Best Visions Poems
Now that only forgotten promises remain,
sounds of solitude are gifts I wish to obtain.
Sentiments are temporary in a world full of change,
affections are wasted in an insincere exchange.
Some say my words are engraved too deep,
others feel expression is only cheap,
so close your mind and enjoy your sleep.
because if you hear me then you'll weep.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
My soul's invisible, your ignorance won't see it crying.
Inquest of a grief stricken heart concludes into spirit dying.
Trauma vibrates like an orchestra of lightning horns,
with fate bleeding thistles in a rose garden of thorns.
In the mourning of seeds that blossomed too soon,
breathless, I wrote my name with stardust on the moon,
but now i wander in a meadow full of nettles,
as the ink of life is a burden upon the sepals.
With silent sighs hidden behind a poetic verse,
I ponder if the quill is a blessing or a curse.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
You see...
I'm struggling to discover a reason to survive,
so I stand here screaming at the Grim Reaper to arrive.
He mocks and laughs at the patheticness of my pleas,
whilst inner demons offer my soul no apologies.
I can see cosmic imposters in ebony horizons,
misleading like fake guides sparkling like diamonds.
Reminds me of a veiled star that never forgave me,
who betrayed me to decay in the death of my poetry.
Sometimes we have to forget our hearts visions
Life don't come with any terms and conditions
Forgive me if I seem emotionally challenged,
as I hide my feelings when everything seems unbalanced.
Oh regret, why do you look back with such anger?
Sometimes words are the most toxic form of cancer.
Are these just twilight stories before a prelude of sunset,
or unwritten feelings I've learned to suppress, to forget?
When the
moon muses
to the
melody of memories,
roaming wisps
of vanilla gently
flow through
space and time.
Your voice
echoes through
scintillating
sheets of
unwavering waves,
like lullabies laced
into silver nightfalls.
Within my
mourning sight,
invisible feathers
form into
clouds appearing
as wings,
swiftly swerving
and reflecting
perfumed “ forget-me-nots.”
A reminder
that you’ll always
be gracing our horizons
from
dusk till dawn.
I’ll savor your
memoirs within
pastel colored pages of
my purple journal.
I’ll recite
your favorite poem,
like
starlight over groves
of
silk and ebony.
Tomorrow before
the sky
tumbles down,
let the
sunflower stillness speak.
When these
tears are unlocked,
rain serenades symphonies
of
sentimental seconds,
lost to the
ticking truth
of fleeting
grains from
sinister silence.
You’ll feel my words
rising and
reaching
the seventh sky,
beyond unwritten
woes and throes,
as you
sway upon a
golden swing
engraved with
diamond dusts
and
daphne dreamcatchers.
As dawn breaks across the rugged land,
vague shapes begin to blurrily appear.
images of mythical creatures now seen
briefly then brushed away they dissolve.
Is it these images that give legends birth?
the tales of Unicorns and dragons?
The stories of three headed beasts
that wander through the mist shrouds?
Pea soup mists that you can almost push aside
abruptly vanishing as the sun burns them off.
Leaving the landscape we all know and accept
yet memories remain of fantastical things.
That re-emerge in our dreams
leaving us with uncertainty and
knowledge deep down within
that mist cloaks and blinds
what lies beyond the veils of time
pages to a story like dreams to a night
while consciousness starts to dim unconsciousness remains bright
like words to a book that composes a plots design
thoughts create a vision to which a dream refines
when eyelids act as mirrors and not protective shields
they reflect the visions that lucid dreams reveal
when the mind remains alert, its creativity waves
but during the state of slumber imagination reigns
as logic takes a back seat, while consciousness remains asleep
the mind displays a movie the memory fails to fully keep
but sometimes a vision is more than just a dream
like the patches of the past un-stitched at the seams
suffocating senses with the rush of emotions so fast
like getting in a time machine and travelling to the past
the body remains still at the time speed barrier
as the mind excellerates forward using thoughts as the carrier
the faster forward into the past, the slower the future becomes
as time travel is only possible in the mind away from the universe's hum
the past it jumps to a vision of times unknown
as the heart reveals to the mind how it wants the future to be shown
like molecules of a comet frozen in space halted by the speed of time
thoughts race forward to find the visions there in the future's mind
like a drawing made with a pencil, the mind details the future in shades of gray
but the road that appears before is a path with a colorful display
as the mind races forward the body remains untravelling
with every vision seen the future continues unravelling
the end of this road is close as the vision reveals a clearing
yet the path to a new road begins and the end of this one is nearing
now the grays fill in with colors as the dawn of reality resumes its essence
the role of logic takes control while consciouness unites the present
like the sun brings light to the face of a new dawn
in the mind inspiration for the future has spawned
Somehow amona the hidden leaves
of time when quietude swerves
on a road leading me to reach
for waning hours ,
there is a lush of evening's breath
panting inside those marble eyes
that if I gaze long enough into darkness
your iced look will blink, to open windows
that are locked by hinges creating knots enmeshed
The distant screams paint your irises j
utting out from a frame of hard lids
buried deeply on frigid weeds--
and the night loses its elegance
while your crystal tears invade the shining glow
behind the lamp within your eyes---| learn to understand how confidential this time is when you fade away,
knowing not I am there
Love Contest Nicola Byrne
Re-submitted 10/16/2016
Scarecrow’s tattered clothes
Clever birds are never fooled
Sit defiantly
Arms of hay hold heckling birds
Eating the last grains of corn
Nature’s curtain falls
Vibrant leaves make no encore
Tumble to damp soil
Yellows and reds turn to brown
Trees’ skeletal limbs shudder
Fall’s first kiss of frost
Invades farmer’s pumpkin patch
Hardy fruit withstands
Trick-or-treaters carve faces
Jack-o-lanterns light doorsteps
Walk with me, my child, before you grow
Hear of the world I’d like you to know
A unified Earth without country divisions
One without governments to make decisions
A world where people are not judged by race
Color neutral, can you imagine this place?
