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Boots on the ground by sediqi, bahram
Fantasy Fish In A Fantasy Ocean by Cheema, Balveen
SUNSET by James, Lord
Memories of the Knotty Walls by Price, Bill
Unwanted Souls by Cheema, Balveen
ART by van Breda, Kim
It is beyond by don, thelast
SLICED by van Breda, Kim

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The Best Imagism Poems

Details | Imagism Poem | |


With my brightened lens, I watch you mystically zooming in zooming out, and my eyes focus on the shutter where a hundred gulls flap a brief moment: carefully, I seize the image, almost lost in transition as my radiant stanzas etch the language of your distinct angles. Following your trail, I chance upon a lattice of bluebells knighting the glittered vines sprawled on canes of pine wood… and with your waist curled, the singular charm of this moment grabs my line of phrases: flowers posing without shame, beautiful like summer ‘s shape...and I watch you romp in the blur of rain clicking on a Kodak chrome, while my full-blown quill explodes with the glory of your animated snapshots. My dear, In this symbiotic flow where poetry and visual arts understand the hidden beauty of the world, shall this my verse meld with your golden landscape? Carol Eastman's The Doesn't fit Contest 10/9/2015

Copyright © nette onclaud

More great poems below...

Details | Imagism Poem | |

My Soul Belongs to You

I feel your spirit in the trees
        As your blessed birds
Surround me with their song.
        That first warm sip 
Of morning tea,
        My closed eyes,
deep long breaths
        As I meditate and
I sense your divineness in me.

I feel your breath upon my cheek
        In a caressing breeze
That wanders by,
        That faintest floral scent
That lingers in the air
        Lets me know 
You are everywhere.

I feel one with the rising sun
        As twilight skies 
Gently morph from lavender to blue,
        And your fingers of light behind
Silver clouds subtlety filters through.
        I am thrilled to spend 
Another glorious day with you.

© Connie Marcum Wong

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong

Details | Imagism Poem | |


It is said it is suicide 
to sit at the scarred oak table 
of the aged gypsy with the frayed gold turban 
topping a leathery lined face 
framed by stretched drooping earlobes 
hung with tarnished coins     and drink 
of the tepid brew without emptying the cup 
For if you do not camouflage the dregs 
she will certainly read the signs 
of a devastating future in the tea leaves 
that will send you bounding straight to madness 
by the describing of it alone

Copyright © Monterey Sirak

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Sweet Ecstasy

Dreams of you from far away 
Bring us closer  in  every way
My image and face come into view 
As I walk by You call out my name 
I turn to look at you , smile  

I know what you want 
And I like it that way

Flashes and thoughts of you 
Visions of us  touching bare 
The smell of your musky scent 
I melt into you without a care  
My fingers  run through your hair

You snuggling up close behind me
As though we were one heart beating
Rolling on blankets of heavy thick furs  
Caught up in this  moment of ecstasy 

Red flames burn in the hearth 
It may be frigid  cold outside
Though we haven't a care 

As we explore our bodies in time 
We take ourselves there
Until our bodies  are spent 
As sweet slumber comes 

Copyright © Debbie Duncan

Details | Imagism Poem | |


The stillness of a 
mountain ravine
overflowing with lush foliage
at the base of a tumbling waterfall
is painted with a rich cascade of words

Copyright © Monterey Sirak

Details | Imagism Poem | |



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.


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

Copyright © Allan Koven

Details | Imagism Poem | |



As autumn settles 
like a mantle across her shoulders 
the dancer lowers herself gracefully 
to the leaf-littered ground
curls her still shapely 
yet heavily veined legs to one side 
exposing bruised knees     
plucks her veils free from their clasps
with nimble fingers    and offers 
their wispy worn fineness in trade 
for a taste of the honeyed    
once forbidden confections 
tumbling over the rim of the pottery bowl 
held by invisible hands

For Giorgio’s small poem contest IV
Motif  #4

Copyright © Monterey Sirak

Details | Imagism Poem | |

The kiss worth dying for

Light looks at darkness, in his ear she whispers,
'we are not meant to be together, we're different'
walking away, she sheds a bright tear,
he tries holding it but it trickles down his skin,
forgets that darkness cannot hold light within,
she smiles from a distance and obliquely speaks,
words, lost, but the pain he reeks,
he looks at the tear that she had shed,
the hole it had made in his palm had now fled,
he looks above, she shines at a distance,
though he cannot hold her, he can feel her existence,
this thought enlightens the dark,
he runs towards her, footsteps darker than chark

Darkness looks at light, in her ear he whispers,
'we are meant to be together, we're different'
coming closer, he sheds a dark tear,
she holds it, it glows bright and vanishes,
remembers that light can only exist,
when there is darkness, a bit, to resist,
he smiles from near and firmly speaks,
'i know that if you touch me, then i will die
but dying in your arms would be the sweetest goodbye'
the tear that had vanished, never returns,
she looks at him, his love she learns,
they kiss and thus they recombine
he vanishes into oblivion, the sweetest way of dying. 

