Best Mental Image Poems
As we await His second coming
We know not who we look for
As we speak, He walks among us
But as yet closed is our heart’s door
From paintings, movies and dreams
We carry a mental image in mind
But is He a being so limited and bound
Who in narrow church pews we’ll find
Jesus visits the so called fallen atheist
And finds within his heart pure light
Made in God’s image, a child asleep
Who’s yet to awaken to spherical sight
So Jesus takes the hand of his brother
Wake up, He urges, life is but a dream
Love alone is real, light the flame of bliss
Rest where no fears and desires stream
Jesus becomes vast space, that holds all
It’s the first thing we see, right before us
Look not for forms and images, oh hermit
In childlike trust, get aboard Gods bliss bus
There is no judgment, sin is but ignorance
All of existence is entwined by God’s power
Know that we are living light, not this form
Surrender and let His benign grace empower
26-April-2023
Jonquils
On days when there are no poems to be found
When I drudge the depths of the murk
I think of Jonquils.
I get stuck on those pesky flowers
And the mental image of tiny yellow and white daffodils.
I ask myself for a poem but
From somewhere else
The whisper comes:
Jonquils.
Poems must be about Jonquils.
You can’t have a poem without Jonquils.
I need to write about
speak about
sing about
write some more about
Jonquils.
So, as a poet who has learned from other poets, I research.
Narcissus jonquilla:
A native of Spain and Portugal.
Grows in open spaces and forests and at the edges of lawns
Like little poems
that push their way up through the late spring snow
Vast white sheets spread for acres
On my desk top.
I stare at them and wait for a poem to happen.
From the corner of a page
A yellow tipped bud appears—
Jonquils.
And nothing else.
In this country of one’s mind
east and west are so defined,
warring factions ne’er at peace
forked tongue steeped in caprice,
pounding within one’s brain
mental image a constant pain.
So please let one strive to rove
amongst the evergreen grove,
to a remembrance that drove
one to the rugged coastal cove,
to an interaction that wove
in one’s implicit treasure trove!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
LOVE is ?
Is love, an essence, of flesh and skin
or a scent that's emitted, from within
Is it an impression, created by the heart
or a design, to be viewed, as abstract art
Is it something within all humans grasp
or a mental image, felt when people gasp
Is it's existence real, or just imaginary truth
an artificial attraction, held from our youth
Is it an inevitable desire, that embarrasses all
or a treasured goal, of kinship as we sprawl
Desire, Passion, Marriage, lessen loneliness within
but, affection lost, leaves you in a loveless skin
Is it a fleeting feeling, that wasn't meant to hold
or nurtured attraction, the oneness, as I'm told
Lust, Enthusiasm, Devotion, of intimacy with one
or hope of a life long friend, to share earths sun
a confession of confusion or a happiness unknown
feeling completed by Cupid's arrow when your alone
An intense, deep explosion, of your lust and desire
or that soothing relaxation, that's felt after the fire
Told long ago "It's what make the world go round"
Keep stoking that fire, till that arrow is downed
How does it feel? I feel so great I am at ease
To be pulled back to the sanctuaries of love
How do you feel toward the pulling lover?
I feel less than loving him, embracing him
I feel like to follow him, explain to me please
Let’s go to the love scene please skip the credits
Stand in love not fall, go in, not out, what?
You have a mental image of being lovable
Thankfully to Him, following HIM, say love
Do you know what it’s called? Really in love
Tell me, more about emotional or feeling of love
Let’s cross the river, the next commercial break
Can you spot the difference between them, could you?
