Best Implicit Poems
Under a blue moon
He becomes my dream
A secret uncloaked
Emotion unveiled
A mystery revealed
Existence of warmth
between my subconscious
and implicit knowledge
..And it is there
`Neath the soft spot
of this heart
where crimson bleeds
its velvets
upon his bare breath
It is there
where my blushed lips
loose their virginity
Where my fair cheeks
suffuse with rosy glow
It is there where
fiery needs are fulfilled
Fervent desires scorched
Candlelit pleasures beheld
It is there
where alluring visions embrace
my suppressed memory
and take over this barren soul
As his ardent voice calls
in an enticing whisper
and a unique accent
into my left ear
My love...
Mon petite fleur..
Mi amor...
That is a preserved time
An uncloned moment
where my unwholiness
becomes whole
That is the minute
His glancing eyes
capture my own
Only until...
Mr Sandman leaves behind
Dry proposals on wet sand
Early mist envelops the bridge
Aurora glows in new awakening
Last zephyr breeze
fades from my cheek
Then He is gone
Forever gone
A revised repost~Not for the rose contest..but thanks for Vie's Roses contest and wonderful Rose poems
I decided to revise this post and repost,till the muse plays along.
Categories:
implicit, absence,
Form:
Free verse
Under a half moon
He becomes my dream
A secret uncloaked
Emotion unveiled
A mystery revealed
Existence of warmth
between subconscious
and implicit knowledge
And it is there...
`neath the soft spot of my heart
where crimson bleeds its velvet
upon his bare breath
Its there where my blushed lips
lose their virginity
Where my fair cheeks
suffused with rosy glow
It is there where fiery needs are fulfilled
Fervent desires scorched
Candlelit pleasures beheld
It is there where alluring visions
embrace my suppressed memory
and take over this barren soul
As his ardent voice call
in an enticing whisper
in a unique accent
into my left ear
My love~Mi amor
That is the preserved moment
when my unwholiness becomes whole
That is the moment
those glancing eyes capture my own
Only until...
Mr sandman leaves behind
wet proposals on dry soil
Early mist envelops the bridge
Aurora rises in new awakening
Last zephyr breeze fades away
and once again He is gone,gone.
Categories:
implicit, absence,
Form:
Free verse
Her persona is like
a portrait
of picturesque perfection,
embalmed in
bittersweet lavender,
unseen within depths
of tributaries of elixir.
If only they knew
the chaos that flows,
constrained in
a confined
gallery of grief.
Not everyone is
a master painter.
Some brush with brutal
bruised strokes,
provoking timeless
streams of
implicit secrets,
from crimson stains
on ivory satin,
where scents of juniper
evoke phases of
unpredicted phenomenons,
oblivious to chronicles
of forsaken tales,
which hide
beneath barriers,
many have struggled
to venture within.
But there is an artist
with a
pastel on his palette,
that can correct
her disfigured pigment.
He holds cryptic
calligraphic engravings,
veiled behind the inflamed
chamber of her heart.
He understands that her
spirit drowns when
winds are forceful.
How her
delicateness has
been sleeping
on withered roses,
wilted by
cruelest rays of a
summer
mourning
morning star,
Where bedtime stories
were puppeteered
by hurricanes
feeding on
fenceless vulnerabilities.
yet when
sleepless silence sings,
it can disturb
in reverberating
heavy metal screams.
So she echoes her trauma
through hurtful hisses,
poisoning with
vicious venom.
Her aura alters in
acrimonious attitudes
from serene sunshine
to furious gales.
She remains without
a grip on untamable
seasons of
unholy torture,
Only he knows the poem
in her eyes is the
last train home,
so he calms her
tempest temperament,
enabling hidden rainbows
in her mind to reappear.
He is a soothing
gemini night-flower,
even with outcries
of midnight thunder,
his patience resembles
raining jasmine water,
purifying
her murky waters,
into a crystallised milky-way
of kyanite desires,
guiding her
to swirl and swoon
into
whirlwinds of closure.
Categories:
implicit, dark, deep, devotion, i
Form:
Free verse
Oh baby!
Everyone speaks of a mother's prenatal travails
that make you a part of this earth's tales.
