Best Mental Images Poems
I'm a dreamer.
Do not snap me back to reality...
I wish to linger
in this sublime realm
called imagination.
It's not a faraway destination.
I close my eyes
and I'm there,
and all cares and woes
are in my rearview mirror.
It's a paradise,
a safe place to be,
a home away home
that I escape to
when the real world feels
like an asphyxiating prison.
Do not snap me back to reality...
because it means
snapping my leviathan wings.
I wish to fly
in my imagination.
It gives me free reins
to roam in it's verdure.
There is so much beauty and wonder there.
Tangible are all the things
I can't perceive with my five senses.
Dreams,
Possibilities;
all that could be
are magnified.
I vividly envision them;
Everything is illuminated.
Do not snap me back to reality...
I see all my excited unborn children
catch and release butterflies in the field,
of my imagination, and I join them at play.
I see my loved ones alive
and commune with the long deceased.
I have the power and control
to create, to explore, to discover.
I can mold and shape
emotions, thoughts
and mental images like wet clay.
I can see the blueprint
to build my future.
Ah, the world...
of imagination!
Do not snap me back to reality...
I'm a visualizer.
Proving a point! An exaggerated ending
I see - I am drawing conclusions
An overstatement! Influential indeed
An extravagant means of spreading viewpoint
Ah! I write - I use it to exclaim
I end my proven thoughts with ability
Drawing attention to the written word
I see - you see ! You get the message I am sending
May it be imagery or reality , let there be reasons
With culture and thus cultivate the weed
Again with creation , a proven value and point
I write - we write - exclamation we claim
Gliding with the pen , word after word with agility
Fine motor skill development - and with an IQ
A beauty of language and never too absurd
Writing beauty with exclamation
I must say ! Complex for you still
I see the wisdom! Do you see the point?
Picturesque ! Vocabulary at its best
Again I proclaim the mental images
Astounding! To be exclamatory
And I thus, I see! my visions clear
My exclamation point! very clearly dear
When I read - I then seek the truth
Looking for the point - I still draw conclusion
That the exclamation therefore beauteous it may be
Not only proved a point! It may stupify me
And I know you are in there in your head
Truly listening to what is said?
He nods - she winks - I guess its true
The beauty of exclamation is really becoming of you
And I see imagery - I see rhythm
We teach - you listen - you write the words
And punctuate - I still amazed
That it will astound you too - silence is golden
You learned - the exclamation at its best
Sometimes may be used with some degree of protest
And in your expressions this I see, it stimulates
And indeed - with beauty it articulates
Wow! The point when used in prose
The words are brilliant and the point then rose.
I stare blankly at the skies above;
Partially blue with enormous grey tumultuous clouds on one extreme,
And the bright midday sun shining before my eyes.
I go back to the first instance I saw you.
Tantalized by the aesthetic persona that caught my attention,
In an unexpected place at the most random time.
The first time our eyes met,
Shyly glancing at each other with lust hidden
Behind dilated pupils.
The first exchange of words,
That angelic voice with a Mexican accent,
A lovely melody to my ears.
The space in between us,
Could never be enough to keep us apart
As for now u reside in my heart.
Deep emotions encrypted in my veins,
Forever longing your presence
Your scent on me reigns.
Like a hound dog in the wild,
Without trace your path I will find.
The light that you expel will lead my way.
But for now here I lay on the rich green grass,
Cherishing our precious moments on live mental images
Until we meet again they shall keep our love awake.
He draws you in -
Compelling mental images
of atmosphere and entryways;
state rooms; glades; soft nudges.
Letting your fear flourish unaware.
Note: Author Dean Koontz
The Iris - the spectrum in my glistening eyes
Beauty be that of rainbow hues on my face
Pigments painting mental images in my brain
Bewitching in art- coloring this my world
Enchanting creating the beauteous hues , I trace
I conclude - the beaming shades of awe
What a beauteous phenomenon perplexed wondering why?
The wonder amazed in the pupil of my eye
Visions - seeing the glamorous trees
I paint the birch flows with the black and white beauty
Thus I also see shades and the bark so prominent
Luscious the white - the ivory embedded in my mind
And the branches of the willow also flowing with the wind
With the breeze on my face - and the autumn leaves we find
Ah - gardens - flowers prominent too of hue
Bouquets of roses reflecting on you
I see the mountains - I see the waters
Still tracing the reflections in my id - my mind
Mentally I see blossoms - I see a solid rock
Of which to stand - God bless our land
May we walk paths feeding our eyes with colors
Predominant - Imagery now , I see the light
Painting the pictures in the beauty of daylight
In my world thus I appreciate and this I love
With the sunrise too in my eyes , from skies above
I am walking in life with God side by side
Instilling thoughts in my mind inside and outside
And may the world be always glistening
With thoughts in mind that God is always listening!
(Monkey Shines on Typewriter)
Monkey dreams, sex, more sex,
Banana nice too,
Once in a while!