Emotional feeling of love is emotion, about you
Attention, presence, satisfaction, inflammation
Sentimental love is absence, tension and exploration
Communication, wow, I never heard about this
Let’s watch the next scene, the next steamy episode
Thank you, I want to learn more, you are welcome
Really, learn to practice the languages of love
The languages of sentimental agony of love, living
This I will practice, but questions are challenging
It requires a clear mind, since I am not a sharp one
Let’s go to that next day, the next secret chamber
these brick bound boxes
fill this equinox of smart headed people
of these independent achievable people
critical analysts of this 21 century
ready to be presentable to the unmighty
smaller population of antisocial teenage children
willing them to be
not to be free, but inside these brick bound boxes
that fill the human intelligence with total
literate irrelevance to who we should be
to who can be
ultimately like them
filled in these brick bound boxes
with mental instimulance
of a mix of lies, creation and motives
see, I don’t have a problem with any of them
just these brick bound boxes that hold them
hold this unforgettable willing mind
of someone we chose to leave behind
in these brick bound boxes
that encompass first the mind and then the soul
but who wants all this control?
society can speak of a whole.
an incredible strong mental image
of how life is to be--
within these brick bound boxes.
My life isn’t based in these brick bound boxes
but it soon will
creating a song of the monotone dead
longing to be passed on from generation to generation
but can't you see
can't you forget that this is not who we ought to be
unless we need to spontaneously combust
in this equinox till it metastasizes
catastro sizes to an everlasting dust
even you must ought to smell the musk.
So tell me, how do thee?
how do thee live with these brick bound boxes
filling up every empty not-yet-set concrete whole
implying of who you are before you could even
have some kind of control over yourself
its swept under the rug.
no biggie, you're just a kiddie
no actual value to this reality
yet before you can buy alcohol
and I’m someone to sound big
I just don’t want to fill these lonely brick bound boxes
where the death of every living will cease to be a beginning
in this equinox of the everlasting dust,
so do you must, live in these brick bound boxes?
There is No -
There is no authority more apropos.
There is no beauty more breathtaking.
There is no concept more compassionate.
There is no dream more dazzling.
There is no evaluation more eternal.
There is no fantasy more fabulous.
There is no grace more giving.
There is no humility more honorable.
There is no inspiration more idyllic.
There is no justice more joyous.
There is no keeper more kind.
There is no liberty more luscious.
There is no mental-image more memorable.
There is no opportunity more opulent.
There is no power more prevailing.
There is no quiet more quenching.
There is no religion more remarkable.
There is no serenity more special.
There is no teaching more tolerant.
There is no understanding more uplifting.
There is no victory more valuable.
There is no wisdom more worthy.
There is no x-planation more x-cellent.
There is no yoke more yielding.
There is no zenith more zestful.
Than are God’s many loves …
As found in His eternal “Plan of Salvation.”
© July 18, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
I cry and so she does as well
Hold back, but myself is shown
Gain your composure as you
Shatter into fragments of your former self
But still hold yourself together as your
Not worth the effort to strive for
Worthless in a sense
As she cries in the arms of one she
Calls friend, when she speaks of the
Events, which have unfolded
Your name is never mentioned
When you cry on shattered dreams
She has no remorse as she crawls into
His arms
But why
why must I care so much
but apparently not enough
I forced her to cry and
I am damned for it
behold my weeping sorrow
as she ignores me
and so heartache becomes known
but I put forth the effort
effort to accompany her
to comfort her
and all that is returned are false smiles
and wishful thinking on my behalf
why hope for something that is never
why strive for tomorrow when today is nonexistent
slit and the scars become memories
a first instance of death within my eyes as
the blade draws near to my flesh
manipulating my mental image of perfection
as drunken fights become
my only shelter,
I am not myself now
will I ever be the same again
things have changed
I am far beyond help as I draw closer
to the abyss which I know as death
find something to protect my life
as I stumble into time as nothing more
than a guy who once cared too deeply
and now nothing exists
numb and cold
numb and dead
why must everything suddenly loose
its ambience...
...why must she not see past
former relations and realize
I AM REAL!
