Best Imagism Poems

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New Imagism Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Imagism poems are below this new poems list.

R A I N by Pullen, Charles
The Demons by Blackmon, Zoe A
Summer solstice gone by Onderisin, Gary
White Vaporous Dust by ZiNk, Ir0nic
The Sapphire by Wanter, Sunlite
D Town by Smith, Tim
Another modern circle in hell by Onderisin, Gary
sans paloma by Kingston , Wayne
The Eternal Dance by Crasto, Cecilia
sand tales by Kingston , Wayne

View all new Imagism Poems

The Best Imagism Poems

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Peacocks and Predators

The raptor and the peacock hence,
Sit pensive on a rambling fence.
The first, inclined to be the host,
Jumped down to claim the nearest post.
The pea averse to snubs or quailing
Moves closer on the weathered railing.

Both immersed in trailing thoughts
Mused on nigh, and what was naught.
The Pea fans its tail in public splendor
Cramped raptor prefers an opposing gender.
He clasps a plume of gleaming thread
To implant it on his own stark head.

On and on, a grueling day
Feathers plucked; cold work at play.
Peafowl’s once featured feathered shafts
Now forlornly bare and subject to draft.
The predacious bird, a cocky thief
Snidely at par, to a native chief.

Clips of sun reveal a shadowy bane
The unlikely pair cast as one and the same

Copyright © Michelle Mac Donald | Year Posted 2016

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With a chill still in the wind, spring arrives
Clutching her white coat that slowly melts
In Sun's warmth, coaxing blossom's birth.

Humidity heavy with the scent of Jasmine
Announces summer's steamy footsteps
As ripe strawberries share sweet savors.

A harvest moon greets lovely autumn, smiling,
When her frosty breath changes verdant leaves
To glorious hues, drifting down, dancing to death.

When winter white fleeces her snowy shawl,
Maple trees share syrup from their vitreous veins.
Hearth's smoke rises above naked trees at rest.


Contest: Seasons
Sponsor Shadow Hamilton

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016

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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? .................... 100 in a ROW contest --3 sponsored by PD A

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2006

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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Paint A Picture Black and Gray

Pull out the easel
   set the canvas positioned long and slender clean slate.
Sketch the figures huddled and dark bound hostage
   to charcoal cooled coals etching images;
Faceless entities slipping in and out the background
   earth toned sojourners accepting, alone, quiet, dying;
Still the images in silence
   hard and disfigured grotesque horrors in place;
Somber soul drained eyes skeletal
   socket holes buried in the heart;
Let tears fall down their cheeks
   in wonder, awe and fear of what happens next.
Acrylic primers dilute the wash in the story line
   flaking and cracking each soul and truth;
Polyptych blended burnish bleeds 
   quiet, soft exuding whimpered cries,
Chiaroscuro collages of death from life
   fading to diluent breaths of an unholy  silence;
Graded gouache monochrome scraper boards
  releasing sfumatos of singular communal lives sacrificed
Varnish the final rendition to camouflage
  the actuality of what it represents
Time immemorial in genocide atrocities
  of Native Americans, Cambodians, Hawaiians, 
     Jews, Rwandans, Bosnia, Darfur,.
When does it stop?
  Life is more precious then this
      until change comes
Paint the Picture Black and Gray
      and pray then act.

For The Seeker - My take on the Holocaust 10/11/2016

Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2009

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There's a place whence children dwell amid fairy stories, popcorn rainbows & candied unicorns, which is fine & dandy except when you're supposed to be a grown-ass adult, some people live 'round La-La landscapes without a hint of reality's woefulness, unable to read skywriting on the cosmos If you believe in miracles or that nothing ever changes and love lasts forever and a day or just say, you got a damn ticket because your unicorn was inconveniently double-parked, rest assured thine meter is delusional

Copyright © Paloma P | Year Posted 2016

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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.

rev. June 11, 2016

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2015

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'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 | Year Posted 2010

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I fly on wing of song.
Twenty-three miles out of Atlanta
soaring like an eagle traveling from DC
thirty-six thousand miles high
Fly, fly away
Through the blue hues of morning
white fluffiness lie below towards earth
puffy white and gray cotton-like softness
gently moving on windsong
feeling like a Welsh princess 
watching o’er her universe.
I see the world through a rectangle
looking out over the airplane’s wing
reaching outward and upward.
Soaring like hope
Moving like faith
Solid span of charity
Humming motor onward bound joyful sound
A higher plane than I have found;
Lord, plant my feet on higher ground
wind under my winged sails 
I’m pressing on the upward way.
Arrows painted on wingspan
pointing left as we travel right
viewing “safety line attach point” 
feeling secure way up here
three flapjacks adjusting the wind flow
reminding of Father, Son and Holy Spirit
pouring through keeping my soul.
Upward outward incline
continuous motion held by metal strength
while thin white clouds pass by.
Heaven’s sky still far far away
no matter how far up one gets God is farther still
beyond the blue somewhere higher. 
Sitting assured as my mind presses on—
landing soon will come 
back to earth world
where I belong.
@2011 – Evelyn Pearl Carpenter Anderson