Copyright © Samay Raina

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Till My Poems Are, no More

I bequeath to you my poems,
For words are all I own--
May the images of snow and fall
Bring you comfort when alone.

And I will leave you all of it;
The moonlight on the moor--
As well the quiet, leafy wood,
Or a sunbathed distant shore.

And among the rhyme and imagery;
The metaphor, and theme--
You'll read of rose and morning dew,
Of midnight naps, and dream.

And somewhere in between the lines
The fantasy turns real--
So take these words I proffer you,
And touch, and taste, and feel.

Amazing are the things you'll see,
Like the ivy-covered wall--
Or the icy streams of diamond
And the spill of waterfall.

So enchanting is the moonlight,
So too the autumn breeze--
Oh how I'll miss the butterflies
And the stand of ancient trees.

So precious is the lily pond,
The wildflowers too--
Take comfort in the song of rain
And the pansies playful hue.

How amazing is the hummingbird
In uncertain, frenzied flight--
Reminds me of the dawn and eve
As they argue, day or night.

And in the valley of the glen,
Where stands the steeple church--
There remains a knee-high meadow,
And a lovely stand of birch.

So Immerse yourself in wondering,
Set your spirit to the sky--
Behold as children, puffs of cloud;
The bee and butterfly.

And let your palette taste the wind,
Hear the quiet of the snow--
While delighting in the jasmine;
The sweetest scent I know.

Take my words and nurture them,
Kindly revel in my dream--
And keep alive the buttercup,
As well the mountain stream.

May you sleep the night, and linger;
That my dream may carry on--
Give life to every word and thought
Till the images are gone.

May you celebrate the beauty;
May you open every door--
Till the sun is swallowed by the sea,
And my poems are, no more.


Copyright © Mel Merrill

Details | Imagism Poem | |



The silence of the dawn even before
the first bird sings its unique little composition to the world
crispness of the previous night fills the air
encouraging a deep breath of purity before daily issues pollute 
how easy it is to replace this beautiful time of the day 
perceived importance of one or two extra hours of slumber
only the wisdom of an Omniscient Creator could perfect this orchestration 
each new day with such peace and promise-
the Eternal assurance of a new beginning

Dry, dusty, icy, bouncy, luxurious….. Land Rover 
morning expectancy contrasting half awake awareness
novelty of a time spent inconsistent with the predictability of standard sunrise routine
a contemplative- life assessment at break of day
wrapped up in awareness of the cold beauty and African spaces

Red Sun Competition    
 March 2013

Copyright © Kim van Breda

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Between Shades

“Alive,” she said,
 “and becoming such a beautifully-
painted picture.”

Where-in you walk wispy
(She said)
through the moon’s light
shinning on the branches
of leafless trees.

Then tomorrow shakes his tired head,
halfway into Autumn’s-
dead middle;
and you stand shaded and colored
(She said)
by the fiery skies.

While down among your feet
the wilted flowers 
wake like a carnival 
and encircle you
(She said)
with forgotten happiness.

And on you trod shyly
into forests of yes and no.
Where all happiness is lost,
and the flowers forget-
to grow.

“Alive,” she said.

Copyright © joshua ten eyck

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Scent of the day

Scent of the day 
The sun and the moon, at random met in a race,
But never walked together on the forgotten grass
Of their recollections tuning incredible bass;
Drums asleep rested in a secret chamber of grace.

Fade, the flowers crushed under the horses’ hoof
Called the white dawn with the scent of church,  
While the sick forest shared hope with the birch
Like a monk in pensive mood, standing sadly, aloof.

Sun arises, pushing a shinning golden fork
At the other side of the soul and the throne
Ready to touch and wound the flying stork
At the first date with the white cloud-heron.

And the silent grew green like the firs on the crest;
And the sun was running on the moon all the day,
And the hope was running like a butterfly without rest;
It looks for the flower with secret scent of the day.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Dancing Verse

You are my dancing verse, from early frozen dawns;   
But clouds still rested, like broken glass of sky,
When playful youth, a snowball threw and hit a ray;             
But clouds still rested above the inner dreaming lawns.                 
At first I thought, the world is made of frozen honey;
But clouds still rested, like windows of the people’ soul; 
By river-time, as I stayed and saw the stopped sky`s condole
But clouds still rested, so I chose from them, the pony.

A farther world in which I live, I guard my glass menagerie:
And dreams still rested, like tamed animals in your hands,       
When words I chose, they were like penguins of farther lands;    
And dreams still rested, like ready to adorn the season` tree.        
You dancing skate and keep my hand, beyond the mirror white; 
And love still rested: the golden ray is playing in thy lock.
We form a joyful stanza, in which we dance around the clock;
And love still rested, and feeds us all with tender light.