But,
No one talks about what hassle you undergo
In your 9-month-long journey when you're all solo.
I understand what you are going through inside your mom, my lollipop.
I can make out if you're tired or doing a hip-hop.
I know that there's darkness around you
I know that you're floating in a limited space
I know that you're all alone in a strange place
I know that you're listening but cannot respond
You reach your mom's womb without an escort
You feed yourself, you water yourself, you sleep by yourself
You turn yourself away from frightening impulses.
You guide yourself to your position of comfort
You suffer heat when your mom munches on spicy grills
You choke for oxygen if your mom neglects fluids.
You shiver in fear when thunder-like noises bang your mom's ears
You cry in silence and your mom never knows that.
While your mom gets help to attune to her changing body,
You grow by yourself learning to adjust and adapt.
While a bunch of people help your mom in delivering you out,
you unravel your own ways to emerge out of life's narrow channel.
What an enchanting little learner you are!
What a great selfstanding human you are!
You stand as a lone warrior for nine months
And deserve huge respect and applause
I, your mother, promise to tap into your implicit language
Above all, I salute you for your unwavering courage.
Categories:
implicit, child, courage, inspiration, mother,
Form:
Rhyme
Beneath a half moonlight
you become my dream
a secret uncloaked
emotion unveiled
existence of warmth
between subconscious
and implicit knowledge
And it is there
'neath the soft spot of my heart
where crimson bleeds its velvets
upon your bare breath
Its there where blushful lips
loose their virginity
Where my fair cheeks suffuse
with rosy glow
Where fiery needs are fulfilled
fervent desires scorched
candlelit pleasures beheld
Its there were evanescent visions
take over control
take over this barren soul
As my ardent voice whispers
beneath the tender of your ear
~~~ Mi amor~~
That is the preserved moment
our unwholiness is whole
The moment, your eyes
capture my own
Only till......
Mr sandman leaves
early mist envelops the bridge
aurora rises in new awakening
and you fade away like zephyr breeze
Categories:
implicit, beautiful,
Form:
Free verse
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.
Categories:
implicit, poets,
Form:
Rhyme
T i m e ~ you are the spark
that tips the scales
of lovestruck heartbeats,
ricocheting glyphs of fairness,
etched with gold and silver.
Yet seasons of smoke fail to
trace the unexpressed emotions
woven with ultraviolet beams.
Perhaps the ticking truth of intoxicated haze,
is a resonance of pained pulses:
a poem without a title,
a sonnet without a rhyme,
a melody without a rhythm,
a palette without a dream,
cosmically tied, yet torn by space,
pondering:
what if these implicit metaphors
heal the beautifully bruised,
paint the scars with flares of serenity,
turn bleeding wounds into sterling specks,
and draw hope with swirling sunflowers?
As I am a wordless wanderer,
facing the heat of sultry skin within starlight,
tasting the milky flickers of quartz
as they seep into the warm arms
of blushing twilight.
These fingers curate chronicles
from archaic archives,
scintillating souvenirs,
like a forest library with shimmering shelves
touched by sunlit rays
and mauve memories merging
with evening mists.
For I am the mistress
of your amethyst afterglow,
engrossed in the ambrosial luminescence
of soft-spoken verses,
as alluring auroras emanate
burning thistles of thirsting galaxies~
the delicate dews of dancing diamonds
caressing the silk of stars to drizzle
one last drop of your pining poetry,
while I await the return of
Romeo’s rhapsody,
like Juliet on the tantalizing tip of throes,
counting Cupid's jewels of nightfall,
wishing upon the dusk of craving.
For in your absence,
I am but a poet with no abstract speech,
but doleful desires,
longing to kiss the final phase of Luna’s sigh
catching crooning comets,
lost in the hypnotic moon-gaze
of immortal love...
Categories:
implicit, deep, emotions,
Form:
Free verse
“Special are the ones that see beyond veiled verses,
behind violet smiles, so much is spoken in silence, where cosmic chaos
are scattered amidst the twinkling constellation cracked into seething seas of raw madness”
I remember how I bathed
in the brilliant hue
of your silent shadows,
swirling in symphony
unscathed, across
silvery nights, as I decided
to slowly place
my trust again upon
kismet shooting stars~
perfumed with sins,
ferrying the sacred key
to my moonstruck
heart from afar.
