Conjured Poems | Examples

a familiar fragrance

footle
with a 
twiddle 
is this 
poem
conjured
with ease

is there
any 
reason
why we
should not
do as
we please

we weave
magic
as pure
bliss beats
which but
mirror
heartbeats

don’t think
just feel
our love 
as heart’s
vibrant
refrain
repeats

City in the sky

The world is like a city in the sky,
conjured as it were, by the will of God
and immersed therein, each soul seeks to fly,
engaged in lust, giving not love a nod,
suffering needlessly till heart has thawed.
When vibrant emptiness becomes the norm,
we’re impacted not by destiny’s storm,
recognising earth life as but a dream,
with the laws of God choosing to conform,
in blissful rapture atop love’s moonbeam.

Unprecedented Memories

Former co-workers out for dinner and brew,
discussing their old workplace's who's who -
they vied for the honor of best memory,
their mind's eyes conjured faces they could see.
I spoke of a man, and I persisted, 
till they recalled one who never existed.

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04.08.25

I tore
up the letter;
the last one you sent me.
The memories it conjured up
were just to painful for me to recall.
Memories of happier days
destroyed in just one page.
Heart ripped in two,
I tore

Zen mode

one with the vastness, conspiring with space 
magnetised palms transmit radiant light
if the receptor chooses to embrace
healing mists infuse heightened bliss delight
that by God’s hands, wrongs suffered are made right
thus in monk mode, energies with love yoked
magic is conjured, divine grace invoked

witchs elixir

witch’s elixir
sooths aches and pains and headaches
some doctor with her

she sees remedies
conjured by her night visions
natural healer

Vacation

We're going on vacation 
Words innocent and pure
Visions of sun and beaches 
Are conjured up for sure

The marketers are genius
At portraying family bliss
A carefree family skipping
Through waves not to be missed

But just below the surface 
Lurk undertones of woe
The preparations necessary
Belay the surface glow

The focus turns to prepping
The job, the house the yard
The feeding of the pets
The domicile to guard

And then there is the packing
The lists, and lists of lists
And luggage bulging at the seams
I think you get the gist

And finally departure
On crowded roads no less
Who turned off the oven
We fret and try to guess

Perpetual construction
And hours of sitting still
Are we there yet yell the children
It's pure parental hell

So if you didn't need one
When planning this vacay
You certainly do now
I hope it goes your way!

Lullaby of 2125

Once there lived a wizard who practiced thumbcraft,
who conjured with swipes and spells from his draft.
He began just at two with a clever old trick,
skipping ads on YouTube with a finger click.

By five he could summon a friend with a ping,
And charm them to stay with a joke or a zing.
At ten, he was crowned the king of the feed,
And levelled though boredom at lightning speed.
At twelve, he could filter his face into gold,
Hiding the parts that were wrinkled or old.

As he grew, he summoned up worlds on demand,
And unlocked new spells with a flick of his hand.
He bottled attention in shimmering views,
Then danced for the lords of the infinite cues.

His magic wand was a relic with light in its core,
A whispering flame that murmured, 'more and more".

Very soon, his scrolling sorcery reached its peak.
As ghost-echoed laughter grew brittle and bleak.

So, sleep, my child, while the blue shadows swell,
For Thumb Ms. Flick has vanished—and become the spell.

Musings on dreams

“Self observes waking, dreaming and deep sleep ~
In stillness taking a consciousness leap”
            ~ quote by poet


Relying on instincts in the dream state,
there remains neither logic nor free will,
as we accept therein, our ordained fate,
with no knowledge of our inherent skill.

Perhaps the waking state too is a dream,
conjured by an unknown force in control,
cajoling us to dance on fate’s moon beam,
which we accept as our destined life role.

Waking or dreaming, for soul is the same,
if detached consciousness be self-aware,
with neither fears nor desires left to tame,
having no needs, save a breath of fresh air.

Detached and nonchalant to what appears,
divine dweller of our heart, life course steers.

Flower Chide II,the bloomquake

They will not honor your fragrant breath
They’ll use it as ode, or veil, or death.
Not love, but lack—will wear your name,
Your petals will ache beneath borrowed fame.”
Lotus's voice now split Nefarys in bloom and bone
A bloomquake of breath from root to stone.
It hummed through husks and whisperseed dark,
Not all bent—but some curved toward the crack.”

They conjured a crown from the tilt of her head
And wore their suspicion like garlands of dread.
Rose's poise now echoed as plotting or pride
As if grace could not bloom without thorns to hide.
She hadn’t crowned herself, nor thorned by decree
But rumor, like ivy, climbed every tree.

