Life Imagery Poems | Examples
These Life Imagery poems are examples of Imagery poems about Life. These are the best examples of Imagery Life poems written by international poets.
Perhaps, I were your wife,
Would you have made me a paper tiger,
one that looks fierce but cannot bite?
Perhaps, I were your husband,
Would you have used feminism to emasculate me,
turning me into a yo-yo at your whim?
Perhaps, I were your friend,
Would you have made me a clown,
one who makes you laugh but lives in sorrow?
Perhaps, I were your servant,
Would you have made me a sea squirt,
eating his own brain just to serve you?
Perhaps, I were your parent,
Would you have made me a burden,
one who bends his back to feed your pride?
Perhaps, I were your child,
Would you have made me subservient to your greed,
one who loses his future to your ego?
Perhaps, I weren’t yet born,
Would you have been proud to weave me in your DNA,
one you breathe life into to erase your doubts?
Perhaps, this were only a poem,
Would you have thought of it a classic,
one that would stand the firm test of time?
fawn breaks a glass pond
snoozed snout by a toad posing
gauged flight perturbed gnat
The bubble is bound to burst
before long; therefore at least
A gondola you should opt for
For letting loose your emotions
Loaded with almost all oceans
Curved currents and foams
Potential fear amidst delight
and excitement; your sights
blurred by beauty that roams
along the edges of the figure
Flooding your whole existence
Mopping off all distance
Of time and space in braincase
Only the embrace, you write
and replace, the lips and face
In cloud base and fireplace
In cold case and in a horse race
Mewing wooing cooing
Howling, growling, prowling.
Doing, undoing and redoing
Life is never a straight line
Bland canned and flatland
It's waist band and dreamland
Fascinating woodland
Crescent and fluorescent
Incessantly effervescent
So no monochrome of woe
No saying always not and no
Instead, the bugle of gusto
In the meadow with a rainbow
Always the wonderful gun
In your lovely hair-bun
___________________
18 September 2025
Blood from blood, bone from bone,
Under the partially eclipsed moon of a burgundy-red sky,
A murder of crows gathers on the barren carcass of branches,
Whilst mist clings to a chipping tombstone.
Hardened petrichor shifts ever so slightly,
Awaiting the awakening of revenge incarnate.
The witching hour is almost upon us;
Noir-cloaked figures emerge from the passing shadows.
A High Priestess holds firm an ancient Book of Shadows.
As the metaphysical clock strikes two,
Yellowed pages frantically flip to an incantation.
The underlings take their positions at the four corners,
While she takes her place in the center.
Chanting the passage simultaneously, resurrection is forthcoming,
As shrivelled nightshade blooms to ritualistic life
And the paramount witch returns from her unsettled slumber.
The Wheels of Dharma turn in their favour.
Scorched lands and vengeance follow,
As Armageddon ushers in a new era.
A WINDY SUMMER DAY
Planes sailing the sky…
Waving trees shadow the sun…
Kid’s paper plane day…
sea is turbulently stormy this darkened night
eyes watch in awe, wonder and fright
anchor secured holds passenger ship tight ~
A hush of gray descends, the world outside a blur
Of weeping glass and dancing leaves, a gentle stir.
The scent of wet earth and cooled pavement climbs the air,
As warmth from a steaming cup soothes away all care.
In her hands, a porcelain hug, the tea's floral grace,
Sweet steam whispers against the skin of her face.
The book on her knees, a weight of stories untold,
Its paper scent, a comfort, a history to hold.
The rhythmic drum of rain against the pane,
A soft, percussive melody to wash away the pain.
Each drop a tiny echo of a memory long past,
A life unfolding, too beautiful to ever last.
A sip of warmth, a bitter-sweet and soothing brew,
A taste of all the moments she has ever been through.
The cool ceramic on her palms, a solid, gentle feel,
The world outside is fading, but this moment is so real.
She closes her eyes and listens to the low hum,
The quiet symphony of the world she's come from.
The taste of tea, the smell of rain, the warmth within her soul,
The past and future merge to make her present whole.
These silent pages, barren, white,
as still as any snow-filled night,
will come to life when dawn begins to breathe.
Then words, in fresh emotion caught,
like wind-blown leaves from limbs of thought,
drift down to paint the emptiness beneath.
In vivid colors, crisp and clean,
they whirl across the frozen scene
and circle in a poem like a wreath.
O Rhyme! how I express my joy in thee;
but sorrow drains desire, and grace received,
depriving me of your vivacious sea
of gilded imagery. I deceived,
for happiness and cheer leap from my page:
though melancholy, the womb of all odes,
the false bliss which bloomed in the soil of rage,
doomed me, and love, to life's despondent roads.
But I, both human and bard, now declare:
brave words inspired, but deep insight brought pain.
Like diamonds, forged by pressure and fine care,
bright hope reflect'd its glory, then healed my brain.
Hence, my rhymes, sung with new elation's blood,
build heaven on earth where only hell has stood.
GETTING READY IN NATURE
Lions shaking all off…
Elephants self showering…
Snakes changing their skins…
Human nature needs cleaning…
Time to wipe out injustice…
The moon, luscious drop,
soothing the chaff of day.
The stars, flocks of grazing
glitters -- heavenly sheep
tallied till the dawn of
a new and hopeful morn --
Earth, making fond concentric
circles; beloved sun,
her prime and central spark --
All is right, with God’s light and dark.
AN AVIAN WALK
What a peaceful walk!
Palisade-treed-birds, echoing:
Ringing ears silenced:-
Once, when I was small,
and banished to the hall
for something I had done that wasn't right,
I stood awhile in shame,
but then the sunlight came,
and lit the dusty air with dancing light.
I watched in wondering awe,
as suddenly I saw,
what, standing in the shadows, I'd not seen.
Invisible, but there,
the dust that filled the air
had caught the light and turned to silver sheen.
Now sometimes, when I find
this life to be unkind,
I view my world with sorrow and disgust.
But then God's radiant love,
like sunlight from above,
streams in, and I see beauty in the dust.
Autumn
….. is mortally wounded!
It stumbles, tumbles
across the silken, rouged sky
quivering over rusted hedges
shivering through shouldered trees,
splattering, smattering
everything in blood-red.
On it goes, on it flows
gasping and grasping
at clouds of bandages,
hobbling, wobbling
suffering deep gashes;
haemorrhaging life
in crimson splashes.
While winter;
with the sly smile
of an Arctic fox,
coldheartedly waits for autumn’s
shredded, dreaded last breath!
Ian Souter 2025
An empty room filled
with silence,
I want to remain,
I want to dream more.
The wind pushes
the window wide
open filling the room,
no longer empty;
yet, nobody’s there,
dark, cold, empty,
middle of nowhere on top
of a hill. I can't fly
like the flower petals over
there. I step outside,
and lay on grass under
a sky filled with stars.
Maybe I can't
reach the sky, but
I want to stretch
my hand out
and still try.
The stars remain eternal.
As I walk north,
I continuously walk
among this darkness.
My happy memories haunt
me and question my
choices. I too wonder
what will become
of me, yet
I still want to struggle,
not knowing
which path to take,
I now consider this
my fate,
times of sink or swim,
life surrounded
by hardships, but
I cannot give up,
this is my fight.
Maybe I can never fly
to the sky of stars far
out of my reach, but
I still want to try.
Its only night,
the morning always
comes,
a long journey awaits me.