But the gleaming rays
of celestial glows,
burnt into steel and dust,
guiding where your drizzling~
sharpened knife flows,
across my bleeding canvas
like a poetic downfall,
streaming crystal
tears upon us
to carve the edges
of unread chapters
with solemn epitaphs.
If only they could
feel the veiled truth behind
my eyes that speak
volumes, misunderstood
in vague dialects, echoing
through murky skies,
losing faith in humanity
within a hidden retreat~
as this world has taught
us raven phases
of lunar secrets
from somber tunes
of affection through
torment and deceit.
Yet time knew what
my mind couldn’t see,
flickering faith
seizing seconds few,
my lyrical haven finding me,
where dreams stew,
setting my rhymes free,
for I’ve learnt the art
of forgiving every neon lining,
scattered along seraphic
spheres beyond reach,
colliding cosmically
with implicit chaos,
oblivious to the wicked
tumbleweeds
of desire in wrath.
Categories:
implicit, angst,
Form:
Free verse
As I recall those lonely childhood days
My heart weeps for myself drenched in tears
How I yearned mama for a gentle hug from you
A soft caress and a kiss to make me glow
Engrossed as you were tending to my dear brother
And here I deduced you never did bother
The scars grew each year
And estranged I felt from your care
But now seeing you strain
As you beckon me near
My heart cries in earnest struggle
And yearns to snuggle
Forgive me ma for I have erred
Being blind to your loving words
To your implicit care
Being blind to the glistening tears
That uttered silent prayers
Being blind to the anxious queries
Masked with concern
Blinded I was and you I blamed
I beg your forgiveness.
@ Nadiya (19 Feb '15)
Placed 9th on 21 Feb 2015 in the contest 'Forgiveness' by Rob Carmack.
Categories:
implicit, hurt, lonely, love, mother,
Form:
Lyric
When I was a child and my dreams were of gold
I always believed everything I was told,
my faith was implicit, my innocence pure
and magic existed, of that I was sure.
My old uncle Arthur was always in bed
his twinkling eyes sunken into his head,
he told me his stories of dragons and elves
that lived in the books on his library shelves.
On the table that stood at the foot of his bed
was an old leather box coloured purple and red,
and the lid was embroidered in threads of maroon
with the soft shining face of the man in the moon.
I asked him to show me what rested inside
and he said " Press the button, and open it wide!",
then up from the box with a deep whirring sigh
rose a magic mechanical gold butterfly.
It fluttered its wings as it gently spun round
Its beauty serene in the absence of sound,
and I was entranced by its magical flight
as it bathed in the flame of the candle's soft light.
As I lay in my bed with my head in a dream
I still could imagine the butterfly's gleam,
so I made up my mind to go back the next day
to watch the gold butterfly flutter and play.
But when I got there, the old house was in gloom
my old uncle Arthur was gone from his room,
and even though mother had tried to explain
I never did see uncle Arthur again.
That night I slept soundly, in dreams of delight
at the dawn I awoke to the morning's first light,
and there on the desk, by the side of my bed
was an old leather box coloured purple and red...
Categories:
implicit, death, family, children, inspirational,
Form:
Written: September 21, 2023
True Love Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
_____________________________________________________________
In a world where illusions often deceive,
Genuine love springs as a jewel to retrieve.
A tale implicit, a sumptuous symphony divine,
Where souls entwine, true love will shine.
Can passion be a fleeting amour, a brief aura?
Or does it grasp a deeper, sapient aurora?
In a realm where hearts oft maunder astray,
Echt love exhibits its zeal and splendor in this way.
Akin to ghosts, love is beset but scarcely seen.
Real passion hits hastily in a radiant, pulsing scene.
It is not a slight propensity, a surreptitious flame,
But an amorist bond that thwarts time is not tame.
True love shines akin to a beacon over princely.
A flame that fires forever, flickering fiercely
Loving someone means wanting their happiness.
A love that inspires the heart leaves just sappiness.
Comely happiness is the nectar, and love is the bee.
It resonates in-depth, not missing a beat of glee.