Freedom to worship as each one pleases
No hate-based reproaches, just loving breezes
All would have food, shelter and joy
Care would be given to each girl and boy
Mother Nature would smile upon us all
No earthquakes, tsunamis or mudslide falls
Art would be revered and beauty bestowed
Never again would war sounds explode
Now tell me, dear child, do you share my dream
For you hold the power to build a new team
Our youth may set our tomorrow in motion
Precepts like these need not only be notions
Lacy elegance in white
snowy stars are dancing down
dancing, reeling little sprites
celebrating in wintry white gowns.
Form "Lind30"
Thanks Robert!
A slice of glistening ice
mirrors sky.
Enchantedly I trace it
with my eyes.
Periwinkle winks
from a butterfly’s wings
as he flits among
blue daisies’
upturned faces.
Merging with mauve,
sapphire breathes
sublimity to my soul.
Stars begin to dance
on its canvas.
Jan. 7, 2019 for the Blue Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish
"Visions"
Poetry must speak to you
you must listen
not to what the mind speaks
but to what the heart delivers
some have the vision
some do not
this is truth
sometimes the truth is too hot
you think you are getting close
too close to the other who is touched
you are not for getting that close
to such insanity to be touched
by a poem that holds no rhyme
and so the story goes
life is a never-ending poem
with no hard and fast rhyme
the soft valued curves come and go
there, in that place of listening
time has drawn no hard line
you will feel
that you must bargain with reason
logic in that place
holds no importance
you will feel, and
you must listen,
not to what the mind speaks
but to what the heart delivers
Poetry must speak to you
the better part of you must listen
some have the vision
some do not
there in that place of listening
logic, like the mind, holds no importance
Candide Diderot. ‘24
Embrace The Line
I do embrace that line- a badge of hope,
which left a shadow of sure death behind.
It represents the power to survive
with feats of expert hands which met the goal.
The need to put one's life on hold to gain
a better one- a promising new fate;
the fight to mend, become robust again.
I do embrace that line, a badge of faith.
A symbol of accomplishment it is;
the chance that claimed a victory for life.
That line, a jagged zipper that secures
his beating heart, amended, good as new.
I do embrace- caress that lovely line-
my darling husband's triple bypass scar.
His faded seam is etched in ivory grace-
bestowing added years of love to share.
Three decades passed, since that fantastic day
when this great miracle expanded time
for both of us to live a healthy life-
a tribute to that line- a badge of hope.
Cold clear water lapped
against the tall green grass
from lakes filled with bass
and red and black robins
stand splashing their backs
Among green waving ferns
lying on the sandy bottoms
As mists gently tiptoe through
on silent feet in early Autumn
Bright yellow dandelions
and white daffodils dot the wilds,
as fragrances of wild rose drifts across the fields
Puffy white clouds hurry by in reply
A shiny red apple hangs alone in the sky
Three girls lay white in the sand
And snow lands gently on feet and hands
Brushed by the wind it wanders thru the night
And each one arrives clean and bright
Red ripe strawberries snuggle against bright green nests
While lazy white rabbits and big black owls rest
Orange and gold leaves float serenely by
Tracing patterns in the fading twilight
And still three girls lay white in the sand
Crystallized desert
Yellow umbrellas shall rise
And weasel shaped dimes
Overcome by a wave of curiosity
I decided to try out seriosity
For which I'd no particular precocity
'Twas an ill-fated breeze of impetuosity
With visions absurd of grandiosity
I'd portray Julius Caesar with proper pomposity
Though, to be sure, my toga's fit was an atrocity
Not to mention my Latin dialogue's tortuosity
Yet utterly convinced of my latent geniosity
I spoke my lines with preternatural verbosity
Hark! Were those boos of unaccustomed ferocity?
~ To the nearest Exit, tomato-smeared, at hypervelocity...
Ghosts
Enter
Quietly
Loneliness adds
Form to night visions
Curtains ruffled by wind
Take shapes of apparitions
Moonbeams casting eerie shadows
Oak branches shivering in the breeze
Turn away, lie on your chest, expel ghosts