Tastes better though
When cute butt peels for me
Too much rain,
Smell like stale carpet
Who will groom me now?
Something big comes,
Sure not stinky me!
Haul my ass up tree!
Dominant males
Chest thumping braggarts
Really stink I think!
Whoo Whoo Whooee!
Cute butt three trees over!
Maybe she wet too
No notice stinky me
Mistake me for brother
Until too late! Whooee!
Oh Wow! (thumping chest!)
Sweet, sweet, sweet, treat!
Was it good for you too cute butt?
Oh yes, right there!! Hmmmm!
You can groom me anytime!
Brian Johnston
November 1, 2014
Poet’s notes:
This poem started out as a joke on my current poetry contest that has the Challenge Title – ‘Words – The Heart of Imagination.’ I asked myself if monkeys have no words, but do have imagination like Bri Edwards claims to have in his poem (even without words), and I was translating these mental images in a monkey’s brain into English words as a kind of poem, what would it look like?
Bride You, Groom Me also brings to mind the famous line from the first Tarzan movie after Tarzan saves the beautiful blond Jane from certain death and takes her to his home in the trees swinging on vines with Jane over his shoulder..... He says 'Me Tarzan, you Jane!' Surely the greatest understatement of all time!
I sat in front of an empty canvass the other day,
Thinking of the perfect portrait in which I wanted to portray,
I began, and subconsciously I preceded to perfect my stroke,
Molding wonders until I hit a block, and my art began to choke,
Attempting to find myself within the collage of thoughts my brain created,
Getting weary though I watch my hands as they are unabated,
I try to consummate my masterpiece, but I lacked proper formation,
My creation was deficient without any present inspiration,
Though the colors were all of beauty, I found no amazement in my work,
I wanted to see the bigger picture, yet my eyes were consumed by murk,
I introverted the inner thoughts within my mind,
To grasp the feeling of a stunning work of art I'd hope to find,
Restrained by the idea of what I felt to be perfection,
Merely lacking understanding of my art's nonexistent affection,
As I meditate on my shortcomings the image is surely clear,
The raw emotion of my mental art is bigger than it appears,
As I alleviate my mind, I close my eyes to find a clue,
Mental images of your physical features start to cloud my view,
I chiseled jaw, facial hair, a coat of chocolate brown or two,
The perfect portrait lacks perfection without the image that is you.
Fantasy Fish In a Fantasy Ocean Contest
Sponsor: Julia Ward
From reality to imaginary,
Fantasized by unrestricted reason,
Mental images sink below the ocean,
These are the aquatic creatures this season.
This gigantic body of water,
No longer blue with a green tint,
Has become a nature mystery,
Now a deep purple aquatint.
The cold-blooded creatures,
No more gills and no eyes to see,
Pectoral fins connected to each other,
Making it very hard to flee.
Their caudal fin helps them swim,
It has grown six feet long,
With a measure of three feet in width,
Making the main fin very strong.
That is just my favorite fish, Bassy Trout,
I've seen thirty-five thousand more,
All unlike in nature and vibrant,
From global warming they have morphed.
Red, orange, yellow and blue,
All rainbows swimming in the purple,
Pink, green, cerulean and black,
Sleep all day, and at night nocturnal.
This is no dramatic day dream,
Or a strange obsolete hallucination,
I've sailed the oceans determined,
To see God's beautiful creation.
Written By: Laura Urbaniak
Date: November 18, 2015
Storytelling without words
Paintbrush in hand
Strokes of colors in various hues
Painting what I see, what I know
Creating masterpieces on canvas
This is what I've always done
This is what I do best
Life, alas, is too short
At sixty five young, a new skill
Switching paintbrush to quill
Putting words to my paintings
My thoughts of what I perceive
Beauty of expressions
Creating mental images
In rhythmical formed verses
This is what I'll attempt to do
You're never too old
Too learn new things
For Tracie's contest, "Gimmi What I Want... What I Really Really Want"
Warrior to dark's most daunting dreams
savior from thoughts that run too deep
Terrify, not one dares it seems
brings panacea to night's sleep
Beacon for flailing ships asea,
the Ana of fifty shades Grey
Beauty saving the nocturne beast
keeps subconscious demons at bay
Catches every breath with her smile
as summer's sun, a heart it warms
Intensity not seen awhile
quells the worst of fierce thunderstorms
Her touch, akin to the spring's rain
gently blooming buds to flowers
Still, mental images are vain
ne'er experience her powers
Shan't romance, seduce, love, or hold
hear her voice, feel her aura's beams
Suppose I could, though not so bold
so she must stay within my dreams
This-
This tableau of
Mental images, of
Fixed scenes, this
“Battle of Egos” is
Relentlessly looping
In my mind.
An annual gathering of kith and kin
Created a backdrop of statue-like characters
Blindly unaware of a
Crisis stirring.