It harmonizes souls, inducing a blissful tune.
Love that susurrous softly, akin to a palest moon.
When a person implies a lot, distance is so little.
A love that heals all wounds and saves the brittle
True love is a lexicon, spoken without a sound.
A cynosure nexus so esoteric, it can't be drowned.
It is the exegesis of life, the reason we exist,
A love that abides through every swirl and twist
Unwavering flame, two souls sigh, tie untying!
True love is the essence, impetus, and freeing.
The one who loves you spells your name uniquely.
Your name is protected in their mouth so deeply.
For in its embrace, we decry our true selves,
A love that transcends is a love that compels.
A level of optimism is crucial for the birth of love.
Your devotion is not to me but to the stars above.
A tale unavowed, a symphony divine,
Where souls intertwine, true love will shine.
Categories:
implicit, analogy, appreciation, beauty, inspirational
Form:
Rhyme
Freedom differs on how each men define it,
like the love of autumn or cold of winter.
Vast it may be but meaning is implicit,
so vast that no soul can ever hinder.
I define liberty as a pen and paper.
Mere it is , but my understanding is sure.
What is simple for you, to me strikes deeper.
Thin a paper be , but it lasts to endure.
The glory of ink is immeasurable,
for a tender soul of mine to comprehend.
Though age has numbers, I am an example,
of a generation's hope for we to ascend.
May the world be courageous to project art.
Like this sonnet , this is where I start.
Categories:
implicit, faith, hope, visionary, autumn,
Form:
Sonnet
They lurk about
Think no one sees
They stalk believing
No one knows
They’re there
Hushed implicit
In the night
Slithering about
Disguised
Concealed
Dodged
Eluded
Getting off
On being ignored
The dark shadows
Lurking in the night
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on May 28, 2019
Categories:
implicit, dark, night, silence,
Form:
Personification
Full moon nigh
Has an eerie feel
Dark clouds mystify
Pathway of the surreal.
Raindrops echo steadily
With each and every step
I continue on methodically
While shadows by me crept.
Full moon nigh
Damp fog rolling near
Heightened senses intensify
The woods become austere.
Through my hair, a gentle brush
Breeze or ghostly presence
Upon my skin, icy touch
Starlit path of luminescence.
Full moon nigh
Beckons my restless spirit
The crow loudly cries
"Fate awaits implicit!"
Ancient wisdom implore
Incantations and elixirs
The mind is an open door
For the spiritual path's fissure.
Full moon nigh
When the dreamworld is revealed
Great horned owl flies
Now is the time to heal.
Categories:
implicit, bird, culture, dream, magic,
Form:
The caged bird sings with a fearful trill, of things unknown, but longed for still, and his tune is heard on the distant hill, for the caged bird sings of freedom-
Maya Angelou
Reality may be a poetic cocktail of pistachio and pecan,
yet it tastes the same as bittersweet betrayals,
saturated in plum flavors of pain.
There’s no antidote without a verse woven in vain,
feeding fire of life with red threads of fate,
hanging on fiery jewels ornamented across a phoenix gate.
Ostracized from a cautionary tale that lacks the essence of an empath,
oblivious to wicked winds of flames burning every truth written in temporary stillness.
But, the world that I love hates me in sheer shades of shame,
shoving my needs to a chained chamber-
of the saint and the sinner lost in an already designed game.
And I question in prose of mutilated rhymes,
will I ever heal in hell that shattered my will to flee from senseless spells?
for the devil bought and sold me to the malignant valleys.
Now I’m throned in trickeries painted with multicolored masquerades and toxic trinkets.
When battles fought are of emperors leading unseen wars,
I am caught in a moment where melancholic musings engulf my midnight sun,
I ponder, does the silent bird feel the weight of its wings?
Or are we confined eagles lured with rose diamond dreams,
still surviving through stolen songs of the damned woodland crickets?
unable to let go and attain an eden with no history of scandalous sagas.
We are in search of starry nights that will never dim their rays upon our souls,
as only in darkness can you see the light that consoles:
aching hearts in search of clustering comets cloaked in implicit desires and love beyond gold spun galaxies.
Categories:
implicit, angst, dark, deep,
Form:
Free verse