Petalring came, and Nefarys stirred in bloom-fire,
Drifting in garlands, in hymns spun from lyre.
Colors rang louder than the lull they concealed,
And praise filled the air, but one name was sealed.

Rose drew near the rim where the chorus ran high,
And Tulip stepped forward, with a glint in her eye.
“You sit on your throne,” said Lily, stiff and clear,
“This isn’t your place, your roots end here.
Rose turned, not defeated, nor eager to flee—
But as one who had grown past the ring’s legacy.

How was the universe created

In God’s heart an intent arose,
which we may simply call His will,
to manifest the universe,
where agape love may overspill.

God conjured earth, water and fire 
which are present in every form
and once this knowing we acquire,
bastions of wisdom we can storm.

These three elements God combined,
to create all that’s manifest,
by force of His absolute mind,
each form being by His touch blessed.

There then are only these three things,
within all diverse forms beheld
and in each heart God Himself sings,
that soul may choose with Him to meld.

Reworded, we do not exist,
as a separate entity;
of highest truth, this is the gist ~
false is ego identity.

All we see is an appearance,
diverse spectrum of vibration,
wherein all that is, is entwined,
commingled with God’s creation.

Scripture read, differing we say,
air and space deserve inclusion;
we need them too in form of clay,
five entwined in perfect fusion.

Legerdemain

The magician wore 
my mother’s perfume
and conjured family 
from thin air—
a brother renamed uncle,
a wife recast as mother,
a daughter vanishing 
behind a tale of bees.

Each sleight of hand was tender—
a hush, a smile, a bowl of soup
cooling on the Formica
while the truth was sawed in half
and tucked beneath the linoleum.

No one told me why
my “uncle” broke my father’s ribs,
or that dad’s flu came in a bottle.
No one told me my brother 
had been in prison.
No one told me 
I was adopted—
until Aunt Mary dropped the card
like an afterthought,
the queen of spades
sliding from her sleeve.

They said Virginia 
died of a bee sting—
a prettier tale than 
what swelled inside her,
the blood pressure and seizures,
the silence that followed 
her body home.

And no one told me
that my mother wasn’t my mother
until dad blurted it out
on his deathbed.

I didn’t know the word for it
when I was little:
legerdemain—
sleight of hand,
sleight of memory,
the practiced art
of not quite lying
while saying nothing true.

awake in the dream

we are still but life around moves
if lust rises, soul disapproves
world, a dream, conjured by desire
which fleeting goal do we aspire 
amidst images shape shifting
wisps of smoke around us drifting
the movie unfolds as was caused
but freezing the frame, we have paused
mood and mode, embrace and release 
flowing thus with nonchalant ease
in timeless time coming undone
recognising we all are one
linked together with threads of love
God’s grace pouring in from above

From darkness to light

Lost
in clouds
of dark fears,
mirrored by lust,
we were encircled
by demons we conjured,
which in mists of forgetting,
became the cross we now carry,
the heavy baggage of attachments,
weighing heavily on our bleeding heart.

Help was close at hand inked in hues of love,
prompting consciousness to learn by touch,
melding head with heart in silence,
that thus dissolving ego,
we recognise our Self,
as God’s living light,
in cave of heart,
reflecting
all His
love.

Deprived Of Your Love - POTD

I can’t rid of the bags under my eyes
The crowfeet despise, all were lies,
Conjured was an illusion of you
Throughout my groping confusion
evasive, flimsy
A-m-o-r-p-h-i-c, innuendos 
I was subjected to your derision 
dissing me relentlessly
deriding my appearance,
disparaging my intellect
as I stumbled and fell into the abyss 
Mocking doesn’t suit my countenance
My lips desert dry, thirsty, parched
An amazon no longer beats its drum
My buoyant nature now laden with coarsened shroud 
Leaving a cardboard moon deprived of its shine
Stars like candles blown out one by one
No use waiting for the rising Sun
The end of world does come,
stopped spinning neath heavy ebon clouds
Expectations unreal
All zeal gone, listless is my spirit
along with my illumination
Now you see me
unmasked in raw anguish
I      d
     r
     o
        o
            p 
jowls hang from endless
torment endured
like the drenched and cold, wounded hawk
taken flight, eagle-eyed, a warrioress
more determined and bold, traveling on
with unlimited range
and self-esteemed 
This bird, 
 you 
c
  a
   n
  n
o
t  c h a n g e

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