Copyright © E. Pearl Anderson | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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One crystal flower swelled in a garden, 
standing with pride and beauty all day, 
Bees tried to steal her nectar and taste. 
One day, somebody's hand cut her stem, 
this crystal flower stolen and taken away. 
Each petal was scattered on the ground, 
sparkling dimly, breathless and tired. 
Days went by and all flowers bloomed. 
A new day of spring burst with  hope. 
One morning, a gardener went to visit, 
found scattered crystals covered in mud. 
He picked each piece 'til he'd found each one, 
brought them all home and polished. 
He patiently glued every broken line, 
until a new crystal flower arose. 
His hands found a new paradise. 
Though once was broken, 
now stands purity and grace.

**5th Place Winner In Nette Onclaud's Contest: METAPHOR: CRYSTAL

Entry for: METAPHOR: Crystal Free Poetry Contest 
               of Nette Onclaud
written by:Aiyah De Torres
Second Language: English

Copyright © Aiyah de Torres | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2012

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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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2010

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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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2011

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Faces, Cheeks, and Eyes

The air thick, like a sweet sticky syrup
Sirens wail, polluting the air with chaos
Voices screaming, obscenities, obscure messages
All the while little children play, in pothole streets
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Cries in the light of day, bloody hands wave
Freedom, Choices, a single right
Lost trash, food piles, scattered along roadways
Dirty shoes, dangling over power lines
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Ever searching, an invisible cape, a quick escape
Smells of rotting food, bloated flies
People who cant stop licking their lips, 
twisting their hips, and geeking
Car alarms screaming, like a symphony out of tune
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

So hungry, empty stomachs, empty hearts, empty minds
Seeking to fill, to satisfy, lapping up milk and honey 
Praying for rain, to wash the stench, to hide the sin, 
Lost, undone, alone, without love
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Writings of love, of peace, scatter in the rain and wind.
An iota, a seed, a shining light, dimly lit in the night
People gather, curious, watching, many hoping
A gentle voice speaks living words, of  life, a better way 
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes

Copyright © Karen van Wyk | Year Posted 2012

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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 | Year Posted 2015

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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 | Year Posted 2009

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When crepuscular shadows loomed in a bay
to grate upon this opulent view’s grandeur,
my visceral thoughts reeled like windmills
where breaths heaved low, desultory the mind.
Gazing at Anger, doubts replayed a cynical past,
in lone sojourn...winds hummed,” speak no evil”
yet, penumbra of waves turned desultory.
Until a hundred stars bathed my eyes whole,
kindling exuberant rays, to console love’s blow;
and jealousy faded, in homage to a halcyon moment.

Silent One’s Contest
"see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil"

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2016

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teach me in a dream

Constellations of values and ethics 
like dancing stars in onyx nights. 
Majestic fields of ideals stay grounded 
in what only seems right. Keenly, I search 
philosopher’s heels to grasp theoretical 
notions, held together by gravity’s scales 
as comets of light circle in tails
and teach me in a dream.

What is the uniqueness of your poetry?
Someone once said to me that “poetry can’t include abstract language.”

Well, that really got me going! As a lover of language and theory I just couldn’t let this one pass. The uniqueness of my poem is that I use abstract language with planetary imagery to lightly illustrate two mega-abstract ideas, ethics & philosophy. The end culminates that all knowledge is refutable (i.e. “and teach me in a dream”).

Copyright © julie heckman | Year Posted 2011

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Within a calm of sentient breaths, I ascend above this continental noise slowly, past dimensions of inner ripples, a buoyant weight twirls in spiral orders farther than crests of moon, liquid... my essence rises above hills or feather gliding, deepened by silence immense: there, in peak of light anointed through soul - union ; the grail of non-resistance widens my own tower of immeasurable center; drifting on a meditative space unknown to this world; I am at risk of a swarming flight into nothingness... shapeless, changeless: there's no finality in this total release, only a cradle of eternity greeting the god within, that in the absence of mind’s overtures I become nothing but whole. Anthony Slausen's Nothing Contest ~ in deep meditation~ 9/19/2015

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2015