Copyright © Ovidiu Bocsa

Details | Imagism Poem | |

one wish

i imagined finding a bottle in the desert sea 
all encased with jewels it mystified me
i open up the bottle 
and out comes a puff of smoke 
it swirled all around
but did not make me choke
then out of no where 
a form began to appear
it was you, my jennie
popped up from nowhere 
you are my magic jennie 
with power to grant my every wish
you wait for my command 
but truly i am thoughtless
you are my wish 
and nothing else would do
when it comes to wishing
i have no more to do
you and nothing else would satisfy me
you and nothing else would compleat my dream
you and nothing else would i write into this scene
you and nothing else would i make my queen
thoughtless yet am i 
to all material things
your presence is my answer
to my sweetest dreams
your beauty is my treasure
such a wonderous thing
your spirit is my light
to you i'll always cling
so here to you i'll say
and lets be on our way
you don't have to be a jennie
just be mine everyday

Copyright © john loving iii

Details | Imagism Poem | |

'twas All Wild

‘’twas all wild—All wind, All shores:
Seas were brewing savage storms;
Rambling clouds were moving thunder—
Thunder herself, did her chores…
 With white, foaming, briny waters—
The fleet of men crossing them—
Howling Capes and crowing Bergs
That ever saw trespassing them,
Witnessed the lot being washed—
The visor of Mercy being cracked…

The howling, screaming, deathly Play
Waited the time Night approached
To aide—to rescue hacked and chopped
With farewell bid to the angered Day:
Time now when the Rivers—joining hands
(That had shrieked and showed their might)
No more chid the juvenile Bank—
Traveled course in faded light,
Whilst the strength of Fury lay
To tell Quiet of squandered Peace…

Copyright © Akash Yadav

Details | Imagism Poem | |


Young girls
pluck their eyebrows
paint on new faces
practice walking in heels
swirl the hems of their dresses
Slender willows leaning
into the tentative breeze
waiting to be asked to dance

Copyright © Monterey Sirak

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Silence 2

Still - I sit in the silence
Thoughts slowing
Colour warming from pale yellows to cadmium reds
Wonderful sunsets happening gently
Muscles relax into soft blue-green
Sweet clean smells assail my nostrils
Silken cords unloose my spine
A burst of joy filters through my body
Senses heightened
I rejoice

Copyright © Liz Walsh

Details | Imagism Poem | |

tiny words

tiny words

'went to the gas station
and opened my mouth 

filled my stomach
with gasoline

lit a match and 
swallowed it in

burned myself
smoked with fire

i spread like charcoal 
smeared in a kid's hand

stenched and charred black
i spread to the pristine clouds

deploring the blue vault
like a black shiitake flower

suffocating lungs
with a dire myth

then went to the ocean
and devoted myself 

to no resistance
and drowned .......

'cut my lips with sharp
visceral shale and waited

for the sharks to gnaw
my weightless lips and

useless mouth ..........
while the rest of me

traveled in the bellies
of fish ..............




fed by tiny words .


Copyright © ernest nepomuceno

Details | Imagism Poem | |


The merchant vessel    its hold heavily laden 
with coffee    corn    and fabric of silk and brocade 
sails from the harbor on a breath of springtime breeze
The captain looks not ahead    but behind to the row 
of houses with identical widow walks on the beach
He marvels that the image he will carry of his lady 
is not her fair beauty    grace    or soft voice 
but instead    the last glimpse of her rose tinted lips 
pressed against the windowpane

Romantic motif
Giorgio’s contest; Impress me with a small poem II

Copyright © Monterey Sirak

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Sometimes I Feel Beautiful

Sometimes I Feel Beautiful
Driving along thinking about what I’m about to do brings a smile to my face. Without a doubt my hair and nails make a big difference in the way I feel about myself! When I look pretty; I feel pretty.
Today my nails will be done in pink and white, oh yes, perfect they shall be. Nothing short of looking delicate and refined I tell myself. I am so excited; the anticipation brings joy into my heart and laughter to my lips! 
My hair appointment is closing in. High lights and shaping adds a playful and fun demeanor. Beautiful is how it’s going to look and beautiful is how I’ll feel. I almost need to pinch myself for I wonder is this really happening to me! Tears sting my eyes and giggles flow forth. Yes; this is my life and this is happening to me!
Thinking of my new makeup and how youthful I’m going to look brings joy into this heart of mine. I can hardly wait to put it on as the excitement builds; I dance around and giggle. I feel so beautiful thinking how perfect I’ll look with everything finished.
At times I tell myself, “I know he loves me, I can tell”. The glowing in his eyes seems to sparkle with love and passion. My Heart beats a little faster as excitement and wonder fills my entire being! Yes, this is how it should always be, a life filled with joy and laughter.
Finding ways to look beautiful helps me feel beautiful. It’s this that causes me to giggle and dance about. The unbridled excitement loosened, flowing through my veins fills me with love and wanting. Tomorrow just maybe this joy will add new meaning and direction causing me to continue feeling beautiful..
                                                                                           Debbie Knapp

