Best Picturing Poems
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
Memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down its stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
When I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory
Picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed.
And a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
And I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
And play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
For the Sweet Valentine Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
Categories:
picturing, lost love, love, me,
Form:
Couplet
.
There like the bloom of a mystical flower,
a crescent moon smiles this day
Before the sun comes to offer good morning,
bright its illumined display
While here I stand gazing north towards the heavens,
dreaming of days yet to be
Watching the glow on an autumn horizon,
I feel it grinning at me
Picturing moments of enchanted splendor,
beautiful scenes float my eyes
Seeking a sign as the dawn now awakens,
upon these slumbering skies
When in a whisper this moon sends a message,
softly it says from above
“Here in this smile my crescent is showing,
know she is sending her love”
This is the first poem I posted on soup. I am not new to the site but find I learn something new every time I stop in to read. I actually like this poem because the moon is always an inspiration to me. As well, the wonderful poets I have met on this site always inspire me to be better.
Categories:
picturing, love,
Form:
Rhyme
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down the stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
when I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory,
picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed,
and a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
and I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
and play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
Submitted June 26, 2022
for Mark Toney's the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5' Poetry Contest
Categories:
picturing, lost love, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
I can't remember a time when
My heart trusted any men
Because all those in my past
Made all my trust issues last
From a father not caring
About all the days I'm tearing
Up from the love he never granted
And the tender hugs I wanted
Or a brother who gave me
Love I was too young to see
Was hurtful and very fake
Too much for a kid to take
No one there for protection
From all this wrong and deception
Growing up and getting wise
I learned all the painful lies
Could never leave my heart alone
Every memory they've shown
Me how unfaithful men can be
Leaving my life misery
In a child growing up too fast
Because of the sorrowed past
I was forced to grow up in
Each day I begin again
Picturing how I can not
Keep my world from falling apart
From the flashing nightmares of
The memories of hurtful love
Categories:
picturing, abuse, childhood, future, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
Good poetry is the sounds of words created and bringing these words to life
Picturing the sight’s and even smells in your mind by just reading a few words
Good poetry can bring tears and smiles within a few sentences causing emotions
It can be Judged as an N/A and yet read by many and enjoyed by many
Shakespeare was a good poet when he was alive and became a great poet after his death
Through your words you bring thoughts and feelings by others who read it today and yet
Tomorrow is another day and in the future you just might be another Shakespeare
Shakespeare’s poetry has traveled through time and has brought to many
Life through his written words he had no spell check or guidance he wrote from his heart
No contest to enter or instant notability through computers, he only used his pen translating
His thoughts and feelings turning them into these simple words we call, poetry
Never doubt yourself in your thoughts and feelings, they belong to you and no one else’
Categories:
picturing, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Scrambling tooth and nail for a patterned fate
I approached the lofty mansion of Learning's Gate.
All cued up for a slip of paper - the one they call Degree,
halfway convinced that I hallucinated humanity.
For who under their own free will would venture
into this spiraling sameness:
this illustriously-in-debt, this Regal Club
of the Nameless?
I bellowed my voice into the air
(This great atrocity!).
But not a single student seemed to care:
So well fashioned they were,
adorned in their prized medals of mediocrity.
Along with their unwillingness to ever stray,
all too content to be but rainbows dreaming of gray.
I hung my head in such morose emptiness.
As I fashioned myself: the uniquely ubiquitous.
And what a fool I was to join the crowd - and yet so halfheartedly.
Striving for the cirrus clouds, the silver moon, and then the galaxy.
For my actions didn't match my cerebral creativity
I was statue still cursed with a meandering mind
(and other such extremities).
Exploding with hopes large enough for two
I sat clearly convinced languid leaps would do.
But one cannot daintily decide to dream the Dream
for it is merely the seed, another earthly deed.
You're not allowed to walk away, gandering as it grows,
for we are likened as the summer sun - keeping the rivers a'flow.
"Picturing profits in your hands
do not till the all too ready land"
explained the elderly gent with leathered palms,
"Someday soon you will understand."
And though we aim to be ourselves
gravity inevitably
brings us to the grid.
Imagination like a heavy rain;
we the paper people
so helplessly hid.
But fear not ye denizens
of the cherished cubbyhole:
where you keep under lock and key
your dust-laden soul.
If one burgeoning blunder
tore it all asunder
surely one single spirited spark
could heal even the most
dormant of hearts.