I've always asked myself is there a thing as fate
Is everyone not responsible for his or her destiny
If it were possible the future you could anticipate
If that were something that a person could foresee
Like the path that you choose to destroy or deviate
When your looking for home, a place of sanctuary
And it ends up being filled with emptiness and hate
But guess everyone can have a sense of uncertainty
i
I was told things you earn nothings handed on a plate
And remember not every day will always be so sunny
Don't make rash decisions try and at first contemplate
And yet again yeah it's that same old age philosophy
Another avenue taken though one would still desolate
Because your feeling lost and now you are so unhappy
Ending up in such bad way, that you are in a right state
Still looking for absolution, but if it were that elementary
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But waiting in anticipation then just realising your too late
If you had ceased the moment, what could or may not be
Like that of an encounter like if you meet your soul mate
Was it just coincidence again one questions the irony
A mental image in your head a picture that you always paint
letting chance take its toll but not what you expected really
Again one being told at times perhaps its better to just wait
I guess that’s the element of surprise, apart of the mystery
Kind of like a part two to fate 98 and a bad case of nostalgia
with this im trying to close a chapter but also question
which I always have is there such a thing as fate
you know if i went down this road or this avenue
would things have been differed[nt perhaps if things were mapped-
out there would be no element of surprise
Perhaps just me being brought up again with so many mixed messages
uncertainty of everything it were like the movies a meets b an along comes c
and every thing is hunky dory but yeah its not reality inspired by other writes
and soup members written nov 2012,,,,,,,FATE,,,,,,,,,,,,,DESTINY,,,,,,,,,,,,CHANCE
One man sees beauty,
Lonely are roads not traveled,
breathe silent forest.
Here natures best friend,
who enjoys simplicity,
lives more than charmed life.
Night drawing closer,
Take one last look at beauty,
Take mental image.
By Chris Matt
i saw him, holding her and i thought of you
memories hidden beneath expired tears emerged
a mental image freshly painted across my view appeared
slowly i mesmorized to the early past, and i held you the same way
who would have thought that in this hour, in this day you are but a memory
i cared about nothing when i held you, i floated in comfort and hope
slowly i heard what he said to her, and again i spoke to you
his verse amended her heart, which placed her soul back to one piece
the tone of his voice called upon her very spirit and she smiled
i used to sing to you, your heart raced and tears of joy fell form your eyes
the smell of pain still lingers with in my walls, your portrait still hangs over me
in hopes that maybe some day i will have you, the way he has her
A mother is a legend
Never to whither or bend
She has plenty binders
Little, big or strong never fragile
She is the source of one’s love
That never dries or withers away
Even in death sometime she smiles
At lost regrets her children mourn about
Even at seventy a man can remember
My mom used to cook it this way
Something related to his very being strong never to sway
Moon would stand witness
To young mouth fed wailing and tear jerking intense
Her mental image the child never age
She can swiftly think the day one in her arms any stage,
Hurt she will for her little ones
Helpless in state but never say die her attitude with smiles
When you were a kid will always remain
She is a punch bag, dear diary to many, who hit with unintentional blows
Remorse and guilt are her parade to watch and help in stride with no tirade
She stands at a junction like a martyred stone
She stands a witness to many flow of love, still alone
For she will not side or stand apart
Knowing her base as inseparable part
Her children are waves to flow back with love
She never ceases to expect this to conclude or impede
As long as mum is around and one is lucky to have
A dedicated soul with only love in her heart…..
Mental image drawn
Encoded message filed
Mapped sequence spawned
Ostracized in time capsule
Recurring stimuli recall
Yearning for continuity
When I close my eyes that is when I see,
Seeing with my eyes open is hard for me.
Behind sunglasses is where I hide,
Because I can’t see I’m mostly blind.
I Just relax my thoughts and go inside,
I use my third eye it’s kinda my guide.
With closed eyes I can sense my surroundings,
Vibrational energy is all around me.
In my mind’s eye everything becomes clear,
That is when a mental image will appear.
The time on the clock says 11:11,
Using my third eye is my connection to heaven.
Senryu, a short verse
Structured with a set of
Seventeen sound speeches.
Sibling of haiku, deals
Story of satire which
Stamps mental image and
Sketches human nature
Syllable Count: PS
Write About a Form Poetry Contest
Pleiades poetry form only.
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Date: 23-01-2022.
PLACED: 1st