Best Abstract Thoughts Poems
To glide with inspiration above quilted clouds
Where birds so often soar
Glimpse a sunset hued in gold
With many colors to adore
To grasp the muse that swing from creative vines
And sway from abstract thoughts
Upon the page release the lines
Which meander within the plots
Clasp the quill as the ink flows
And carefully craft each verse
Clutch the metaphors in rhyme or prose
As throughout the page they intersperse
Sometimes the ending can hold a surprise
And cause a gasp in its trail
The words flow subtly and with guise
Its meaning you then inhale
6-28-2021
Writing Prompt Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Constance La France
Poet's minds have abstract thoughts
emerging in waves from their hearts.
Words are unraveled and untangled,
where once their meaning was mangled.
All too often, as many readers would,
they're found baffling; misunderstood.
But oh how genuinely lucid and austere
when read aloud, to the discerning ear,
are the sentiments written by a poet's pen,
distinctly implicit enough to comprehend.
Perhaps, based on his/her life's anecdotes,
but with imagery a poet sows wild oats.
I would say, Poetry is an art in verse.
From deep inside the Poet brings out
Revelations of self, nature, life.
Poet, Poetess - skilled writers in verse,
Paint for us imagery of abstract thoughts,
An art that can "move" us to the core.
We "see" what they write and reflect
On images conjured up in thought,
A master-piece created for lovers of the
craft!
Craftily, pages come alive with expressions
That emotionally move and sway,
Removing the unwanted yesterdays leaving
only the now.
The Poet captures and engages the minds of
the audience,
Whether from the platform or silently reading,
Spoken or written words echo in the stillness
of the air!
Poems can ignite passion, calm the soul, create
Thoughts and provoke eloquence in speech,
Which awakens the "sleeping" soul as the orator
reads.
Bursting with passion from within,
Love stories come alive and, O,
Climax slowly like crashing waves
dissolve upon the shore.
Alone, Lone Wolf,
Reticent and aloof,
Abstract thoughts,
Introspection taught,
Introvert innate,
Not a lonely plate,
Fun book friends,
Delights never end,
A pleb, for what that's worth,
On lonely Planet Earth,
Jewel of the Universe,
Cosmos, one vast church,
Life is creation,
Have we found any aliens?
Reticent and aloof,
Alone, a Lone Wolf.
There's nothing left to write.
No more textbook vocabulary to relay your state of mind.
No more analogies, similes, or metaphors to convince others that your abstract thoughts could ever be compared to concrete concepts.
No more iambic pentameter to give rhythm to your flat-line emotions, or play-on words to give your conscience a personality.
No more diction with an optimistic connotation to give negative issues a striking charisma.
Nothing.
No more can be written.
Leave it the way it is. Maybe someday it will grow on you.
To build a better human use a robot
Genetics are overrated and outdated
Androids make the perfect man
With nuts and bolts who needs a soul
Love your machines
They come with metallic hands
With instructions to construct
Transgender bathrooms built to last
Humans make great pets
When inoculated they are the best
Venereal diseases are a breeze
Hmm.... Are they really needed?
Bots speak bot languages
Abstract thoughts are optional
Don't need visas to get about
Robots work non stop for free
No clocks to punch or dirty thoughts
Void of affection and infections
They follow the instructions of God's plan
To build a better man
blind mouths would abide my way
towards the fantasy that I require
longing of Abstract thoughts
are my beginning
kisses form where I adore
your eyes bring forth
the song that form the sun
holding me to your form
kiss me once I do declare
kiss me twice now I'm crying
kiss me thrice I am melting
holding me with your strong strong hands
keeps me from falling but not away
so sing to me your kisses just once more
hold me and show me what you would say....
To gain insight about the world around,
I will eat the spores which sprout from the ground.
These fragments of feeling are so fleeting,
Which make up my entire being.
Knowledge or solace will surely be found.
Some new sensation will echo its sound.
In feeding the hunger, I’m all-consumed,
And still picking at my aging wounds.
Joy and agony are momentary creatures,
Details and lines in a portrait’s features.
Without my peripherals, context lost.
Focus turned inward toward abstract thoughts.
I find myself never lacking surprise.