Off to the side, there are the mothers,
Pillars of love for their sons,
Paralyzed with the knowledge that they are helpless,
Helpless as they watch
The conflict unfolding.
There-
There are the Fathers and Sons-
Distant and deaf to each other, who, in their inability to Set aside their own sense of rightness and wrongness,
Reach a point of no return.
A plea, from one, is given, but seen as a
Challenge from the other, and the whole
Facade of civility collapses.
With faces frozen and actions rigid,
Rage and resolve coalesce.
Fearful and dauntless, fathers confront sons and sons their fathers, and in that absolute moment
Familial roles shift.
Everything - everything is different, yet
Nothing changes.
Rooted and unmoved, egos remain.
So much is lost.
Nothing-
Nothing is gained.
The Journey Begins Contest
Sponsor: Matt Caliri
My transit began not too long ago,
My life had headed in directions,
So unclear, even to my own liking,
As my daily life of bombshells explode,
I ran in short distances,
Driving further away from consistency,
My direction changed that night.
I fell in love with the fire,
I had to burn,
In order to feel,
Something...anything...
Choices made from self pity,
Actions portrayed from insecurity,
And I bled...
...just to be alive.
See, that is only one part of my journey.
My life survived by making wise modifications,
My chains broke in March 2009,
And since then I have been determined,
To allow myself a fresh start,
Full of healthy mental images,
Getting drunk on happy moderation,
No mind altering chemicals would save me,
All the excess was swallowed whole,
This journey I have allowed myself to walk,
Brought me secure safety,
My conscience is finally free,
All my pain towards others,
And anguish inside my insanity,
Broke in a million of tiny pieces,
This new way of life is a gift,
Blessed with precious jewels,
Allowing surrender granted for my soul.
Now I have dreams,
Real dreams..
With real connections granted,
All my lessin's,
Turned into blessin's,
Now I sleep.
Now I care.
Now I live.
I am living my road less traveled,
I needed my wheels in motion,
In order to keep a journey so free,
By staying strong and being grateful...
...just to be alive.
Written By: Laura Urbaniak
Date: November 13, 2015
It's been awhile since I've had a taste.
A smorgasboard of artistic drug laced,
with passion, purpose,skill, and will,
beautiful with poetic appeal.
It's been awhile since my soul has taken this trip,
aboard these vehicles, our mothership,
that take ahold, of my mind and soul
letting me know, whose got control,
moving me, at the reigns,
of how I feel,
making me laugh, one moment,
another driving me to tears,
all the while I'm standing, or sitting still.
For you I am so thrilled,
to concieve, believe, and feel.
Your mere mental images that you paint,
across my mental landscape,
vivid pictures,
leaving me feeling faint.
But then like a fix,
I yearn for more,
poetic pleasures,
to even this score.
To the creator,
I give thanks,
for creating you all,
Poets, my brothers and sisters,
in literal signs,
giving this poetic junkie,
your shared words of love,
of the 'ummptenth'
divine time.
Images some clear and pure,
some hazy and blurred,
some tinted, some broken,
reflections i see in the mirror
on seeing them creates mental fear.
some still while few in motion,
shadows the mental images on the glass.
visualising them closer i feel i will fall
as mirror is hung on the wall
it tells the truth
broken images need to pick up and gather
join them And start afresh
i see a picture of child wonder whats going on her mind?
is there confusion why actions are being repeated?
when i smile i see opposite person smile or is it mine?
i frown she too frowns
i touch she too tries touching
but i cant feel it...
wondering is some one really there behind?
is child wondering about its own beauty or old age?
or simple curiosity of where it came from,
cant seem to trace...
child goes with a smile..
reflections talk a lot
need to feel And see
mirrors dont lie
see and introspect
truth will be revrealed
all queries answered
just alook
it gives a reality check
Feel the year-end mood
Rainy punctuation,
Wetness all around
Touch of strange passion
Words stretch away,
New permutations
Here the watcher
Stretches out waiting,
Touch of wonder
Feel the pulse
Of mental images,
Poise of new voices
I wait to know
Some surge of feelings,
Blend of new rhymes
When rhymes fail
To rhyme in time,
Awkward lines distort
Discard the fullness,
Be as empty,
Ready to be full
Words act defiant
Accessory to murder,
Creative impulse dies
Yet words make
A measure that fits,
Ordinary excavations
Be unafraid then
When muse is absent,
Time for meanderings
Poetry is best written
Fresh as a peach,
Eaten for pleasure
Verse or no verse
Distant echoes call,
Stanzas feed compact
No need to ask
Why this ash and dust,
Let the fire burn
If you must know
Death's at the door,
Dye or die anon
Do not go beyond
That unknown sea,
For life calls to you
Christmas here
Tropical promontory,
Crumbling facades
Soon this old year
Must die to resurrect,
Phoenix reborn again
Only three more days
Till a new year
Arrives at the doorstep
Soul journeys feed
Wonder and wander,
Return to sender
Leon Enriquez
28 December 2014
Singapore