I felt like a ghost just the other day.
Standing by the schoolyard where children play.
Before I died, she was my little girl.
Always smiling when I gave her a twirl.
I felt so sad; I had left her so young,
I never should have bought that stupid gun.
I wish she could see me for just a while,
She’s looking right at me, oh what a smile.
I open darken eyes
once,
the coins
have expired.
Come to conscious,
of the monstrous,
I wish,
I could never be.
Swans are gentle
like un-conditional
love of pups
we bring into the world.
This world
makes me mad
the fog of evil,
due to the on-going
devil
taking control of rich
mad of fools.
One day a year,
was a fantasy
to disappear,
No harm
to a special time,
blowing out
candle rhymes,
wishing upon a star,
to dreams,
that we wish
to come true.....
We still have hope.
It might be a tragedy,
Might be something unethical,
Might be a disaster,
Waiting to happen somehow soon.
It is no bigger than a cyclone,
But it overflows tremendously.
It might not be just a slaughter,
But it might be something physical yet emotional.
There might be a paradise,
There might be a homicide,
There might be a genocide
In the mind of an idiot.
There might be blood on white satin,
It might be chaos within;
Something so cynical,
Yet it looks like a miracle.
This is the breakthrough,
From the surface to the veil underneath.
I wanted to tell you this secret for so long,
You might know it from the very beginning!
The other side we face a steep ascent;
To immigrants a big ask for consent.
Fascination and imagination let loose
unicorns and dragons whirl amidst the stars
dreams conjured in the night
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2025
Ghost ships come alive on dreamy oceans,
Where we, in the guise of little children,
Are allowed to explore
Each and every mast, rigging and knot.
We are.
I become Errol Flynn, Harrison Ford, and Rudolph Valentino all rolled into one.
You take on the form of our favorite leading lady,
Now we get to save your ass
From the villainous Blackbeard.
Even Captain Hook has his hand in on trying to stop us.
Out comes that shiny sword--
Light as a toothpick and silver.
We slash down the sails onto the rabid pursuers
Then bloodlessly skewer them into inaction.
We free you again and again.
They tell the stories that they tell
In ways we cannot see
Their wings are fanned in endless flight
Of wondrous liberty
And what they tell we tend to cite
In shades of ecstasy
As if we knew their secrets well
As if ourselves could see
Beyond our own encircled scenes
Beyond the scenes we steal
Imagining we know the way
To our own liberty –
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?
If you’ve ever wondered where you might find,
the answers to the endless questions sought over time.
The sense to the insanity, the radical of the norm…
the settling waves of frustration, the calming of the storm.
Deep beneath the layers of what most don’t see,
are the answers to those endless questions… beyond reality.
There is a world in a different color... the shades some may never find.
Lighting the world of imagination inside a writer’s mind.
If you look passed the confines of discretion,
you’ll see more than black and white.
You’ll discover the shades of expression I share when I write.
Though some may never see the colors this poem is trying to instill.
I am without any doubt
that a writer will.
Men with cameras
Sit and wait for the sunsets
Poets see all day
highland bull does the pumpkin dance
with candy corn that knows how to prance
the rest of the animals roll their eyes
they do not understand bull’s happy cries
they are too old to remember
the excitement generated toward December
when pumpkins and gourds fall off their vines
but highland bull does, he is dancing down their lines
(“The Interworld” 2018, original encaustic)
The beauty of prose is many things can be said
In great detail,
Stories and tales, histories and philosophies.
The beauty of poetry is that when we read it or write it
We put on the poet’s hat
View through the poet’s lens
And search for layers of meaning.
In this way poetry honors and respects
The listener’s participation,
And in the doing, in immersion below surfaces,
We awaken the imaginal.
And when we awaken so
We step out of time
So the continuity of our life,
From childhood to adolescence, in growth
To sickness, old age and death,
Is made whole.
Here in the metaphor is our whole life
Made holy. Again.
(9/19/25)
If he knew,
but what if he does and feels that way too?
Foolish I am,
for hoping for his feelings being the same as mine.
What if he sees me as a friend and not more, and I cry myself to sleep or even my death.
Sometimes, every time.
Sometimes I hope, but then it disappears.
I know my chances are low,
and I get depressed,
every time I try to rest.
Imagining holding his hands,
being held in his arms,
feeling loved as I always dreamt about.
Dreamt about my whole life.
I know,
I have time.
But I can't let go.
Let go of such feelings I have,
for you.
And then,
my poem becomes a message.
Transformed from "he" to "you".
Hoping you somehow find this and feel this way too.
But what if you know,
and feel this way too and are foolish for hiding it, like me, from you.
Your heart has a yearning
And a burning desire
To share what you’re learning
Like voices of a choir
Small pieces of paper
With the things you have thought
A con or a caper
How the villain was caught
No time is a wrong time
If you wake up at night
With a thought of a rhyme
Then you know you must write
Watching movies with you
Your friends do not enjoy
For you catch every clue
And discern every ploy
And time seems to fly by
When you sit down to write
With that glint in your eye
There is no end in sight
You longed for the teacher
To ask each for a story
You wrote down your feature
Of our flag called, “Old Glory”
Friends with the dictionary
Filled with word after word
To some it seemed scary
When the big words they heard
But not to the writer
You knew you’d become
A reader delighter
You knew you’d please some
So write on forever
As your stories you tell
A writer so clever
Right inside you doth dwell
(“Dark Pool Nebula”, 2011, original oil)
Different Worlds
I travel to different worlds in my dreams,
In my mind, even day by day
With different aspects of my self
In this one body.
As I get older I see we all live in different worlds,
Determined by what we believe, how we are raised,
And what we learn.
Sometimes we can stand on the same street corner
And be in totally different worlds as we chat.
Some people know all about this
And some are totally clueless,
Yet still we are all in our own world.
Is this a problem that needs to change?
I don’t think so
It is just the nature of things
The nature of having a mind
Especially so with an independent mind.
So maybe it is good the way things are.
What is bad is trying to change this
Trying to make everyone conform.
But how would it be if a fish thought itself
A bird, or a bird a fish,
Or a man a woman, or a human a god?
Some things are just not meant to be.
And so I travel to different worlds
In my dreams and in my mind,
And as I become more familiar
The worlds become more wonderful.
(9/15/25)
Specific Types of Imagination Poems
Definition | What is Imagination in Poetry?
Poems Related to Imagination
thought, artistry, imagery, ingenuity, intelligence, image, insight, idea, fancy, resourcefulness, originality, fantasy, wit, awareness, inventiveness, vision, inspiration, conception, perceptibility, cognition, creation, creativity, supposition, illusion, invention