So fare thee well oh Cookie Cutter Coop -
Another day on that wretched plain, and I'd surely die.
I'm glad just to sever sameness in one fell swoop
by hanging on a star in the midnight sky.
NOTE: I always enjoyed using alliteration when I could... and with this particular one I went a little bit nutty... but I think it turned out okay.
Categories:
picturing, allegory, education, freedom, growing
Form:
Alliteration
Who in their lifetime hasn't planted a Peach Pit
Just hoping that somehow a seedling would grow
And then they move on to some other adventure
And if it comes up-well they don't even know
That's one way of picturing your style of living
You've planted ideas and dreams unaware
You've noticed somebody who's heart needs attention,
and planted a positive feeling in there
It's part of your nature
You may not remember the kind and encouraging things you've done
But everywhere, Peach Pits are growing like crazy
And people are blooming
Categories:
picturing, feelings,
Form:
Free verse
We met a few years ago, then suddenly you were gone
We danced the very last dance to our favourite song
Happenings in our lives took control of our tomorrows
That evening when you walked away, filled my heart with sorrow
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I heard the telephone ring, I answered and you were there
And we spoke of the past few years, these years we could have shared
The time flew by when we talked, sharing our pasts to date
When you said you'd like to meet up again, my heart just couldn't wait
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I picked you up from the Airport, you hadn't changed at all
Six foot plus with sky blue eyes, still leaving me enthralled
We settled into our night for tomorrows journey we'll make
To a rented cottage so idyllically set, down by the lake
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The morning came so fast as we set of on our trip
Again going over the years, picturing like a movie clip
Our destination now reached, refreshed we head for a meal
At a restaurant overlooking the lake, our pasts begin to seal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back to the cottage we go, as you gently take my hand
So dreamy under the full moon, is this what fate had planned
You play our favourite song, the one we danced to so long ago
As you take me in your arms, something in me flows
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
We look into each others eyes as you ruffle my long blond hair
I see desire looking back from your manly sky blue stare
Slowly we discard our clothes as you lay me on the bed
Adventurous discovering hands declare our minds well read
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Our passion resonates, excitement fills the air
Years of catching up in delightful bodily share
We awaken in the morning, spooned within my reach
Our love has been reborn, re-found visiting Qualicum Beach
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love-15.php
Categories:
picturing, love, passion, people, placesme,
Form:
Couplet
Poetry is my insanity
Poetry is my insanity,
sparks collected on flat mirrored walls,
frantic phrases floating
in a spectrum’s pulsating palette,
picturing Dali-esque icicle melted webs
and chromatic landscapes
blurring in the distance
Dancing to the demented sounds
of brain cells singing, Zappa inspired
A cappella rhythmic compositions,
ringing monotone echoes
in between Jupiter and the ghosts
counting off beat pendulum swings
on fingers and toes
Words with eyes, they see, they stare
they blink, they close,
wandering attic crawl spaces
casting neon shadows,
illuminating ideas
passed on to the next pair
lashing out as another retreats
Pulling on my heart,
squeezing every last thought of love,
oozing in blacklight ink, day-glo sunrises
of roach clip offerings on psychedelic posters,
depicting ceramic moons
fluttering midst crayon heavens
eating stardust candy…
Poetry is my insanity
and it is driving me crazy…
in the best possible way
Categories:
picturing, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
Sam took to the stage, limping with a leg brace
And more than a mere trace of fear on his face
The humorous speech competition was on
He’d made it to finals, prior contests he’d won
Sam’s lifelong bout with muscular dystrophy
Generated sadness and much empathy
He shook and stammered as he started to speak
Competitors thought his composure he’d breach
“Stage fright is shared by many,” the boy explained
And as he began, his eye contact seemed strained
We wanted to rush to his side, offer aid
Little did we know Sam’s point was being made
He’d soon have us laughing at the “crutches” WE use
To gain courage when stage fright ensues
“I’m picturing you all naked,” he laughed, smiled
Soon his sharp wit had us rolling in the aisle
His strength and confidence built fast as he spoke
Sam finished up with a memorable poke:
“You thought I would fail; I read it in your eyes
Seeing only my handicap, I realize.
Those who can’t see beyond disabilities
Are mired in self fear; YOU have MY sympathy.”