Copyright © Debbie Knapp

Details | Imagism Poem | |

The Shadow of Love

I am the shadow that passes through your mind
as you remember times long gone past
the wind in your hair as you stroll
a soft touch as a leave brushes your cheek

A certain scent I always wear
tells you I am near to you
yet when you turn around
you find you are alone

You can sense me watching over you
but when you reach out all you catch
is a shadow that slips away
leaving just memories behind

You can hear my voice in the breeze
carried down from the mountain top
feel me when you bath in crystal streams
and in the beams radiating from the sun

I am everywhere yet also I am nowhere
just the shadow that protects you
I am the spirit that dwells within you
the shadow of our love for each other

written in 2013

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton

Details | Imagism Poem | |

The Chair Lift

I slide in the chair as it begins to rise.
Legs hanging with heavy feet,
Bang them together, watch falling snow.
Brisk wind hits my face turning red.
The metal cold and wood wet,
Holding my poles dangling skis,
Nose gets numb during the ascent.
The view surreal I feel so blessed,
See them push off at the top.
Just in time I jump off
Then glide through dusty snow.

By: Greg Stanley

Submitted into Brian Strand's "Upto Sixteen lines" Contest

Copyright © Greg Stanley

Details | Imagism Poem | |

a bench in the woods

a fine mist quiets the forest floor, an acorn drops from above, with a thud a crisp oak leaf spirals, gently to the ground a burbling brook, feeds it's trout in a while, my heart joins in .... and worries drift away

Copyright © James Marshall Goff

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Unicorn's Gala

Invitations to the Gala
issued by a grave impala
were highly sought out missives 
by the bold and the submissive 
Those omitted uttered curses
shook angry fists or heavy purses
Had they but known that
the price of  admission
was not by stealth nor definition;
would it have improved their disposition?
Oh bother, “what a bitter tea to hold and drink”
some might say.

Pink quartz was the mantle 
white marble were the floors
Hieroglyphic runes and shapes 
were etched upon the doors
Windows ledged by flowered flats
walkways edged by shrub
Trees of auspicious piety
contained by sanctum tubs
Tapestry paneled galleries
wove ever-changing scenes
Templates of the biosphere
wrought into silk spun screens.

Ivy garlands draped sandstone walls
Indulgence infused the banquet hall
Cinnamon rods, spiked spurs of clove
mulled cider sipped from crystal globes
Lychee lobes, hot peppered scones
clotted cream starched weary bones
Soft music swirled like autumn’s mist
about the heads of chosen guests
Violin, lute and harpsichord      
mild minstrel flanked by troubadour
Harmoniously moved, were the hearts
and heels of man.

The unicorn, a gallant host
on ivory hooves, an ethereal ghost
An entity of truth and faith
a creature of astounding grace 
Awestruck by sharp brindled eyes
white pristine coat, his stately guise      
The neck that sparked irised flame
a glowing arch of lucent mane
Prismatic yellow, red and blue
dipped then peaked to other hues
Entranced by visual rhapsody 
Morpheus clapped soporific hands.

The sun reached up to touch the dawn
orbs of dew satured the lawn
Spectrum arcs held trailing mist
The peaceful calm of morning’s kiss. 
Silent chambers backed by barren walls
the flameless hearths of empty halls
Awakened by the muted hum
steps echoed off like Celtic drums                                               
They left a wake of red and blue
gold flecked green, and pink accrue
Floral spills of cornucopia
wiped away their paisley prints.

He raced across the bridge of night
propelled by dreams in astral flight
Pulled outward on a comet thrust
long tail ablaze with motes of dust
He touched down in a stellar sphere
Grew stronger when the skies were clear
Weaned on equinoctial astral surge
galactic lights that dim and merge 
No more arabesques, no Devon cream
no drowsy thoughts, no symphonies
He fondles hearts with cosmic charm
Monoceros, The Unicorn.  

Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald

Details | Imagism Poem | |

Premenstrual Syndrome -

She painted cubes and angles
drowned in hues
of density and celsius pressures,
it was in part due
to her retrospect of comfortable sorrow,

the syndrome was complicated
by the distant shine
of a brilliant lover,
I remember her voice coming to 
to me like that of a 
summer solstice
eagerly carressed by the lungs
of the bluejays
that would translate the technique
of blossoms
like it were their first language,

her fury was lush,
and she channeled it properly,
I'm positive shes negative
in an act thats sincere,
she is positively negatively
painting in gray today -


Copyright © Justin Bordner