the beauty lying within. A proper emergency plan is a must
 when entering a desert.
Food, water and a compass are just the basic start.. 

Robert J. Lindley, Contest- In The Desert  , 09-14-2014

Details | Image Poem | |

Threatened

Half of clam shell sits deserted Scene's purity threatened by storm Gravitational force pulls sea

Details | Image Poem | |

Ugly


Underneath the exterior Gardenias bloom unannounced Lamenting that no one lifts the veil Yearning to be seen...

Details | Image Poem | |

Solitude

Solitude

Walking alone
Often outside
In deep thought
About things of
Great importance.

I wonder aloud
Thoughts amassed
Priorities now
Solutions not clear
Seeking inspiration.

Time’s fleeting
Which is always
Tied to many
Dynamic actions
Begging resolution.

I stop now—
And look heavenward
Solutions abound
Choices are difficult
I’m staying focused.

Use my intuition
Request divine help
Do Nothing
Take your pick
Nothing’s easy.

My soul’s focus
Trust yourself—
First and foremost
God speaks silently
Do it now!              

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 27, 2015) (Accentual Meter)

Details | Image Poem | |

Libra

It twinkles brightly upon a baby’s first born cry On September 23 to October 22 reigns up in sky Transforming into a magical pair of scale Hailing the beauty of Venus to unveil As its Libran muses tread a path of life thenceforth Soaring on element air, Friday has a blissful hoot Ravenous taste on cereals, apples and berry fruit Oh, are they on diet just to fit their suits? They might have been smitten by a peaceful sky blue Wearing gems with sparkling sapphire and jade in various hues Their floral taste of rose in pink, white, blue, red or yellow An exquisite gift of love, three for me and three for you Born Libras are courteous and diplomatic Loving, sweet and most especially romantic They are easy-going and charming They are very sociable and they are darlings Born Libras are peaceable and fair Lovers and friends to everybody, they prefer They are balanced both in mind and in heart forever No ambivalence for love, never a teeter-totter
Aug. 26,2014 6.10.00pm I just got most of the information here from the designs of my favourite mug and cover of my piano piece. I don’t know if it is true ;)))))

Details | Image Poem | |

No Deposit, No Return


Your wishes can't regain,
A thrill so long ago. 
To once again reclaim 
A past you wouldn't know. 

You view a different dance, 
With unfamiliar tune 
You pine for lost romance, 
Yet treasure not the Moon.




Meter - Iambic Trimeter (Cataletic).
A-B, A-B Rhyme.
 
Gene Bourne.
06-11-14




.

 

Details | Image Poem | |

"Walls Between Passion"

written by Michael & The Mysterious Lady of Soup


                                                 Michael
                            The walls are tall but I know your there.
                          I hear your voice and the thoughs we share.
                                 So close but can't touch your hand,
                 all I could do is spill out my words and let my pencil land.
                                              Lady of Soup
                         I can feel your heartbeat beyond these walls,
                                one tear drop and my pencil falls.
                           The image of you vibrates my desired needs,
                            every thought about you inside me exceeds.
                                                 Michael
                                   I press my palm on the door,
                      just to feel your hand makes me want you more.
                          My chest is beating to your song of desire.
                      To be inside your body and feel your waves of fire.
                                              Lady of Soup
                        I take a deep breath to feel your essence here.
                           In my mind, the image of becomes so clear.
                             I can not calm a single thought about you.
                  I place my hands on my chest in hopes you get through.
                                                 Michael
                        Soon this door will open , and all shall be revealed.
                     So many things to be said, will start with kisses sealed.
                           To see you standing in your beauty and appeal
                              I have to have you as our passion will steal
                                             Lady of  Soup
                      The time has come for us to be in each others arms
                  before you opened the door, you had me with your charms.
               Lets throw these notes away, and feel the desire for each other.
               Lets keep this a secret between us, my dear poet and sexy lover..

Details | Image Poem | |

Whisper Of Your Soul

           Whisper Of Your Soul
       (Soul Listens On A Whisper)

Murmurs soft are sensed, mimic nature, diaphanous clouds spread wide
Settle softer than a translucent butterfly on spring light snow
It is the moon flirting in ebullience, fog rising on a thin film on winds side  
Lifting skirts or is it veils?  Unknown in this muted light of whispers glow
   
Mist rolls across the bog, pulls along reluctant virgin night
By golden glow, that holds the sky in humble hush, abeyance in a trance
Tracking down the birth of morning, bursting full of light 
Barely able to mutter the words, “the light of day”, the endless dance 


You feel the vibrant tones, fold over meadows as you go
A vestigial tiny vessel of a virgin’s secret opens here
Chasing dark away along the marsh with pounding heart to know
The open glen is near, fills up in brilliant colors clear

Soft luscious sounds fall silent on the morning air and then
Listen, it whispers on the minutia of the moment something true 
Holds on to quiet in the silent glen
Waiting on a whisper Imbued with truth, soft thoughts of you

Created on 12/16/14 for “Whisper Of Your Soul” Poetry Contest Sponsored by Gail Angel Doyle

Details | Image Poem | |

Musical Torment - The Infamous Masterpieces

Torturing me with touches
I feel the sting of hardened and lasting lust
Touches not of mortal fingers,
But Halloween-haloed strings composed by musicians of mystery
Pressing upon my back--yes! A searing, yet melodi-errotic strike
All upon me, yet far from me...

Leave me not in the judgement of my own scrambling feelings
Rest not away as I hold my hands out in the dark
Deathly dances are visions heaven-bound for the duo--
Yet for the solo- a blank, useless measure...

The pulsing silence of amateur-stitched love rattles me
Making rhythms giggle in my mind
Intervals of idiocy tormenting all reason
Truly an agonizing, but for others--minor--prison
Is the smile that helped design those strings
Those strings that pluck upon my spine
Controlling me in a dark place stuck between tunes and time

Why are your hands so cold when you play those piano keys?
Why are your lungs so eroded with the pride that taints the songs you sing?
Why have the rhythms gone awry, and why does your apathetic dissonance thrive?

And tell me… through it all…
As you compose the rise and fall…
Why is all this destruction you created so vibrantly alive?

Details | Image Poem | |

My Left Breast

strange it was there just the other day 
hanging about as usual, 
reminding me in my mirrored image 
of my definite femininity 
now gone, am I less of a woman? 
will you look at me differently, 
or strangely as I do myself? 

I never really gave it much thought before 
of how things come in pairs 
how lonely one would be without the other 
how misshaped one appears, 
no longer jutting forward, 
proclaiming sensuality 
thrusting into the limelight, 

now scars and a flattened ego, 
fill my robe, bras useless without stuffing 
men, look at me in horror, 
women in shock and pity 
and with gratitude, yes that it is not them 
my left breast is missing 
no not missing, taken, stolen...

it was just a lump a few weeks ago 
a tiny pea shaped knob, 
that hid its cancerous intentions
so very well, yet lay in silence waiting 
to steal away that part of me
that defined who I was 
what purpose I served in society 

am I still a woman, a sexual being? 
I'm not sure, my right breast thinks so 
but yearns for its mate, 
the image in the mirror just doesn't seem right 
unequal in its proportions, glaringly lopsided
my left breast is gone, surgically removed  
I can still hear its scream