Inspecting the world with blood-shot eyes
If I were to write a poem, what should it say? Should it be a dabbling
of abstract thoughts, a fantasy, a tragedy, a meandering? Should it
come from my imagination, a charade, an abstract of image, a delusion,
a fabrication? Should it not come from life experiences, lessons learned,
a guide line, a compass, an anecdote?
The wisdom gained from our experiences in life is the most precious
of all.
The love, loss, pleasure, pain, sacrifice, struggle, happiness, despair,
grief, sadness and sorrow are our teachers if we are wise and our
spirit and heart open to receive the knowledge. It is of more
value than diamonds, emeralds, or any other thing of temporal
value. It is a truth, a spring clear and purifying, a well of
experience, a song in our spirit, a familiar voice. It is a gift,
a companion, a lesson to teach us humility, a measuring rod showing
us how we have faired compared to our fellow man. It is wings to
lift us up, to open our minds, to compel us to have empathy,
sympathy, to give and help our fellow man. It is love unbound, a
stream overflowing with kindness, compassion, desire to make
ourselves better and shine so others see the way clearly.
Now,
I'm not one to jest, or protest,
-or say "I'm the best".
And I'm not one to pout, or put down,
-but I have little doubt...
That I should have won.
Oh yes, there were good entries,
Thrilling tales, brilliant reads.
But among those submissions getting recognition,
were poems of old entities.
Random words with abstract thoughts.
Tired rhyming, splats and gobs.
Nonsensical, gibberish disguised,
as wisdom for eyes that bought the lines.
-But MINE,
was brilliant, fresh, straight to the point.
-Funny, original...and something else that rhymes with point.
So I leave you now with this one fact;
My poem should have won, and that is that.
I’m something like Superman
you know, one of a kind
the way I write
wielding my pen
dissecting all my rhymes
Flowing through the stanzas, verses
riding waves of rhythmic lines
Sorting through my abstract thoughts
weathering my mind
An ornate vase brightens the dimly lit room
Where a beautiful girl sits, deep in thought
And as her daydream begins to bloom
She reaches for the the dreams she's sought
Perhaps she's composing a symphony
Or playing in a concert hall
Maybe she's had an epiphany
Where rhapsodies enthrall
She may have a song in her heart
Whose melody she's trying to find
And as I watch her daydream, in abstract thoughts divine
Her song she thus imparts
upon this page of mine
She places one hand on the piano, in delicate sleeve of lace
The other rests thoughtfully on an open book
As she journeys to that distant place
Where only the mind can look
Spiritual concepts, quantum physics
Intellectual topics or gymnastics
Abstract thoughts, passion for words
Finding his center staring at birds
While meditating or daydreaming
All that was heard were kids screaming
I believe this, Larry would tolerate
Because on some level he could relate
In himself a young man he saw
Why he despised the term Grandpa
Flirting at every opportunity
Fueled his soul with energy
In his own mind he would get lost
The price of inner peace was the cost
His focus, enlightenment and joy
Connecting with his small inner boy
His deep spirit was so strong it lives on
He’s still here, though physically gone
He’ll show up during the holiday
Sneaking into your heart some way
At Stony Gorge you’ll sense he’s free
His smoke encircling nearby a tree
While taking a walk or on the phone
His spirit will hug you, so you’re not alone
He is blessed with a family that’s intense
The love surrounding him is immense
Though God took him too soon to comprehend
It’s only the beginning for him, not the end
Colors of the sunset
painted on the sky canvas
mixed emotions
abstract thoughts
impressions of love
cloud strokes lost
a palette of dreams
sits by the waste side
a talent of words
a misguided brush
a nervous hand
so many imagines
can't comprehend
a gesso of emptiness
search for a masterpiece
a work of art within a universe of undiscovered
sunrises
the canopy of comfort caravan of curruption
leads to a path of no return a road of self-destruction
in this crowded cafeteria no creature has a table to itself
and in this darkened forrest of death the canvass that shutters out the light is its shelf
your soul is like a forrest without a summer
and the beat that you hear has no drummer
your ignorance is as vivid as abstract thoughts not yet seen
and the desires that you seek are nothing more than mere illusions conveyed by dreams