Out of four thousand entrants, Sam took first place
Impressing us all with his wisdom and grace
Today Sam coaches a college debate team
Having mastered the art of building esteem
*September 8, 2020
For Chantelle’s “Courage” Poetry Contest
Categories:
picturing, courage, fear,
Form:
Rhyme
(Hopefully these words are in beat with the lyrics from “The Hills are Alive” from “The Sound of Music”)
I write what I feel with poetic magic
while picturing things that I wish to see.
By letting thoughts flow with poetic magic,
there is not a place that I cannot be.
I take up my pen and I think of myself
in flight over clouds with some birds.
I soar through the sky as I fly and I fly
with the rhyme of my words.
I paint with my pen how the heaven’s hues
are first blue, then they’re pink!
I dip and I glide, and then into twilight I sink.
I write what I feel, for I am a poet.
I picture a thing as I hold my pen.
What flights I might take with poetic magic
as I write again!
For A Strand (1054) Poetry Contest
Dec. 2, 2021
Categories:
picturing, poetry,
Form:
Lyric
Falling in Love with a Writer is a Faulty Design
We see things that other females
don’t pay a tuppence to.
Like a half-burned cigarette tail,
Your osculation of deep, dense rouge—
A secret trusted only by two.
With our own hands, we mimic time
And manipulate the world you once knew.
Falling in love with a writer is a faulty design.
To your heart, we assail
With words plunked to a tune;
In your soul, with great force, we impale.
From a love-front angle of view
You might feel a tad misconstrued,
like a poorly mixed cocktail.
Ricochet from baseline to fault line,
But every time you pull through ‘cause you knew,
That falling in love with a writer is a broken design.
When we close our eyes and slowly inhale;
We hear the laughter of a family in an empty room
And unveil the retold, recycled tales.
Picturing why the dust rests less heavily on one broom,
And can smell the meal Ma cooked when they came home from school.
From the underworld and past the skyline,
We scour everything down to its last detail.
Falling in love with a writer is a grueling design.
To us, your eyes flourish like flowers in June
With lips– silky like cabernet wine.
And although sometimes we forget to say we love you,
Remember that falling in love with a writer can be a beautiful design.
Categories:
picturing, beautiful, beauty, love, love
Form:
Ballade
Gearing up to what should be magical
Special winter to be a first of firsts
Brand spanking new at the grand-parent thing
Marshmallow snowsuits, sleighs and Santa Claus
First fluffy snowflakes falling from above
The Christmas tree lit up with shiny balls
Starring our nine-month old baby darling
Picturing with glee the sheer confusion
Crazy folk coaxing him to be wreckless
Bows, ribbons and coloured flashy paper
A few minutes of this and he’ll get bored
To make him magnificently happy
He just wants a cardboard box and cookie
Our Christmases will never be the same
Knowing next year he’ll be more into it
Now we just drool at all the photo ops
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
Submitted for contest MY WINTER sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - November 17, 2017 - RANKED 5TH
Categories:
picturing, baby, christmas, confusion, fantasy,
Form:
Verse
Sitting and watching the clouds roll by
scattered across a bright blue sky
picturing how much fun it would be
to walk on a cloud, flying free
Standing atop that white fluffy mist
drifting through heaven, by the sun kissed
or glowing at night by light of the moon
‘neath a million stars unseen at noon
Running and jumping through billows and folds
discovering all of the secrets it holds
floating along like a visible dream
or a giant lofty mountain of cream
And gold and silver have far less worth
than being so high above the Earth
carelessly cruising along the breeze
higher than even the tallest trees
I see where I live as I look down
within my palm I could fit my town
so big down there, but small from up here
my view from the sky so crystal clear
And there’s my mom outside our house
much smaller than a tiny mouse
she calls for me, and I know why
so I jump from the cloud and down through the sky
And in my yard I gently land
when my mother takes me by the hand
into the dining room where waits
the dinner table and the plates
What do I see to my delight?
My mom’s roast beef, that wonderful sight
and mashed potatoes piled high
that bring my mind back to the sky
Atop those clouds where I did play
so magical and so far away
and if I simply close my eyes
I’m on my cloud above the skies
Categories:
picturing, childhood, fantasy, imagination, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
when the words barely flow
trickling as the winter stream
and
thoughts cheat the night
tossing and turning
not coming out right
that's when I look to you
picturing
those soft dreamy eyes
undressing me
that silken smooth hair
dangling
upon broad shoulders
in the sweet scent of comfort
my heart flutters
my mind frees
and
words flow with ease
knowing
you're only one heartbeat away
Categories:
picturing, love,
Form:
Free verse